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Come on, Woodchucks, do your thang…
The words are completely humiliating, but the moves are a little like jazz, so I zone out and pretend I’m on the dance team instead. Except there is no dance team. The cheer is an easy one consisting of simple clapping, kicking, and jumping—no lifts—so I just go with it and even add an extra high kick at the end.
Grayson calls out, “Spirit!”
We’ve got spirit, yes, we do!
We’ve got spirit, how ’bout you?
The growing crowd yells back at us. Yep, they’ve got spirit. The starter cheers go on for a while until the bleachers are packed and the band starts playing. That’s when Grayson brings out the big guns, like “Launcher!” and “Human Cannonball!”
Thankfully, it’s only the short girls in row one who get tossed up in the air. But I swear, every time gravity takes over and Isla or Jane or Maya drops back down, I hold my breath until she’s on solid ground again. After “Fireball,” I turn to see what’s happening on the field.
Sean is standing on the edge of center field, pointing a massive camera right at me. I tilt my head and give him a half smile, almost hearing the shutter go click. Then I turn away with a little head shake. I move back into formation and refocus on cheering so I don’t get booted in the face. I do my best not to gawk at him the rest of the game, but there’s rarely a moment I’m not aware of where he is.
I can’t say that I’m a huge football fan, but I do manage to get into the action. In fact, I’m so caught up in the final play before halftime that when the whistle blows, I get that little start you do when you forget and then remember something exciting.
Sounds bombard me: The announcer booms about the marching band’s halftime performance. Grayson shouts, “Meet back in twenty!” Morgan squeals about how some guy she likes looks in his uniform. But I’m focused. In my bubble, I watch Sean pack up his camera equipment and stow it in one of the locked bins under the bleachers.
The squad scatters like marbles and I take off, too, having to check myself so I don’t run to the south entrance. Sean’s closer to that end of the field than I am; I can see him moving in the direction of our meeting place before hoards of snack-stalkers surrounding the concession stands block my view.
I am a ball of nerves as I zoom down the right side of the rotunda. Most people are sauntering straight down the middle, happily bottlenecking the walkway as they chat about plays and passes. I can feel the precious seconds floating away like dead leaves in late fall. Finally, when I break through a blockade of dawdlers and reach our meeting point, I find Sean leaning on the left wall, looking out toward the parking lot.
I stop to catch my breath.
He looks over and smiles like sunshine.
Slowly, I close the gap between us.
“Hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi.”
“How much time do we have?”
Realizing that I left my cell in my coat under the bleachers, I ask, “What time is it?”
Sean pulls out his cell, taps it on, and shows it to me. The picture on the screen is a rusty old mailbox. I note the time.
“Eighteen minutes,” I say.
“Then let’s go.” Sean grabs one of my cold hands and guides me outside. It’s the first time he’s held my hand, but it isn’t awkward at all—it feels completely natural, like we’ve done it a thousand times before.
He steers us to the right around the outside of the stadium. I hadn’t realized it before, but on this side the arena is built into a small hill. I let Sean lead me up in silence, feeling more alive than I have in a while. I admire the view even before we’ve reached the peak, but when we’re standing on top of the world, looking down at the ant-sized people, I sigh.
“We’re outside the light,” I say. I mean it literally—the field lights don’t touch us here—but it sounds bigger than that.
“Yeah,” Sean agrees, and I wonder how he means it. He turns to face me.
“So, you said in class your mom’s pretty strict,” he says. I nod. “Then how do we see each other?”
His directness forces a smile out of me. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I guess just at school.”
“Not good enough.”
I look down and he bends a little so he can see into my eyes. He’s so tall; I love how tall he is.
“I like you, Elizabeth,” he says, his voice steady. Warmth moves through me; I look away for a second. “We barely know each other, but I feel like we do, you know? That sounds so messed up, but—”
