"Dude, you have got to stop letting your mom dress you for school," Tim said as he set his lunch tray down on the table. He slid his leg over the bench and dropped down next to Jason.
"I like my clothes," Jason replied, looking down at the tri-color polo shirt his mom had picked up at Target last week.
"Tell her to get you a good set of boots—or grow a set and get your own," Tim responded as he tore open a bag of chips.
"I like Reeboks," Jason replied, this time more softly.
"Reeboks are for pussies," Tim responded, his mouth full of Sloppy Joe.
"So are manners, it seems," Jason replied. He looked up at the table of girls sitting across from them and then quickly dropped his eyes back down to his tray of food.
"You're going to have to go talk to her," Tim said. "Of course I have the sense that she's not really into guys who wear polo shirts their mom picked out and perfectly white Reeboks."
"So, what do I do?" Jason asked, looking over at his friend.
"You come over to my place tonight before this dance and we get you ready for some action," Tim replied.
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Jason Street and Tim Riggins were unlikely friends. Jason had two parents, lived in a nice house near the elementary school and was destined for football greatness. His dad had won a state championship when he was the quarterback for the Dillon Panthers and now, twenty-five years later, it seemed like the same thing was likely to happen for Jason as well.
Tim Riggins had flunked first grade. And then his mom took off. Then he flunked fifth grade. And then his dad took off. He lived with his brother Billy now, but it seemed any day now he might be flunking ninth grade. Jason hoped that didn't mean Billy would take off too.
But there was one thing that Tim Riggins had never flunked, one thing that Jason Street would never pass, and that was an honors course in cool.
"Okay, so I've picked out a couple of options, here," Tim said as he and Jason walked into his room.
"I don't know that the Western shirt is really my look," Jason replied as he fingered one of the shirts lying on Tim's bed.
"All the better for her to rip it open when she goes for it. You gotta have the snaps on the shirt, Six. It's the quickest way to get you laid."
"I don't want to get laid," Jason answered as he pulled his red polo shirt off. "I just want to ask Lyla to dance."
"Screw Garrity—although, honestly, Street, she's not gonna let you get with her. She's one of those types that saves it." Tim picked up the first shirt and handed it to Jason. "You'd do much better with one of the rally girls. What about Jenny Samuels? She's easy—on the eyes and in the bed."
Jason slid the shirt on and started closing up the snaps. "I like that Lyla's not easy. I like that she respects herself."
"Shit, Street—thinking like that is just gonna make you the oldest virgin in Texas."
"I look like an asshole," Jason said as he began tucking the shirt tails into his jeans.
Tim reached over and pulled the shirt back out. Then he reached up and unsnapped the top three snaps. "You spend time in the weight room. Don't leave it all to the ladies imagination."
Jason turned around and looked in the mirror over Tim's dresser. He looked ridiculous. He looked like Tim.
He ripped at the snaps on the shirt.
"See, easy as pie," Tim said from across the room.
"I'm not wearing this," Jason said, reaching for his polo shirt.
"Well you're not wearing this," Tim replied, snatching the shirt away before Jason could grab it.
"Hey!"
"Jay, listen to me. Seriously." Tim sat down and patted the bed next to him. "Have a seat and let the love doctor tell you how this is going to play out."
Jason eyed the bed warily. He'd had the birds and bees talk with his Dad. He really didn't want to hear it again from Tim—first hand experience or no.
But Tim didn't seem to notice Jason's reluctance. "You wouldn't play a game without warming up first, right? No. So you can't expect things to go down with Garrity the way you want unless you're loosened up first. Oh! Brittney whatsherface! She's perfect. Real loose."
"But I don't want to get laid..."
"You said that. I'm not buying it."
"Look, Lyla..." Jason sat down on the bed beside Tim. "Lyla is...special. She's sweet and honest and her smile can light up a room."
Tim made a gagging noise.
"And maybe we'll be together and one day we'll want to give ourselves to each other, but tonight I just want to dance with her."
Tim groaned and fell back on the bed. "You are beyond hope."
Jason grabbed his shirt out of Tim's hand when the other boy wasn't looking.
"Yeah, but I got my shirt."
"You're hopeless, Street," Tim said as he reached over for his boots. "At least let me swap those Reeboks out for something a little more Texas. You can't dance in Reeboks."
"I can't dance in any shoes," Jason replied.
Tim stood up and held his hand out to Jason.
"I don't think so," Jason replied.
Tim didn't move, his arm still outstretched toward Jason. "Come on. Billy taught me and it's not like we're going to be doing any fancy moves. It's just a waltz and a two-step."
"No," Jason replied, the polo shirt still clutched in his hands.
