Chapter 30
Josephine
“I’m going to find Hunter,” I declare the moment the clock runs out on the second quarter.
Kylian throws an arm out and catches my wrist before I make it two steps.
“You have your phone on you?”
“Got it,” I confirm.
He’s still homed in on his iPad, rapidly scrolling through data on the screen, but he doesn’t release me.
“Text me when you get to Hunter. Don’t leave the stadium. And be back before the start of the second half.”
My instinct is to clap back and sass him, but I snap my mouth shut and nod instead.
Kylian is not the controlling one of the group.
He’s black and white, straight to the point.
His directions are rooted in a deep concern for my safety and well-being.
He can’t leave, but he’s not going to force me to stay.
I don’t take his concern for granted. We’ve come too far—we’re in this too deep—for me to be anything but wildly appreciative of the way he cares.
He doesn’t wait for my acquiescence before releasing me, and once I’m free of his hold, I turn on my heel and make my way through the crowd, blowing out a long breath when I join the stream of fans heading to the bathrooms and concession stands.
It’s so much easier to blend in with the sea of people.
Hunter is already waiting in our designated meet-up spot—the aisle of section 130, closer to the alumni and premium seating section than the student section in the end zone.
“Joey!” she squeals, her eyes as wide as saucers and her pretty blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail that bobs as she shakes her head. “This is bad,” she declares. “This is so bad.”
“I know,” I relent. “But I have an idea.” I quickly shoot off a text to Kylian, as promised, then stash my phone away.
“Will you help me?”
“Of course, girl,” Hunter starts. “But I don’t know how you think we’re going to—”
Grabbing her hand, I tear off with one destination in mind.
“Wait. Where are we going?” she demands.
“Bathrooms,” I answer over my shoulder, weaving in and out of the crowd.
“Which bathrooms?” Hunter huffs as I drag her farther into the stadium.
Her irritation is justified. I just dragged her past the nicest, least crowded bathrooms in the entire place.
I bypassed it because I’m less likely to find what I need in there.
Instead of explaining my reasoning, I quicken my pace and pull my friend behind me into the bowels of the student section.
Colors shift around us, the juxtaposed aquamarine and reds transitioning to almost all crimson the closer we get to the curve in the concourse.
Students stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting in massive lines to use the bathrooms or grab a drink. I ignore more than a few jeers when I rush past in my Sharks jersey.
Out of breath but more determined than ever, I reach the women’s restroom between the football players’ and cheer team’s locker rooms. It’s the largest one in the whole stadium, and it’s overrun with Lake Chapel students all dolled up in their spirit wear.
“Try and keep up,” I call back to Hunter, wedging myself through the door to the restroom. A few people waiting in line protest, worried we’re cutting, but I don’t slow as I toss out muttered apologies and insist we just need the mirrors.
Inside, the sea of red and white and black is hazy from the glitter and hairspray being applied with reckless abandon.
I scan the girls lined up at the sink, hoping beyond hope to find what I’m looking for.
It can’t be a T-shirt. Or a hoodie. Or a crop top.
A homemade fit won’t work.
My attention snags on the number 24—Kendrick—once, twice, and a third time.
Then I spot a number 9—Locke—halfway down the line of sinks.
I nearly give myself whiplash doing a double take when I catch sight of a Sigma jersey.
It’s identical to one I designed and had specially made to wear in support of Kylian.
I’ll deal with that later.
Right now, there’s only one number I need to find.
There it is. At the very end of the row of sinks. The girl’s back is to me, and she’s reaching for a paper towel to dry her hands.
“Hey!” I call out, beelining for the redhead wearing the oversized Crusade jersey.
I catch her attention in the mirror, repeating myself once she’s focused on my reflection.
“Hey. Hi. Um, this is super awkward, but I really need your help.”
With a slow turn, she looks me over from head to toe the way girls sometimes do.
Shit. Maybe this’ll be harder than I thought…
“Um, so. I was wondering if you would be willing to switch jerseys with me. I—I messed up,” I admit to this girl I don’t even know. “I messed up bad, and I really need to go out there for the second half of the game wearing number five’s jersey.”
Her face is screwed up in bewilderment, but I keep pleading my case.
“I have these cute Crusaders friendship bracelets I can also give you.” I pull off the elastic bead bracelets from my wrist. Hunter and I made them yesterday, and I intended to give some to Kendrick’s sisters, so I have more than enough.
