“I haven’t decided.” He checks his phone. “She might be doing something with Livia.”
“You could all do something together.”
“That never turns out well. As I’m sure you noticed last week at dinner, I’m not Livia’s favorite person.”
“It might help if you called her Liv instead of Livia. She reminded you of that three times that night.”
“It wouldn’t make a difference. She wants her mother to remain single. She gets more attention that way.”
“When are you going to propose?”
“Maybe in the spring.” He gets up. “Ready to go?”
We drive to the school, and Brock takes me to the stadium, which is down a long sidewalk that winds through some trees. I didn’t even know it was there.
“They built the new stadium farther from the school,” he says as we walk. “The noise during practice was disturbing to the students who were trying to study. Braden probably told you they practice all hours of the day and night.”
“He did, but I didn’t think it was during school hours.”
“It’s not, but students hold study groups after school and want it to be quiet.”
We arrive at the stadium, which is only half full. It’s all Twisted Pine students, wearing school t-shirts and sweatshirts.
“I thought there’d be more people,” I say, following Brock to the section that has all adults.
“I haven’t been to a game for a while but usually it’s just Twisted Pine students. The other schools don’t like being here due to the rules.”
“What rules?”
“They’re very strict about noise and disruptions.”
“You can’t make noise?”
“You can cheer, but they don’t allow booing or calling out insults to players. And they throw out anyone who starts a fight.” He shoots me a look.
I sigh. “I’m not going to fight anyone.”
We’re in the front row of the bleachers, right by the end zone. I glance behind me and see nobody my age.
“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” I say, turning to Brock.
“Of course you should be here. Your cousin’s the quarterback.”
“I meanhere. In the parents’ section.”
He folds his arms over his chest and looks out at the field. “If you’d like to sit with your classmates, go ahead.”
Glancing over at the student section, I don’t see anyone I’d want to sit with. And staying here with Brock, I might get some information about the football team, along with getting on his good side.
“I’m fine staying here,” I say. “Gives us a chance to hang out.”
He gives me a sideways glance that makes me think he knows that last comment was bullshit. I’m sure he’s figured out I’m doing everything possible to avoid punishment. I just hope it works.
“Brock,” someone says from behind us.
I turn and see a man in dress pants and a sweater two rows up. Why is he so dressed up for a football game? The other parents are dressed up too. Some of the women are even wearing dresses. They’re casual dresses, but still, who wears a dress to a football game?
“Harris,” Brock says, getting up and turning to face the guy. “It’s been a long time.”
