Page 90 of The Way We Win

When we arrive at the school, the boys file off the bus. Austin walks with Levi, Tyreek, and Lucas to the parking lot, and I consider stopping him to let him know I’ll be sleeping on his couch tonight.

At the last minute, I decide to wait and talk to him later. In the meantime, I’ll get Kimmie settled with her aunt, and I’ll check in with Garrett to see if he’s heard anything.

21

Allie

Edward walks with me to the library to collect my things before I head home. The rest of the boys are heading down to the beach for a bonfire, but Edward isn’t a fan of the loud parties and whatever else they do to burn off energy after the games.

I couldn’t believe he wanted to be on the team at all, but Austin told me he wears earplugs on the field.

When they got off the bus, I asked my son to be aware of his surroundings tonight, but I didn’t tell him about the text.

Jack’s right. It’s still possible it could be a text intended for someone else, and I don’t want to spoil Austin’s senior year by having him paranoid all the time like I am.

I hate that Jack has to worry about me and my poor choices. He has enough on his mind with the loss and George Powell growling in the stands and second-guessing every decision.

Even with Levi starting the game, he isn’t satisfied. He’s making noise now about how Jack put him in knowing Crystal Shores is our biggest rival. How he spared Austin’s record and intentionally made Levi look like the weaker player.

Whereas, I’m sure if they’d pulled out the win, he’d be crowing about how Levi should be starting every time, and how he saved the team in an important game. How he’s clearly the stronger player.

My head hurts, and I don’t want to think about that man.

“There’s a new poem on the graffiti wall.” Edward’s standing by the sheet, looking up at the couplets.

Taking my bags from behind the circulation desk, I let the positivity of this moment ease the tension in my chest. I’m so happy the students are responding this way.

“I knew they’d like poetry.” I smile, going to where he stands. “Show it to me.”

“It’s here.” He points at the four lines written in what looks like a male script.

Your eyes are so beautiful, so blue.

I see them even when I’m alone.

You’ve woven yourself into my soul.

Losing you now would be losing my home.

As I read the words, my lips part. “I don’t recognize this. Is it an original?”

I look at Edward, who simply shrugs. “It’s impossible to know.”

We stand for a moment, and I reread the poem, thinking how it’s more sophisticated than the others.

Most of the “graffiti” are passages from existing works or variations on them. We have a Robert Frost fan, who has copied both “The Road Not Taken” and “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

And miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

But this new verse is something different.

“It’s really good,” I muse. “I can’t wait to find out who it is at the end of the contest.”

“I’m voting for it.” Edward takes one of the Sharpieshanging on a string and numbers the poem 18, then he puts a slip of paper in the box.

“Thanks for escorting me to the library.” We head out, making our way up the hall to the parking lot. “Do you need a ride home?”

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