HOW BAD WAS it that my parents had more Emerson Academy pride than I did? Or that I had to borrow my dad’s EA shirts instead of my mom’s?
Regardless, I put on one of his alumni shirts and a pair of jeans that hardly ever saw the light of day. Shopping for jeans as a curvy girl was torture on par with having your fingernails ripped out or listening to Poppy try to make a joke. (Not sure which was worse.) This pair pulled tightly around my midsection, but they made my legs look good, so… you win some, you lose some.
Since the ocean blew a cold breeze over us at night, I topped off the look with a warm jacket, beanie, and gloves.
Mom and Dad sat at the table together, holding hands as I came down the stairs. For all I complained about them, I knew I was lucky. They still loved each other—made time to sit with each other on Friday evenings and just talk about life. They said Aiden and I could use that time to talk to them together if we wanted. I hadn’t taken them up on it yet, but I was pretty sure that’s how he got approval to have Casey over practically every evening.
They caught sight of me, and Dad said, “You should wear my shirt more often, kid. It looks better on you.”
I smiled, knowing he had to say that because he was my dad, but still appreciating the compliment. “Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded.
“And you’re spending the night at the Bhattas’?” Mom asked. I nodded. “Should be back sometime tomorrow.”
“Don’t rush,” she replied. “I’m just glad to see you making some girlfriends.”
My lips turned up. “Yeah.” If only she knew about the bet that had taken place in her own classroom. She might not be so pleased. “I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun,” Dad said.
“Be safe,” Mom added. “And say hi to your brother if you see him.”
I gave them a salute, grabbed my keys, and walked out the door with my purse and overnight bag. Nerves rippled through me as I walked to my car. Between my first sleepover since middle school and seeing Beckett, I was a wreck. I tried to remind myself it would be okay. Every time I’d encountered him in the last week, he’d been kind. Conversational. He didn’t brush me off or make fun of me like the other guys at Emerson Academy. With him, it didn’t feel like I was invisible.
At school, I quickly got swept away in the chaos of the game. I hadn’t been to one since freshman year, and I didn’t remember them being this big. So many people filled the parking lot, I had to park a few blocks away and walk.
With the wind blowing this direction, I could smell a hint of salt in the air, and it made me smile. I needed to make it to the beach again before it got too cool to dip my toes in the water and feel the sand mold around my feet.
When I reached the field, Callie waved me over. She’d gotten there early and saved the five of us seats right up front. We had a great view of the game, which also meant a close-up to Merritt and her crew—the cheerleaders.
I didn’t like being one of those girls who despised cheerleaders. They were jocks, just as surely as soccer players and cross-country runners. But did they always have to select someone so cruel as a leader? Didn’t they know that was a tired cliché?
Pam Alexander, Merritt’s mom and the cheer coach, pulled the group into a huddle. The only thing that separated her from the girls was the uniforms. All the plastic surgery in the world had made her permanently young and beautiful, but also perfectly cold—an ice sculpture with blond hair and toned legs.
I turned away from them, hating the gnawing jealousy in my 1X gut. “How’s Carson doing?” I asked Callie, taking in her navy-blue band
uniform with shining gold buttons.
She smiled. “Good. Think he’s a little nervous.”
“Yeah.” I scanned the crowd. “I’d be nervous too with this many people watching me.” Speaking or performing in public was my greatest nightmare. “You too,” I told her. “I don’t know how you guys do it.”
“You get used to it after a while,” she said. “Although, he did say this is going to be one of their harder games.”
Ginger approached us, carrying two big blankets. “My mom made me bring extra.”
Callie opened it up and settled it over our laps. “Trust me, you’re going to be glad you have it after the sun goes down.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“These uniforms are hot as you know what.” Callie raised her eyebrows. “As hot as Beckett?” Ginger whispered, nudging my arm.
Callie giggled. “Exactly.” She looked up in the stands toward the marching band. “I better head up there before I’m late. See you guys after the game!”
Ginger unfolded her blanket and spread it over her lap, revealing dozens of T-shirts with little league team names sewn together. “So, where is he?”
I pointed toward the players stretching on the field. Beckett was with the other team captain, leading them all.
But pointing was a bad idea because I caught Merritt staring at us, her eyes narrowed.
I turned my gaze down and said, “Do you know where Zara and Jordan are?”
She shook her head, making the curly hair protruding from her stocking cap bounce.
Time to send my first Sermo chat. I thumbed out the message, and soon, replies crossed the screen.
Zara: Getting us hot chocolate. Be there in a few.
