Chapter 8 #2
Girls have jersey numbers painted on their faces. The stands are showered in the blue and yellow school colors. The crowd is loud as the cheerleaders chant their cute rhymes to rouse school spirit.
I’ve never been to a game before. I have to admit that it seems fun, exciting, and infectious. I find myself smiling and hoping we win. I guess the cheerleaders are cheerleading.
Gage leads us to our seats, and I turn to face the field.
I see him out there, the stadium lights shining down on him.
This is his stage. His muscles flex and contract as he tosses the ball up and it falls back down into his hands.
Then he throws a perfect spiral to his teammate, wipes his hands on the towel at his waist, and then looks at the stands.
I watch him repeat this process over and over, and he never misses his mark.
My heart aches a little at how perfect he is and how…
flawed I am. I begin to regret even coming. I knew better. I shouldn’t have come.
I go to stand, but Gage halts me. “Don’t leave. Just wait. If you don’t want to stay after the first quarter, I’ll take you home.”
I just stare at Gage; he probably thinks I’m insane…
and maybe I am. I sit back down, and soon the game begins.
We get the ball first, so Everett is out on the field, right in the center behind a line of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen.
The ball snaps. He catches it. He looks to throw but runs right up the center, and two massive players in black and red tackle him.
A gasp leaves me, completely of its own volition. "Oh my God! That looks like it hurt."
His coach is yelling something on the sidelines, but then the next play is about to start. The same thing happens. He looks to throw but runs right up the middle. Tackled again.
The crowd boos.
“What is going on? Why isn’t he throwing the ball? He is going to get hurt!”
I’m panicking. Gage is just looking down at his phone.
The next play. Again. Tackled.
“What the heck! What is happening? Why isn’t he throwing the ball?”
“Because he never misses his target.”
I’m standing now, waving my arms at the field like an imbecile. I don’t even care who sees me right now. “Yeah, that’s the point! Why would he want to miss? Why is he letting himself get tackled? They are going to lo—”
I stop midsentence.
There is no winning without you.
Gage is just smirking as I connect the dots. The last play happens, Everett is tackled again, and his coach is pissed. The ball goes to the other team, and I see number seven on the bench, grasping his ribs. Another coach is yelling in his face. Someone else is kneeled down, checking out his ribs.
“What am I supposed to do? I can't let him get pulverized by a bunch of oversize loafs!”
He pulls out a note. Jesus. This boy will be the death of me.
Pretty bird,
I’m probably really hurting right now and in a shit ton of trouble.
But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.
I don’t want to be in the spotlight if it isn’t your light.
So decide.
Take me as I am, the star quarterback.
Or take me as the bruised, love-sick ex-quarterback who threw the homecoming game.
Either way, take me.
Please.
– Ev
How can I keep denying this stupid, stupid boy?
God, he is going to throw the homecoming game, just to be with me?
Doesn’t he have scouts looking at him? He is going to lose any chance he has at a scholarship.
These thoughts race through my mind, and the only solution I can think of to save his future… is to give him mine.
I shake my head. Him and his drastic measures. And as much as I want to continue to fight him, fight this burning in my chest for him, I can’t. I’ve fought enough in my life. To him, I want to surrender.
“What do I do, Gage?” I look to him for help because he clearly knows Ev better than anyone.
He runs his hand down his face, the first sign of distress I have seen from him.
“Fuck, Leo. Don’t put that shit on me. I love Everett like a brother.
You scare the shit out of me because of how much you have of him.
I can’t tell you what to do. All I can tell you is what not to do, and that is to break his heart. ”
I find comfort in Gage’s words. Even though they have an undertone of threatening vibes, I trust that it stems from how much he cares about Ev.
“Well, how do I tell him that I don’t want him to get hurt out there?”
“Oh, you can’t. Not till halftime.” Gage looks out casually like his friend isn’t about to die of a collapsed lung.
“What?”
