Chapter 12
Cooper
Seeing Madeline in the stands watching me play shouldn’t have bothered me.
Everyone else in school had watched me play.
Most of the time, I didn’t think about her, but once in a while, I looked at the stands and saw her and Mr. Seibold parked in the front row with my family. It always threw me for a second.
That picture was all wrong, and not only because my mother didn’t seem to be paying attention to the game. Madeline clapped for everything, even when our team got penalties.
Despite being more distracted than usual, I threw for over a hundred and fifty yards, nailed three touchdowns, and only missed two passes. It wasn’t enough. We made mistake after stupid mistake and lost by three.
Coach said he’d had some interest from scouts about me, but no one approached me. Either they hadn’t come, or they’d been so unimpressed they hadn’t bothered to stick around until the end of the game to talk to me.
The mood in the locker room was straight-up depressing.
We all knew we should’ve won and the fact that we couldn’t pull it together for the first game of the season wasn’t a good omen.
After the coach told us in disappointed tones that we’d be working harder in coming practices, I showered and dressed.
I took a long time, putting off the inevitable family get--together. I really just wanted to go home and soak my aches in a hot bath. Instead of celebrating, Mom would either console me or tell me, in what she thought was a helpful tone, the ways I needed to improve. Both were equally bad.
Jasper was one of the last ones out of the locker room.
He saw me tying my shoes at a snail’s pace and walked up.
His hair was combed and he’d put on cologne, a reminder he was going out with Amelia.
“Are you sure you can’t ditch ice cream with the Seibolds and hang out with us?
Your mom understands how you feel about Madeline, right?
Why is she dragging the two of you along on her date? ”
“Part of my punishment,” I said. “Grounding me wasn’t enough.”
“Rough,” Jasper said. “Can you imagine what it will be like if they keep dating?”
“I’m trying not to think about that.” And doing what I had to in order to prevent it.
My dad had called yesterday, and it hadn’t escaped me that he’d asked about Mr. Seibold—what he was like, how often Mom had gone out with him, and whether Claire and I liked him. He wasn’t happy with the situation.
Jasper gave me a fist bump. “Hang tough, bro.” Then he was gone too.
I couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. I trudged outside to find my family. They stood on the field close to the parking lot, waiting for me. Mr. Seibold and my mother were talking. Claire was on her phone. Madeline had a smile plastered on her face.
She’d curled her long blonde hair so it hung in waves around her shoulders and wore red lipstick in the same shade as her jacket.
Usually at school, she looked young and deceptively innocent—like some storybook princess who was about to break into song with woodland creatures.
I’d forgotten that she could look this way too, older and more sophisticated, an actress onstage playing whatever part she needed to.
The girl could be eye-stopping when she wanted.
Mom hugged me. “You had some great throws.”
Tonight she was going with consolation. She thought I ought to feel horrible enough to need it.
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.”
Might being 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 got into 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 to Wizard of Oz quotes. 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 working so 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.
She mouthed the words, “I’m never coming to your house for dinner.”
I nearly said, “I’m never inviting you.” Then I realized my mother might already have done that.
I scooted closer to Madeline to whisper in her ear.
“Did my mom invite you to dinner?” I caught a stronger whiff of Madeline’s perfume.
Probably something imported. She turned her head and her cheek brushed against my lips.
This felt charged too, murmuring things to her while we sat close together in the darkness.
She leaned toward my ear. “It’s only a matter of time. Your mom told him about the lentil dishes she makes and said he’d like them.”
Madeline pulled away from me long enough to give me a meaningful look, then leaned toward me again.
I knew she was only going to whisper something to me, but the tickle of her breath against my skin distracted me.
“She also mentioned buckwheat pancakes. Should the two of them really be discussing breakfast foods?”