Page 43 of Fair Catch

Hayes

It’s an hour ‘til game time, and I’m standing outside Leighton’s football stadium, dressed in the only LU Athletics shirt I own, with no idea what to do or where to go.

With all the hockey games I’ve attended to watch Quinton, I should have some clue where to find will call, but as I stand outside the massive stadium, I feel like a fish out of water.

Asking one of the thousands of passersby is out of the question—God knows I’m already damn near my limit of peopling today—so I grab my phone to send an SOS to the only person who might be available to help.

Me: Do you know where will call is at the football stadium?

It takes only a minute for my best friend to reply, thank fuck.

Q: My guess is the main ticket window. Why are you at the football stadium?

Slightly helpful, but still too vague.

Me: Okay, but where is the ticket window?

Q: By the main entrance. Why are you at the football stadium?

Well, shit.

Me: There is more than one entrance? The hockey arena only has one. Why is it so fucking big?

Q: Yes, there is more than one. It’s so big because the football teams need to compensate for playing a less physically demanding sport. And FOR FUCK’S SAKE. WILL YOU TELL ME WHY YOU ARE AT THE FOOTBALL STADIUM?

Frowning, I type out my response.

Me: To watch the game? I thought that’d be obvious.

Q: You mean to support your new roomie? Glad to see you took my advice.

Me: And just like that, I’m blocking you for the rest of the day.

Q: Bet. Have fun watching the inferior contact sport.

Rolling my eyes at my dramatic best friend, I shove my phone in my pocket and glance around my surroundings again. There are peopleeverywhere,completely decked out in Leighton colors and moving around me like a swarm of hornets in various directions. Some bump into me accidentally, mumbling theirsorrysandexcuse mesbefore continuing on their way like nothing happened.

Frustration coils in my chest as regret starts to sink in.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

But if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a liar. So despite still having no idea where the main entrance is—if that’s even where will call is located—I square my shoulders and pick a direction. After all, the damn thing is a circle. I have to find what I’m looking for eventually.

Right?

As it turns out, finding the will call ticketing counter was the easy part of this little adventure; it’s getting to my seat that’s an entirely different story. After what feels like an eternity of weaving my way through the billions of people in the stadium’s concourse, I finally find the section labeled on my ticket, then the row.

Of course, we’re already partly into the first period—no,quarter—so most of the seats in my row are already full. Excusing myself as I make my way down the row, situated damn near the center of the field, I come up to a brown-haired guy wearing a number eight jersey. He’s too engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his phone to notice me standing there.

“Excuse me,” I tell him, a little annoyed by his obliviousness.

Then again, I’ve been irritated since setting foot within a quarter mile of this stadium, so it really isn’t taking much at this point.

He glances up, his deep brown eyes meeting mine. “Oh, sorry. Need to get through?”

Nodding, I note the number on the vacant seat to his other side. “I think I’m the seat next to you. C12?”

“Oh, cool.” He stands so I can squeeze past him before the two of us drop down into our seats.

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