AN: This chapter is super long. About three times as long as the last. I hope that you still enjoy it and that there aren't too many grammatical and spelling errors. Forgive me if so. And I hope you don't hate me or throw your computer when you get hints of a blossoming romance. Just remember which characters the story is written under and know that they are endgame.
The first game of the year and my opportunity to prove myself was in less than twenty four hours. I had been staring into space since climbing into bed two hours ago, and I wasn't any closer to sleep. I'd spent the last thirty minutes attempting to dissolve into the world around me, trying to become the sound of my acoustic ceiling and join the applause of the Aurora Borealis, but the silence only heightened my awareness of the mattress sinking beneath my weight. My comforter, which made my skin itch in unbearable places, and the drumbeat in my chest served as a constant reminder that I was alive and still in my bed. I pushed off the covers and rolled out of bed, my feet protesting against the cold hardwood as I quietly slipped out of my room.
The house felt empty even though my parents and my younger siblings were only a few feet away. There was a muffled bump from my parents' room, and I froze in my tracks. The house was alarmed so I wasn't concerned about a robbery, but I wasn't too keen on running into anyone right now, either. I crept quietly and slowly pushed open the bathroom door. My mother moaned my father's name, and he shushed her.
No.
I turned on the cold tap to cover the noises escaping my parents' room and looked in the mirror. There were dark circles underneath my eyes and the beginnings of a pimple on my right cheek, something that only ever happened when I was stressed. I dragged my hand down my face and splashed my eyes with water.
The football team had been riding my ass ever since I became quarterback. Most of my teammates didn't really trust me, but to my credit, it had very little to do with my skill and much more to do with Phil's anger towards me. After playing alongside him for three years, my teammates did trust Phil, and the more he slandered me, the more doubtful of my abilities my teammates became. Coach Beiste swore that I could be a great leader, but I wasn't so sure anymore.
Home life didn't quell my anxiety about football. I'd been wearing jersey number six since beginning tryouts, and the moment I realized what I'd done, my stomach sank. Six was my brother's number. I hoped it would bring me more luck than not, though, because my brother was a great quarterback. However, when I showed up at home with the number emblazoned upon my chest, my mom started crying, and my dad shooed me to my room. I asked for a new jersey the next day, but none were available in my size, so that's how Coach Beiste got to know me. "Get your head in the game, Six!" was my moniker for the first half of tryouts. I wore the jersey without comment, but inside I was storming with emotion.
Mom hadn't cried since I first came home in the jersey, but it definitely affected her. She stopped going thrifting and began to give me strange looks. When I told her that I had made quarterback she smiled and hugged me, kissing my cheek. "Sawyer would have been so proud to see you now," she whispered in my ear.
When she pulled away, her smile had changed, but I couldn't pinpoint it. Was it longing? Happiness? No one else seemed to notice, but then again they all had tunnel vision for me. After the creepy party, she packed away the photo albums. Dad furrowed his brow when he saw her marking the boxes for the attic, but he said nothing.
We went out to BreadStiX as a pre-game day celebration. It was a tradition in my family to celebrate the day before a game as a good omen. I called it counting chickens before they hatched, but I was never one to turn down a good meal.
"A toast to our wonderful son," Mom said with a look to dad, "and your awesome big brother." She smiled at Stevie and Stacey. She stretched her glass out in front of her, her eyes beaming, and we all raised our glasses in return. "Good luck out there tomorrow, Sawyer."
My stomach lurched, and I was on my hands and knees kneeling in front of the toilet, releasing everything. I sank to the floor and flushed the toilet, wiping my mouth with my hand.
There was a pregnant pause as the realization of my mother's actions over the past few weeks began to sink in. Her strange looks. Putting away the photo albums. Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Mom considered me fondly and blinked back tears. I avoided her gaze. "My dear boy," she whispered.
"But Mom that's Sam," Stevie said slowly. "Not Sawyer."
"Sam?" She tried out the word and shook her head to clear it. "Sam! Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry. Of course you're Sam. To Sam!" She raised her glass up higher, and we repeated the gesture, clinking together our drinks.
Mom and Dad stayed in the car when we got home. It was the only place they ever argued.
"Are Mommy and Daddy getting a divorce?" Stacey asked me as I tucked her in. It had been more than an hour since we'd come home, and my parents still hadn't made it into the house.
"They would never do that," I replied, kissing her forehead. "They love you too much. Get some sleep."
She rolled away from me, and I watched her for a minute before leaving. After Sawyer's death, my parents nearly divorced. Mom was slipping away, and I caught Dad crying. I'd overhear conversations with words like "joint-custody" and "alimony." After I refused to answer to Sawyer, Mom was hospitalized, and Dad stuck by her side until she came back to us.
By the time they finally came in, Stevie and Stacey had been in bed for a half hour. Dad patted me on the shoulder before heading to bed himself. Mom gave me a hug. "I'm sorry, Sam. I love you so much," she said.
"I love you, too, Mom," I replied. She made her way upstairs, and I sat in the living room a few more minutes before going to bed.
I climbed into the tub and turned on the shower. The water was warm against my skin, and the constant patter against the tub floor was like the music of raindrops. I could tell Coach Beiste that I was the wrong choice, that she should give the position to Phil. He'd been there longer than me, and I'd seen him in practice. Yes, he was a dick, but he was definitely the truth on the field. I could fake an injury. I turned the water up as hot as I could stand it until my skin turned pink from the heat and every pore on my body screamed in deafening tones. Loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Loud enough to drown out everything else. I stumbled back to my room and crashed on my bed. I was exhausted now. I laid on my stomach, and, pressing the pillow over my head to quiet even the silence, I fell into a restless sleep.
"Are you nervous about tonight?" Artie asked. I jerked my head up and looked at him. We were in our regular tutoring room. I'd asked for some silent study time when we first got together, and he agreed. At some point in the last half hour he'd put away his books, and he was staring at me intently. I glanced down at my paper onto which I'd been doodling spirals. I don't know for how long. "It would be perfectly normal if you were."
"A little, I guess. Well, a lot, actually," I admitted, putting down my pen. I felt a bit better when I woke up this morning, though by the looks of my sheets I'd been tossing and turning all night, but I was beginning to taste bile again. "I'm not sure if I can do this, Artie."
"You seemed off this morning," he nodded.
We had a pep rally that morning introducing us to the school so that everyone would be pumped up throughout the day. I was a ball of nerves and barely dragged my feet up the stairs to the auditorium stage. Fortunately we only had to do that and lead our school fight song. The rest of the rally was hearing Principal Figgins joke of a pep talk, watching the Cheerios dance around on stage (Tina looked great in her uniform and was as good as the best of them), and listening to the Glee kids cover some song, which everyone was actually into it despite the way the Glee kids were treated. I was surprised to see a few Cheerios and football players in the club. I hadn't really been paying much attention the one time I'd gone.
