“Yes. So?” I’d imagined going with Boyd, him sitting like a quiet lump (a small lump) and ruining it for me. But I also realized that Willow would have wanted him to be there. They were practically joined at the hip.
And now, here we were at Woodsmen Stadium for the first preseason game. The three of us.
My sister smiled at me but then she looked at Boyd, put her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. I was watching, annoyed, so I happened to see his expression when she did that: a smile bloomed over his face and he looked utterly happy, almost like he glowed. I stared, shocked, and then the announcer boomed out that we needed to get ready to welcome our Woodsmen.
We had been here for the warm-up—we had headed to our section and row the moment that they opened the doors to the stadium, and I had to admit that Boyd hadn’t complained about leaving his friends at their tailgate and making our way inside soearly. It had been better for my sister to sit down in the stands, but he had also gotten her a folding chair when we’d been at the party in the parking lot.
We’d watched Everett on the field, passing and warming up with the other quarterback, Laforet, and I studied them carefully to see if they were arguing or trying to undermine each other (an ugly battle for first chair in the trumpet section had made me wary). But they seemed professional, because…well, they were. They were both getting paid to act that way, no matter how they felt about each other personally.
On Everett’s side, it wasn’t hatred or loathing, or a desire for Dallas Laforet to break his ankle. “We both want the same thing, but that doesn’t make him my enemy,” he’d told me. I’d thought that was very mature.
I didn’t feel quite that way, myself. As I had watched them throwing before the game, I had hoped that something would happen to the other guy. Nothing terrible, like falling over a miniature donkey and tearing up the inside of his knee! Just a little bump or maybe a twist that would have prevented him from starting in the first half.
But I had forgotten those poisonous thoughts when Everett had jogged over to the sidelines and then gestured to me. As Willow reminded me that I didn’t need to be so eager, I had jumped up and climbed down the stairs. The seats he’d gotten for us were close to the entrance to our section instead of near the field, and I was very grateful. That made it so much easier for my sister.
“Hi,” I had said when I reached the barrier and leaned over to talk to him below me. “You were throwing very well in that warm-up!”
“Yeah, you could tell?” He’d smiled at me. During the days leading up to this game, he’d been quiet and snappish but at that moment, he’d seemed relaxed and ready.
“I could tell,” I had promised. “I can’t wait to see you play again.”
“You’ll have to wait until the second half.”
That was true, unless there was a slight strain bump, or a slightly turned ankle—not broken or anything.
He’d had to go back to the locker room but he’d reached up his fist for me to bump. Instead of doing that, though, I’d grabbed his hand and held it in mine, and his eyes had widened. “You’re going to be great,” I had said, and it had sounded like I was choked up. Which I had been.
“Thanks, Zoey.” He had disentangled his fist from my grasp. “I’ll talk to you later.” He’d gone into the locker room and slowly, I’d climbed the stairs to our seats.
Now, all the Woodsmen fans had packed into the stands and we rose to our feet as the players ran out of the tunnel together and onto the field for the game. I saw Everett and at first, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When I remembered to check on my sister, I saw that Boyd was already holding under her elbow. These rows were narrow and sometimes she lost her balance. I had been worried about her falling forward and when I noticed whathe was doing, I gave him a curt nod of approval. He nodded back.
After the coin toss, the Woodsmen defense went out first and then, when the offense finally came onto the field, it was led by Laforet. I really didn’t wish him harm—I really didn’t, not even a twist—and the collective desire of everyone in the stadium for him to do well infected me a little, too. But he seemed to be struggling, because after they tried three times to move the ball forward, they had to kick it away to the other team. They hadn’t been close enough to try for a field goal, and the crowd seemed a little deflated. The same thing happened the next time Laforet came out and the score remained zero-zero.
“Not great,” I heard Boyd mutter to my sister as the Woodsmen defensive side jogged into position again.
“What do you think is wrong?” I asked him, and his eyes widened in surprise. I hadn’t spent a lot of time asking him questions besides about things directly related to Willow’s well-being, because generally, I didn’t care about his opinions. But he really was a huge fan, so I thought he might have some ideas.
“The knock on Laforet coming out of college was his accuracy,” he said, and I had read that about him during my prior research on the Woodsmen quarterbacks. “His first few passes tonight were terrible. Play action was a failure.”
“What does that mean?” Willow asked. She knew less about this sport than I did (due to her lack of band experience), but I had never heard of that term, either.
“Play action is when the quarterback acts as if he’s handing off the ball, like it’s a running play. But it’s a fake,” Boyd explained to her. “The QB is actually going to throw it, and the hope is that the defense will get confused and the receivers can get open for a pass. It didn’t work because Laforet was so bad at the pretend handoff that no one fell for it, and then he overthrew the receiver. He can get hot if he can find a rhythm, but he hasn’t done that yet.”
My sister beamed and said he was so smart, and I nodded my own thanks. We watched the Woodsmen defense get a turnover, which energized all the fans…until the offense came out and had to punt again.
“This is a little boring,” Willow whispered to me at halftime. She was smart herself, and she knew she risked bodily harm from the other people in the stands if they overheard a remark like that. But I agreed with her, because nothing much had happened. The score was three to three, just a field goal apiece.
“I like a little more offense,” Boyd said, also quietly. “I expect to see more of that in the second half.”
He’d talked more tonight than I’d heard from him in years, not since we were all in high school. Boyd had been in my grade and we’d had a few classes together. At first, I’d thought he was an ok guy and I’d even been happy when he’d asked Willow out for the first time. But of course, my opinion had changed drastically.
“I’ll go get you a beer,” he suggested to my sister, and she nodded happily. “Uh, Zoey?”
“No. I’m driving,” I said sharply. Then I realized who I sounded like, so I added more. “No, thank you.”
“I’m twenty-one now,” she huffed at me when he had disappeared into the crowded concourse. “I can drink without you having a fit. You know, you sounded just like—”
I was aware that I’d spoken to him in the same way that Mom had talked to our dad. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
