“Fine,” he says, sliding into the empty seat beside me. His voice is rough, and I can see a flush on his face that I’m not sure is from the cold.
“Alex…” I start, but he shakes his head once.
“Don’t. I’m fine.”
“I saw whateverthatwas. It didn’t look fine.”
He flinches, barely enough to notice if you’re not paying attention, but I am. “It’s nothing, Iris. Just forget it.”
“You know, when I was in high school,” I say. “Some of the other students used to push me around and say some really hurtful things.”
He stiffens, but looks over at me. “You?” He asks, disbelief in his tone.
That pulls a small laugh from me, even though it’s not funny at all.
If only he knew.
I nod. “I know what it feels like to wish someone would see it.”
Alex’s eyes flicker to mine. There’s something there, something he isn’t saying, but I have no way of knowing what it is. “It ain’t like that.”
“Okay, but if you ever need someone to talk to,” I tell him, but he keeps his eyes on the field, shoulders drawn tight.
Below, the team is running out of the locker room, helmets flashing under the lights. The crowd roars, stomping and clapping, the bleachers rattling under us. Nate’s there too, clipboard in hand, jaw set in that determined way.
Jason is looking in our direction.
I can’t see his face with his helmet on, but I’d bet anything he’s still wearing that angry glare. Alex sinks even further into his seat, leaning into me, subconsciously seeking safety or comfort.
Something is definitely wrong.
Halftime feels like it takes forever to arrive, a rare feeling for the Rams, who are undefeated this year.
The scoreboard shows us down by ten, and the wholestadium is restless, that tense buzz of a crowd that knows something’s wrong.
Nate is pacing back and forth near the bench, his hair is a mess from running his hand through it too many times. Jason jogs off the field, pulling his helmet off and running his hand over his face in clear frustration.
Nate stalks over to him, shouting something I can’t hear from a distance.
The real chance that the team might lose this game makes my stomach twist. Nate was so excited. He was sure that they would win this year.
He steps in closer, saying something more urgent, but Jason looks away, his body tense, like a cornered animal.
Next to me, Alex’s knee bounces so fast the whole bench rattles.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His face is drawn, locked on Jason as if he’s waiting for something awful to happen.
“Alex,” I lean closer so he can hear me over the marching band. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he mutters, “He just… Jason’s gonna mess this up. Nate’s gonna lose it.”
“Why? What happened?” Alex doesn’t answer. He won’t even look at me.
Nate’s shouting, trying to get something across to Jason, but it’s doing nothing. His face is flushed, with frustration in every move.
The other players hover nearby, trying not to stare, but it’s obvious that he’s falling apart out there.
When Nate finally turns away, he looks tired. He’s given everything, and still, he might come up short over someoneelse’s mistakes.
