Claire gave me a brief hug too. “You’ll have better luck next time. Also, we get ice cream.” Going out for ice cream was definitely Mr. Seibold’s idea. The occasional times my mother let us have ice cream, it was always the store-bought type. And even then, it was some healthy variety that ought to have been called Lies Cream or Frozen Disappointment.
I turned to walk to the parking lot and was surprised when Madeline launched herself at me and hugged me as well. She was all softness and floral perfume, suddenly pressed against me. I patted her back awkwardly, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone from school was around to see this. Fortunately, no one was.
“Get into character,” she hissed in my ear and then released me, all sweetness again.
Yeah. I ought to be happy to see her. I managed a smile and walked side by side with her.
Mom and Mr. Seibold kept pace on my other side, and Mr. Seibold commented on a couple of plays. “Your mother says you were invited to an elite football camp last summer and might get a scholarship.”
Mightbeing the operative word. “Not if our team keeps playing like it did tonight.” I wished my mom wouldn’t tell people that she thought I’d get a scholarship. A bunch of people would ask me about it and be disappointed if I didn’t get one.
We reached Mr. Seibold’s Cadillac. He and my mom gotinto the front, and I climbed into the back with Claire and Madeline. The car was spotlessly clean and still had that new car smell. A far cry from Mom’s Civic with its peeling interior, an assortment of stains, and the stubborn smell from the ghost of past spills.
Madeline sat in the middle, close to me. Claire started scrolling on her phone again. Our parents talked about their high school years, completely wrapped up in each other. Madeline and I could have sat silently during the entire drive to the ice cream shop, and they wouldn’t have noticed, but she wasn’t having any of it.
She turned to me with the same bright smile, determined to make conversation. “Did I tell you that you played well yet? Good game.”
I didn’t feel like matching her false brightness. “We lost,” I said flatly.
“And yet it was still the best football game I’ve ever watched.”
A low bar, for sure. I chuckled despite myself.
Madeline patted my knee consolingly. “You looked awesome out there, even when you were reaching for the football underneath some other guy’s butt.”
Claire snickered. “At least he wasn’t reaching for it underneath his own butt.”
“True,” Madeline agreed. “That happened once in the funny football moments video.”
I shot Claire a look to let her know I didn’t appreciate her comments, then turned back to Madeline. “The center is supposed to snap the ball like that. It’s how you play the game.”
“I’m sure it is.” She patted my knee again. “But it makes you wonder about the game’s inventor. I mean, who wants to be crouched over a sweaty guy’s back end? What do we know about the inventor, really?”
I had no idea who invented football. “Is that what you thought about while you watched the game?”
“Don’t ask her what she thought about,” Claire said. “It will lead toWizard of Ozquotes. Also, every time our center had the ball, she called out, ‘Oh, snap!’”
“My father took my phone away,” Madeline said with a shrug. “I had to find ways to entertain myself.”
She hadn’t moved her hand from my knee. It felt charged lying there, like we really were a couple. Her red nail polish matched her lipstick and her jacket—because of course, it did. I tried to concentrate on the ridiculousness of that and not the feel of her hand on my leg.
“Every time someone tackled you,” Madeline said, “I yelled really loudly.”
I glanced at our parents to see if they reacted to that statement. They were still busy talking to each other. “You cheered when I was tackled?” I asked, incredulous.
“No, I yelled, ‘Get off of him! You’ll hurt him!’ Really loudly.”
Claire looked up from her phone. “She did do that.”
“Team spirit,” Madeline chimed.
This was not the post-game conversation I expected to have. Sometimes when we lost, Claire would tell me, “It’s just a game.” That phrase had never helped me feel better, not after workingso hard to win. But listening to Madeline’s utter lack of concern about football put it in perspective. Tonight’s game was just a game.
I could almost feel my mood lifting. “Glad you had a good time. Just think, you’ll get to sit and watch me play for the rest of the season. And after that, there’s always soccer to look forward to.”
Madeline wrinkled her nose—a clear break of character. Her gaze darted to our parents, and she whispered, “I paid more attention to you than they did. They spent way too much time discussing the sort of health food that normal people wouldn’t willingly eat. I don’t even know what jicama or hemp hearts are.”
Her hand was still on my leg. It probably didn’t even occur to her to consider the thoughts that were going through my mind because of it. Except I wasn’t going to allow myself to have those thoughts. Not about Madeline, Miss Pretty Petty Princess. I would keep my mind on her eyes, which, I noted for the first time, were a pretty baby blue. “Jicama and hemp hearts are good,” I said.
