SATURDAY 1:33PM
Pelting rain stung Darla’s eyes, making it almost impossible to see. Another gust of wind blew the megaphone toward the end zone. Did someone call her name? She couldn’t hear anything over the storm, the rain, the crowd. As she raced after the megaphone, her sneaker slid on the wet turf, twisting her ankle. “Merde!” She struggled to regain her balance but failed and slammed headfirst into the turf.
Her uniform soaked, a dazed Darla pushed herself up, and her foot erupted in pain. She fell, but someone caught her by the shoulders. Jerry! She took a step, but her ankle wouldn’t support the weight.
“I can’t walk. My ankle.”
Jerry nodded. “I got you.”
He lifted Darla into his arms: one about her back, the other under her knees. She looped her arms around his neck. Jerry staggered through the rain and wind to the sideline. Players raced off the field. Fans in the stands crowded for the exits. Jerry paused, seemingly uncertain where to go.
“The tunnel.” Darla pointed toward the entrance in the wall.
A tremendous crash came from behind. Over Jerry’s shoulder, the light tower lay on the field. Bulbs exploded and electricity sparked. Darla closed her eyes and squeezed Jerry tighter.
He carried her into the tunnel. “Least we’re out of the wind and rain.”
“Pretty sure we can get out the other end.”
An eerie red glow from the emergency lights illuminated the way. Jerry’s feet sloshed through inches of accumulating water as he carried Darla the length of the tunnel. At the end stood a pair of metal doors. He kicked open one side, and they emerged on the plaza. The rain and wind had eased a bit. Fans and students hurried from the stadium. A pair of ambulances, red lights spinning, sirens blaring, pushed slowly through the crowd.
“Over there.” Darla nodded toward a covered bus stop.
Jerry carried her into the unoccupied shelter, setting her on the bench. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the ER?”
Darla shivered and shook her head. “But I can’t walk, and I don’t think the bus will come by anytime soon. Can you carry me back to my dorm?”
Jerry sat next to her and lowered his head. “Sure. Give me a second to catch my breath.”
Darla flicked wet grass off her uniform and winced at the stains embedded in the fabric. “My uniform is ruined.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. A silly thing to be upset over, but she couldn’t hold back.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Jerry hugged her. “The important thing is you’re safe. You can always get a new uniform.”
Darla buried her face in his chest until the tears stopped. She knew she was a mess but raised her head and kissed Jerry. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Jerry used his thumb to wipe away a last tear. “Time to get going.” He knelt on the concrete base of the shelter.
“What are you doing?”
“As light as you are and appealing as it is, I can’t carry you in my arms all the way to your dorm. You need to get on my shoulders.”
“This could be fun.” Darla climbed into position. As they left the shelter, she leaned sideways to avoid hitting the top of the entryway.
Jerry carried Darla, careful to avoid slipping on wet leaves or pavement, through the drizzle toward Clinton Hall.
Two-thirds of the way to the dorm, Darla could feel Jerry fading. His pace slowed. His steps less certain. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his ears. “You can do it.”
“Not helping.”
Upon reaching the vestibule of her dorm, Jerry set Darla down in a wooden chair and leaned over, his hands resting on his knees.
“Made it.” Jerry exhaled and stretched his arms.
“I hope Lucy’s home. My keys are in my purse back in the locker room.”
Jerry glared at her.
Darla smiled. “Relax, it’ll be okay. If my room is locked, the RA can let us in.”
“Okay, final push. But we’ll have to do it piggyback style. The elevator entrance is too low.”
Darla climbed onto Jerry’s back. They rode the elevator to the second floor.
As they stumbled into Darla’s room, Lucy dropped her book and leapt from the couch. “What happened?”
Darla pointed to her foot. “Ankle.”
Jerry nodded. “She fell.”
He set Darla down. She stood on her good foot, leaning against the wall.
“You guys are drenched. Jerry, grab a towel from the bathroom and dry off.” Lucy pointed down the hall. “In my bedroom closet, you’ll find some of my boyfriend’s clothes. You’re both about the same size. I’ll help Darla out of her wet things.”
* * *
Jerry, somewhat drier, stood in the living room wearing a borrowed, slightly too large Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and jeans. “Is there anything I can do?”
No answer.
He wandered about the room, stopped at Darla’s desk, and picked up a framed photo. This was a seriously good-looking family. Darla, her parents, brothers, and sister, all styled and decked out in their Christmas best, posed in front of a twelve-foot tree, sporting grins worthy of an orthodontist’s website. Jerry swallowed hard. He missed Christmases like that with his family.
