Page 144 of Lost

“Well, get them under control! The last thing we need is a slaughter down there.”

Stark doesn’t know what Neferet’s planning!The realization soared through me.I knew it! I knew he couldn’t be like Neferet. She’s using him and his devotion to Nyx.And that thought had my spirits lifting and my attitude shifting.

Stark and Dallas separated. I watched Stark disappear into a curtained, guarded entrance that readPRESS BOXover it.

Good. At least I know where he is. Stark’s not going to be cool with Neferet commanding the Red Army to eat innocents. He’s going to stand up. He’s going to speak out. And when he does—we’ll be his backup.

Feeling way more confident, I readied myself, and then entered the stadium. The game had already started and the bands—in the stands at opposing ends of the stadium—were playing some kind of battle song that had lots of people on their feet. I kept my eyes on the stands, trying to find a single seat as close to the fifty-yard line as possible. At row twenty-five I finally spotted a space and pushed myself through a sea of red toward it, where I tried to sit—but the ref had just called holding against OU, so, of course, all the Sooners around me were standing and booing.

So I stood. And finally I let my gaze go to the field.

Heath was there. He’d jogged to the sidelines, whipped off his helmet, and was having a very arm-waving discussion with the ref, who was shaking his head and pointing back out on the field at the OU huddle where Heath should be.

I stared and pressed my hand against my chest because my heart felt like it would beat out of my body. He was wearing number three on his jersey, like always. I had to blink hard to keep from bawling. Number three wasn’t for Daryle Lamonica, Oakland’s famous “Mad Bomber” who’d played football a zillion years ago, like in the 1960s. (I only know about him because Heath kneweverything everabout football.) Anyway, Heath always wore number three because that’s when we’d met. When I was in third grade.

I wiped my eyes and kept staring at him. He was so cute! His hair looked like a baby cow had held him down and licked all over it, making it stand up in adorable sandy blond tufts. He had those dark quarterback lines drawn under his eyes, which totally took me back to high school, and I had to stifle the urge to yell his name and give a big ol’ Broken Arrow “Go Tigers!”shout.

The ref made a shooing gesture at him again, and he crammed his helmet back on and rejoined the huddle.

He looks so grown-up!I realized as I watched his team—his older, more experienced team—look to him as he called the next play. It hurt my heart, but I swear I could’ve watched him for days. I’d grown up watching him play football—getting better and better—growing into an outstanding athlete and finally an outstanding leader. I was glad to see he’d kept himself together. Obviously, he hadn’t crawled into a case of beer and given up after I died.

Sure, part of me was a little resentful—the selfish, immature part of me. But the rest of me—well, the rest of me loved watching him living his dream. And when he threw the first touchdown of the game I was on my feet too, joining in with the die-hard OU fans and their new chant of “We’ve got Luck! We’ve got Luck! We’ve got Luck!”

He came off the field with the offense, and that’s when I saw her. One of the cheerleaders—a hot black girl wearing OU’s tiny little cheer uniform—rushed up to him, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him smack on his lips. While the crowd cheered, Heath totally kissed her back.

“Touchdown for OU!” bellowed the announcer. “And their quarterback gets anOklahoma hellofrom Jenn Amala, one of OU’s cheerleaders. Looks like hisluckis a lot more than a name.”

I threw up a little in the back of my throat as I watched him smile that sweet Heath smile at her as she skipped (Skipped! Seriously!) to rejoin the rest of her scantily clad squad. Heath waved at the crowd.

Then the little walkie-talkie in my pocket crackled.

“Zo. Come in, Zo!”

I sat down, covered one ear, cupped my hand around the walkie-talkie, and tried to pretend like I was talking on a phone.

“Kev?”

“Are you all here?”

“Yes. We’re in place.”

“Ignore that girl. He’ll always love you.”

I sighed. “Not important right now. Where are you?”

“Nosebleed section in the west. Ironically just below the press box. Fifty-yard line, but waaaaay above it. Ready to call water when you give the word.”

“Hey, that means you’re up there behind me. I’m in row twenty-five at the fifty-yard line. Where’s Aphrodite?”

“Press box with She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Got it,” I said.

Then his voice got all echoey as he must have covered the walkie-talkie to whisper, “Hey, we can’t get any weapons because the red vamps are all on the field.”

“Dragon knows. They’ll have to improvise.”

“Which means we’ll have to work fast.”