Page 57 of Crazy for this Girl

CAL: We’ll talk about it tonight when I call you after 9.

LAYNEE: I need sleep.

CAL: And me. Ten minutes tops.

CAL: You’re getting old.

LAYNEE: I hope Pembroke isn’t a party college because I’ll be asleep by the time the party starts.

CAL: Highly doubt it. My definition of a party isn’t an event in the middle of a field.

LAYNEE: WE DON’T HAVE BARN PARTIES! I’ve told you this a million times.

CAL: Still not convinced.

CAL: I’ll call you at 9 on the dot.

LAYNEE: Sounds good. I’ll be home by then.

CAL: Where are you going?

LAYNEE: Dress shopping with Hannah for Homecoming.

CAL: Who’s your date?

LAYNEE: Don’t have one.

CAL: If we lived in the same state, I’d take you.

LAYNEE: LOL, I’m not that desperate to take my best friend to a dance because I couldn’t score one.

CAL: You’d definitely score because it’s me. I’m a catch.

LAYNEE: You’d have Hannah over here drooling over you. She’d get mad that I’d be hogging you all the time. You’re her type.

CAL: She’s not mine. You’ve told me too many stories about her.

LAYNEE: She’s not that bad. Don’t be jealous because she’s my bestie in NC.

CAL: I’m jealous because she gets more time than me.

I smile.

Yeah, I’m jealous of every person he speaks to on a daily basis too.

I’ve been babysitting a pair of devil children ever since getting back home this summer for this. Saved every penny and came up with the best story to tell Mom and Dad about why I’d be out of their sight for a whole weekend.

It’s all set in place. I bought the plane ticket, and now I’m in California, having spent way too much money on a cab to get here, but I’m standing at Edgewood Beach High School at Cal’s rival football game that he’s spoken about for weeks.

And it’s his birthday too.

The bleachers are packed with parents and students on both sides. A marching band wearing tall hats with tassels, bang loud symbols together as they loudly play on the home team’s side, while a throng of football players in black and hunter green stretch on either side of the field.

Looking at the scoreboard, it’s the second half, and the score is tied fourteen to fourteen. A few girls giggle as they pass me, going back to the bleachers and finding their spots. They’re wearing spaghetti-strapped shirts and really short shorts with their hair pulled up in matching ponytails laced with ribbons.

A whistle blows somewhere on the field, and I watch the players line up. The spark and intensity of the parents and students radiates off both sides of the field, sending an intimidating and fiery response to how important this game is.

Signs made out of poster boards wave energetically as the swarm of fans cheer and clap at the last play.

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