He set the photo down and inspected the two others. In one, Darla and her mom were in matching pink wetsuits, goggles propped on their heads, on a dock surrounded by crystal blue water. Darla’s mom barely looked older than her daughter. He needed to remember to work that in, if or when, they ever met. Darla, you didn’t tell me you had a second sister.
The last photo was from winter. Darla, bundled up, was hugging a Welsh Corgi frolicking in the snow. Each trying to out-smile the other. He looked at the shelves above the desk. The first held half a dozen cheerleading trophies. The next filled with books: Madame Bovary, Candide, and The Man in the Iron Mask all in French, Macbeth, textbooks on differential equations, organic chemistry, Russian history, and a thick blue book with what looked like a griffin on the cover. He reached for that last book.
“D’s purse is back at the stadium.”
Jerry turned to see Lucy emerging from Darla’s room. “I’ll get it.”
“You might have trouble getting into the girls’ locker room.”
Jerry chuckled. “Guess you’re right.”
The sounds of a running shower filled the room.
“D’s getting cleaned up. Stay here and take care of her. There’s drinks in the fridge, but please use a coaster. Be back as soon as I can.” Lucy grabbed her umbrella and hustled out the door.
Jerry opened the fridge and frowned: Mike’s Hard Lemonade, White Claw Seltzer, Coors Light, and Diet Coke. He shrugged and grabbed a beer. At least it was cold. He sat on the couch, popped the top, and placed a coaster on the glass coffee table.
On the table between the vase of yellow roses and a green-and-gold backpack sat a closed MacBook and a stack of magazines. Jerry leafed through the titles: Golf Digest, Golf for Women, American Cheerleader, Chemical Engineering Monthly, Golf Course Architecture. He grabbed one of the golf magazines, looking for something to distract his thoughts from Darla in the shower.
An article entitled “Confessions of a Drink Cart Girl” caught his attention. He was two-thirds of the way through it when Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” blared from his phone.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Jerry? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’m watching CNN. They’re showing what happened at your football stadium.”
“CNN? Really?”
“Actually, they’re replaying videos from TikTok.”
“I was at the game, but nowhere near the light tower. Never in any danger.” Jerry didn’t like lying to his dad, but it was better than having him worry. “I’m at...uh, a friend’s now.”
“I’m relieved that you’re okay.”
Jerry suppressed a grin. That was the most emotion he could expect from the old man.
“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. How’s school?”
“Classes are fine. My favorite is the course on the Freedom of Information Act that Professor Goetter is teaching. For my class project, I’m using FOIA to compile a database of all officer-involved shootings in the five-county area.”
Jerry considered telling his dad about the suspension from The Chronicle, writing for The Underground, and the confrontation with the chancellor. But if he got into that, he’d have to explain his article tying the deaths to bad luck. He wasn’t sure how a traditional newspaperman like his dad would react.
Instead, it was time to confess. “Actually, I’m glad you called. I used the emergency credit card. Thought I should let you know before you get the bill.”
“Maybe I should enroll in automatic notifications?”
Jerry sighed. Best to get it over quick, like ripping off a bandage. “It’s for a hundred and twenty-five dollars. From an Italian restaurant called Cascata.”
“What kind of emergency happened at an Italian restaurant? Busby’s birthday?”
“No, someone else.”
“A new girl you wanted to impress?”
Jerry chuckled. “That wasn’t the plan. Her name is Darla. She asked me out. I had no idea she would pick somewhere so expensive. Dad, she’s so hot. She’s a cheerleader, but no flibbertigibbet. She reads Voltaire and Dumas in French.”
“I get the picture and can appreciate the circumstances. Your mother initially asked me out. But that card is for emergencies only. No more fancy Italian dinners.”
“Okay, Dad. Thanks for checking on me. Love you.” Jerry shoved the phone back into his pocket.
In an exaggeration of Jerry’s Jersey accent, Darla mocked, “She’s a cheerleader, but no flibbertigibbet.”
He turned to see Darla hopping on one foot across the room. She wore a bright pink, fitted T-shirt and pale-yellow shorts. Hair wet, a silver bracelet on her left wrist, a comb in one hand, and a rolled-up bandage in the other. She plopped herself down at the far end of the sofa. He’d figured Darla for about 5’4” or 5’5” but the way her legs stretched across the cushions; they looked as long as the lanes of the Garden State Parkway.
“First, I don’t sound like that. And second, a flibbertigibbet is someone who—”
“I know what it means, Jerry. Do you want to compare SATs?” Darla laughed. “And you sound like an extra from The Sopranos. Hey Tony, I say we rub dese guys out, if dey don’t give us da dough.”
