The sun sat in the sky that day as if waiting for something interesting to happen. It had a good reason to, too. Tonight the Westinghouse football team would be having their very first game of the season in our home stadium against our very own rivals: Alderman High School. School emails promised it to be the biggest event of the summer and a wonderful way to kick off a new school year.
Jacob would have hated all of it. He would have been embarrassed by my enthusiasm for a school I had never cared about before. After all, yesterday I had gone out of my way to buy/"steal" a shirt in our school colors, and to purchase tickets before the game. And why? Just for a strange boy I had met a month and a half ago?
Yes. Because apparently that's what friends did. They went out of their way to do dumbass stuff like support their own school, even if it was a bit ironic for both of them. What were we to the school but nuisance teens?
It didn't matter. This was the new me with that new 'Ra Ra!' spirit everybody loved.
Even the awful music Stan was playing in the car couldn't spoil my mood. I popped open the passenger door, and slid in. Stan had an arm draped over the back of his seat as he gave me a weird look.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Why'd you go out your bedroom window? Your front door works, doesn't it?"
"Goddamn Erick was stalking the hall again," I answered, buckling my seat belt and closing the car door.
"Again?" He shook his head and began to pull back into the road. "God, that sucks."
"I know!"
"It could be worse, right? I mean, you could have me as your roommate."
He turned just to give me a smug grin that I wished I could wipe off of his stupid face. I shoved his cheek away from me, and gave out an audible sneer.
"Keep your eyes on the road," I said. "Your eye contact is disturbing."
"Rude, but okay."
Stan drove, and the crumby music played on as we headed towards our school. Seeing it brought back stale and unpleasant memories. It reminded me of long, boring days and gross cafeteria food. I could still taste the "chocolate milk" on my tongue from May. And we were coming right back in a month.
As Stan drove around for a good parking spot, I pulled up the digital tickets on my phone. I'd never get to feel the stub of a real football ticket on my fingers as I decided whether or not I should keep it. The emailed receipt really just wasn't doing it for me.
Stan rolled to a stop to let a few teens cross in front of him.
"You should run them over," I said. "You know, to see what would happen."
"Hmm, maybe another day." We began moving again. "I'm not really in the mood to go to jail today."
"Booooo!"
He eventually found a spot near the tennis court, and the minute I opened the car door, I was hit with that strange feeling of excitement again. People were chanting the school song, the words hazy over the off-pitch school band. It was an event I had ridiculed for so long, and yet—
"Go, go, our hardy Westinghouse," I mumbled, "our boys and girls all crowwwwning. Rah, rah, our mighty Westinghouse, we make our town astouuuuunding."
Stan's lips quirked when he met me on the sidewalk. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets as he strolled beside me.
"You know the school song?" he said.
"Everyone does," I replied. "How can you not? They play it on the speakers until our ears bleed."
"Yeah, I guess that's true." He playfully shoved me into the fence. "Just never thought you'd care."
"I don't," I said sharply. "It's just really catchy."
"Sure."
I gave him a little shove before we stood in line to get in. It was Westinghouse like I had never seen it before; a world so different from the one I had guarded myself from for so long.
We eventually found ourselves at the front of the line, and I showed Ms. Hannigan (a batty old teacher who had the audacity to give me two weeks of detention for using "disgusting and sinful language" once) our tickets. She eyed them with a suspicious glare, as if trying to figure out what I was doing here. I mean, I was asking myself the same exact thing.
I stuck my tongue out at her as we walked by the crowded bleachers. Student officers in sweaters too hot for the day were jumping up and down the thin seats as they hyped up the crowd. It would have been hilarious if one of them fell off into the group of band kids bellow them. That would maybe make my five dollar ticket worth it.
We found seats near the end, where people were reasonable enough to actually sit and stare at their phone like normal Americans. I swept off crumbs from the metal bench, and sat down. Stan was staring back at the entrance, a hand placed on top of his pocket.
"Too good to sit down with the rest of us?" I asked.
"I'm gonna go get something to eat at the snack shack," he said. "You can stay here if you want."
