Page 34 of Dear Roomie
“What is your thing, then?”
“I don’t know. I just go along with what they want to do.”
“Well, what do you do when it’s just you?”
“I guess I like to volunteer.” She brushes a lock of chocolate-brown hair behind her ear and bites her lip. “What’s your thing?”
I don’t get a chance to respond. On a cue that I miss, a hush falls across the crowd, and everyone turns and points to the southwest corner of the stadium. I look around at the rest of my group and see they clearly know what’s going on.
“Just point,” James whispers in my ear, her unexpected nearness causing a wave of chills to move across my body. I turn my head enough to get a glimpse of her nearly bouncing on the stands with excitement. Indulging her, I point, and her excitement only grows.
The silence is cut by the sound of a lone trumpeter playing the opening bars of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The rest of the marching band joins in, and the song is overlaid by a man giving a speech while a montage plays on the scoreboard’s large screen. The song and video come to an end, and the crowd goes wild, and despite not knowing what exactly just happened, I go crazy with them. The band continues to play through their pregame routine, and the crowd only grows more rowdy.
“That’s my favorite part. No other tradition compares. Not here, and not at any other school.” Her breath caresses my ear with the rasped words.
“That was something else.” I can’t say why, but the experience has my heart pounding in my chest and my skin covered in chills. I can see why she loves this so much; I don’t think I’ve ever felt so connected to a crowd.
The game kicks off, and everyone’s attention is drawn to the field—even mine, despite not understanding what exactly is happening. James spends the whole game leaning over and talking in my ear as she explains each play, who all of the players are, and what terms likeflagandfirst downmean. She is so patient with all my questions and lack of understanding. At some point around halftime, Evelyn gives up on trying to make small talk with me, and James takes her place at my side to continue her play-by-play of the game.
I think she was right about making me love football. It would be impossible not to fall in love with anything she is this passionate about.
“As long as the other team doesn’t score in the next three minutes, we win. But they have possession,” she explains as we switch to defense.
The minutes tick by, agonizingly slow, and the other team moves closer and closer to the end zone. With each play, and each time our defense fails to stop the opposing team’s drive down the field, she grows more tense. As the game enters its final minute with the other team still in possession of the ball, she grabs my hand in a death grip.
We both watch the field, completely invested in the game. The opposing team’s quarterback pulls back his arm and throws the ball to his teammate waiting in the end zone. She sucks in a sharp breath and squeezes my hand even tighter. The throw looks good as it spirals through the air in a perfect path toward its intended target. Right before he can catch it, though, one of our players materializes out of nowhere and intercepts the ball.
A bright squeal of excitement cuts through the roar of the crowd as James launches herself at me. Her arms fly around my neck, and I catch her on instinct. I don’t quite know how to react, but her joy is contagious, so I pull her closer and spin her around. Laughter spills past her plush lips, and she holds on even tighter. The subtle scent of her vanilla perfume blossoms in the air as her hair fans out in a golden wave. Reluctantly, I place her feet back on the ground and let her go. She tightens her embrace for a second longer, burying her face into my chest. When she looks back up at me and finally lets go, her cheeks are stained red, but her face is still radiating joy.
I’ve always thought James was beautiful, but I don’t think she’s ever looked as beautiful as she does now—carefree and smiling, with her guard completely down. The world around us freezes as I get lost in her mossy eyes. In this moment, all that matters is the smile on her face and the light in her green gaze.
“Hey, Morgan, we are going downtown to celebrate. Wanna come?” Nathan claps me on the shoulder while keeping one arm firmly around his girlfriend’swaist. The abrupt words break whatever spell James has me under. Evelyn glances toward me with clear hope in her eyes, but my attention strays back to the enchantress who has me at her mercy. I’ll do whatever she wants to do. He reads my face and rolls his eyes but turns to her as well.
“What about you, James?”
“I think I’m gonna pass. I’ve got a paper due on Monday that I haven’t done nearly enough work for, so I’m gonna call it a night.”
“I think I’m going to call it a night too,” I tell my friend, and a twinge of guilt sparks in my chest as Evelyn’s face falls. It’s not enough for me to change my answer, though. “Mind if I walk back with you?”
She smiles at me even brighter than before. “Not at all. I guess we will see y’all Monday.”
James motions for me to follow her, but my friend puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. He pulls me away from the group, leaving even Chelsea behind.
“Dude, you know she’s not available, right?” he asks, his tone more serious than I’ve ever heard before.
“I know. It’s not like that. We are barely even friends.”
“You sure as hell don’t look at her like a friend, and y’all definitely seemed more than friendly earlier.” He casts a disapproving look in my direction.
“I swear, just friends. I know she has a boyfriend, and I’m not going to get in the way of that. But she’s actually pretty cool once you get past the spiky shell.”
“Whatever you say, man. I hope you know what you are getting yourself into.” He waves me off and moves to wrap Chelsea under his arm again. With a quick wave, I hustle back over to James and fall in step at her side.
“Do you really have a paper?” I ask once we’re out of the chaos.
“Yes, but it’s mostly finished,” she replies with a playful smirk. “I could use a night in, though.” Her face twists in pain, and she reaches down toward her feet. “Goddamnit. I always hate this part. I put on the heels and think I look cute, but my feet are dead by the time I have to walk back.”
She pulls off her shoes, exposing her blistered feet. Groaning, she starts to walk again, wincing with each barefooted step.