"But, hey, dude, listen. Coach Beiste chose you because you're a beast, too. The beast of the Beiste. She led us to our first State championship in twenty years after a season in which we were 1-9. She knows what she's doing. Don't worry." Artie gave me a huge smile and a thumbs up but relaying the legacy I needed to help uphold probably wasn't the best pep talk he could've given me. I ran my hands down my face and groaned.
"Well how about this," He said. "If football doesn't work out, you can always help me with the musical."
"Artie, I already told you—" I began.
"I'm not asking you to be in it, but we could definitely use some extra hands on the crew. It'll be a way for you to take your mind off of things, especially if you stink." I gave him a look. "I'm not saying that you do," he responded quickly, "but you can't sit around and wallow in self pity, Sam. You're better than that. You're a creative person, and it could be an artistic outlet for you."
"Maybe," I sighed.
"Great!" He said. "Here." He pulled out a copy of the script and pushed it towards me. "You can help me pick out props this weekend."
"Do you just carry these around with you?" I asked, flipping through.
"There's nothing wrong with being prepared." He shrugged and pushed his glasses further up his nose bridge.
He talked about comic books for the last few minutes to distract me, and the taste of bile receded back into my stomach. I sat through my next class, and I took notes, but I honestly had no clue what was said. I drifted to my locker to put my books away and get my notebook for Chemistry. Grease was peeking out from one of my folders, and I flipped through the script quickly. How the hell did Artie talk me into this? Someone grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, shoving me into the locker beside mine. Phil snatched the script from my hands while Bobby stood there like a Neanderthal and held me up against the locker. I pushed him off.
"What do we have here?" Phil said, glancing at the title with a smirk. "Looks like somebody's joining the gay squad."
"Hey give that back!" I raised my voice and reached for the script. I was tired of this already.
"Slow down there," Bobby said, grabbing it from Phil and holding it out of my reach. "I think it's time we helped him get his head back in the game." He gave a nod to Phil who smiled widely. They began to tear up pages and threw them in my face.
We could easily get suspended for fighting. I'd heard rumors of a little-enforced zero tolerance physical violence policy, but right now I just didn't care. All I'd wanted since day one was to have an easy senior year, but these guys were hell bent on making me feel like crap. I don't remember consciously deciding to punch Phil, but when I tried, he dodged it easily, and my fist connected instead with the locker beside his head.
"He just took a swing at me!" Phil had been looking for a fight since the day I took his spot, and if that's what it came down to, then screw it. He started to remove his jacket, all the while begging for me to come at him while Bobby amped up the situation. Neither of them actually made a move.
"Sorry to interrupt," Artie said, rolling between us from out of nowhere. "I'm actually glad you're here to see this." He nodded to Phil and Bobby as Phil pulled his jacket back on, annoyed.
He turned to me. "Thanks for agreeing to help with the musical, Sam. I really needed the help, and I really appreciate it." I crossed my arms and leaned against the locker, shaking my head as Artie turned to Phil and Bobby. "So are you two interested in helping? We could really use some more bodies."
"Dude, take him!" Bobby spit out, pointing to me, but Phil hesitated.
"This wheelchair kid is in the way! What if I knock him over or something?" Phil was visibly torn.
Bobby looked from Phil to Artie. "Ah... There's something not right about hitting a kid in a wheelchair."
Phil pointed a spindly finger in my face, and I knocked it out of the way, but he didn't retaliate. "You know the only thing saving you right now is my moral code. I don't hit crippled people, but I'll be back," he threatened, hitting the lockers. "We gon' be back!"
They walked off, and I nursed my hand for a moment before bending down to collect the papers from the ground.
"Those guys are jerks, Sam," Artie said, and I looked up at him. He looked worried. "But you don't have to fight them to prove yourself. They'll see how good you are on the field. They know how good you are; that's why they target you."
I stood up and closed my locker. "Thanks for the pep talk," I replied sarcastically. "But that's not going to help during the game, Artie. Phil plays right guard. If he's pissed at me, I'm going to get sacked more times than Jay Cutler which means that we're going to lose." I sighed.
"How the hell does a right guard even play quarterback?" Artie asked. "I thought he'd at least be a running back."
"I don't know, Artie, and I really don't care right now." I handed him the ripped papers. "I'm sorry about your script. I gotta go."
Artie didn't try to stop me. I walked out of the school and down the street. I didn't need to be back there until six. I couldn't go home. Mom would realize I was skipping if I showed up early. I walked with purpose and an unusual calm, though I didn't know where I was going until I was outside and hoping against hope that she was working today.
The bell above the door announced my arrival, and there was Mercedes with a warm smile beaming at me from behind the counter. "Sam!" She chimed. She was a breath of fresh air, and already I felt better by seeing her. "Come in. Sit down. How are you?"
I made a beeline for the chair I'd sat in the first time I visited the store, and Mercedes walked over as I settled into the plush green cushions. She leaned against the table nearest me and patted me on the shoulder. "I'm doing good, Mercedes, really good," I said, but there was no conviction in my voice.
A sad smile played on her lips. "Well you look like you've been run over by somebody's truck, and the last time I checked," she glanced at the clock above the door, "school lets out at 3:45."
It was a little after two. A laugh escaped me, and I slumped deeper into the chair. Mercedes walked away and the prints on her skirt swayed back and forth as she walked, acknowledging me. Taunting me. She pulled up a stool then sat down so that we were on the same level. I was looking anywhere but in her eyes now. I wasn't even sure why I'd come anymore.
"Well, we can sit here for the next few hours staring around the store and twiddling our thumbs until I have to kick you out, or you can spill why you came here," she said finally. "I don't know what's wrong, but I can guess that you didn't just come by to sit in a thrift store chair and learn more about leopard print skirts."
"No," I said finally, looking at her even though it was hard to do without blushing. "I really don't know why I came here, but you said that I should visit you sometime, and I guess I just needed someone. I just thought that maybe…I don't know." I looked away again, embarrassed.
"Tell me about it."
I looked up, and she was smiling. Mercedes looked so concerned, so attentive, that I found myself spilling everything that was bothering me. She didn't judge or interject. She just listened.
"I didn't know you had a brother who died," she whispered when I'd finished, and her eyes were full of tears, but she batted them away.
"Yeah. When I was ten," I sighed.
"Do you miss him?" She asked.
