Chapter Twenty

THE COWBELLS ARE RINGING.

The football stadium is packed. Auburn proud.

The first quarter is about halfway through when we arrive, which means the regular lot is full, and we have to park on the side of the road. It’s chilly, so I help Juniper put on gloves and a hat before we walk over.

As soon as we buy tickets, Juniper spies the food trucks.

“Funnel cakes!” she shrieks, and looks up at Mom.

“Okay, one treat,” Mom says, and lets Junie tug her away.

We wait silently with Dad until they come back.

“Let’s find a spot along the fence to watch for now—the bleachers look crowded,” Mom suggests.

We line up at an open spot not far from the cheerleaders. I manage to make eye contact with Sofia and give her a little wave. She drops her pom-poms and comes running over.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Leighton Barnes at a football game?” she asks.

“Hey, Sof. How’s it going?” I keep my hands snug in my jacket pockets, but lift a shoulder toward the field. There are too many men at the fence, and I can’t see the game.

“It’s bumpy tonight,” she says. “I think they’re starting to feel the pressure of these wins.”

“No kidding,” I say, looking around. It feels like the entire town is here. “Need help covering it? I figured since you’re cheering, you might need a hand.”

“Yes! I’m so glad you asked. There’s this one player that is doing really well so far this season, and I have a vested interest in tracking his specific moves tonight.”

“Sofia, please don’t say—”

“Could you watch out for number thirty-six for me?” She doesn’t let me answer, instead calling over her shoulder to her squad, “What, you can’t call next cheer without me? I’m so loved and missed that the squad is crumbling without me? I’ll be right there!”

She turns back to me. “Thanks for the help, Lay, you’re a lifesaver! Thirty-six!”

Sofia jogs back over to the cheerleaders just as the announcer says, “A promising start so far tonight from Auburn High’s number thirty-six, Liam McNamara. Certainly one to watch as we head into the second quarter.”

I close my eyes for a moment in quiet annoyance, and then realize I must look exactly like Campbell did when she was helping me pick out my outfit. Sure enough, when I turn on my heel, Cammy is two feet away from me on the track. “Want some company covering number thirty-six?”

“Why not?” I answer, scanning the fence until I find our parents and Juniper. “They seem okay?”

“Weirdly okay,” she says.

“Enjoy it while we can?” I ask.

“Heck yes.”

We link arms and start circling the field. I dig change out of my purse, and we have enough for one hot cocoa, so we take turns sipping it as we go.

“It’s getting cold,” she says. She doesn’t just mean tonight. She means in general, autumn is going fast. She’s missing her last bike-riding days.

“Are your friends here, Cam? You don’t have to babysit me,” I tell her. “I’m gonna have to go up into the bleachers to be able to see anything, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m not. I just wanted the cocoa.” She holds up the cup.

“Take it. Be good,” I say, and we part ways at the bottom of the bleachers. I watch until she reaches a pod of fellow eighth graders gathered down the track.

I’m about halfway up the bleachers, hoping that the only open seat isn’t next to the band, when I hear my name.

“Leighton!”

I turn and see Amelia waving shyly. Her outfit is coordinated from her headband to her shoelaces, and I feel a wave of self-consciousness at my worn boots and thrift store shirt. But she gestures at an empty seat next to her, encouraging me to join her. Be social, I tell myself. It won’t kill you to try a little.

I shuffle into the crowded seating and make my way to Amelia.

“Thanks so much,” I say when I join her.

“No problem,” she says, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at a game in, like, two years, Leighton.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Anyone in particular you came to see?” she asks.

“Um, not exactly, but I’m helping Sofia cover the game for the paper.” Amelia shifts, setting a designer handbag in between us and tucking her straight black hair behind her ear. I’ve never once seen her hair in a messy bun. I tug my hair over my shoulder on the other side, away from her view.

She lifts her hands to her lips and screams, “Yeah, James!”

Right. Should probably actually watch the game.

Amelia is petite, but her voice is loud, and she enthusiastically cheers for our team the entire quarter. I’m amazed her voice isn’t hoarse from the yelling. I keep an eye on the maroon jersey with “36” on its back, watching how Liam’s movements are so fast and sure. I don’t scream like Amelia does, but I do feel a rush of excitement when he scores a touchdown. He said he plays because there isn’t much else to do around here, but he’s good. Maybe Sofia wasn’t just messing with me when she asked me to watch him play tonight. Touchdowns are news.