Tim threw his hands up in the air. "Then I give up, Street. But I'm gonna wear that silver shirt with two snaps closed, these boots and I'm gonna ask Miss Lyla Garrity to do the two-step. And don't say I didn't give you your chance."
Jason looked at him and shook his head. But he wouldn't put it past Tim to try.
"Okay, but my feet are bigger than yours. I have to wear the sneakers."
Tim smiled and reached into his closet. "Not if I borrowed this pair of Billy's boots."
Jason sighed and took the boots from Tim. He sat down on the edge of Tim's bed, slid out of his Reeboks and pulled the boots on. He looked over at the polo shirt he had been wearing earlier and sighed again. "You really think your shirt looks okay on me?"
Tim nodded. "Now, let's work on your footwork, QB1."
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Jason paused near the door to the high school.
"Don't lose your cool now," Tim said as he pushed his friend toward the entrance.
"What if she isn't here?" Jason asked.
"Dude, you are a junior. You're the starting quarterback. You have women crawling all over you. You should not be this hung up on a freshman," Tim remarked.
Jason wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. Tim was right, but then again, Tim would hit anything that stopped for ten seconds.
"Hey, Timmy."
Jason looked up as Tyra Collette sidled up to Tim. That was exactly the kind of girl that Tim could get any time he wanted to and the kind of girl that made Jason really nervous.
"Inside, Six," Tim said as he slipped his arm around Tyra's waist and headed for the gym where a DJ was playing songs.
Jason paused for a moment, then shook his head and followed Tim and Tyra down the hall.
He rounded the corner and stopped. The room was full with groups huddled along the walls and couples on the floor dancing. He was completely out of his element.
"Hi, Jason."
Jason spun around at the quiet, sweet sound of Lyla Garrity's voice. "Uh...do you want to dance?" he stammered.
Lyla's eyes widened, but she nodded. That was a good sign, right? The heavy dance beats were vibrating off the walls of the gym, the pounding matching Jason's heart beat for beat. He swallowed thickly as he found a place on the crowded dance floor and turned around to face her.
Then the pounding gave way to the light piano notes of a slow waltz and Jason felt his cheeks flush.
She was waiting for him to do something. He had to do something!
A sharp elbow in his back sent him stumbling the few feet towards her and he thought he caught Tim's voice say, "Thank me later." Tentatively Jason placed his hands on either side of Lyla's waist and she raised her arms up to rest her hands on his shoulders. Awkwardly they shuffled around in a tight circle. Every few beats Lyla seemed to squirm and shift away from him.
"You okay?" Jason asked.
"It's just...ow!" she exclaimed, stepping back and hopping in place. "You're stepping on my foot!"
Jason closed his eyes. He was going to kill Tim Riggins. "They're not my boots, Tim made me wear them, I'm sorry."
Lyla smiled and moved closer to him again. "Did Tim pick out this shirt too?"
Jason looked away, but he caught Lyla smiling.
"How about we just..." Shuffling for a quick moment, Lyla suddenly stepped even closer to him and slung her arms all the way around his neck. "Am I too heavy?"
Jason glanced down. She had slipped off her shoes and was standing on the toes of his too big boots. He couldn't even feel her.
"You're perfect," he replied, slowly spinning around and around.
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"My dad is coming to pick me up at eleven," Lyla said as they walked toward the door of the school.
Jason looked down at his watch. It was only a little after 10:30 pm. He felt his palms grow sweaty. This never happened to him on the field. How was it that he could play against the top teams in the state, but this girl was throwing him for a loop.
"Do you want to go sit by the fountain?" Lyla asked.
Jason shook his head. "No, let's go somewhere else." He was going to take Lyla to the one place where he never lost his cool.
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"Are we allowed to be here?" Lyla asked as Jason helped her over the fence.
"Probably not," Jason replied. He struggled for a moment on the fence—these stupid boots were killing him—but then jumped down on the field next to Lyla. "C'mere."
Jason led Lyla out to the middle of the field. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad dancer."
Lyla smiled at him. "I don't really care about that."
"And these stupid boots..."
"I like your Reeboks," Lyla shared. "And your polo shirts."
"They aren't cool," Jason responded.
Lyla shrugged. "But I don't want to date 'cool'—I want to date you."
"You do?" Jason asked.
Lyla nodded.
And then just like every Friday night out on the field when the lights came on and the referee blew the whistle, Jason knew exactly what to do. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She was soft and warm. He slid his arm around her back and pulled her close to him. The kiss seemed to last forever, until finally his arm relaxed and they took a half step apart.
"Yeah, I do," she replied.
i/fin//i