"Sometimes." I shrugged and looked down, away from Mercedes' piercing gaze. "But I don't even remember much about him now even though he was my favorite person growing up." I closed my eyes, gripping the arms of the chair. "There was this one time when I was little and I was trying to be so cool in front of all of his friends. We had this skateboarding ramp in our backyard, and I'd just really learned how to ride a bike without training wheels a few weeks before that. I couldn't have been older than six or seven, and Sawyer was probably fifteen or sixteen." I smiled and opened my eyes. "And I came up with the idea to do some great trick on my bike even though they were ignoring me and Sawyer had told me to go inside a few times. So I ran and grabbed my bike, I dragged it to the top of the ramp, and everyone stopped and stared at me as I mounted it and pushed off. And let me tell you, that was a cool moment. Flying down the ramp at full speed, feeling like Dave Mirra or something. For a moment, I felt invincible.
"You can probably guess that I completely busted my ass," I laughed a bit. "I banged up my knee pretty badly, and all of Sawyer's friends started laughing. Sawyer didn't say anything, though. He just walked over and picked me up, then took me inside and cleaned up my knee. 'Come on,' he said, and he took me back outside and showed me how to do the trick the right way."
"I'm sorry, Sam," Mercedes whispered. "I'm really sorry."
I shook my head, still looking down. "I resent him, too, you know."
"Because of your mom," Mercedes said, finishing my thought, and I nodded.
I had never admitted that to anyone, but I realized that it was true last night. I resented Sawyer because that was easier than resenting my mom for loving him more than the rest of us. I could live with that, but I hated myself for it.
"I'm sorry about your mom, too," she said.
I shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."
"I know, but still," she said, grabbing my hand. She squeezed it and held on a little longer than necessary before letting go. She got up and stretched her legs, and I quickly wiped my face. When did I start crying? Mercedes glanced at me over her shoulder and smiled.
"What?" I asked.
"I know you probably don't ever want to think about it, and I'm sorry if I give you nightmares, but you have to admit that it's a little funny that you heard your parents having sex last night." She grinned wider.
I shivered with the thought though glad for the distraction. "Don't remind me. God, I think I'm traumatized."
Mercedes laughed, and I laughed too. It felt good, freeing even. She went behind the counter, and I got up to check out some of the new records. I felt lighter, more fluid. "Was that your first time hearing them?" She asked.
"Uh, no, actually," I admitted with a frown. "I caught them once in the kitchen. I blocked it out, but thanks for the memories."
Mercedes laughed again. "You're welcome."
She began humming to the music. It was Revelry by Kings of Leon, and I could hear that if she were to sing, she'd have a really beautiful voice. "Why a music store?" I asked. "There are plenty of other places around here with help wanted signs in the windows."
Mercedes shrugged her shoulders. "I like music, and they were hiring. Eddie's a great boss. Why?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I'm just curious. I heard you humming."
"Oh," she said and chewed on a nail.
"Do you ever sing? Sing something for me."
"Excuse you? What's with the demands?" She asked placing a hand on her hip.
"I was just curious." I put my hands up to show that I was backing off. "I won't ask again. Sorry."
"It's fine. I used to sing all the time. I still do sometimes, but I don't know. It's just a hobby," she said shaking her head. She wrote a few things on a piece of paper while I looked through more albums. "So your first game is tonight, right?"
"Yeah," I said, looking up. She was staring at me.
"Are you nervous?" She asked.
Artie had asked the same question just a few hours ago. I'd felt like puking then, but now I just felt ready. "No," I answered honestly.
"Good," she said. "Make sure you kick some ass and show those pricks why you're quarterback."
Mercedes had me call my parents to let them know where I was, and Dad agreed to bring my uniform pieces to school for me. Mercedes had BreadStiX delivered for us, and we snacked before she took me back to school. I thanked her before I got out of her car.
"Are you coming to the game?" I asked as her car sat idle in the school parking lot.
She smiled and shook her head. "Sorry. I've got some errands to run today but maybe another time."
I nodded. "Thanks again for dinner and the ride."
"No problem," she replied. "I'll watch the news tonight to see how badly you beat the other team."
I waved as she drove off and found my dad in the parking lot. "Beat the shit out of them, son," he said, handing me the bag.
I waved to Stacey and Stevie and kissed mom on the cheek before heading to the locker rooms. I changed quickly and reviewed plays as people filled in the spaces around me. I was focused; I was ready. Phil knocked into me as he headed to his locker, breaking my focus. We stared each other down a moment but didn't do anything.
"That dude sucks."
I looked over, and this new kid, Ryder Lynn, was sitting next to me. He was a sophomore, and I'd seen him dancing around on the field. Coach Beiste had yelled at him almost as much as she yelled at me. "Tell me about it," I replied.
"Don't worry about him, Sam," he said. "Most of us think you're alright. You made All-State in Tennessee last year, right?"
I nodded. I hadn't told anyone that.
"I googled you," he said quickly. He must have seen the shock and confusion on my face. "Sorry if that makes me a creeper."
"It's cool," I replied with a shrug.
"Alright let's huddle up!" Coach Beiste had pushed her way into the middle of the locker room and was waving everyone over.
"I'll catch you after the game," Ryder said getting up, and I nodded. The team crowded around Coach Beiste. We'd be storming the field in less than five minutes.
"For the past two years we won State, and now we have a title to uphold," she said. "Before coming to McKinley, I won division championships at three different schools. And as many of you guys can attest, winning means everything to a community. Grades go up. The streets are cleaner. Crime goes down. It's a sense of pride, of unity. And this school deserves that."
Cheers went up all around, and Coach put her hand up to settle us. Faint cheers floated into the locker room from somewhere outside. The band was playing our fight song. "We came out on top last year against one of the hardest teams we've ever had to face, and, yes, we were good, but we were more than that. It was our chemistry that put us ahead." She looked pointedly at me, Phil, and Bobby. "You don't have to like each other, but you have to respect each other. You guys have got to find a way to come together or we're gonna get our asses kicked from here until Tuesday finds a saddleback full of buckwheat!"
Bobby scowled, and Phil nudged him. "For years people out there and even in this community looked down on this team, but we've shown them that the Titans have plenty of fire left. Now the Wildcats are gonna come out swinging prepared to knock us down a notch, and they'll take that victory if you let them, but don't make it easy, and don't you dare give in. Respect each other. Take care of each other, and we will show them why we're state champions!"
The locker room erupted into what probably would have sounded like a riot from the outside if the fans weren't twice as loud, and we got into formation and made our way to the field. As we approached, the sounds of the crowd grew louder in our ears, cheering us on, welcoming us home. The flood of red jerseys sent the crowd into a frenzy. If I weren't so afraid of being trampled by the guys behind me, I probably would've stopped to take it all in. It was never this insane back home.
The Lincoln High Wildcats were known for rushing defense, conceding just 54.4 yards per game, and last year, then junior defensive end Tad Cooke had set a school record with 7 tackles for a loss against Ridgemont. That combination alone would put serious pressure on our offense. Cooke was now a senior and one of the anchors of their team. He was staring us down and sizing us up, ready to take this victory by any means necessary.