I hear another voice ringing clear in the crowd, cheering for thirty-six.

A few rows of bleachers down and across the aisle is Liam’s family. His little sister, Fiona, is yelling for him.

I watch the McNamaras cheering for Liam for a few minutes. It makes me smile. It’s just such a normal, easy family thing. Supporting someone you love.

“I’m gonna go check in with my family,” I yell to Amelia over the cheering.

“Okay!”

I try to spot them while I’m in the bleachers, but it’s impossible in the crowd that pours off the stairways to get food and drinks during half-time. I follow the push of people until I have to stop to let the football team cross from the field to the locker rooms.

Number thirty-six stops short in front of me.

Liam lifts his helmet off.

“Nice to see you here, Barnes,” he says.

“McNamara!” yells his coach.

“Go,” I tell him, smiling.

“Going,” he says. He starts jogging backward. “Sunday?”

“I said yes already. Stop asking, or I might change my mind.”

Liam laughs and ducks into the locker room.

And that’s where Campbell finds me, staring at the closed locker room door with a stupid smile on my face.

“Leighton, I need you,” she says, grabbing my elbow hard. I know that voice. She’s worried.

“What’s up?” I say, but she’s already moving through the crowd, twisting her body between the bruising crush of people. “Cam, wait!”

I have to push through people to keep up with her, apologizing for my rudeness, but not stopping. Something is wrong.

When we emerge on the other side, our dad is talking to Mr. Dillard. He’s the father of someone our parents went to school with, and he happens to run the other construction business in town. The one that got the library renovation. He also always brings up Dad’s knee injury when they talk. I try to figure out if he’s said anything yet.

“Could’ve gone pro! I know it! The whole town knew it. Would’ve been our claim to fame.”

Dad’s expression is pained, his smile forced. “Yeah, well, some things aren’t meant to be.”

“You’re telling me you were meant to run your daddy’s business?” He laughs. “Run it right into the ground in this economy, am I right?”

My stomach drops. This is bad.

Mom knows it, too. “Jesse, we should get Juniper home soon. It’s late for her.”

She pulls on his arm, but he’s immovable.

“Stop it, Erin,” he says.

His whole body has gone tense. His knee injury is always a rough topic. A reminder of what could have been. But the business is like a gaping wound. He’s doing everything he can think of to keep it moving, but it was never his dream to run it.

Mr. Dillard doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Takes a special kind of drive to run your own business,” he says. “Some people got it, some don’t. Kinda like running the ball, don’t you think?” He shrugs at the field. I’m vaguely aware that halftime is ending. The players are lining up, and people are climbing back into their seats.

“Jesse, let’s go home,” Mom says again, tugging harder.

He lifts his arm fast in response, drawing it back, and then almost instantly dropping it to his side.

He remembered where we are.

My stomach turns, embarrassment flooding me. I feel like the entire town is watching this moment.

“Hey, everything okay down here?”

It’s Bill DiMarco. He isn’t in his uniform. Off duty, just enjoying the game.

“Fine, Bill, thanks,” Dad says, but his face hasn’t softened. Bill sees it, too, taking in the whole scene. Mom’s tense withdrawal from my father’s side. The way Juniper’s lower lip is trembling.

But then he turns his gaze back to Dad, and claps him on the shoulder. “Just wanted to say hi. Kind of wild to see the team doing well, huh? Reliving the glory days.”

The tension shifts, melts. Dad turns his attention from Mom, finally.

“Damn straight. Maybe this time they’ll actually go all the way.”

Bill smiles, but there’s sadness in it. Or pity.

Dad’s smile slips again.

“We’re gonna head out early, though. I’ve got a job a borough over tomorrow.”

“Of course, yeah, good luck with that,” Bill says.

Bill’s attention turns to my mom. I can almost hear the question as it forms in his head. Are you all right?

I’ve never wanted anyone to ask a question more. To acknowledge a thing they just saw with their own eyes. To do something about it.

“Good to see you, Erin,” he says, and turns away from us.

Good to see you, too, Uncle Bill.