Jerry burned red.
“Oh look, the boy is blushing. Again. So cute. Can you wrap my ankle?” Darla tossed him the bandage.
Just out of the shower, Darla smelled clean and fresh. With her make-up scrubbed off, her complexion resembled that of a Danish milkmaid. Jerry leaned forward, unrolled the bandage, and looped it around her ankle. For the first time, he really noticed her even tan running all the way to her toes.
“Make it nice and tigh—Ow!”
“Sorry!”
Darla pressed her lips together. “Don’t worry. Been through this before. It can’t be helped.”
He finished wrapping and velcroed the end of the bandage. “All done.”
“Good job. I can’t flex it at all. Maybe you should go pre-med instead of journalism.”
“I took a Wilderness First Aid course. My dad and I do plenty of outdoors stuff, hiking and camping.”
Darla scrunched up her nose. “Outdoors? It’s full of bugs and bears. And you can’t wear heels on the hiking trail.”
So much for snuggling with Darla around a campfire while toasting marshmallows. But that wasn’t a deal breaker.
“I do like boats, though.” She held up her hands like she was steering as she raced across the water. “My dad has a fifty-foot cabin cruiser we take out on Lake Michigan. And jet skis are plenty of fun. Vroom!”
Jerry said nothing. He wasn’t a fan of cacophonous two-stroke engines. Maybe he and Darla were from different worlds?
“There’s ice in the freezer and Ziploc bags in the second cabinet from the left. Can you fill a bag for me?”
Jerry stood and bowed. “It would be my pleasure. Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m good.”
Jerry returned with the bag to find Darla combing out her wet hair. He propped the bag of ice on her bandaged ankle.
“You called your dad to tell him about me?” Darla’s tone hinted that she always expected to be the subject of conversation.
“No, he called me. Saw video from the tower collapse at the stadium on CNN.”
“Really?” Darla leaned to grab the MacBook off the coffee table. The ice slid off her ankle.
“Stay put. I’ll get what you need.” Jerry put the bag back in place.
“My own private butler? I love it.” Darla powered up the machine, searched for videos, and frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“This guy on Fillmore who scored the last touchdown. He’s dancing around the end zone like a five-year-old who ate an entire bag of M&Ms. Act like you’ve been there before, dude. Do stuff like that and you’ll—” The blood drained from Darla’s face.
“You’ll what? Darla?”
“Jinx yourself,” she whispered.
“Wait, you can’t think that had anything to do with the tower?”
Darla continued to scroll through videos and her eyes went wide, her body shook, goose bumps covered her legs.
“What now?”
“Th—this video. Y—you saved me. The light tower would have totally flattened me if it wasn’t for you.”
“It’s probably just the angle of the camera.”
“No, Jerry. The tower came down on the megaphone I was chasing. You risked your life to save me.” Darla closed the MacBook and set it on the table. She scooted toward Jerry but yelped in pain.
“Darla, please don’t move.” Jerry put the bag back on her ankle. “Let me check out your other foot.”
“My other foot? It’s fine.”
“Trust me.” Jerry edged down the sofa, lifted Darla’s left foot, and let it rest on his knee. He used both thumbs to massage the ball of her foot and her heel.
“What are you d—Oh my gosh! That feels amazing.”
“That’s the idea.” Jerry cracked the knuckles of her toes. “Lie back and enjoy it.”
Darla scrunched down on the sofa, put her head on the armrest, and closed her eyes. Jerry continued to knead the muscles in Darla’s foot in silence. A smile of contentment crossed her face. Her chest rose and fell slightly with each even breath. It reminded him of watching a sleeping kitten.
“I have to stop. My hands are getting tired.” He lifted Darla’s foot, slid his leg from under it, and set it on the couch.
Darla didn’t react or answer.
Jerry lowered his voice. “Are you awake?”
Darla’s eyes fluttered open. “Yeah, and I’m definitely keeping you around.” She flexed her uninjured foot. “That was outstanding. Where d'you learn to—”
“Hey guys, I’m back! And I brought friends!” Lucy burst through the door.
Mike and Talia followed Lucy into the room. Talia had changed out of her uniform and wore a red polo shirt and jean shorts.
“There’s the hero!” Mike grinned at Jerry.
“Here you go, D.” Lucy handed Darla the purse.
“Thanks, Lucy.” Darla retrieved her phone from the purse.
“Don’t thank me. I couldn’t get close to the stadium. They only let in one person, Veronica, to grab all the girls’ stuff.”