"You'd better bring it, Lady Lips," Phil yelled at me. He'd blocked my view of Tad and poked me in the chest. "If I have to give you my spot, then you sure as hell better bring it."
"Don't worry," I said. "Just make sure I have a clear path."
We got into formation, and the whistle blew.
We needed them to fall behind early. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and everything was muffled by the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. There were flashes of red all around me, flags waving in the stands, Cheerios flipping in the corner of my vision, and all I could think was DON'T LOSE. We pushed hard on the opening drive and found ourselves in a fourth-down situation at Lincoln's 31-yard line. Coach Beiste called for us to line up in punt formation, and Lincoln prepared for us to kick. Instead, Jason Jones, our punter, lofted a pass to Andrew Shipper, who drew a pass-interference against sophomore cornerback Aaron Craig. We now had a first down at the 16-yard line.
I was heating up and so was my team. I kept looking out for Phil, and he hadn't let anyone sack me so far. He talked a lot of crap, but at the end of the day, he wanted to win as much, if not more, than I did. Having two years of championships under your belt could change you. It opened doors to college and beyond. I called the plays and my teammates responded like a well-oiled machine. We were the lifeblood of this school, and no one was going to take that away. On the third down I looked for an opening and saw Andrew gunning it to the end zone. I fired a pass down the left sideline, and he burned Aaron Craig for a touchdown giving us a 7-0 lead halfway through the first quarter.
"Let's go!" Andrew yelled, and the crowd loved it.
Everyone was on their feet chanting our name, and I could hear Coach Beiste over it all yelling at us to get back into formation. Lincoln woke up after that. I could almost see the veins popping out of Tad's neck as he became more focused. He seemed to be looking right at me, but I was calm. They answered on their next possession. On the very first play of the series, Lincoln moved into our territory as their quarterback and another kid hooked up on a pass play. They missed a first down following it, and Kendrix Haymitch made a field goal to put them on the board and cut the lead 7-3.
We held the lead through the end of the first quarter, and Coach Beiste rallied us together before the second. "They're not scared," she yelled, "and they're coming back. Look alive in the second quarter and don't let them get ahead! Hold them with your life. Let's go! Titans on three!"
Lincoln took their first lead in the second quarter. We missed a field goal, and Lincoln marched from their 33-yard line and drove towards our end zone. Their quarterback threw a wide open touchdown pass, giving them a 10-7 lead.
"Dammit!" Coach Beiste yelled. "Close those holes, and get your heads out of your asses!"
We pushed back. On third-and-4, we were driving on their 13-yard line, and I needed people to get open. Jason was in the end zone, and as I threw the ball to him, someone tripped him, and Lincoln was flagged for pass interference again. We got another first down with goal to go. I called the play and my teammates moved. Ryder was open on my right, and I passed to him. He juked Tad on his way down the field and ran two yards up the middle for a touchdown that put us up 14-10. We barely had time to enjoy it before they struck back. They pushed us hard and fast on the next series, and Taylor Bradford caught a 32-yard touchdown pass to give Lincoln a 17-14 advantage into halftime.
"Lincoln is not going to give this up easily," Coach Beiste said during our halftime huddle. "But we have to keep pushing back and holding the line. We gave up those touchdowns. They were both wide open passes. We can't afford to make those mistakes in the second half. Tad Cooke is collecting heads, and unless you want him to have yours, I suggest you stay focused, push back hard, and most of all hold the line!"
Coach Beiste explained her strategy for the second half. I was already tired. Most of the team was dragging in the locker room, and we still had half a game to go. Tad was a bulldog, but it was time to put him on a leash.
"Good job, Ryder," I said, scooting in next to the sophomore. "You were definitely there when I needed someone open."
"You were doing the work. I'm just trying to make it just like everybody else on the team," he shrugged.
"Just make sure you're staying open," I said. "They'll be looking for you, though, since you made that touchdown, but I'll be looking for you, too."
"I'll be open," he said, giving me a fist bump.
The Cheerios were finishing up some halftime routine involving whips of fire when we stormed back out from the locker room. I swear Coach Sylvester would send half of them to the ER before the game was over. I'd already seen one of them walking around school in a neck brace. I shook off thoughts of the hospital and focused on how I was going to win the game. The Lincoln mascot taunted us from the sidelines, and their cheerleaders were trying their hardest to distract us. Their team seemed reinvigorated from their halftime pep talk, and they stormed the field hungry. I caught Tad's stare, and he pointed at me, but I couldn't let that faze me as we got into formation and the clock started.
The third quarter was a hard fought battle. We held the line and pushed hard, and Coach Beiste yelled from the sidelines. We took the ball down field and Ryder scored on a nine-yard run. The whistle blew, and we were penalized because Bobby was holding Tad Cooke on the play. Coach Beiste was going crazy on the sidelines, and I did my best to ignore her as we collected ourselves and restarted. On third-and-12 from the 20-yard line, Tad came out of nowhere, and I was thrown to the ground hard before I could throw a pass.
"This year is for the Wildcats," he said menacingly before pushing himself off and away from me.
Ryder helped me up, and I saw Phil smirking from the corner of my eye. We'd lost seven yards and had to force a field goal. It went wide to the left.
Coach Beiste called a timeout, and we huddled up quickly. "You guys are letting them put fear into you, but I didn't come here to lose. And you," she spat at Phil, "your job is to protect the quarterback at all costs! Do not let them break my line again or it'll be your ass!"
We got back in the game and our cornerback intercepted a pass on the first play, returning it 19 yards to our 38-yard line to set up the score. Ryder carried the ball on a six play scoring drive with our defense holding Lincoln out of the end zone. Tylor Davis, our placekicker, then kicked a field goal and tied the score 17-17 with 12 seconds left.
The stakes were high heading into the fourth. Twelve minutes of game play would declare one of us victor, and I was determined for it to be McKinley. The Lincoln players hustled around the field, getting into position, and when the ball flew, our cornerback intercepted it again, returning it 14 yards to their 29-yard line. Lincoln's defense pushed us backwards, and Tad broke our line and headed straight for me. He put more force behind his tackle this time, and I was knocked out of breath when I hit the ground.
My legs went numb for a moment, and I was actually scared that I was paralyzed. This could be it, and even if feeling returned, I could just lay there and pretend to be out cold. I could fake it, and they'd take me out of the game. No. I'd come too far for that. My toes tingled as I dragged myself off the ground. The crowd chanted my name as I pulled myself together and dusted myself off.
"You okay man?" One of my teammates asked, and I nodded in response. If Tad Cooke wanted to put me out of commission, he'd have to try a lot harder than that.
