Someone broke a beer bottle, and the shattered glass made another person scream. And so began the avalanche of highly charged fans who wanted nothing more than their chosen football deity to stand firm at their altar.
Haven’s ironclad grip made it impossible to unlatch, no matter how many times a wayward person knocked into us. My wrist screamed in protest of being twisted at all kinds of angles, but I didn’t consider letting go for a second. I could barely think straight, wide-eyed and fearful in all the chaos. One could get trampled to death in this kind of crowd. My sides ached from hard elbows and aggressive shoves. What happened above, happened below. The football field was in shambles. Coaches and referees in the mix, trying their best to break up cluster after cluster of guys.
“When I run, you run,” Haven called over the crowd. She had only time to glance back at me for a second. “Okay?”
“Okay!” I said as loud as I could.
There was a brief opening in the crowd where Haven and I could slip through. We didn’t waste a second, bolting to our escape. Haven tripped over the bottom of her skirt. I tugged her upright before she reached the ground. We continued running, hand in hand, until we were past the concessions and near the gate that led to the parking lot.
Cop cars lined the lot, their lights blinking. We ducked into the darkness of a row of cars, sensing even more trouble on the horizon.
“Are you okay?” I asked through heavy breaths when I noticed a cut on her elbow. Dark blood trickled down her arm.
“Fine.” She peeked over the hood of a rusted truck, trying to suss out the vibe before we moved forward. “Next time you convince me to come to one of these things?—”
“Not happening,” I told her with a humorless laugh. “Nothing is ever this serious.”
“To them, it’s life.” She sighed and shook her head. “Did you see what they did to Hart?”
“What? No.” I’d been too focused on David, too worried about how he’d lost his helmet at the beginning of the fight.
“His arm looked broken.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, as if trying to rid the image from her brain by sheer willpower.
My heart sank into my stomach. “Really?”
Haven gave me a solemn nod, mouth pulled down in a frown. She gestured me forward. “Hate this kind of energy. Bad omens all around.”
No matterhow many times I tried, I couldn’t get David or Hart to answer their phones. The school’s social media blasted updates and safety alerts for everyone on campus. Warnings about probation and potential expulsion for vandalism and violence were the focus. I got caught in an online rabbit hole of other students recounting tonight’s events with far more information than Haven and I’d been privy to in our section of the stands.
“Hart answered,” Haven finally updated from her seat on the couch. She’d been chewing on her nails, trying to get in contact with him for the past hour. “He’s in the hospital. Doing good. His shoulder just had to be popped back into socket.”
“Thank God.” I sighed, grateful at least one person on my list of worries was okay. After learning Indie and Covee had been somewhere in the crowd too, my anxiety heightened in fear for their safety. Neither of them was answering their phones either.
Weston, the last person I’d thought would contact me, sent a simple text:
Weston
Can you get to David’s dorm in the next half hour?
My heart jumped, and I immediately responded:
Of course. Is he okay? He’s not answering his phone.
Weston
Rough shape. I need to go check on Nat and Hart. But I can’t leave him alone like this.
I was already tugging on my jacket and asking Haven for aride. It took us longer than usual to get to the other side of campus because of post-game traffic. Haven couldn’t find on-street parking, so she let me off at a red light close enough that I only had to backtrack a couple of yards.
Here! Will you let me in?
Weston came down in less than a couple of minutes, pushing the door open for me. He smelled of grass and looked like a train wreck. Someone had haphazardly taped the cut above his eye, his bottom lip was purple with early signs of swelling, and his knuckles were red and bloodied as though he’d rubbed them against a cheese grater.
“Has he told you about freshman year?” Weston mashed the elevator button multiple times until the doors opened.
“Freshman year?” I hurried in behind him, heart rate rising when I saw how his hand shook when he pressed the number for David's floor. “No, I don’t know… are you okay? What happened out there?”
“I want to say what usually happens,” he began, trying to smile. “But those guys… that was rougher than usual. David’s been good at avoiding fights like this up until now.”
