Chapter 8
Bright stadium lights illuminated the perfectly manicured field at Gauthier High School, reflecting off the ferocious lion logo holding center stage in the middle of the field.
The chain-link fence surrounding the stadium was covered in hand-painted signs promising to “Manhandle the Mustangs” and “Bring Home the Iron Boot.”
Homecoming was always the biggest game of the season, and tonight’s game had even more at stake, as it pitted the Gauthier Lions against their archrivals, the Maplesville Mustangs.
The game had become a yearly tradition, with the victor winning the honor of displaying the coveted iron trophy in the shape of a boot—representing the shape of Louisiana—at the school for the remainder of the academic year.
There was not a single seat left in the stands. People were crowded at least three deep along the fence, as well. Shayla had been right; it looked as if every single person in Gauthier and Maplesville was at this game tonight.
Paxton buried her chin inside her jacket collar and braced herself against the blast of cold wind that blew across the bleachers. A collective whooooa went through the crowd.
People north of the Mason-Dixon would probably laugh at the crowd’s reaction to the temperature, which was just under fifty degrees, but south Louisianans weren’t used to such weather, especially this early in the season.
The October cold front that had blown in had everyone pulling out their winter gear.
“Fun, right?” Shayla said as she sat next to Paxton and handed her a hot chocolate from the concession stand.
“If I had a list of things that are more fun than this, it would stretch from here all the way back to Little Rock,” Paxton answered.
“Well, can you pretend it’s fun so I don’t feel guilty for dragging you here?”
“I want you to feel guilty,” Paxton said before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. She grimaced. “This is horrible.”
“I know. It’s instant. But it’s not supposed to taste good—it’s just supposed to warm you up.” Shayla nudged her shoulder and pointed to the far end of the football field. “The homecoming court is about to take their pregame walk.”
“And what is that?” Paxton asked.
“Just watch it,” Shayla said.
All of this was so foreign to her, Paxton was at a complete loss about how to act.
She’d attended exactly two football games during her entire four years as a student here, and neither of them had been the homecoming game.
Not only did she abhor all the silly pageantry that appeared to her to be nothing more than a chance to heap more praise on the popular crowd, but she also hated football.
She really could think of a million places she’d rather be right now.
She’d probably spend the majority of her time tonight coming up with a mental list. It would be better than having to pay attention to the game or to the homecoming court, which was currently receiving a standing ovation from the crowd.
She snorted.
A standing ovation? For what? Knowing how to walk in heels and wave at the same time?
Stop it! she mentally chastised herself.
Paxton slunk deeper into her collar, ashamed at the petty thoughts swirling through her head. These were kids, for goodness’ sake. And she was no longer that girl she once was in high school, seething with jealousy, coveting her fellow classmates’ fun-filled, carefree lives.
That Paxton Jones, the girl who had never fit into celebrations like this one, was gone. She had been replaced by the self-assured woman who was successful enough to buy her mother a bar and wear designer clothes and do all those other things she couldn’t do back in high school.
This new Paxton could put up with a few hours of this spectacle for her friend’s sake, couldn’t she?
The homecoming court walked the length of the football field.
It looked rather silly that the girls were in their fancy dresses while their escorts—all football players—wore their uniforms. But since no one else pointed out the ridiculousness of it, Paxton decided it was best to keep her opinion to herself.
Once the girls were seated on the dais that had been erected on the running track that surrounded the field, their escorts joined the other members of the team underneath the goalpost at the far end of the field.
After the team ran through the sign the cheerleaders held up for them, everyone stood for the playing of the national anthem by the Gauthier Lions marching band.
A small contingent from each team walked arm in arm to the center of the field for the coin toss, with a roar erupting when the Lions won.
The moment the Mustangs’ kicker sent the ball sailing into the air, Paxton lost all interest in what was taking place on the field.
While the two teams battled it out during the first quarter, she read through her work email on her phone, replying to those she’d flagged as low-priority follow-ups throughout the week.
She shook the green-and-white pom-pom shaker Shayla had shoved into her hand when she heard the crowd cheer and joined in with the booing when that reaction was warranted.