Determination was etched across all of our faces as we moved inside Wildcat territory on our fourth consecutive possession, and adrenaline surged through me as I passed to Andrew. We gunned it for 80 yards, moving the ball inside the 20-yard line, and we grabbed a 20-17 lead when Tylor connected on a field goal.
I saw my parents and my younger siblings screaming in the crowd, and something tugged at me on the inside. Were my parents as proud of my brother when he was in this same position, the number six blazing on his chest? Did they scream this loud? Louder? I fumbled the snap on the 38 yard line. It was recovered by Lincoln's defensive tackle and they went to work, scoring a touchdown on their next possession and giving the Wildcats a 24-20 lead.
There were just over two minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, and everyone in the stadium was up on their feet watching silently. Lincoln was bracing itself for a victory, but we remained unfazed. The Lincoln defense was forced to punt from deep in its own zone. Kendrix Haymitch's kick came up short, giving us possession at their 44 yard line. We held them on three plays, but they fought back, and I was sacked on both first and second downs, leaving us facing fourth-and-16 from midfield. I got up more determined to win each time. My teammates hustled around the field, following my guidance.
I scanned the field for an opening and, spotting Andrew, hurled the ball in his direction. It missed as Lincoln's defensive back, Jeremy Potter, blocked him. Lincoln rallied together, excited about their impending victory, but the referee threw a flag.
"What the hell?!" Their coach yelled.
"Personal foul, 42," the ref called out.
The Lincoln players were angry. Jeremy was flagged for grabbing Andrew's facemask, giving us fifteen yards and an automatic first down. New life flowed into our veins. The crowd was getting noisy again. We advanced inside the red zone. I completed a third-down pass to Bobby and was sacked on the next play, but Lincoln was given a five-yard penalty for having too many players on the field, giving us another first-down. I tossed three straight incompletions, with their cornerback batting down a third-down play in the end zone. We faced another fourth down, so I hit Ryder over the middle for eight yards, down to the four-yard line.
It was second-and-goal with 17 seconds left. I called the play, and the center snapped the ball. I rolled out to my right and attempted to run for the touchdown. I barely missed being tackled by Tad but was stopped short by someone else at the two-yard line while still in bounds. The clock continued to run, and we were out of timeouts. There was enough time for one final play if we could get the ball in motion fast enough. I pushed myself up as fast as I could and screamed to my teammates to get moving. We scrambled to the line of scrimmage, and I could hear the crowd counting down the seconds. Five seconds, and I called the play. Three seconds, and the center snapped the ball. Two seconds. There wasn't enough time. I spiked it, praying for a little bit of help though realizing it was probably too late. The final buzzer never sounded. There was one second left on the clock.
The crowd was going nuts, and Lincoln coaches, players, and the newscasters argued whether the clock should have expired before the ball was grounded. Coach Beiste was incoherent from the sidelines. It was all coming down to this. We got into formation, and I was as ready as I would ever be. When the ball snapped, I again rolled to the right. I scrambled, off-balance, with the Lincoln defensive line bearing down on me. Ryder found an opening in the crowded end zone, just beyond a crowd of leaping Wildcats, and I saw him. I lofted a pass that flew just over Jeremy Potter's outstretched hand and into Ryder's, giving us a 26-24 victory.
The stands erupted and players swarmed Ryder in the end zone. My legs wobbled, and I struggled to stand upright. I was exhausted, both from excitement and fatigue, but I wasn't excited about the prospect of being trampled, so I held myself up. I'd done it. We'd done it. I searched for my family in the stands, but they were impossible to make out within the sea of crimson. So I turned to the closer faces nearby and joined my teammates to sing our fight song and celebrate.
I slathered on icy hot in the locker room. My muscles were sore. I gathered my things up quickly so that my family didn't have to wait long for me to come out. My teammates kept patting me on the back as they passed, and I'd replied 'thanks' to chants of 'great game' since the moment we left the field. Phil had bumped into me earlier and just nodded in my direction when I looked up. That was probably the most acknowledgement I could expect from him, which was fine with me. Ryder found me on my way out of the locker room, and he fist bumped me.
"Great game," he said.
I nodded, "You, too."
"I'm glad you're the quarterback," he said. "We definitely would've lost this game if you weren't. I think the guys know that now."
I looked around at the satisfied faces on my teammates, and I couldn't help feeling a little prideful. "Maybe. It was everybody, though. If you weren't open, then this would be a whole different story."
"Whatever. Who spikes a ball and stops the clock with one second left?" He said shaking his head. "That was genius."
I scratched my head and smiled, "I guess it was just a little."
"You're too modest, Sam," Ryder replied. "Take some credit." I shrugged. "Well, I gotta get home. I'll see you around. Are you going to the after party?"
I didn't even know there was one. "No. I'm tired. I think I'm going to head home, too. My family's waiting."
I walked out of the locker room and back onto the field, making a beeline towards the parking lot. I could see my family's car from here, and my little sister and brother waited on our trunk. It was a nice night out, and the breeze felt warm on my skin. I closed my eyes and slowly hummed Revelry. I smiled. Mercedes was going to be so excited.
"Hey Evans. Where are you going so fast? You got somewhere to be?" A soft and raspy alto voice called out to me, breaking me from my musings. I stopped, opening my eyes, and turned around to see who it was.
She was blonde and fit and not too much shorter than me. Her Cheerios skirt bounced around as she regarded me with striking green eyes. I'd seen her around a bit, but she was always with the Cheerios or hanging out with some of the other popular jocks. I also knew she was part of the Glee Club because I'd seen her performing with them during the pep rally. Her name was Quinn.
"I'm heading home," I said nodding towards my family. "You?"
She glanced around the emptying field. "I don't know. I was thinking about going to the after party, but it'll probably be a total wash. All the cool people don't seem to be heading that way anyways." A smile played on her lips, and I smiled back.
"You were great tonight," she said.
"Thanks." My face was starting to warm.
"I know they didn't treat you the kindest, but I was cheering for you." I held my breath as she moved in closer to me. I could see that she had a few small freckles on her nose. "I'm glad it wasn't in vain."
"Lor menari," I blurted out. Quinn raised a brow. "It's Na'vi, the, the Avatar language," I quickly explained. "It means you have pretty eyes." Quinn looked confused. "I've seen that movie like six times. Verbal vomit. I- I'm sorry," I stammered. I didn't mean to say any of that. Of course I'd attempt to flirt in Na'vi because I definitely wanted the head cheerleader to know how big of a dork I was.
But she smiled anyways. "That's cute," she said. "But I won't hold you from your family any longer. I see a couple of cute little blondies waiting for you over there. I wouldn't want to keep you."
