SATURDAY 12:32PM
Under a partly cloudy sky, Jerry and Mike stood on the plaza at the north end of the football stadium. Van Buren fans in green and gold outnumbered their Fillmore counterparts decked out in black and red. Kickoff was thirty minutes away.
Mike wore a blue T-shirt and cargo pants with his camera backpack slung over one shoulder. A lanyard with his photographer’s credential hung around his neck. “What happened with the cop? What did the chancellor want?”
Jerry let out a weary breath. He didn’t want to think about the confrontation with the Chancellor. He was here for Darla but recounted the events to Mike.
“The grid’s melting down, Jerry. What are you going to do?”
Jerry related his attempt to contact Sam, the research he uncovered at the library, and his plans to interview the reporter Wysocki on Sunday.
“Yes!” Mike pumped a fist in the air. “Sticking it to The Man!”
“Not exactly. The chancellor is a woman.”
“Then let’s smash the system!” Mike slammed his fist into his open palm.
“Can we put that on pause for the moment, Comrade Lenin? We’ve got the girls and the game to watch.”
“Okay, but I’ve never been much a football fan.”
“Me neither. I’m more of a hockey fan.” Jerry pantomimed taking a slap shot.
“It’s baseball for me.”
“You know, Darla’s brother plays minor league baseball.” It seemed like a random thing to bring up, but Jerry liked the chance to say Darla’s name. He thought back to last night’s dinner. “Larry? Barry? No wait, it’s Corey.”
“Corey Jaggard? Never heard of him. But there are thousands of players in the minors.”
Jerry looked around the plaza. “Where do we get in?”
“Media gate is on the East Side.” Mike led the way.
As they circled the stadium, Jerry caught a flash of red hair in the crowd. Busby? He left Mike behind, trying to push his way through the throng of students and fans. Another glimpse. She was walking away, so he could only see her from behind. But it sure looked like her. Next to the redhead, a brunette turned around. Miranda! She was saying something to Dmitri in that black duster he always wore.
“Buzz!” Jerry shouted.
But she didn’t hear. Or pretended not to. Jerry pressed forward. He and Busby were through, might as well make it official and avoid any complications.
The crowd grew thicker, and the distance between Jerry and the trio increased.
“Buzz!” he yelled again.
Something clamped on Jerry’s shoulder. He turned to see Mike.
“Where are you going?” Mike held up his camera bag. “Media entrance is the other direction.”
“I saw Busby and figured might as well make it official that we’re over.”
Mike laughed. “You wanted to officially break up with Busby in public? Not just in public, but in front of thousands of strangers, some of who would be certain to record and post it on social media, so that you can relive the experience forever.”
Jerry frowned. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”
Mike punched him in the shoulder. “Cheer up! We’re going to watch Darla and Talia.”
* * *
Down on the field, Jerry leaned against the wall separating the stands from the field. Mike knelt a few feet away, adjusting his camera’s shutter speed and aperture for the increasingly overcast sky.
“Please welcome today’s opponent, the Millard Fillmore College Black Bears,” the announcer’s voice boomed from the speakers.
Fans jeered as the Black Bears, wearing white jerseys with black trim and red pants, rushed onto the field. A bear mascot in a red sweater and cheerleaders dressed in red-and-black uniforms took up positions on the far sideline.
Mike grinned. “More cheerleaders! I’ll have to work my way over to the other side and snap some photos. Maybe in the second half.”
“I thought you were here to shoot Talia and her teammates.”
“I am. But no reason not to take advantage of this opportunity.” He paused for a moment. “When I make my fortune, I think I’ll buy an NFL team. That’s what all the hip billionaires do. Then I could give myself a photographer’s pass to every game. Heck, if I’m the owner, I can help pick the squad at auditions.”
Jerry dropped his voice an octave. “College sports photographer shares his delusional fantasies, but first a check on the weather.”
“And now your Van Buren University Statesmen!” the announcer roared.