Jordan: This job ran long. I need to change and I’ll be there soon.
She sent us a photo of her in her JJ Cleaning polo doing a thumbs down. I showed Ginger the screen, and we both smiled.
“I could totally go for some non-organic cocoa,” she said. “My parents only bring stuff home from the store.”
Her family owned a health food store called Ripe—I knew because that’s where my mom bought all of our food.
“Can you tell your parents to stop selling my mom grapefruit?” I asked. She laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
Zara came toward us holding a drink carrier. “Here you go!” Ginger’s eyes lit up. “My hero!”
We each took one and drank deeply. The sugar flooded my mouth, and I closed my eyes. “You got marshmallows too.”
“Only the best for the girl who is going to singlehandedly take down the school’s queen bee.”
My smile faltered, but I brought it back. “You forgot a few letters after
b.”
They caught my insinuation and laughed.
For the first quarter, we mainly joked with each other. Each of us was
pretty helpless when it came to football, and with Callie busy playing piccolo, we didn’t really have anyone to go to for explanation.
Jordan showed up near the end of the third quarter, looking flushed. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”
Zara pointed at one goal post. “They ran that way, then that way.” She pointed at the other one.
I laughed. “That about sums it up.” Except she’d left out how well Beckett played, even while wearing a wrist brace. Even after being tackled time and time again, only to get back up and brush it off.
Even when he jogged to the sidelines for a timeout, clearly exhausted, he just squirted water in his mouth and took in everything his coach had to say, the picture of focus and grit. Amazed was a good word for how I felt watching him.
At halftime, he ran off the field with the rest of his teammates, and the band marched into position. Zara pointed out Callie, standing near the endzone, her piccolo poised at her lips. I couldn’t believe how good our band was and how hard they worked. As she marched back to the stands, I could see sweat beaded on her forehead, even though I had to stay bundled up just to keep from shivering.
The players entered the field again, playing the second half just as hard as the first, and securing an Emerson win. As the clock counted down the final seconds, Jordan asked, “So what’s the plan?”
Everyone around us began moving to the field.
“Follow Callie,” Zara said. “She’s going to see Carson, so we won’t be too obvious if we tag along.”
When the band finished playing the school’s fight song, we met up with Callie and walked to the field. The turf was soft under our feet, and my legs felt weak crossing closer to all the players. The one who had mooed at me earlier in the week stood near, and I shied away. Would they insult us in front of everyone here—classmates and parents and teachers?
So far, the answer was no.
Callie made a beeline to Carson and gave him a hug, which he returned with a wide smile. “I can’t believe we won!” he said.
Callie shoved his shoulder. “Quit being modest. You played great. Did you see that sack you made?”
“Um, yeah,” he said, holding up one side of his jersey to display taut muscles and a reddening bruise. “I’ve got proof.”
She laughed and tugged his shirt down for him. The rest of us gave each other a look. Was there something going on here we didn’t know about?
“Back to business.” Callie nodded toward me. “Any advice?”
He ran his free hand over his wet hair. “Most of the guys are going to Waldo’s for shakes.”
“With the cheerleaders,” Callie finished. “Bingo,” he said.
“And Merritt?” “Still all over him.”
My heart fell. He and Merritt might have split up, but Merritt wasn’t going down without a fight.
Carson gave me an encouraging smile. “We’ll figure something out. In the meantime…” He raised his head, looking around. “Becks! Hey!” He waved him over.
Oh sweet baby Jesus… Beckett was a vision haloed by stadium lights. Sweat glistened in his hair and shined on his cheekbones. He’d taken off his jersey and shoulder pads, showing only a skintight undershirt hugging all of his muscles. Ginger’s blankets might not be enough to wipe up all the drool.
Beckett grasped Carson’s hand. “Good game, man.”
Carson leaned in and clapped Beckett’s shoulder. “Same. That forty- yard run was boss.”
Beckett smiled toward the ground, not wanting to claim glory for anything. He seemed to realize we were there and sent us a smile.
Was it me or did his eyes linger a little longer on me? “See you in school?” he asked us.
We all nodded, and he walked away.
Man, the way he walked away. Could we make football pants a daily part of the Emerson Academy uniform? It would definitely fit the ad meliora mindset. Tight pants counted as better things, right?
Carson studied me thoughtfully. “I’m going to come up with something.”
Callie nodded. “So are we.”
Ginger put her arm around me. “We’ve got you covered.”
Now it was me looking toward the ground. As my cheeks heated, the image of Beckett fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help but hope they were right. For the sake of the dare…and my heart.