In all honesty, I'd forgotten about my family, and even when Quinn reminded me, I wasn't so eager to get back to them, but she'd already moved away from me and was starting to walk in another direction. I stared after her, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"You wanna, I don't know, maybe hang out some time?" The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
She turned to face me but continued to walk backwards. "Maybe," she replied. "We'll talk Monday." She turned back around and gave a little wave.
I fist pumped the air out of excitement and jogged over to my family who all sat with the biggest smiles. Mom hugged me, and Dad patted me on the back. Stevie kept recounting the last play and how cool I looked spiking the ball. Stacey stared me down like she was trying to solve a mystery.
"What is it, munchkin?" I asked her.
"Was that your girlfriend?" She asked.
I laughed nervously. "No," I said. "Why would you think that?"
"She looked like she could be your girlfriend," Stacey shrugged. "You don't have to hide your girlfriend from us, you know. I have a boyfriend."
"You have a boyfriend?" I asked incredulously.
"Yeah," she said frankly. "His name is Peter, and he's in my class. He gives me half of his candy."
"You're too young and far too pretty for a boyfriend, especially one that will give you cavities," I said, my hands on my hips. "How does this Peter kid look? I need to speak with him."
Stacey shook her head and locked her lips with an invisible lock then threw away the key. I laughed and messed her hair, scooping her up off the trunk and giving her a hug.
We piled into the car and headed home. Mom offered to cook me something while I showered and got ready for bed. I was actually going to bed just after nine o'clock on a Friday night. I made a mental note to start making weekend plans. Maybe I'd find something to do with Artie or even Quinn. I couldn't help but smile at the prospect of hanging out with her. She was hanging around the few times I'd chatted with Kitty and Brittany, but she never spoke to me. She barely even looked my way. But now? She'd approached me. And maybe it was because I had proven myself as a good quarterback, but maybe it would've happened anyways.
I took my giant bowl of macaroni and cheese to my room to eat in privacy and called Artie. He picked up on the third ring. "Who dis?" He answered.
"Jack Ryan, you've just boarded the Red October," I said. "Sean Connery."
"So remember when I told you earlier this afternoon that you'd do fine and you left me with a ripped up Grease script?" He gloated.
"Sorry about that," I replied. "There was a lot of pressure on me, man. My parents were kind of going crazy over it, and Phil and Bobby kept giving me shit. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"It's cool," Artie said. "I have a fresh script waiting for you at my house. You can pick it up tomorrow."
"Fine."
"Fine. But anyways, that last play. That was so sick! I was probably the loudest person there," Artie said excitedly.
"I think I heard you." I shook my head.
"So what are you doing tonight?" He asked. "I heard there was an after party."
"I'm staying in," I shrugged. "I'm eating a giant bowl of mac and cheese and going right to bed."
"You can't not go! You have to go. For both of us!" I could picture him glaring at me through the phone.
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't invited," I admitted.
"What! Hold on. I'm getting dressed, and my dad will be by to get you in fifteen minutes," he said.
"Wait, what?"
"We're crashing it. I know where it's happening. Get dressed!" He said firmly.
"No, Artie, stop! We are not crashing that party. I don't even want to go," I mumbled.
"How are they not going to invite the quarterback to the after party? You won the damn game!" He huffed.
"Seriously, it's okay. There'll be other parties, and I'll go then. I really don't even want to go," I assured him. "I'm exhausted. I barely got any sleep last night because I was so worried about today, and then I was just so done with everything at school. After I left you, I went to see Mercedes."
"Really?" Artie asked. "That's interesting. How is she?"
"She's good. It was weird. She actually made me feel a lot better." I slouched against my pillows and ran my hand through my hair.
"She does that," Artie agreed. "So is this a thing now? Is Mercedes your solace from the world?"
"Maybe. I don't know. It's not really like that. It was just nice talking to somebody that was kind of removed from it all. You know?"
"Yeah, I get it," Artie replied, and I could hear him typing away in the background. "Quick question, though. Are you really tired or just disappointed that you weren't invited to the party? Because Tina's coming over in a little bit, and if you wanted to come over, too, we could all hang out."
I wouldn't have crashed an Artina mixer even if I weren't tired. "No, I'm good. Tired, I mean," I replied. "Have fun, though, and tell me all about it tomorrow. What time should I come over?"
He thought for a moment. "I think around eleven would be good."
"Are you sure you don't want to do late afternoon sometime? You'll probably need all the rest you can get," I teased.
"Shut up, Sam," Artie said, but he still laughed. "I'll see you at eleven."
I hung up and took my bowl downstairs to wash it. Stevie was watching some Disney Channel movie in the living room, and I went to hang out for a few minutes before heading to bed. He smiled up at me as I settled in next to him.
"What're we watching?" I asked, and he told me.
He leaned against the arm rest, his eyes glued to the TV, and his legs were stretched out so that his feet rested on the coffee table. Mom wasn't around to tell him to put them down. He was bigger than I remembered. How long had it been since I'd spent some time with him? He was nine now and we were almost the same age apart that Sawyer and I had been. Sawyer was a better older brother than me, though. He'd hang out with me whenever I asked and always tried to make me feel cool in front of his friends.
"You want to hang out with me?" I asked him, and Stevie peeled his eyes from the TV to look at me.
"Yeah!" He exclaimed. He sat up straight and tall and had a big, goofy grin plastered on his face.
"How about tomorrow?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Dad's taking Stacey and me to Discovery Zone."
Dad had mentioned that earlier in the week, but I was too distracted to remember. "Well, how about next week?"
"Just you and me?" He asked, his brow furrowed.
"Yep," I replied. "A boys' day."
His smile returned. "Okay!" He agreed. "Don't forget!"
"Never."
I kissed his forehead and got up to go, and he feverishly wiped the kiss away before refocusing on the TV. I climbed the stairs and hopped into bed as soon as I got to my room. I felt different tonight, more whole, less worried, and it didn't matter that I wasn't invited to the after party. I won the game. I brought the whole school to its feet, and I would do the same thing every game. If I were still in Tennessee, my family wouldn't have been there to watch me and Emma wouldn't have looked at me like I was the hero of the hour. It was hard starting over, but for now at least, things were getting better. I turned onto my side, closed my eyes, and listened to the world go by my window.
I was up early the next morning. I fought waking up for an hour before giving in and taking a jog around the neighborhood, viewing everything with fresh eyes. I felt fortunate and happy. By the time I got back to the house, everyone else was milling around and getting ready to head out. Mom was bringing the boxes of albums down from the attic, and Stevie and Stacy were running around already ready to go to Discovery Zone. Dad was cooking breakfast. I ate a plate of eggs and a bagel then took a quick shower before getting dressed. Mom was the only one still around when I meandered from upstairs. She was reading the article about the game in the paper, and there was a photo of me in action right at the top. I begged to borrow her car and had to promise to let her meet Artie soon before she gave in.
