I Hate Football Players

55: Extended View from the Cheap Seats

Mom's condescending tone hit my year. "Very ladylike, Ellie."

I rolled my eyes, shook the crumbs out of my brown paper bag, then handed it over to her. "Need this?" I smiled when she tucked the back under her leg. "Just don't inhale the cinnamon and sugar still in there."

I chomped into another foodgasm moment and turned to Harper. "Ready for the second half?"

"Can't say that I care," she whispered. "You?"

Dryness from the churros coated my tongue, which I swallowed and nodded. "I am."

The game's second half was more exciting, or maybe my churros' sugar rush kicked in. Both sides came out of the locker rooms and gunned full steam at each other. From what I saw, the defensive teams on both sides started to fatigue. Their slower reactions opened up the game into whose offense exploited those weaknesses more. The offensive teams marched back and forth, and the score changed like tennis shots.

My eyes shifted between the field and the time clock. The seconds ticked by so slowly.

"Oh, come on!!" "Get 'em!" A collective Santa Cruz groan rumbled through the air on Salesian's touchdown. Logan collected boos and middle finger gestures from our side.

"That quarterback is too damn good!" Mom groaned and palmed her forehead. "Somebody freaking tackle that SOB! Take his ankles out, something!"

My jaw dropped open so far, I was surprised it wasn't on the row ahead of ours. "Mom!"

"Oh, right. He's your -"

I clapped my churro-sticky hand over her mouth. "Stop." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught one frowned eyebrow and the start of a scowling pout on Dad's profile. "I don't know what he is yet." Mom's eyes shifted to Dad's expression, which now included furrowed eyebrows. I dropped my hand, and she wiped off her mouth.

"Hey," I whispered to Harper, whose eyes and thoughts were too engrossed in her phone. "Ryan, huh?" I nudged her elbow and smiled at her contact, SkinnyLegs. She nodded, but her cute, tiny smile gave away his identity. Is that what I looked like?

"Hey." I elbowed her again. "If everything works out tonight, I'll take you up on that Homecoming thing."

"Really?" Her eyes finally tore away from her screen, and her smile widened. I held up crossed fingers, even though I hadn't filled her in with the Logan details yet. I didn't know the full story myself. We had to get through more than this game.

Both teams traded touchdowns as no defensive opposed them anymore. Eight minutes in the fourth quarter. Tick, tick, tick.

On Jake's turn, they ran run play after run play. After what felt like years, that damn clock read six minutes. Oh, for fuck's sake. Jake's slow march took years off my life. Yard by yard, they dragged down the time clock, all while our stadium side held a collective breath. They inched closer to Salesian's end zone. Mom's hand squeezed tighter onto Dad's until her knuckles were white and his eyes bugged out.

"He's got this." I patted her shoulder, even though my heart hammered against my chest walls like it wanted to break through.

With two minutes left, Santa Cruz pressed down on the ten-yard line. Raspy breaths and loud crinkle sounds erupted on my right side. My shoulders twitched as I tried not to laugh while Mom breathed into her bag with ragged, uneven puffs. One minute and five yards to go, Jake rushed in with a quarterback sneak. The Santa Cruz side erupted in an explosion of pent-up excitement and relief. My feet vibrated from stomping and jumping celebrations. Strangers hugged strangers as best friends or long-lost lovers. Hands slapped congratulations like any of us contributed to Jake putting his team one touchdown ahead of Salesian.