“You don’t have to return them. Which ones do you like?
” I shuffle through them with shaky hands so she can see the designs and phrases.
“No, wait, don’t pick—you can have them all. ”
When the girl makes no move to take the bracelets from my outstretched hand, I pull my shoulders up and drop my hands to my sides.
“I’m happy to pay you for the jersey, or trade something else… I only have my phone on me right now, but I could Venmo you. I also have a really nice MacBook at home, or—”
Hunter steps up and cuts me off before I can offer up my car. Sorry, Honey.
“Here’s the deal, Red. You give us the Crusade jersey, and we’ll return it to you by Tuesday, freshly laundered and signed by Decker himself.”
The girl’s eyes bug out, then she gawks at the crowd that’s formed all around us.
“Do it, girl!” someone calls out.
“Hold out! Maybe they can set you up with Crusade!”
“Or with one of his roommates,” someone else offers.
I crack my knuckles, forcing myself to remain calm while pleading with the biggest puppy eyes I can manage.
“Please?”
“Um.” She lets out an uncomfortable laugh, glancing from me to Hunter and toying with the hem of the prized garment.
“I mean, I would love to help you, really, I would…”
I hold my breath and wait for it.
“But—”
And there it is.
“I can’t go back to the student section wearing that.” She points a painted red nail at my aquamarine Sharks jersey.
Shit. Of course not. Why didn’t I think about what would happen if another student showed up in the Crusaders student section wearing this dreadful, regrettable choice?
I smile sadly and nod. I get it. I hold up one hand, ready to thank her anyway. It was a good idea, if not for—
“God dammit, Josephine no-middle-name Meyer,” Hunter curses, bumping me out of her way and shuffling up to the girl in the Crusade jersey.
I search her face, confusion swirling in my mind. Why the hell is she cursing me out?
“You owe me. You owe me big-time. I want at least one guaranteed lunch date per week sans any of your boyfriends for the rest of the school year, plus a monthly sleepover—no boys allowed.” She pulls one arm through the sleeve of her shirt.
“I may have additional demands, so I’ll need an open-ended favor rider for the foreseeable future.
” Her other arm is free now, too. “I’m never going to live this down. ”
She whips off her shirt so fast her hair hits me in the face.
“Hunter! What’s happening?”
Shoving her cute red Crusaders T-shirt at the redhead, she purses her lips and gives me a pointed look.
“Isn’t it obvious? So painfully, predictably obvious.” She closes her eyes, her long lashes fanning out over her cheeks, and presses her fingers into her temples. “I’ll give her my shirt. She’ll give you Decker’s jersey. And I’ll wear…”
“Hunter!”
“It’s fine,” she insists, tipping her head back as if calling on a higher power to get her through this.
I don’t blame her. She’s going to need universal, holy support if Greedy catches sight of her with his name on the back.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat clogged with emotion as I squeeze her hand.
“And thank you,” I add, regarding the redhead. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Ashley,” she offers, peeling off the number 5 jersey and handing it over as she accepts the T-shirt from Hunter. “And you?”
“I’m Joey. And that’s Hunter,” I explain with a sheepish grin. “Here, have this,” I insist, offering one of the cute red bracelets and keeping a few for myself.
Snapping back to attention, Hunter holds out her hand, scowling.
“You best understand we’re now in this for the long haul, Josephine Meyer. If this isn’t some romance novel-worthy grand gesture, I don’t know what is. I want to be maid of honor in your wedding. Weddings? And you’ll name your first child after—”
“Okay! Okay!” I snap, desperate to shut her up. We’ve gained quite the audience, and halftime has got to be close to wrapping up. We’ve got to make the swap and get back out there.
“Thank you, Ashley. Seriously. Let’s exchange numbers so I can get this back to you.”
“Signed?” she asks, her eyes sparkling and her face split in a wide grin.
“Signed,” I promise.
“This better work,” Hunter mutters as she dons the South Chapel Jersey with her stepbrother’s name on the back and tightens her ponytail.
“It’ll work,” I declare, pulling Decker’s jersey over my head.
I give Ashley a quick one-armed hug and rattle off my phone number. When she’s typed it in and has sent me a confirmation text, I snag Hunter’s hand once more and power walk out the door so I can make it back to the bench for the second half.
“It has to.”