Page 82 of Fraternizing with the Enemy
“Itiskiddo football.”
It just made me kind of… sad. Football was fun on its own, of course, but it was the energy that everyone seemed to share that surged everything further, right?
I propped my weight against the fence, my arm brushing Logan’s. “What number are we looking for?”
He leaned into me further, pointing at the field, letting my eyes follow his finger. “Thirteen.”
“Your number?”
Logan chuckled. “He was super excited that we matched.”
I only had to scan for a moment before spotting the black number on the bright red jersey. Number 13 was the smallest out of all the players, like he could’ve passed for an elementary student rather than middle school. His cleats were already covered in mud; everyone’s were. The field was mucky from the rain shower, but, like Brentwood, apparently Jefferson games were held rain or shine.
The Chesterville Vikings ended up winning the coin toss, so they met at the starting line with the ball. I hooked my fingers through the chain-link fence, ducking my head, using my hair to cover my profile.No one’s looking at you, Madison, I told myself, somewhat glad to have Logan’s jacket to blend in.No one is looking at you. Stop being paranoid.
The play started with the sound of clashing shoulder pads, and I lost Curtis in the fray. Chesterville’s quarterback tried to throw the ball, but one of the Jefferson players snuck through the defensive line, slamming into his midsection before he could properly pull his arm back.
“Boo,” I muttered under my breath.
Logan laughed beside me as he clapped.
It turned out it was impossible to cheer for the Vikings, because they sucked. Bad. Sure, it was probably horrible of me to say that about a kiddo team, but they consistently had a problem with their offense. They fumbled the ball twice, to which Jefferson quickly snatched it up and ran touchdowns. The third time the Vikings were in possession, they couldn’t move forwardten yards to get a first down, and the ball turned over to Jefferson.
Logan got to cheer more times than I did, and halfway through the second quarter, I decided the Vikings were hopeless.
So, begrudgingly, I started watching the Bulldogs.
They were nowhere nearly as skilled as Brentwood’s middle school team, but they were pretty good. One of their plays was annoyingly impressive in how they executed it, with three boys passing by the quarterback and faking out the Vikings. They followed the wrong boy, while Number 2 was able to slip past them all the way to the end zone.
Logan let out a whoop, and I clenched the chain-link fence tighter to keep from clapping.
The timer was counting down on the second quarter when Logan turned to me. “Want to go get food from the concession stand? If we go now, it won’t be too long of a line.”
“You go,” I told him, not looking away from the field. “I’ll stay here.”
The Bulldogs were about ten yards from the end zone, with five minutes left on the clock. And counting. I couldn’t believe Logan could just walk away at a moment like this, when they were so close to a touchdown.
I had to admit… they were actually kind of cute on the field. They looked sosmall, like the grass around them had somehow doubled in size. My eyes locked on Number 13. He hunched down, and from here, I could see his gaze focus on the player in front of him.
When the quarterback called the play, everyone burst into motion, including Curtis. He flew forward, using his small amount of bodyweight to slam into his opponent, blocking them from proceeding. I smirked at his small cleats sliding on the grass; the Chesterville player was able to push him backward with tremendous ease.
My lips parted, but I managed to catch the words before they escaped.You’ve got this, I wanted to call out to him.Great job!
What would one little cheer hurt? I was cheering on a cute little boy, not necessarily aBulldog.
The buzzer sounded then, just before the Bulldogs could cross the end zone, and I jumped. Jefferson was in the lead, even without the touchdown, by a landslide. I wondered if they mercied middle school games. If they didn’t, they should.
I kept facing the field even as the players walked off for their half-time huddle, afraid to turn around and make eye contact with anyone. Time passed by slowly while Logan was off getting us snacks, and I scrolled through my phone while I waited. Nothing from Jade. Nothing from Babble, either, on who was in the kissing closet. I wasn’t curious enough to text Riley, but I pulled up Jade’s text thread.
Hey, so who was in the closet??
I hesitated in sending it, though, my thumb hovering over the button. What if she called me after my text? What if she asked to come over and gossip about it?
What if she asked me about Coach Chelsea?
Much to my surprise, Jade hadn’t pushed me about my conversation with Coach. In fact, it was like Jade hadn’t asked me to give up co-captain at all. But what ifshe brought it up? What would I say?Coach hasn’t decided yet? Would she believe me?
An anxious wave washed over me, and I closed my eyes, the weight of Logan’s varsity jacket pressing on my shoulders.When did everything become so exhausting?I thought.What am I doing?
