Page 39 of Stacked
Hell yeah.
I led the team onto the small stage and strode toward Keenan, who had a clownish grin on his face and a couple of one-liners to deliver before Commissioner Simpson shoved a small trophy into my left hand and an envelope of prize money into the other. It was all happening so fast, in such a blur, and that stood out to me.
It wasn’t like this was the first thing I’d ever won, far from it. I did well in school and often got awards at the end of the year for excellence in English, Mathematics, or Science. The freshman soccer team I played on won a big trophy at the regional championship. During senior awards night, I racked up a couple of outstanding commendations for the Kiwanis Club and the Elks Lodge. All that continued in college and even in New York City, where I was named employee of the quarter a few times and made theNew York Magazine“Thirty Under Thirty” list right before I turned twenty-six.
No, I wasn’t any stranger to getting awards.
But somehow, this moment felt so different. So... special. In fact, I relished it.
Maybe because I took such a risk moving back to New Burlington; doing so wasn’t at all what people expected from me, and I got plenty of skeptical pushback when I announced my plans to several friends. To them, moving back to Ohio was out of the question, to say nothing of willingly setting up shop in a tiny town on the outskirts of Cincinnati. Most of them confused Cincinnati with Cleveland and made chortled, choked remarks about how the winters would be even harder than what we faced in the city. Plenty of people looked down on my decision.
And now, there I was, grasping my prizes as Keenan made closing remarks about how much the judges enjoyed our float.
“They loved your creativity.” He directed his comments more to me than he should have. “Stood out.”
“Thanks.”
“You all have really set the bar high for next year.” Keenan angled toward the gathered crowd, still clapping and cheering. He raised his free hand, and the applause died. “Ladies and gentlemen, this settles it. I must be invited back next year so I can see what this town comes up with because this competition has truly made my Independence Day so memorable.”
The crowd murmured approval and affirmation, but I barely heard it as I scanned the crowd. Now that I was past the initial shock of the win, my thoughts were turning to Anya. She had to be somewhere in the group, still in the crowd. Earlier, she’d been with her friend, and they were in the back, almost late to the ceremony.
Now, she wasn’t there.
Surprised, I scoured the rest of the throng.She must be somewhere. She can’t have disappeared.But despite my frantic search, I didn’t see her anywhere.
Then my breath caught in my throat.
There Anya was, some distance away, marching from the ceremony and already in the far part of the parking lot, her shoulders hunched and her stride purposeful, almost as if she was marching herself away from the moment. Morgan trailed behind her. It didn’t take long for me to decide what to do next.
I broke.
With no regard for what was polite or accepted, I crossed the dais and bounded down the stairs. Then I pushed my way through the crowd, focused on one thing and one thing only.
Her.
“Anya,” I called, still gripping the trophy and the envelope of prize money. “Anya, wait.”
She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard me.
“Anya,” I spoke louder, picking up speed to close the space between us. I was a fast runner, and while my pace wasn’t a full-on sprint, it was swifter than a walk. “Anya, please.”
She didn’t stop walking until I caught up with her, until I was by her side, less than a half foot from the edge of the trailer bed that housed her float entry. “What do you want?” she snapped.
“I’m... I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I know you wanted to win, and I’m sorry you didn’t.”
“That’s why you followed me?” She backed closer to the truck. “Just to say that?”
I nodded, my breath pushing hard through my lungs, and my heart rate elevated.
“Congratulations,” she said, but I heard insincerity in the word.
“I know this meant a lot to you,” I tried.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes you lose. I’m fine.”
