Page 6 of Home Game

“I guess we better make this thing look nice,” I finally say.

Whiskey coughs out one of his unhealthy-sounding, raspy laughs, then struggles his way to a stand before holding a palm out to help me up. I get to my feet and spot Peyton through the Jeep windows. She’s standing alone under the same tree my mom and I were an hour ago and looking at her phone, probably posting on social about how she got the pathetic new Vista High quarterback to wash her dad’s Jeep for ten bucks.

“You know what? Actually, nah. Let’s kill it. We’re done here. Everyone? Drop your rags,” I say, holding my hands out as I step back. There are a dozen guys scrubbing around the Jeep, and within seconds, they’ve all stood up and backed away. I feel their confusion as they glance at one another, and I know this is a moment I need to seize. If I’m going to lead them and earn their respect, I can’t fawn over some celebrity quarterback who probably couldn’t give a shit about our team. Especially when he’s our rival.

So what if his daughter is the hottest girl I’ve ever seen?

Making my way through the pooled suds on the concrete, I step up to the booster table and shake my head at the volunteer mom, who clearly knew the details I was missing.

“Dude, I made a mistake. I need her ten back.”

The woman’s mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and she slips the bill from the metal cashier’s box and hands it to me.

“You’re getting it now, kiddo.” She reaches forward and pats my cheek with her other hand. I catch the name on her jersey as I walk around the table—Arenas. She’s Jody’s mom.

“Hey, so there’s been a mistake,” I announce while still several paces away from Peyton. My voice is loud enough to get the attention of the few people waiting around for their cars to be finished. Peyton’s eyes flash from her phone screen to me, and for a second, I consider backing off because of the way her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush even more. I hold firm, though. I won’t be a dick, but I can’t start my season off like this.

I hand her ten back to her, and she takes it timidly, her head cocked to the side a smidge.

“We gave it the rinse you asked for. Sorry for the soapy film left on it, but I didn’t realize you don’t just go to Coolidge. You’re the enemy’s queen. No hard feelings?”

She holds my stare for a few solid seconds, and it’s somehow quiet enough around us that I hear her breathe. The air draws in sharp, and she holds it in her chest while realization shifts her eyes from stunned circles into jaded, resentful slits. She wads up the ten spot in her palm and then throws it at my chest.

“I bet you thought you were better than Bryce, but it turns out . . . you’rejustlike him.” Her eyes burn into me for about half a second before she brushes past me, her bare shoulder scorching against mine on her way back to her Jeep.

She climbs in with ease, her arm flexing some pretty impressive muscle tone as she swings herself up. The Jeep rumbles to life, and she pivots to look me in the eyes before dropping her sunglasses back down and driving over the concrete barrier along with a half dozen bushes in the median separating the Quick Mart lot from the rest of the shopping center. She roars down the street seconds later.

“Man, fuck that. You’re nothing like that pussy Hampton,” Whiskey says about Bryce. “You’ll prove that in a couple ofmonths, though. And it won’t be in their fancy-ass stadium, either. It’ll be onourshitty turf.”

He slaps my back and coughs out a laugh with his joke. The disparity between our two schools is pretty massive. Sure, Vista’s new. Our buildings are nice, the carpet’s clean, and the desks are a lot more comfortable than the old ones I was used to at my last school. But the money Reed Johnson has poured into the Coolidge football program is renowned. As is his affection for his senior quarterback, which isexactlythe reason my mom moved us to the north side of town. Am I better than Bryce Hampton on the field? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I am. But proving that to a coach who is locked in with all sorts of bias is hard, and me and Mom have had enough hard shit for a lifetime.

Clearly, Peyton didn’t intend for her words to rile up anyone but me, but within minutes, I already feel the push from the rest of the guys to take the throne for our team. They’re with me even more than they were after camp—after I had to go head-to-head with that sheltered little prick Bryce in drill after drill this summer.

I’m also pretty sure Peyton wasn’t talking about our football skills with that sharp diss she left behind. And while her mini-speech did me wonders in terms of my QB reputation, it made me feel pretty hollow inside.

It also made me like her a little bit more.

Chapter Three

Iknow I should live for football season. It’s part of the family, as in football basically has its own seat at our Thanksgiving table. But honestly? I hate when we get pulled out of the gym from our stunting work so we can whip up some cheesy dance for Friday nights.

When I was a freshman, I was more into the hype of it all. Game night. Practicing on the track while the guys ran through their plays. That was when Bryce was my first crush. My first kiss, first boyfriend. All my firsts. Maybe I’ve changed—grown faster than he has. Not physically, but emotionally. I’m less enamored with the glory of the game. Perhaps I’m jaded, having grown up with so many stories. My parents are the football fairytale. My dad, a literal football legend. I guess I’m just over it.

“Okay, let’s take it from the top one more time,” Coach Nelson shouts through her bullhorn before pressing play on her phone’s music app. The song pipes through the crackling speakers on the field and our school principal scurries up the bleachers to the press box to see what’s wrong with our AV system.Nothing but the best for Coolidge High.

My family basically rebuilt this entire stadium—from the sprinklers to the scoreboard. Well, we didn’t actuallybuildanything. We wrote a check. But still, my grandpa’s name is on the field. And as embarrassing as the opulence feels to me sometimes, I do like that my grandpa’s name will live on for years out here—at home.Ourhome.

The music cuts out about ten seconds in and our coach groans.

“He has to fix that now? Ugh. Fine, let’s break for the day. I’m sure we’re fine for the scrimmage game. Bring it in. Peyt? You got this?”

I nod to Coach and usher the squad in.

“Ladies and Jordan!” It’s the first year we’ve had a guy on the squad, and Jordan has been a game changer for our stunts.

Everyone gathers around me and I do my best to psych everyone up for a Friday night game that doesn’t matter except in the minds of the local football purists who eat, live, and breathe for their Coolidge Bears.

“Look, we do our jobs out here and they will show up for us when we need them. And I don’t mean in the stands at competition, but with their credit cards and spare cash when we need to fund our trip to nationals. So, let’s say it loud and proud, guys, and we can tumble inside this weekend. Ready?” I meet my friend Lexi’s stare across from me in our tight circle. She nods and counts us down.

---