“Uh, yeah, that’s me. You must like football?” I ask.
“Yeah, I love it. I took my boys to watch the Mountain Ridge game last week. I live out in Pinedale. It’s about halfway between here and Ridge View. They had a blast.”
“That’s awesome. What are their ages?”
“They’re seven and ten.”
“Those are great ages. My girlfriend has two brothers who are both seven. They’re obsessed with football. Hey, I know they announced you weren’t doing requests, but my girlfriend Hannah and I are the Homecoming Queen and King, and we’ve never danced together. Is there any way you’d make an exception for me?”
“For the home-grown football star? You bet.”
“Where did you go?” Hannah asks when I walk back over to the line.
“I was talking to the dance DJ. It’s Rick Rockfield from the radio.”
“Oh, very cool. I like that station.” Hannah wraps her arm around mine, resting her head against my shoulder.
I lean over, kissing her forehead.
Finally, Mr. Higbee starts the announcements for the Homecoming Court. It’s still torturously slow. Mr. Higbee announces each winner and reads the biography they wrote. We were supposed to limit it to a paragraph, but some people—and by some, I mean most got carried away. “Now to our seniors and the King and Queen of this year’s Homecoming Dance.” Mr. Higbee’s baritone voice booms across the school gym.
“Here we go.” I smile at Hannah, feeling a twinge of nervousness. I’m a decent dancer, but I want this dance to be an experience we’ll both remember for the rest of our lives. And I don’t want to muck it up by stepping on her toes or her dress.
“Finally,” Hannah straightens, smoothing out her dress. “How’s my crown? It’s not crooked, is it?”
I step back, taking her in. “No, you’re perfect.”
“Thank you,” she says and reaches up, kissing me.
“May I present your Homecoming King and Queen, Crawford Cross and Hannah Clark,” Mr. Higbee announces. I hold out my arm for Hannah, and we walk out onto the dance floor. Everyone is friendly and claps, and our friends hoot and holler, but everyone is tired of the Homecoming Court drama. We all just want the vice principal to stop talking, and for the DJ to blast music, we can dance to.
“Ford Cross is a captain of the football team. He also enjoys playing basketball. His hobbies include jet skiing in the summer, snowboarding in the winter, hanging out with friends, and spending time with his girlfriend, Hannah.”
I smile and give a little wave.
“Hannah Clark is a member of the cheer squad and the scholastic team. She teaches dance to five- and six-year-olds. Her hobbies include lyrical dance and doing Ford Cross.”
The chatter in the gym completely dies. Several students laugh, but it’s drown quickly by the silence. Everyone is staring at Mr. Higbee or Hannah.
“Well, that can’t be right?” Mr. Higbee turns his card over, scratching his head.
I look at Hannah, and her face has turned bright red. “Let’s go,” I whisper.
She gives me a defiant look and a single shake of her head. She walks past me up to Mr. Higbee and takes the microphone out of his hand. She purposefully taps on the microphone, making it screech. “Whoever was nice enough to rewrite my bio got it wrong. My hobbies include lyrical dance and doing myboyfriend,Ford Cross.” She shoves the microphone back in the VP’s hand and walks back to me. I stand there shell-shocked as the entire room erupts into applause and cheers. I’m completely speechless. Of all the ways she could have reacted, I would’ve never guessed that. She holds out her hand to me. “Shall we dance?”
“Hell, yeah,” I say, taking her hand. Everyone on the dance floor parts for us. Usually, the entire court takes part in the song, but none of the other kids come out on the dance floor. I wrap my arms around Hannah. She’s putting on a strong front, but she’s shaking from head to toe. “I am so proud of you. I’m—I’m floored that you did that.”
“Thank you.” she clears her throat, trying to get the tremble out of it. “I’m done letting the bullies win.”
“You just showed every person here, who’s ever dealt with a bully, that it’s possible to overcome it.”
“Thank you for saying that. Now I need you to hold me, so no one can see how absolutely scared shitless I am.” I hug her, and she hides her face in the crook of my neck, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’ve got you.” The music plays, and within thirty seconds of the song, Hannah lifts her head.
“Did you—”
“Yeah, the DJ likes football.”
