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Yikes.
And the angel on my other shoulder whispers back, Maybe they do too.
I try to distract myself from thinking about him, but it’s impossible. The entire stadium is cheering for their star quarterback. Homemade signs and banners are waving through the sea of red and white, most of them dedicated to him. I love you, Elias!! Take us all the way, O’Shea! Elias, I want to have your babies!
People are wearing hats and red t-shirts with the logo they’ve created for him: a Superman’s S but with an E in the middle.
The rumbling underfoot grows to fever pitch as the loudspeakers start playing Wildcats Forever, the team’s theme song that’s always played as the players enter. People stomp their feet in rhythm to the blaring music, creating an exhilarating thunder, like the collective heartbeats of 75,000 fans are in sync. I can feel the pulse of excitement in my bones.
In the middle of all this fervor, I notice an older couple, wrapped in a red blanket, holding hands. And a family, with a starstruck little boy wearing his Wildcats shirt and being held by his strapping probably-alumni father. It reminds me that this football team is bigger than just a one-off sporting match. It’s a legacy that runs deep and wide. These little snapshots of a shared love for the game and this team reminds me that it would be selfish for me to gamble with that. The last thing this campus needs is for its coach and its quarterback to be at war.
The crowd goes absolutely nuts as their players run onto the field. We get to the box and I’m glad for it now, for the sake of my eardrums. I close the door behind us and the noise is immediately less deafening, but not by much.
“Wow, this is incredible,” Mollie exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes in the lavish setup.
It is incredible. It’s a plush little football-themed haven, with an expansive view of the field, a bar area with every variety of food on platters you could ever want, all laid out for us. There are drinks on ice and a standing glass-fronted fridge with more of them. The view of the field is framed by four flat-screen TVs, each showing a different angle of the game. One of them is showing a close-up of Elias as he walks to the center of the field for the coin toss.
Seeing him on the screen, his dark hair lightly windblown, his eyes a vivid blue on the high definition screen, shocks me a little. I’m not sure why it would. Maybe because I’d almost forgotten the extend of just how damn beautiful he is. I want him so much and I can’t have him. He’s theirs. He belongs to everyone in this stadium.
One camera angle cuts to several women swooning. Then it pans back to the two captains. The Falcon’s captain calls the toss but I can hear through the commentary that they lost. Elias chooses to defer. The crowd cheers as he walks back to the bench and the other team take to the field.
“Oh, they’re deferring,” Mollie says. “That’s good. If they start the game on defense it means they can start the second half with possession of the ball.” Mollie’s a lifelong football fan with two older brothers who all played throughout high school, she told us. Part of the reason she chose Hawthorne is because of the football team.
Isla notices me staring at a screen that’s honing in on Elias. She puts her arm around me, offering me a Coke, pulling me gently over to the impressive spread of food before I make myself too obvious. She starts piling her plate. “Girls, let’s feast. Zara, your dad wasn’t joking when he said the box was catered.” It’s what we decided to tell Lauren and Mollie, to keep my cover: my dad got us the box. It’s believable and it keeps things simple.
Isla piles her plate full.
Lauren laughs. “I don’t know how you eat so much junk food and look like that, Isla.” As a dance major, Lauren is all about eating the kind of unprocessed food that will hone her body into a specimen of fitness, strength and health. She doesn’t eat anything that might have a preservative as an ingredient. She loads her plate with fruit, cut vegetables and nuts. “You and your nachos are a love story for the ages.”
Isla shrugs. “What can I say? I’m just making the most of a free meal.”
I help myself but there are too many butterflies in my stomach to eat much.
“Oh, shit, they’ve scored,” Mollie says. “That’s the downside of deferring the coin toss. If the other team scores first it can set the tone for the rest of the game.” It’s handy having Mollie run the commentary for us, since she’s so informed.
“No way.” Lauren is fully embracing Wildcats mania. It’s impossible not to in this setting. “The only tone that’s been set is the one where the Wildcats make a huge comeback and annihilate the Falcons.”
We go back to our seats as the Wildcats’ offense gets into formation. For a brief moment, Elias looks up. Directly at me. I don’t know if he can even see me from where he is, but as he gazes up at the window, he places his hand on his heart.
Anyone else might not even notice it. But I do. And I remember what he said to me. You’re my dream girl. If I know you’re watching, I’ll play out of my skin.
He’s so freaking glorious it’s hard not to get as swept away as everyone else. The entire stadium goes ballistic as Elias nails pass after pass. He moves with the kind of grace that’s riveting to watch. The excitement reaches fever pitch as Elias passes the ball to West, who runs it ten yards before he’s brought down by three very large Falcons defenders, causing a collective groan.
Some of his teammates help West to his feet and he waves to the crowd, which erupt in cheers. There are plenty of fans in the stands who are here for West, Jake, Gabriel and their other favorite players. But it’s Elias who has this entire stadium at his feet. He’s wildly impressive. His talent and precision are spellbinding. He’s tall. Toned. Agile. His muscles as he moves are coiled and sculpted.
“God,” gushes Mollie. “Our quarterback is so good. He never misses.”
“He’s not hard on the eyes, either,” Lauren giggles. “That guy is on a different level.”
I can hardly blame them for noticing how good Elias is. Or how hot. There are 75,000 people all around us who are deeply immersed in their own thoughts about the exact same thing.
Isla nudges my arm, her whisper playful, “Eyes on the ball, roomie, not the player.”
I offer her a half-hearted glare. “Impossible,” I whisper back.
Her laughter is soft and empathetic.
Elias pivots and throws with an elegance that leaves us all breathless. The ball arcs through the air, landing securely in the outstretched arms of Gabriel, who scores a touchdown. Isla claps her hands together, exhaling with relief. “Yes. That’s my brother, y’all.”