“I’m kidding. He said you were cute when you're mad and thought I would see for myself. He was wrong. Here.”
“Yeah, well, you’re creepy.” Good comeback, Leo.
He hands me a white jersey with the number seven on it.
“Put it on. Or you could leave now, and he will leave you be.”
I stare down at it. I hate him. God, do I hate him. "Wait, where the heck did you even get this from?" I swear I didn't see him holding anything, but then again his hands are always tucked into his pockets…
"Seriously? That's what's on your mind right now?"
"Sorry." I begin to pull it up to my head, and Gage stops me. “If you choose him, Leora, choose him. Because he is in love with you. And I’m not supposed to tell you that, but I am. If you fuck him over, I will come after you.”
“Well, that's terrifying, but you can trust me.”
I pull it over my head, and Gage places his fingers between his teeth and lets out a loud, high-pitched whistle.
Everett turns on the bench. He slowly stands and then pumps the air, like in that 80s movie when the bad boy gets the princess. But I guess, right now, it’s kind of the opposite. Then he quickly clutches his side again, hurting himself by the gesture. Good. He deserves it.
I can’t help but laugh. Did I really just do that? The students’ heads begin to turn, assessing me in his jersey, questioning if I’m good enough for him. The answer is no, 100% not. But I’ll take him till he sees that for himself. What’s that saying about love and loss?
He is back in the game the next quarter, and now I get to see why he is the star. He is flawless. The crowd is wild, chanting out his name over and over again. I am surrounded by Everett Rowan. It doesn’t take long for us to win the game by a landslide.
Gage walks with me to the boy’s locker room, and we wait for the players to exit.
After about forty minutes, he comes out.
His head is sweaty, his golden locks darkened by the wetness and falling in chunks into his eyes.
He’s in a pair of gray sweats, slides, and a Nike hoodie.
A large black duffel bag is slung over his shoulder. He is perfect. And mine, I guess.
For the first time in my life, I'm proud of who I am because whoever I am, he chose.
He walks up to me, stopping inches from my chest, and stares down at me with a look of pure joy, that goofy grin of his in full heart-melting mode. My little heart-wings wake up and take flight.
“Good game, man. I’m out of here.” Gage slaps him on the shoulder and begins to walk away.
Everett’s eyes never leave mine. He is still smiling like the biggest goof I have ever seen.
I turn my head to look at Gage, who is retreating. “Gage! Thank you!”
Gage lifts a hand in the air, not even turning to look at us.
Everett grasps my chin between his thumb and finger and turns my face to look at him again. “You chose me.”
“You didn’t give me many options.”
He leans in, inches from my lips. I can smell the sweat on him, feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Fuck no, I didn’t. There was always only one option. You’re mine. I’m yours.”
The intensity in his eyes, his voice. I am overwhelmed, so I do what any girl would do in this situation. I smack his chest as hard as possible.
“You idiot! You could have seriously gotten hurt!”
He lets my face go and grasps at where I struck him. “Well, apparently I’m about to! Jesus, woman. Go easy on me. You know I was tackled by two 250-pound dudes like four times!”
“That’s your own damn fault!”
“God, I love it when you're mad at me. Come here.” He grabs me by the nape of the neck, places one hand around my throat, and pulls me to him. His lips slam onto mine, and my world simultaneously numbs and enlivens. I practically fall into him but, as he always does, he catches me.
He is like the sun, his lips burning in the best way, warming me, comforting me, consuming me. Call me Icarus and give me wings because I would blindly burn for him. Next thing I know, I’m opening, allowing him into my mouth, my heart, my everything. It all belongs to Everett James Rowan.
I pull back slightly, until our lips are barely touching.
“I hate you.”
“You’ll love me.”
He smiles against my lips. The action transfers the smile to my own, and then he kisses me again. For the first time in my life, I feel like a phoenix. He burned away my doubts and lifted me up, letting me spread my wings. I’m rising from the ashes.
I already do, I think to myself.