Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Dex
It’s Friday night, with five minutes to go in the fourth. Our football team is trailing the Spartans by twenty-one, and our kicker just missed the extra point after touchdown. We’d have to score at least three more times to recover. And even then, we’d need a two-point conversion to win.
In other words, we’re probably going to lose.
Still, you’d never know by looking at our mascot. The kid is doing backflips near the end zone, and our cheerleaders are riling up the home team crowd in the stands. One thing I can say about our school is everyone here has got heart.
Our teams never give up, even when we’re down, which is why our athletes deserve the same advantages as our crosstown rivals, the Harvest High Bobcats. But equity has gotten a whole lot harder since one of their teachers married one of the biggest movie stars in the world.
Lincoln James.
You’ve probably heard about him and his wife, Hadley Morgan. They reconnected a few years back when she was teaching music over at Harvest High. Since then, the Mountain Valley School District has fielded more requests than usual for transfers from our school over to theirs.
Let’s face it, people are drawn to the spotlight of fame, and there’s a certain thrill surrounding celebrities.
Me? I think our school offers just as good an education as Harvest High.
Maybe even better since we’re never distracted by news crews or featured on TMZ.
And our athletes have just as much fight in them as the Bobcats.
Unfortunately, Stony Peak is the home of the … wait for it …
Gray Squirrels.
Over the years, coaches have proposed changing our mascot to something more like your usual sports teams. Anything else. Like the Eagles or even the Maples. But our superintendent, Dr. Dewey, is fixated on the fact that the gray squirrel is the state animal of North Carolina.
One season, we tried calling ourselves the Grays, a loophole even Dr. Dewey agreed to.
The idea seemed to be working until the opposing team’s fans started showing up to games dressed like senior citizens.
They had canes and wigs and signs that said stuff like DON’T DIE ON US, GRAYS.
The home side of the stadium even got in on the act.
The whole scene was kind of funny, to be honest. But also distracting.
So we’re back to the Gray Squirrels now. A rodent that hides out in trees. But being the underdogs only makes me more determined to do whatever it takes to give the athletic department any advantage I can.
Even if that means enduring some retreat with Sayla Kroft.
“You’re really gonna be stuck at some rustic campsite with her for three whole days?” Bridger chuckles. We’re standing on the sidelines far enough from the action to talk between downs.
“Well, I hope it’s not too rustic,” I say. “And we’re choosing to go. No one’s stuck. It’s an opportunity. Remember? A chance for me to show I’m more cooperative than she is.”
“Right. Sure.” Bridge takes his eyes off the play long enough to glance at me. “What’s the place called again?”
I allow myself the tiniest of smirks. “Camp Reboot.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a snort. “I predict Sayla’s gonna reboot you in the—”
“We’ll be fine.” I return my focus to the game.
“Aw, come on.” Bridger wags his brows. “You don’t think you two are gonna get into it? A little verbal sparring? Maybe a little physical—”
“Nope.”
“I don’t know, man.” His mouth quirks. “For a while now, I’ve been sensing some real chemistry there.”
I frown. “Easy on the science puns, Bill Nye.”
“I’m just saying, I think you kinda like Sayla Kroft.”
“Nah.” I shrug. “That’s just you projecting your massive Loren Cane crush onto me.”
“I don’t have a crush on her.”
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, man.”
“Even if that were true, Loren’s engaged,” he points out. “Sayla, on the other hand, is a free agent. And she’s gorgeous. You’re telling me you never thought about it?”
“I’m telling you there’s a lot more to relationships than looks.”
This pulls a snicker out of him. “Please tell me more about how relationships work, oh, wise one.”
I shake my head. “My point is, I’m not interested in going out with anyone. At all. Not Sayla Kroft. Not anybody.”
Bridger takes a long pull from his water bottle, then wipes his mouth on his hoodie sleeve. “You do know all the single adult ladies at Stony Peak want you, right?”
“Adult ladies?” I chuckle. “Now you sound like my mom.”
“Speaking of which, is the whole fan club here again tonight?”
I turn around and search the stands, finding my family in their usual row. “Almost everyone,” I say.
My parents started bringing my sisters and me to Stony Peak games as soon as we moved to Harvest Hollow. That was twenty years ago, when I was twelve, and still a few grades away from playing football myself.