“Then yay for Veronica. Where is she anyway?”
Talia pointed in the direction of her dorm. “Went back to our room with Greg.”
Darla rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy.”
“What?” Mike furrowed his brow.
“Sylvilagus heftris,” Lucy announced.
Jerry spread his arms wide. “I have no idea what that means.”
“For those of you who aren’t planning on a career in Wildlife Management, that’s the genus of the Adirondack forest rabbit.” Lucy put her hands to the sides of her head, stuck out her index fingers, and wiggled them.
“Still not getting it.”
Talia blew out her breath. “Ronnie and Greg go at it like rabbits. Only much louder.”
Mike covered his ears with his hands. “That is more information than I needed.”
“Speaking of rabbits.” Darla rifled through the purse, pulled out the mint green rabbit’s foot, and hooked it to her bracelet. “That’s much better.”
Mike squinted. “What’s that?”
“Rabbit’s foot.” Darla rubbed the fuzzy oval. “You know, for luck. I got them at Five Below.”
“Wasn’t lucky for the rabbit,” Mike observed.
“Har, har.” Darla groaned. “Does Jerry write all your material? He said the same thing. Anyway, I didn’t have mine, and I hurt my ankle and almost got clobbered by the light tower. But Jerry had his, and he rescued me.”
“Jerry?” Mike looked at his roommate in disbelief. “You’ve really bought into this nonsense? It goes against common sense and all we know about science.”
Jerry pulled out his keys and dangled from the orange rabbit’s foot. “I’m not saying I believe it one hundred percent, but I’m not going anywhere without it.”
Talia nodded. “A lot of the squad were talking about that article with the bad luck on The Underground. They’re taking it seriously.”
Mike rubbed his chin. “I still say it’s nonsense.” He turned to Talia. “If we can’t go back to your room, what are we going to do?”
“Work on the jammer?”
Mike nodded. “But we need to pick up an RF modulator, some capacitors, and more solder over at Electrical Supply Hut.”
“Let’s go. I’ll drive.” Talia pointed at Jerry. “You want a lift?”
Jerry patted Darla’s leg. “I’m going to stay here and minister to the wounded.”
“Shotgun!” Mike called.
As they walked out, Talia looped her arms through Mike’s. “You don’t need to call shotgun if you’re the only one riding.”
After the door closed, Darla laughed. “It’s scary how much those two are right for each other.”
“Spooky.” Jerry leaned back.
Lucy flopped into the chair across from the sofa and spied the bag of ice resting on Darla’s ankle. “You going to be okay, D?”
“I think so. We’ll see how my ankle feels in the morning. If it’s still bad, I’ll stop by Student Health.” She adjusted the bag. “So, what are you up to?”
“Dunno. Guess I could catch up on my reading for biology.”
“What about Jim?”
“He went home to Cape Vincent for the weekend. It’s his mom’s birthday.”
Darla suppressed a frown. “How’s your drop fade?”
“Perfected. We’ve got a match against Franklin Pierce on Tuesday morning over at Oak Valley. The seventh hole is this par-five dogleg to the right.” Lucy stood and pantomimed swinging a golf club. “I’m going to cut the corner, land the ball past that no-longer-intimidating fairway bunker, and make the green in two. Then on the tenth hole, I’ll use my...”
Darla’s head subtly tilted toward Jerry, her eyes communicating a silent plea.
“You know what?” Lucy glanced out the window. “The rain’s stopped, and my short irons could use some work.” She disappeared into her bedroom and emerged wearing a green-and-gold visor, her golf bag slung over her shoulder. “After the range, I’ll hit the SC for an early dinner. Figure I’ll be gone at least three hours.” She winked at Darla and walked out the door.
“Alone at last.” Darla grimaced as she inched down the sofa toward Jerry.
“You stay put.”
“Nope.”
The bag of ice fell from the sofa to the floor.
“I need to duct tape that thing to your ankle.”
Darla climbed into Jerry’s lap.
“What are you doing?” Jerry was surprised, but not displeased with her actions.
Darla leaned close, nibbled on Jerry’s earlobe, and whispered, “Thanking the boy who saved my life.” She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.
The kiss continued until the need for oxygen proved too strong.
“You’re welcome.” Jerry gasped for air. He licked his lips. Darla tasted like fresh cherries.
“I’m not done. I barely started.” She slipped her hands under Jerry’s borrowed sweatshirt.
“Ah, cold!” Jerry’s body jerked.
Darla’s lips twisted into a mischievous grin. “Guess we’ll have to do something to warm them up.” She pressed her body against Jerry and kissed him again.