"Deal."
He gave a distracted wave before leaving the bleachers to resurface back into the crowd. It was probably a smart thing to get concessions now before the game started. I was curious to see how the tragedy that was high school football would play out. If I was lucky, I might just see a good fight.
My thoughts were interrupted by a sulferic stench I was hoping to never interact with again. But of course he would be here if all places. I didn't have to look behind me to know the creep was standing there like some predatory animal.
"Take a picture," I said to Oscar Chavez, "it'll last longer."
"Mmm, maybe if I can get a better angle."
He came crashing down on the metal bench beside me, leading to a deafening clang of rubber boots on a shitty seat. I tried not to wince when he sat down besides me. God, he smelled like a skunk that had just hit puberty. Oh wait, that's exactly what he was!
"Never thought I'd see you here with the crowd," he said, a growl set deep in his throat. "I've missed you."
"Can't say the same about you," I replied.
I watched Chavez as he tried to slip his arm around me, but I pushed him off hastily. He was always so touchy, even before we had started dating. I couldn't believe he had been able to trick me so easily with his sweet talk and presents at fifteen.
"Can you please leave?" I asked. "I wanna watch the game in peace."
"No you don't!" He pouted, slinking closer with a greasy smile on his face. Before I could get up and leave, his hand grabbed my arm, holding me to his side.
"Get off!" I shouted.
"I know this place behind the equipment shack if you wanna-"
His next few words were lost in the sound of shoes running up the bleachers' stairs. Stan was getting up here as fast as he could with a tray of food and drinks in both hands. He tripped over his own shoe, almost falling into Oscar Chavez. He righted himself up, trying to put on a serious face as he stared down Chavez.
"I think you should leave, buddy," Stan said to Chavez.
"Or what? You'll fight me?" he said with a laugh.
"Maybe."
I watched Chavez look Stan up and down, a smirk growing on his ugly lips. We both knew that it would hardly even be a match. A child could beat up Stan easily if they wanted to. But there was an unfamiliar look in Stan's eyes that warned of otherwise. It was different. I strangely felt a bit reassured.
Chavez leaned into my ear, and muttered, "You know where to find me when you get bored of this guy."
"Fuck off."
Satisfied, Chavez stood up and strutted away. It was a relief to finally have him gone. I rubbed the red part of my arm where he was gripping me as Stan sat down in Chavez's place. Just having Stan around again was a comfort within itself.
I took one of the drinks from Stan, as well as a drizzled yellow corn chip. It tasted just like the food at the snack bar of Beaver Valley Bowl, which was incredibly disappointing.
Stan was distracted, searching the crowd for something, his eyes cold and his mouth tied into a scowl. It made him look older, dangerous. I chuckled nervously, hoping to ease him down.
"Why don't you leave the beating up teenagers to me, eh?" I joked.
I was hoping for confirmation that I was wrong. Stan wouldn't hurt a fly, right? Even if it was the ugliest, nastiest fly in the town, who was known for grabbing girl's asses and just being a general dick. A fly who had earned a bad reputation in Fly World, threatened with Fly Jail more than once. Had I found that attractive before? When I was naïve and dumb, yes. Now I just wanted a taste of normalcy with Stan.
C'mon, Stan, I thought. Please say you wouldn't fight him.
"You'll tell me if he talks to you again, right?" He asks.
I lied, ("Of course!") and that's the end of the conversation. The announcer, Coach Pentico up in his rustic radio station, called out each team member by name as they ran onto the field. Cheerleaders cleared the area, and huddled together near the bleachers to talk. The show was finally starting.
There was no warning, no final words when the battle began. Stan was right: It was blind Shakespeare in the park. Every player was Macbeth, fighting the enemy for honor. The crowd was rough, and shouted words of encouragement at the two teams. The corner seat was perfect for watching it all.
Even better, Stan was finally starting to relax. He told snarky jokes in between plays, and spoke with his hands. There could has been more than two hundred people there tonight, but all I cared about were the two of us. And our nachos, of course.