Fans stood, clapped, and whooped. The Statesmen in green jerseys, gold pants, and black armbands raced to midfield before moving to their sideline. Martin, the Statesmen mascot, and the cheerleaders, also wearing black armbands, bounded down the running track that lined the perimeter of the stadium. The cheerleaders were in uniforms similar to the outfits Jerry saw Thursday night, but this version sported long sleeves.
Darla raced down the sideline, then sort of leapt and threw herself at the ground at the same time. As her body neared the ground, she extended her arms. She hit the track with her hands, her feet high in the air. Darla spun, her feet touching down for the briefest of moments, then back in the air. She twirled tighter and faster, her arms recoiling like springs, launching her straight into the air. Arms and knees tight to her body, Darla completed two flips, then stuck her landing. She raised her hands high and flashed a dazzling smile for the crowd.
“Wow!” Jerry clapped furiously. “Did you get all that?”
Mike checked his display and nodded.
The cheerleaders broke into two equal-sized groups and took up positions between the goal line and the twenty-yard line. Darla and Talia—and Veronica—were in the group near the north end zone. Jerry and Mike stationed themselves between this group and the stands.
Jerry squinted and spied a tiny version of the Martin mascot painted on Darla's left cheek. The letters “VBU” in green adorned her right cheek. She carried poms now, holding them high, leaping in the air, and waving to Jerry.
The announcer’s voice boomed, “We ask that you please rise for the playing of our national anthem to be performed by Van Buren University senior Martha Gracehart.”
The fans stood. Jerry placed his hand over his heart. The players and cheerleaders turned to face the giant American flag fluttering high atop the south end of the stadium.
The scoreboard video screen showed the image of a young woman in a Western get-up, complete with cowboy hat. She stood at midfield before a microphone, holding an acoustic guitar, and began to perform.
While her guitar work was adequate, her singing was improbably off-key.
Mike covered his ears. “It’s like one of those American Idol rejects.”
Jerry and Mike exchanged pained glances and stifled smiles. The performance lasted a terrifying two-and-a-half minutes.
At the conclusion, someone in the stands shouted, “Hey, it’s Enrico Pallazo!” This was followed by mild laughter and a round of sarcastic applause.
“Please remain standing,” the stadium announcer instructed. “Tragedy struck the Van Buren University community this week with the heartbreaking and untimely deaths of three of our students: Vincent Murphy, Cassandra McGlaughlin, and Noah Chen. Vincent was a member of the Statesmen football team. Players will wear a black armband with his number, eighty-one, for the remainder of the season.
“Cassandra was a member of the Statesmen cheerleaders, and the squad will also wear black armbands for the rest of the season. Please honor our losses with a moment of silence.”
Jerry and Mike bowed their heads. Predictably, a group of half-in-the-bag frat boys used the opportunity to whoop it up, chanting, “Beat Fillmore!”
“And now let’s play some football!” the announcer boomed.
The crowd roared in approval. Fillmore won the toss and elected to defer to the second half. Their kicker sent the ball sailing through the end zone.
Starting on their twenty-five, Van Buren rushed for no yardage first down. On second down, the running back was tackled for a three-yard loss. The quarterback dropped back on third down, but all his receivers were covered. His protection broke down before he could dump the ball, and he was sacked for an eight-yard loss.
Van Buren brought out the punt team. Fillmore overloaded the left side. Attackers swarmed through Van Buren’s line and blocked the punt. One of the Black Bears scooped up the loose football and rumbled into the end zone for a touchdown. Fillmore easily converted the extra point.
Mike glanced at the scoreboard. “At this rate, we’re going to lose by more than a hundred and forty points.
“Always the optimist.”
While the players prepared for the kickoff, three of the VBU male cheerleaders lined up. Talia and Veronica scrambled onto their shoulders and stood, becoming the middle of a pyramid. Jerry watched in amazement as Darla scaled her way on top of the twins. A cheerleader at ground level tossed a giant cardboard megaphone to Darla. With a foot on each of the twin’s shoulders, she led a round of cheers.
