To my mom’s credit, we stayed to watch the whole game. She glared and glowered and snarled, but we stayed. The Cowboys won the game and spirits were high. Fans cheered for each other and tugged at their shirts to more fully display their John Torres jerseys. As we crawled behind our police escort out of the stadium, other drivers honked merry tunes on their cars’ horns.
“Well, it’s nothing I shouldn’t have expected.” My mother shook her head as she drove.
“We have a police escort.” Jackson’s fingertips clutched the headrest of my seat and his head peeked into the front in order to feast his eyes on the flashing lights.
“Technically, it’s not our escort.” My mom shot a quick glance at Jackson to make sure he understood. “It’s for the TV announcers, so they can get to the airport.”
“Are you gonna get this every week?” Jackson nudged me, winking.
“Right now, it’s up in the air whether I’ll even be allowed in the stadium,” I said, annoyed that Jackson hadn’t put two and two together. I’d told him and Izzy everything Dietrich said as we sat watching the game.
Jackson’s eyes never left the cop car, except to take brief note of a motorcycle cop holding back an artery of traffic and saluting us as we swished by. “All we have to do is win—and I got you covered on that front because we will beat Dillon’s backside. Besides, even if a miracle happened for him and we didn’t win, you’re still gonna own some of the team. That’s what they said on SportsCenter, anyway. Right?”
“I told you what Dillon said. If he runs the team, we are not going to be welcome here.”
“Well, I know Izzy’s gonna be welcome. Riiigghhhttt, Izzzzyyy?” Jackson let go of my headrest to flop back into his seat and torment Izzy.
I can’t say if I was more sad or surprised when Izzy slobbered on her pointer finger and wiggled it into Jackson’s ear.
“Gross! Awww!” Jackson frantically tried drying his ear canal with a corner of his shirt. “What’d you do that for?”
“’Cause you asked for it.” Izzy sat looking mad and straight ahead as if she’d done nothing.
The police escort sprang us out onto the open tollway and my mom beeped her horn to thank them as we swished past before she stomped the pedal like she always does.
“Did you ever think it might have been a compliment? That guy liking you?” Jackson kept screwing a pinkie into his ear as he watched the fading police lights over his shoulder.
“Who?” My mom looked at Izzy in the rearview mirror. “Dillon?”
“He was kind of a jerk,” Izzy said.
“Yeah, but.” Jackson let his ear alone and folded his arms across his chest, smirking at Izzy.
“But what?” I asked, turning in my seat so I could see Izzy’s face.
When she blushed, my stomach sank to the bottom of its tank.