A fight broke out half an hour into the game. Someone from our team apparently did something he wasn't supposed to, but he wasn't penalized. The other team got pissed, and shoved our guy to the ground. I sat straight in my seat when it happened, only for a coach to pull the boys away and continue the match.
"Boo!" I shouted. "Let them fight!"
Another great thing about the corner seats was that we were too far away from the SBO's to get in trouble for talking shit about the school. They were all too busy cheering on the cheer squad as they lifted Sabrina Underwood into the air. As she lifted her tanned arms, her dress rose up an inch, exposing the black spanks underneath.
"You didn't tell me there was gonna be a peep show," I joked, slapping Stan's arm.
"Oh, come on," he said. "What else were you expecting?"
I clicked my tongue. "You're right, you're right."
He glanced at me in that warm way that only he could do. And only around me, too. It made me feel special, like sharing a secret or a joke. I was glad to be there with him, even in the cooling weather. My hands went up to my arms, rubbing them against the cold as I turned to watch the game.
Something was placed on my shoulders a moment later. I released my arms to touch it, only to find Stan's jacket draped over my back. At first, the gesture didn't settle in, and I was wondering how the patterned jacket had gotten onto me. What a weird thing to misplace.
Then I understood. Blushing, I took it off, and tried to hand it back. Stan shook his head, pushing it back to me.
"Keep it," he said. "Don't make yourself miserable."
"It's your jacket," I protested.
"Yeah, but I'm not cold. C'mon, you'll just complain about it if you don't, and then it'll be my fault."
He had a point, I guess. I slipped it on, trying to ignore how much it smelled like him. The sensation brought an army of butterflies into my stomach and heart. For a second, I thought the world would see and judge. But it didn't. It just kept going, and I wasn't being punished for the jacket. I relaxed into my seat.
Stan finished his soda right before halftime. The arguments had gotten worse, and students from the other school had come over to harass people in the bleachers. It seemed like as good a time as any to go get a refill and stretch my legs.
"I'll refill that for you," I said, grabbing his cup.
Stan immediately stood up after. "Let me come with you."
"No, it's fine," I answered. "Besides, I gotta pee."
This made him shut up. I managed to stand up without fainting, and quickly hopped down the bleachers' stairs to the ground. There, I dodged the foot traffic, finding my way back into the school doors. The bathrooms by the gym were luxurious with one (1) working hand dryer. It was no wonder the football nerds all hung around here after school.
I set the cup on the floor near the sinks, and did my business like a normal human being. The sleeves of Stan's jacket were rolled up as I washed my hands and splashed a bit of water on my face. It was a calming sensation, like a wake-up call at just the right time.
"Kara?"
I could see Dina's reflection in the mirror, her eyes bright and welcoming. I smiled and waved at her as she came closer.
"Hey!" she said, "I never thought I'd see you here!"
"Me neither," I joked.
I turned the faucet off, and dried my hands on my jeans before stepping away from the sink. When I saw Dina - and I mean really saw her - my heart stopped.
"Holy shit, you got hot!"
"Oh please!" She said bashfully, beaming with straight white teeth. "You're too sweet, really."
Her braces must have been worth the cost. No longer was she hiding in her clothes, but she stood tall, glowing from her makeup and pulled-back hair. Two dainty lines of face paint streaks her cheeks, and I suddenly felt compelled to actually follow the game a bit closer. Was this what having a good time does to you? Because I wanted in.
She walked over to the sink besides mine, and put a napkin under the faucet. Dina muttered something about a spillage, and dabbed the collar of her shirt, trying to get a little red stain out. And yet she still looked cheerful, glancing back at me.
"You ready for school to start again?"
"You're joking, right?"
Dina sighed. "I feel the same way. Just being back in this bathroom is weird."
"Yeah."
I was ready to leave, but Dina kept glancing back at me. Frankly, it was unsettling to say the least. I knew I was ugly, but goddamn, woman.
Never one to back out from a fight, I stood and ground.
"Is there something on my face or what?" I asked.
