Chapter 4
DAVID
Imet April at a USC football game.
It was a raucous affair. Four friends and I had been tailgating for a few hours before kickoff. As we took our seats, I was already six beers deep and feeling good.
During the handful of USC/Notre Dame home games I’d attended over the years, my eyes had rarely veered from what was occurring on the field. The game always took precedent. A loss to the hated Irish would ruin my day. Depending on how good we were that year, it could ruin my whole week.
So I was as surprised as anyone when my gaze wandered toward the girl seated three seats down from me. She had long, dark brown hair that was parted almost directly down the middle. It’s a look you don’t see much anymore, and it made her stand out.
Then again, April Leach would have stood out anywhere. She was drop-dead gorgeous.
After USC scored a touchdown to take an early lead, our entire row jumped up to celebrate. My friends exchanged high-fives and bear hugs. I managed to sneak a quick glance in her direction as she celebrated.
She hooted and hollered with her friends, then put her fingers in her mouth and let out a deafening finger whistle—I think that’s what it’s called.
It was loud, and everyone in our section turned to look at her, and she smiled brightly.
Smitten is an overused word, but there’s no denying it. I was already smitten.
At halftime of the game, my four friends and I shuffled out to get a beer and the requisite hot dog. It’s a mad dash to get out of your seats once the referees blow the halftime whistle, so I couldn’t just sit and wait for the woman who’d caught my eye.
When we returned for the start of the third quarter, I entered our row first to sit next to the group of girls she was part of. I said a quick prayer that the still-unnamed girl would sit in the same seat.
A minute later, the group of four girls walked past us to get to their seats, and she sat next to me.
God was smiling down on me on that day—at least I thought so at the time.
I smiled at her, and she quickly smiled back.
“I’m April,” she said. “April Leach.”
“Devers. David Devers.”
She laughed at my cheesy James Bond impersonation.
“Fight on for old SC,” April said.
Fight On is the name of the USC fight song, and a phrase oft-repeated by people who graduated from USC.
“Fight on,” I said. “You an alum?”
“Yup. Graduated four years ago. You?”
“I graduated seven years ago.”
“Damn, you’re old,” April said and briefly put her arm on my shoulder.
From that moment on, I didn’t give a shit who won the game.