The only time she raised her head was when Xavier arrived. She gave him a quick hug, then went back to checking her email.
“You could have stayed home for this,” Shayla told her at the end of the first quarter.
Paxton looked up from her phone. “What?”
Shayla grabbed her pant leg. “They’re calling out the classes by decade. You have to stand and cheer when they call the decade that you graduated.”
“Seriously?” Paxton said.
They called the 2000s.
“Come on!” Shayla grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her up.
Paxton shook the pom-pom as enthusiastically as she could muster, which wasn’t much at all.
“You really do suck at this school spirit thing,” Shayla said as they wedged back into their spots in the packed bleachers.
“Again, how long have you known me?”
Shayla rolled her eyes. “At halftime they’re going to call each year individually, so you’ll have to stand again.”
“Oh, joy,” Paxton said.
“It’s Alumni Night. The whole point is to honor alumni. The football players from each class get to walk on the field and get a little taste of those glory days. It’s fun.”
For someone who actually had fun back in high school. But Paxton refrained from pointing that out.
She started to feel bad over her lack of enthusiasm. She knew Shayla was only trying to make her feel as if she were a part of the bigger group, just as she had in high school. The least she could do was pretend she was enjoying herself, for her friend’s sake.
Determined to abandon her stank attitude, Paxton tucked her phone away and tried her hardest to pay attention to the game.
It was a stretch, but when the largest player on the Lions’ defense—who had to weigh at least three hundred pounds—recovered a fumble on the Mustangs’ fifteen-yard line and ran it in for a touchdown, even Paxton had to stand up and cheer.
There was a ten-minute delay while the paramedics rolled out an oxygen tank for the player, who had winded himself so much with the fifteen-yard run that he couldn’t even make it back to the sidelines.
While the player was being tended to, her eyes roamed the rest of the field.
Paxton spotted a cadre of men and women in letterman jackets congregating by the thirty-yard line.
She realized it must be the alumni taking part in the halftime ceremony Shayla had mentioned, players and cheerleaders from years past.
Her eyes sought Sawyer. He wasn’t hard to pick out of the crowd.
As one of the Gauthier Lions’ most decorated quarterbacks of all time, he was the very center of attention, with fellow players giving him hearty pats on the back and the cheerleaders sidling up to him with unabashed adoration in their eyes.
Paxton was hit with a wave of nostalgia that was both unsettling and, in an odd way she didn’t quite understand, comforting.
Standing on those sidelines was the Sawyer of her teenage daydreams, the tall, strapping, handsome boy who was revered by everyone who knew him.
Seeing him there in his green-and-white letterman jacket, surrounded by his adoring fans, conjured up so many memories that Paxton had to remind herself to take a breath.
All too soon, that odd comfort she’d felt was overcome by a rush of dark unease.
As she stared at the former cheerleaders and players encircling him, all those old insecurities that had plagued her back in high school came flooding back.
Some of those people currently worshipping Sawyer right now were the same people who used to look down on her.
And despite what her best friend thought, her hang-ups were not a figment of her imagination. Hell, it wasn’t until Shayla had befriended her that anyone had even bothered to acknowledge Paxton at all.
To so many of the people in these stands, she was nothing more than Belinda Jones’s illegitimate daughter.
She was the girl who had to work in Harlon’s just to help her family get by, the girl who made the same jeans last for three years because she was too proud to accept hand-me-downs.
The girl who never fit in at high school games or pep rallies or homecoming dances.
The girl who didn’t belong here.
Paxton’s chest tightened to the point that she could barely take a breath.
At that moment, Sawyer looked into the stands, and their eyes locked.
He smiled and gave her a little wave, but all Paxton could see was the bounty of reasons why they didn’t fit together—why they would never fit.
They were both from this small town, but they were from two different worlds.
And she didn’t belong in his. She never would.
She had to get out of there.
Paxton caught Shayla’s arm to get her attention and said, “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be back.”
“Okay,” Shayla called. “Don’t take too long or you’ll miss when they call our graduating year.”