"Oh, no, nothing like that," said Dina, smiling bashfully. "You just look - I don't know - happier, I guess."
"Oh." I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. "Thank you."
"What's your secret? That bowling alley couldn't have done this, so what? Cute guy? New friend?"
"Something like that," I said. I pulled Stan's jacket tighter to my body. "It's nice to see you."
"You too."
I walked out of the bathroom, finding my way back out into the crispy late-summer air. Dina's strange smile played on loop in my mind. Me? Happier? God, that wasn't something I've heard in such a long time. It was a shield, a blanket against the bitter outside, hiding me from my surroundings.
As I walked back to the stadium, I hardly noticed the blue and red flashing lights coming from the parking lot. They were thousands of miles away to me. The panicked faces as teens desperately called parents to pick them up was completely invisible to my eyes.
It wasn't until a kid ran into me that I realized they were reacting to an ambulance.
I fell to the ground, my attacker almost landing on top of me. He quickly got off, holding out a hand to help me up. I took it, and got to my feet.
"What the hell is happening?" I asked, looking around.
"A big fight broke out just now," the kid said. "Well, two of them actually. That fucking Chavez guy and his gang just randomly started–"
"Shit," I muttered. "Shit!"
This wasn't the first fight to ever meet the Westinghouse grounds. Hell, I had been in quite a few myself, but never one so bad that it would cause this type of chaos. Blood raced in my ears, somehow louder than the sirens and screaming that intertwined in the stadium. The crowd fought against me as I tried to shove my way towards the bleachers where I had left Stan. He had to be okay. He just had to.
What the hell was I thinking, even confronting Chavez to begin with? He was always looking for a fight, bringing boxes of bullets to knife fights, never playing fair. Maybe this was destined to happen, argument or not. Chavez was blood-thirsty and always got what he wanted.
I knew it would be useless in a crowd this size, but I cried out for Stan, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Stan!" I called, my vocal chords hurting after every shout. "Stan!"
I fought and kicked and screamed, but there was no way to get in. Every step forward I took only led me the opposite way; I reached the parking lot within minutes. The red and blue lights ate at the stars, coloring Westinghouse in panic. I just stood in the middle of the road, even when the ambulance left, totally confused.
My hands went back to the jacket, wrapping it tighter around my body. Something bulky sat in one of the pockets, and my hand strayed over it. Curiousity let me grab the mysterious object, and pull it out.
Keys. Stan's keys. The lights of the other cars reflected onto their smooth silver exterior, beckoning me to find their owner.
Of course! I could still find Stan using his car! Brilliant, brilliant Kara!
I had the motivation to move, finally getting out of the road, dashing down the long, black pavement for Stan's familiar yellow car. When I saw it near the end of the lot, I cried out with relief, although it was barely audible over everything else. I ran to the driver's side, and unlocked the door, getting in.
"Come on," I said, trying my best to shove the keys into the engine. "Come on, you stupid piece of crap!"
It finally fit, and I turned it. Nothing. The engine stayed silent. I tried again, only to get the same result. My smile faltered as I continued to turn the key, only for the car to remain dormant.
"No. No no no!" I slammed my hands down on the wheel, and threw my hand down on the horn. "God-fucking-dammit!"
Another person got hurt because of me. This. This was all my fault, just like Jacob's death, and Mom's disappearance, and everything else in my life.
"Come on, Kara," I said. "Come on, just try again."
I lifted my head from the wheel, my vision blurry. Even so, I could make out a body right in front of the windshield. I jumped back in my seat, but the body didn't move. I wiped my eyes, and my vision cleared. Stan stood on the sidewalk looking back at me.
"Stan!" I shrieked. I quickly got out of the car, and threw myself at him. "Oh my god, you're okay, you're okay!"
"Trying to steal my car now, are you?" he asked.
It was awful, but I laughed. As I did so, the tears continued to streak down my face, and I hugged Stanley even harder.
"I hate you," I said. "Don't ever do that to me again!"
"Okay, okay." His hand ran down my back. "I promise."