Artie's family wasn't poor. I could tell that from the outside of the house. It was a small, single-story, mission-style with a well-kept yard and a short wheelchair ramp leading up to a welcoming front porch. I parked behind their white Escalade and made my way to the front door, adjusting the strap of my messenger bag across my chest before ringing the doorbell.
Light footsteps danced to the door, paused a moment, and the door swung open to a girl several inches shorter and a few years younger than me. She had the same blue eyes as Artie, but her brown hair fell in thick, face-framing waves. She still had a bit of baby fat around the edges, but that would probably be gone in the next year. She smiled, revealing clear braces.
"Hi, I'm Sam. I go to school with Artie," I said. "He tutors me, and we're working on the musical together."
"Hi, Sam. Artie's in his room playing video games," she said, rolling her eyes. "Come on in."
She stepped back to let me in. The house was bigger on the inside than it let on from the outside, due mainly to the open floor plan. The girl, who I was certain was Artie's little sister, led me to the living room and gestured for me to have a seat on the couch. She waited until I was settled, then sat on the arm of the nearest chair and twirled a finger around a lock of hair.
I cleared my throat. "Artie asked me to come over, so he probably knows that it was me."
She giggled and smoothed the fabric of her dress. "Probably, but he gets so invested in his games that I'm not really sure he even knows what time it is. You can wait for him here, though. I'm sure he won't be too long." She rocked on the chair and smiled at me, leaning forward and batting her lashes. "Do you want anything in the meantime? We have some leftover pasta from last night. My mom makes the absolute best pasta. Better than BreadStiX. She's teaching me how to make it, too."
"Thanks," I replied with a smile, "but I just ate."
Her face fell for a moment, but she quickly hid it. "Oh, okay. Well do you want to watch something? I think there's a Walking Dead marathon—"
"Joanna?" An amused voice spoke from behind me, and Joanna and I turned at the same time to see a slim brunette woman staring at us from the dining room. She narrowed her eyes slightly as they traveled between Joanna and me. She smiled, but I could still see the accusation forming on her lips. "I didn't know you had company."
"Mom!" Joanna's eyes were wide as she straightened up and hopped off the arm of the chair. "This is Artie's friend. They tutor together and they're working on the musical. He's been waiting about five minutes for Artie so I was seeing if he wanted to watch TV." The words poured out of Joanna's mouth in one breath.
Mrs. Abrams' smile turned into a smirk as she closed the gap between us. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Artie's friend."
"It's Sam," I said.
"Honey," Mrs. Abrams said with a look to Joanna, "you're fawning. Sam is very cute, but I think he's a little old for you. Now why don't you actually let your brother know he has company instead of hogging him all to yourself."
"Mom!" Joanna was mortified.
"What?" Mrs. Abrams replied. "Go on." Joanna's cheeks were inflamed as she quickly slipped past her mom and down the hall, grumbling the whole time. "Sorry about that," she said, turning again to me. "Joanna doesn't have much tact."
I couldn't resist laughing. "Don't worry, Mrs. Abrams. I'm not here for your daughter. Maybe in a few years though."
"Yeah, well, we're hoping to have her married off by sixteen, so that definitely fits our time frame. I'll add you to the list." Mrs. Abrams walked around the couch and sat in the chair farthest from me. "So Artie's tutoring you?"
"Uh, yeah, and we're working on the musical together," I replied. "He's awesome."
"Well that's good." She gave me a once over. "Maybe you'll rub off on him a little. I can't get him out of his granddad's old stuff." She winked at me.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
The unmistakable sound of Artie's chair rolling across the tiles stole Mrs. Abrams attention. "Hi, honey," she said.
Artie smiled at his mom then turned to me. He was still smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry, Sam. I wasn't watching the clock."
"Well that's kind of rude," Mrs. Abrams said.
"It was no problem, Mrs. Abrams. Both you and Jackie—" I began.
"Joanna," Mrs. Abrams corrected. Geez, Sam. You're going to have to do better than that if you want to be considered for this arranged marriage."
"Oh, sorry!" I laughed. "Joanna kept me more than entertained while I waited."
"Well, I'll leave you two to whatever you're up to. It was really nice to meet you, Sam, and please don't be a stranger." She messed Artie's hair and disappeared down the hall.
"Come on," Artie said as soon as his mom left, and he whipped around his chair and began rolling down the hall. I hopped off the couch and followed.
His room was the next to last one. It was huge and gave him plenty of space to move around in his chair. The wall directly opposite the door was home to Artie's extensive electronics collection which included a speaker system that would be the envy of any DJ, several gaming systems, and a large TV that doubled as a computer monitor. There was a little couch and two bean bag chairs against another wall. He had four posters above his bed: one of Nicola Tesla, one of Stephen Hawking, one of Michael Jackson, and one of Samuel L. Jackson. I closed the door behind me and sat down on the couch.
"This is awesome," I said, looking around.
Artie rolled to his computer desk and typed in a few things. He searched for a minute, cued up his iTunes, and then turned back to me. The Killers were singing Mr. Brightside from every corner of the room. Artie handed me a copy of the script and waited while I thumbed through it. "So where do you want to begin?" I asked.
"I was thinking we look at a few props online." His voice was tight. It didn't sound like him.
I studied his face to see what was wrong, and though he was smiling, something was bothering him. "Are you okay, Artie?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied mechanically. "Why?"
"You tell me," I said.
"Really, I'm just a little stressed," he said. "That's all."
I didn't push him. Artie and I were similar, and he couldn't keep everything bottled up for long. He would tell me soon. I moved to sit closer to the computer, and he distracted himself through planning the musical. He looked a little less stressed after making a few decisions even though I was the deciding factor for most of his purchases. A little while later, his mom came to the door to let us know that lunch was ready. It was probably the most awkward lunch I'd had with Joanna on one side of me, brooding Artie on the other, and Artie's mom staring us all down from the kitchen. I spent most of that meal really focused on my sandwich, which I was grateful for since I'd eaten pasta for most of my meals in the past two days. We worked a little longer after lunch. Every Little Thing She Does (No Such Thing) cued up, and Artie leaned his head on his computer desk.
"It's my parents," he blurted out.
"What about them?" I asked.
"I told them that I wanted to be a director," Artie said.
"That's awesome," I replied. "But?"
"They think it's a waste of time. Mom keeps encouraging me to apply to MIT, but I'm not passionate about that. And I keep trying to explain, but they're not listening," he huffed.
"Didn't you direct West Side Story last year?"
"And the Christmas special on the local PBS station, but they see it as a hobby and not a viable career path." He slumped in his chair.
