Dare Me to Live

Chapter 12 (Part two)

I met my parent's in the visitor's parking lot on the south side of campus near the football field. My mom's voice jumped an octave as she stepped out of the car and pulled me into her arms.

"How are you?" she asked, rocking me back and forth, and kissing my temple.

"Good," I said, and I meant it. Despite my anxiety, it did feel good to have my mother embrace me, wrapped in the smell of the honeysuckle and sage shampoo she had been using for as long as I could remember. It was funny how such a simple smell could transport me back in time, when everything could be fixed with a Band-Aid, a kiss, or an ice-cream cone.

"How ya doing, kiddo," echoed my dad. He gave me his signature one-armed hug, his eyes warm under the lid of his faded red baseball cap.

"I'm glad you guys came."

"And miss the chance to ask you all the questions you ignore over text? Never!" joked my mom with a laugh. She looped her arm through mine as we walked to the stadium.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I've just been really busy." It was mostly true.

The seats were already packed with fans, half clad in our school's blue and white, the other drenched in the red and black of the opposition. Towels waved overhead while plastic noise makers and air horns blasted in a chaotic sort of harmony; most people were either on their feet or stamping them. We had arrived in the middle of the first quarter.

"So how have you actually been? What have you been up to?" asked my mom as we took our seats on the metal benches. I shivered as the cold seeped through my jeans and zipped up my jacket a bit more, glad I had chosen a warmer flannel shirt for the afternoon.

"Homework, class," I said unhelpfully, picking up an abandoned fan towel. It was the only blue and white I could claim, having forgotten to bring my own fan gear in my haste to leave my room.

My mom gave me a withering look while my dad immediately absorbed himself in the brewing game atmosphere. The smell of hot pretzels slathered in salt and mustard wafted past me on the breeze. I smoothed my new towel over my knee, wildcat facing up, and quickly ran through the list of safe topics I had been practicing all week before launching into an expansion of what I had learned in psych and how I enjoyed the artistic freedom of graphic design. I did not mention the C I was currently pulling in philopshy.

I talked as much about class as I could over the roaring of the crowd and the periodic outbursts of support and unheard grumbling advice from my dad beside me. I exhausted the topic at halftime; the two teams were tied.

"Have you made any new friends?" my mom asked as the cheerleaders took the field.

"Mom, this isn't sleep away camp," I pointed out.

"You make new friends in college, Dash, cut me some slack," she laughed, taking my cold hands and rubbing warmth back into them.

"I see Van on the weekends."

I debated telling her about Tyler, but held my tongue fearing she would get the wrong idea.

"Van is an old friend," countered my mom. "What about your roommate?"

Something must have crossed my face because my mom reacted. "Are you guys not getting along?"

I took my hands back and shoved them in my pockets. "Things are better now than they were in the beginning," I said carefully. "We have different personalities, but we've been on better terms lately." I shrugged so she wouldn't worry. "I'm not sure we'll ever be friends, but we can live side by side now at least."

The crowd roared as the teams took the field again. I tracked the football as it sailed through the air was caught by our receiver. He gained ten yards before being slammed to the ground with a crack of helmets and bodies. I shuddered and involuntary raised a hand to the back of my head.