After the kickoff, Darla dropped the megaphone, searched for Jerry, spotted him, and gave him an exaggerated wink. She crossed her arms over her heart and fell backward off the pyramid. Jerry flinched. But Darla landed safely in the waiting arms of two male cheerleaders.
Mike reviewed the latest images of Darla. “She’s exceptional.”
Jerry faked a smile but was secretly worried. Cassie went blind, then died from a cheering accident. Darla appeared to know what she was doing, but those stunts looked dangerous. He was surprised how concerned he was with her well-being. He must be really falling for her.
Again, Van Buren started on their twenty-five.
Talia grabbed the megaphone. “Offense!” she chanted.
The girls shook their poms. The boys raised their fists.
Their exhortations didn’t help. Another three and out for the Statesmen. They got the punt away this time, only to have the Fillmore deep man return it sixty yards for a touchdown.
Boos spilled down from the crowd.
Jerry leaned against the wall. “This is going to be a very long day.”
“Might as well forget about the game and focus on the girls at this point.”
The Statesmen mascot, dressed in an eighteenth-century black suit and a similarly styled hat atop his comically oversized head, approached one of the cheerleader twins, flowers in his hand.
“Uh, Mike. It looks like Martin is trying to make time with your girl.”
The cheerleader theatrically refused the flowers.
Mike squinted. “Nope, that’s Veronica.”
“How can you tell?”
“Oh man. Don’t let either of them hear you say that.”
Martin dropped the flowers in his pile of props and retrieved a box of candy. He chased after Veronica, offering her the sweets. Veronica dismissed Martin and his gift, swaggering away from him. Martin swapped the candy for a ukulele. He raced over to Veronica, dropped to his knees, and pantomimed playing the instrument. Veronica, appearing to be won over, leaned down and kissed the mascot on the cheek. Martin clutched his chest like he was having a heart attack, rolled over, and played dead. The crowd laughed and cheered at the spectacle, eager to have a distraction from the game.
Mike glanced at the scoreboard, which now read 20-0. “Fillmore scored again? This has to be some kind of record for futility.”
As Fillmore lined up for the extra point, raindrops fell. By the time they were set to kick off again, the wind picked up, blowing hot dog wrappers and empty cups all over the stadium.
Jerry found shelter from the rain under a slight overhang extending forward from the stands. From his refuge, Jerry waved at Darla, who mock frowned at him. As the rain intensified, Mike joined Jerry under the ledge. He slipped his camera equipment back in his bag.
“Not going to take any more photos?”
“Only if it stops raining. Do you know how much this stuff costs?” Mike glanced at the cheerleaders, their soggy uniforms clinging in all the right places. “I will say one thing; the girls may be miserable out there, but the drenched look is hot.”
Powerful gusts of wind buffeted the stadium. Was it Jerry’s imagination or were the light towers starting to sway? The rain fell almost sideways. Even in their mini-shelter, Jerry and Mike were getting soaked.
Jerry shielded his eyes from the downpour. “I wonder if they’ll stop the game.”
Mike raised his voice over the wind. “No way. This is football. They’ll only stop if we get some—”
A bolt of lightning struck the nearest light tower. A bulb exploded, showering sparks onto the crowd below.
“That was too close!” Jerry shouted.
Mike pointed to the referees conferring at midfield. “Maybe they will stop the game.”
A gust of wind blew the cheerleaders’ megaphone down the field, and Darla chased after it. The lights and scoreboard flickered for a moment, then went dark. Another gust of wind slammed the stadium from the west.
Jerry focused on the damaged light tower. A few sparks still tumbled down. Fans seated under it scrambled to get away. Each time it swayed in the wind, the tower leaned a little farther. One big gust at the wrong time could send it falling. Falling right on an oblivious Darla still racing after the megaphone.
Jerry dashed across the field. “Darla! Move! Watch out!”