"I'm sorry, Artie," I said. "I have a lot of quick fixes up here," I pointed to my brain, "but parents aren't really my specialty. You know my mom is all screwed up."
"So I've heard," he agreed. "I'm working on it, but it's a pretty slow process. I don't think they'll ever take it seriously until I'm the next Spielberg."
"Well then you'll just have to become Spielberg," I said. "To start, you can make Grease the best damn musical McKinley's ever seen. Then apply to some film schools, get in, and thrive."
Artie smiled a little. "That's all I really can do. Sorry if I'm brooding. I'm usually pretty good at not talking about this stuff."
"It's no problem, Artie. I'm glad you opened up," I reassured him.
We listened to the rest of the song in silence and then he sang along to the next one. I joined him.
"You have a great voice, Sam," Artie said as Creep played quietly in the background. "Why aren't you in Glee again?"
"Don't even try it," I said.
"It's inevitable," Artie replied. "The musical is a gateway drug."
Monday came fast. I left Artie's house after he assured me he'd be okay, and though I didn't believe him, there wasn't much I could do about it. I prayed for him on Sunday. My family hadn't really been to church since Sawyer's death. We just stopped going, and as a kid, I didn't mind. We went to an old people's church, and I'd usually fall asleep. As I got older, I thought about it more, and sometimes it bothered me. Since moving to Lima, I hadn't gone to church at all, but I still thought about God, and I felt like God really listened to my prayers on Sundays, so I sent one up for Artie.
Classes were easier now that I was less stressed, and I aced a pop quiz. People were giving me approving looks all day, and I was basking in the glow of it all. A few of the football players and Cheerios joined me during lunch and told me about some upcoming parties that I should definitely attend. Kitty, Phil, and Bobby were among them. I nodded and smiled even when they made a few off-color jokes about the new lunch lady. A brunette girl at the other table gave us all a dirty look. I averted my eyes.
Quinn found me in the hallway after the final bell rang as I gathered books from my locker. She poked me in the side and smiled when I looked up.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi." I returned her smile. Her cheeks were flushed, and she sniffled.
"I have Cheerios practice in a few minutes, and I know that you have football practice, but I said that I'd see you today, so here I am." She gripped her books to her chest and rocked back and forth on her heels.
"Here you are," I repeated, smiling, and she leaned towards me waiting for me to say something else. "Sorry," I said sheepishly. "You kind of caught me off guard."
"How about you walk me to practice?" She offered.
I gathered my things quickly and shut my locker. "So I didn't see you at lunch," I said as we made our way down the hall.
She shook her head. "I don't really hang out with the other Cheerios or many of the jocks. I go to parties sometimes, but they're not really into what I'm into. Half of them are idiots who think it's funny to bully other people, and I just don't find it all that amusing." She shrugged.
"I know. I sat with them at lunch, and they were making fun of the lunch lady, and it was just kind of sad and awkward." I looked down at my shoes as we walked. "But I couldn't say anything about it."
Quinn smirked. "Why not?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I guess it's kind of hard when you're trying to fit in with the people who are doing it. I'm not the one making the jokes, at least."
"But you laugh at them."It was a statement, not a question.
"What else am I supposed to do? You know how hard it is." These were excuses, and I knew it, but saying them out loud made me feel foolish.
"Do you like philosophy?" Quinn asked.
"I guess. What does that have to do with this?"
"In 1946, Jean-Paul Sartre gave a lecture called 'Existentialism Is a Humanism' in which he defended existentialism against its many reproaches. The most famous thing he said in it is 'You give away with one hand what you pretend to gain with the other… To say that it does not matter what you choose is not correct. In one sense choice is possible, but what is not possible is not to choose. I can always choose, but I must know that if I do not choose, that is still a choice.' Though you've probably only heard the shorter form, 'Not choosing is still a choice,'" she said.
I knew what she meant, and I felt as ashamed as I should have during lunch time.
"What kind of jokes do you like to tell, Sam?" Quinn asked.
"Honestly, I'm not that great at telling jokes, so I try impressions," I replied.
"Well you'll have to do one for me sometime," Quinn said. We were at the football field now, and most of the other Cheerios were already out there, even Brady, the girl with the neck brace. Tina was chatting with Blaine, a guy who was also in Glee. I thought about asking her how things went with Artie, but maybe they hadn't turned out like he wanted them to. He didn't mention their hang out when I went to see him, and if anything good had happened, he'd at least have said something.
"Alright, alright," I said in my best Matthew McConaughey voice.
Quinn smiled. "Practice ends early Wednesday. We can meet at the Lima Bean around six."
"Yeah. That sounds great," I replied. "I'll see you then."
"Try not to get too distracted during practice, Sam." She poked me in the side again and made her way to the Cheerios. Coach Sylvester was shouting into a megaphone about passing kidney stones, and I shuddered with the thought.
I watched Quinn until she disappeared into the rest of the Cheerios and they began working on a routine. They moved together seamlessly, and the only distinguishable features from this view were their hair and skin. That was the purpose, I guess. From here it didn't matter that Quinn wasn't like most of the other Cheerios. It didn't matter that she was a sheep in wolves' clothing. Unless you got close enough to see that her fangs were removed, there was no way to tell the difference. And at the end of the day most people would treat her just the same because they were frightened at the possibility of her power. It was the same for me. I thought about this as I hustled around the field in my uniform. I was a part of the football team, and to most students at this school that meant one thing. It was up to me to define myself, to learn whether I was a sheep in wolves' clothing or not.
AN: This chapter is titled "Kids or Walking With A Ghost" based on the songs by MGMT and Tegan and Sara respectively.
The story also features Revelry by Kings of Leon, Mr. Brightside by The Killers, Every Little Thing She Does (No Such Thing) by John Mayer, and Creep by Radiohead. Any time the characters listen to a song, it reflects their current mood. It's the same way I use song titles for chapter titles. If you read the song lyrics, it pretty much outlines the basic theme of the chapter.
Whew! That was long! I'm not planning on any other chapter being quite so long (fingers crossed), but you never know. Can you believe it was just four days?! It was that damn football game (which was completely borrowed from Clockgate...I can't write football on my own...lol)! As I said in the beginning, please don't hate me for Quinn. Most of this story is actually all outlined and the backgrounds of the characters have already been pretty much solidified. Of all the possible high school girlfriends that Sam could have, Quinn and her canon story fit the best with the additional storyline. This Sam needs a Quinn in order to fully appreciate and ultimately fall for Mercedes in the end. And because of her canon background, I chose to retcon her age. Sorry. I won't blame you for giving up on Shiver now, but know that you'll be missed.
Thanks for sticking with me so far. It's only mid-September, and there's plenty of school year left.