fifteen
Harper Apple
A few minutes later, the majorettes jog off and the dance team races onto the field and takes their positions. It takes me a second to recognize them in their black bodysuits with gold glitter, but then I spot Dixie, Quinn, Gloria, and some of the Bitch Pack girls among them. I wave to Dixie, and then the music starts, and they go into their routine, dancing to some pop song by Isaac Vega. Jolene and I pick up our signs and hold them above our heads, shaking our asses and dancing along.
The team leaves, and the band moves to the sidelines. I’m a little disappointed that the team didn’t come warm up on the field, but then, I know zero about how football games work.
“And now,” the announcer booms over the PA system. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s welcome to the field, from Willow Heights Prep Academy, Royal Dolce and the Knights!”
Our side of the stadium echoes with screams and cheers and stomping feet, and a second later, Royal and the team come bursting through the paper over the tunnel at the end of the endzone and pour onto the field. My heart does a stupid little catch when I see him, but he doesn’t see us. The team bounds onto the field and lines up as the announcer calls the other team, the Hellstern Jalepenos.
They take the field, and a referee does some consulting, and then the teams start running at each other. Despite my lack of knowledge about the game, it’s not hard to find Royal, since he’s the quarterback and a freaking giant. Even though I don’t give a hoot about sports, I know our team is undefeated this year. It’s hard not to know that when half the conversations at school are about it. But even I can tell his first pass is questionable at best. It’s about eighty yards long and doesn’t even come close to the guy he’s aiming for. The next two are no better.
“Oof,” Jolene says. “Someone’s off his game tonight.”
I’ve only seen Royal play once, and I remember him being good, but for the first quarter of the game, he doesn’t make a single good pass. He throws himself into every play like he’s dead set on getting injured and ends up in a pile-up that I’m pretty sure is actually a fist fight at one point. Hellstern’s not exactly playing nice, either. At the end of the quarter, they sack Royal so hard his helmet flies off, and when he gets up, he tries to throw a punch, and like five coaches and a ref have to drag him back to the sidelines.
Definitely something going on with him, though I don’t think he’s even seen us, so I know it’s not about our sign. I’m a little guilty about it, and I’m starting to think we should put them away and not fuck with him tonight. Part of me feels for him, and the other part is scared of what he’ll do if I piss him off right now.
“Oh, good, he’s handing off,” Jolene says, pulling me back to the game.
“Is that good?”
“Depends,” she says. “When it’s a choice between that or playing Russian Roulette with this defense and then throwing Hail Mary’s every play, yes.”
“Wow,” I say. “You’re really into this.”
“I have a lot of guy friends,” she says. “Some of them like sports.”
“Do you like sports?”
“Mostly for the uniforms,” she admits with a giggle.
I shake my head, feeling that pang of regret inside me. If we’d stayed in the trailer park, Jolene would probably be my best friend, the kind I don’t have now. Losing that seems far worse than gaining a real house. There’s a weird exclusivity to the trailer park pack, though. You can’t really be one of them if you’re… Not.
We watch the rest of the quarter, which goes better, mostly because Royal keeps handing off to Duke, who runs through invisible gaps between defenders and even literally runs over their backs at one point.
“You think he really meant what he said before the game?” Jolene asks just before halftime, when Duke’s just scored his second touchdown and is clowning around in the endzone.
“Hard to know,” I say. “He clowns a lot, but he’s pretty serious where his dick is concerned.”
The whistle sounds, and the crowd starts getting up to get drinks. I’m about to ask Jolene if she wants snacks when I hear something hit the railing. The next second, Royal jumps up and grabs the top bar, jack-knifing his body to swing himself up to standing, shoving his feet onto the edge of the bleachers under the bottom rung. For one split second, all I can do is watch in awe at the power and pure athleticism of the move, like he’s a fucking gymnast in the body of a football god.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he demands.
“Oh,” Jolene says, covering her heart and blinking up at him as he towers over us. “You scared me.”
He doesn’t so much as glance her way. His gaze is on me, wild and ferocious as an animal.
“You told me to dress like a whore,” I remind him. “And take out an ad letting the whole town know I’m your bitch.”
“I didn’t mean for you to show up in a G-string.”
“You don’t like my shorts?” I ask, gesturing to the denim covering… Some of my pelvic area. True, at least an inch of ass cheek hangs out the back, and they’re as high cut as a bikini on the legs and so low rise I had to shave my pubes, but hey, I’m just following orders.
His nostrils flare, and he glares down at me, a vein in the side of his neck pulsing with his heartbeat. His voice is hard and cruel. “You have no class.”
I cock a brow. “You sound surprised by that.”