Kendal was ten then. Landry, eight. Jojo, six. And every one of us needed to not think about life for a while. Especially Mom and Dad. I’m pretty sure our Friday night ritual started out as something they could do with us. On autopilot.
Noise. Hot dogs. Cheering. A temporary escape.
But tonight, Kendal stayed home with her kids, Rowan and Wally. Her husband, Tim, is out of town for work, and she didn’t feel like dragging a two-year-old and a baby to the game without him.
Landry’s here, though, with her boyfriend, Brock. She’s my middle sister. Also the loudest one. I love her, but Brock’s the saint who’s been willing to date her the past two years.
Jojo’s next to Brock, on her phone as usual, not paying any attention to the game.
While the rest of us kids played every sport possible—overlapping seasons and club teams throughout high school—Jo always opted out.
Still, the fact that she kept showing up every week for the past twenty years speaks volumes about our family. The bond.
For better or worse.
But Bridger knows nothing about what the Michaels family went through back then.
I don’t talk about that time with anyone, not in the decades since we moved here.
I figure all families have their struggles.
Their sorrows. Their challenges. And I know enough by now not to think we’re special or unusual.
“Kendal skipped the game,” I tell him. “And my folks look like they’re packing up to leave.”
“Can’t say I blame them.” Bridger takes another long drink, eyes on the pass. The Spartans’ quarterback overthrows the receiver, and they line up for the next down.
“Let’s go!” I call out, clapping hard enough that my palms hurt.
Bridger fist-pumps with his free hand. “So what do you think this whole Camp Reboot situation will look like, anyway?” Apparently, he missed the memo that I don’t want to talk about the retreat—or Sayla—anymore.
“Are you all gonna be sitting around a campfire together, singing ‘Kumbaya,’ and roasting marshmallows?”
“Not sure what to expect,” I report. “The brochure showed pictures of a bunch of different stuff. Rope climbing. Obstacle course. Hiking.”
“So things you’ll be good at.”
“I hope,” I say. “The directors are supposedly filling out some kind of post-retreat evaluations, assessing how well we do. I’ve got to show Wilford I gave it my all, so he’ll give the athletic department the grant.”
Bridger drains the rest of his water bottle. “And what if he doesn’t?”
“Not an option.”
“But—”
“You have no idea what it’s like to be begging for scraps. The science department got the last grant. All those microscopes and petri dishes—your cadaver lab—soaked up more cash than we’re asking for now.”
“You think Wilford gets it?”
“I need to make him understand,” I say. “For the past couple years, we’ve been losing players to Harvest High and to private schools like St. Agnes.
They’ve simply got more money to throw at their facilities, their fields, their coaches.
Better coaches attract better players. So it’s a vicious cycle. ”
“Which didn’t improve with the whole Lincoln James effect, huh? He kinda indirectly screwed us a little, didn’t he?”
“Not on purpose.” I push my hands into my pockets.
“I met him at a fundraiser last fall. He was there with his wife, and they were both pretty great. Surprisingly humble, too, considering they’re insanely rich and stupidly attractive.
” A smile slants across my face. “And before you say anything, yes. I’m comfortable enough in my masculinity to admit that. ”
“Sure you are.”
“But don’t be jealous, man. You’re still a handsome fellow in your own right, eh?”
Bridger chuckles. “You said it, not me.”
The Spartans fail on their third down, forcing the punt, and the cheerleaders get the crowd going again.
With less than two minutes left in the game, the Squirrels drive the ball down into field-goal range.
Bridge and I pause talking just long enough to cheer the team on.
At this point, I’m just hoping we get some more points on the board.
We’re playing Harvest High for Homecoming at the end of October. We’ll almost certainly lose to the Bobcats, but the whole school gets excited for spirit week anyway. Their optimism, even in the face of potential defeat, is heartening. Inspirational, really. I love our school and our teams.
I’m going to do right by these athletes no matter what it takes.
“And the kick is good!” the announcer booms across the stadium. Then his voice is lost in the frantic cheering from the stands behind us. We’ve got no chance to win with the remaining time on the clock, but still. We’re going out on a score.
I like that.
The kickoff’s decent, and the Spartans start driving down the field again while the cheerleaders lead the crowd in a chant spelling out defense. “Push ’em back. Push ’em back. Push ’em back. Wayyyyy back!”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Landry on our sibling group chat.
Landry
Brock and I are gonna grab pizza after the game. Wanna come?
Me
What did Mom and Dad say?
Landry