Chapter 17 #2
“I’m pretty sure they might call you a lot of things”—goddess, supermodel, life goals, for example—“but I don’t think loser would be one of them.”
I don’t understand much about the youth nowadays, but I don’t need to, to know that not even they can deny the absolute perfection that is Ciara Jacobs.
“You’re sweet, but trust me, nobody is above reproach in Celestial.” She wiggles her way into the seat between Millie and me. “My high school years were anything but smooth sailing. If it weren’t for Tate, I’d never come close to this place.”
I’m not sure if knowing someone as perfect as Ciara also struggled as a teen makes me feel better or strips me of all hope, but I do relate to her even more. It’d be much easier to ignore my crush on Tate if I didn’t like him or his wonderful family so much.
“Speaking of your brother…” Millie pauses, and my eyes practically leap out of my head. I try to stop her, but with Ciara sitting between us, I can’t get to her in time. “Luna over here seems to have quite the eyes for him.”
Ciara turns to face me, and I’m sure her shocked expression is a perfect mirror to my horrified one.
“Tate?” Ciara asks. “Not Silas?”
Crap. Of course she would think I was interested in Silas. The only time I met her, I was on the back of his horse and his guest in their parents’ home. The same home where Tate was less than welcoming when he saw me.
“Well. I…it’s—” I stumble over my words while I try to formulate an explanation that I can’t find.
But then, for once, luck—not Millie, the traitor—is on my side. The band comes to a sudden halt and the announcer’s voice bellows through the stadium speakers.
“Welcome to Lou Bridel Stadium, the home of your Celestial Astros!” The announcer gives room for applause before continuing on. “Tonight, the Astros will be battling the Northeast Spartans for victory in the first preseason game of the year. So get on your feet, Celestial! Here come your Astros!”
Other than me, Ciara, and Millie, not many people are sitting, but at the announcer’s direction, we rise to our feet in time for the beginning notes of “Thunderstuck” by AC/DC to shake the bleacher floors.
The locker room doors swing open, and the moms that were huddled together suddenly appear on both sides of the doors, cheering on and high-fiving the boys as they walk toward the end zone.
Five of the players—who I can safely assume are the captains—walk through the opening I didn’t even notice at the bottom of the inflatable star.
They stand in front of it, swaying to the beat as their voices steadily rise in perfect timing with AC/DC.
A little boy wearing a Celestial jersey that’s at least five sizes too big for him and carrying a flag with Celestial’s mascot on it runs onto the field and hands it to one of the players before quickly scurrying back to the sideline.
“Thunder!” the entire stadium chants alongside the team until finally, the band joins, train horns blare from the opposite end zone, and the boys sprint onto the field.
I obviously came to the game prepared to enjoy myself and cheer for the team, but I wasn’t expecting to buy into it as fast as I have.
Goose bumps pepper my sweat-glistened arms, and I have to blink away the tears welling in my perpetually dry eyes.
I haven’t cried in months and there’s no chance in hell a football game will be the thing that breaks the dam holding me together.
“I forgot how much fun these games are!” Ciara shouts and waves her long arms over her head to try and catch Tate’s attention. “There’s nothing like Friday night lights in Texas.”
She’s so not wrong.
“And here come the Northeast Spartans,” the announcer says.
His flat, bored tone is almost unrecognizable from the loud, enthusiastic voice we heard moments ago, and our sideline goes silent as the opposing team runs through an inflatable shaped like a football helmet.
I’d feel bad for the other team, but their crowd is anything but small and their marching band plays them onto the field with as much fervor as ours.
Both teams line up on the sidelines with their helmets in hand, radiating enough nervous energy to power this town as they watch the color guard do their thing. The Spartans get to call the coin toss as the visiting team and opt to receive the ball in the first half.
“Smart choice,” Millie says. “Once we get the ball, the game’s already going to be over.”
“Okay, cocky.” I laugh, but I have a feeling she’s right. If the way Tate and these boys have prepared for this season is an indicator of anything, it’s that their opponents are in for one hell of a fight.
“Not cocky, confident. Tate has always been the most determined person I know,” Ciara chimes in, and the way she says it, I get the feeling she’s not talking about football anymore. “When he sets his mind to something, he doesn’t lose.”
“I get that feeling too,” I say…also not talking about football.
Down on the field, the team is in a flurry.
Each coach is huddled up with their position.
Some players talk calmly while others jump up and down, slamming into one another like they’re in mini mosh pits.
Tate stands off to the side with Chance, the quarterback who’s always polite but too focused to join in with the rest of the team when they’re giving me a hard time at practice.
There’s an intensity moving between them that’s not present in the rest of the team.
They stand with their heads down, focused on the tablet in Tate’s hands, until the special team units take their places on the field and the ref blows the whistle.
Girl bands might be my touchstone, but Taylor Swift is still part of my holy trinity and I absentmindedly hum “You Belong With Me” as the game begins.
As it turns out, all my nerves were for nothing.
After Celestial scores the third unanswered touchdown of the game, I lose track of what’s happening on the field altogether.
The team is phenomenal, but it’s Tate running up and down the sideline, shouting into the headset he’s wearing, and celebrating with the team like he’s seventeen again that’s captured my full attention.
With every successful drive, the serious facade he wears fades like the setting sun, and by the end of the first half, he’s transformed completely.
It doesn’t matter how far back we are on the bleachers, his smile is so big, so blinding, I swear I could see it from the moon.
He trails behind the team as they make their way back to the locker room and throws his head back in laughter at something Matt says.
“I forgot he could even look like that,” Ciara says almost wistfully, and I wonder if she meant to say it out loud.
“Like what?” I ask, my gaze still glued to Tate until he disappears behind the door.
Ciara swallows, her throat working as I wait for an answer, and just when I think she’s not going to tell me, she whispers, “Happy.”
The sadness in her voice is only masked by the obvious love she feels for her brother.
It’s heartbreaking and beautiful and it causes something inside me to shift.
I know it’s a fool’s errand, but standing beneath the Friday night lights, surrounded by a town that adores him no matter what he might think, I make it my mission to see this version of Tate so often people forget he was ever the brooding, grumpy football coach.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, one of the reasons behind his smile will be me.