Of all the things he could ask about, it was going to be the one thing that would send me straight into a spiral.
“I don’t know.”
And it’s true, I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about the Walden Senior Scholarship. I’ve been so busy applying to the rest of the list of scholarships and grants, the ones that don’t require essays and just need a transcript or a quick application, that I haven’t even looked at the packet from Professor Gold since she gave it to us. It sends a fresh wave of anxious nausea through me.
But if Mac has already started on it, that means whatever his essay is, it’s going to be more polished than mine, and ultimately better, meaning he’ll get picked over me.
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. I stuff my hands in my pockets.
“I’ve been tossing around a few ideas,” Mac says unprompted. “Probably something with my brothers or my family, and being the youngest, having to live up to expectations—it’s still sort of shadowy in my mind.”
I make a noncommittal noise because not only do I not care what Mac is writing his essay about, but truly, how hard could his life have been? Must have been so tough to grow up rich, your family having enough money to get a building named after them on campus, while my family didn’t have enough money to keep the electricity on some months.
Whatever little voice in my head suggested a few minutes ago maybe Mac wasn’t so bad—well, it’s gone now. He obviously only cares about competing with me, and that’s fine. I’d rather play that game anyway.
“Hey, I gotta get going,” I say and pull out my phone and headphones. I breeze past Mac. “I’ll see you around.”
I don’t hear if he says anything; Black Phantom is already blaring in my ears.
CHAPTEREIGHT
MAC
I’ll be eighty years old and still remember what Friday night football at Middle Penn College smells like. There’s a distinct smell to a cold night, and Friday night football is that cold smell mixed with beer and sweaty college students and body paint and fried food.
MPC is small, but there’s a lot of school spirit, especially since we’re in the playoffs now and that playoff game is at our home stadium. It feels like the whole school is here, although I doubt the entire student body, small as it is, could even fit into our stadium. We’re damn near trying, though. The stands are packed, with barely a seat to spare, and the food lines are long.
After spending twenty minutes in two separate lines waiting for concessions, my arms heavy with food and beer for my friends, I make my way back into the stands where my friends and I usually sit: front row. My friends are all from the soccer team, and sitting front-row for sports events is important for our group. We support our own.
I can’t push through the crowd without spilling all the beer I’m holding, so as I wait patiently for everyone to move, I glance around the stands. The normally empty student section is packed to the gills, and I follow the crowd all the way to the guest section, which is also packed but partially taken over by MPC students.
The crowd moves an inch, and I try to see if there’s anyone in the stands I know. A pair of laughing girls catches my eye.Is that Jessie?I squint and stand in place for far too long. I still haven’t figured out if it’s her when someone prods me. I move with the crowd, but as soon as my friends have their drinks and food I search the crowd again for her.
“Whatcha doin’, man?” Xavier asks me, his beer already halfway gone. “Looking for someone?”
“Kinda.”
“Is it that chick who’s way smarter than you and kicks your ass in every class?”
“She doesn’t—” I don’t even bother to glare at him. I know he’s just antagonizing me. “Yes. Her.”
“What’s her name again?”
“Jessie.”
I crane my neck to try to see around the crowd, straining my eyes like I can see through people.
“Does she have any friends?”
“She has friends. Whether she has any single gay male friends is anyone’s guess.” I sip at my beer, eyeing Xavier who asks me this every time I’m talking to a girl.
“Damn. If you find her, can you ask for me?”
“Thirsty, much?”
“Says the guy searching the crowd at a football game for a girl who pretended not to know who he was after—”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that,” I say, and Xavier snorts into his beer. I knew I shouldn’t have told him about the party.
