Page 21 of The Last Five Yards

The house lights dim, and the soccer and football players start to cheer. The athletic director and principal walk out on stage, trying to quiet the crowd. Slowly, the room settles. They explain that they will be going alphabetically by sport.

“Great,” Maren whispers. “We will be last again.”

The signing ceremonies always drag. Each college rep gives a little speech about their program before the athlete signs the papers. Then come the photos. The school paper, the local paper, the university, and about forty family shots.

Maren leans back in her seat, picking at her fingernails, counting how many names she doesn’t know. One after another, students take the stage. Smiles, applause, flash bulbs. Then, finally, Coach Hensley steps up to the microphone, the blue and white of the swim banner glowing under the stage lights.

“This next one,” Hensley starts, “has been part of our program since she was nine years old. She has led by example, broken more records than I can list, and she is about to make a huge splash at the next level.”

The crowd laughs at the pun. Maren doesn’t.

“Please join me in congratulating Reese Callahan, who will be continuing her driving career at the University of North Carolina.”

The auditorium erupts. The divers jump to their feet first, screaming. Someone standing behind Maren whistles. Reese stands, cheeks pink, tucking her hair behind her ear before heading down the aisle towards the stage.

Maren claps, hands steady, even as her chest tightens. The applause around her feels like waves crashing, loud, endless, and everywhere. She forces herself to keep clapping even as the noise presses against her ribs, thick and unrelenting. Everyone around her is smiling, shouting, celebrating, and she tries to match it. But her hands ache, her throat feels dry, and all she can think about is how far away the stage looks, even though it is only about 20 steps.

On stage, Reese sits beside the UNC banner, pen in hand. The flash from a camera catches the side of her face, and Maren blinks against it, unsure if it is the light or something else that stings her eyes.

Reese stays on stage for photos, her smile perfect under the lights. Maren watches from her seat until the crowd shifts, and she loses sight of her. The sound dulls, like someone just turned down the radio.

Maren has the urge to get up and leave. She reaches down and grabs her backpack, but a hand catches her elbow before she can stand and disappear into the crowd.

“Whoa there.”

Maren looks over to find Jules staring at her.

“What?”

Jules narrows her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me like that,” Maren quips.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Jules glances toward the stage where Reese is still trapped in an endless cycle of photos. School paper, local paper, parents, and the UNC rep. Then she looks back at Maren, her body tense and rigid. She is frozen as if she has just seen a ghost.

“You have been weird all morning,” Jules comments

“What? No. I haven’t not.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Maren voice shakes the tiniest amount.

Jules glances toward Reese.

“Oh…”

Maren immediately does not like the tone of that.

“Oh what?”

“Nothing.” Jules’ eyes draw a line back and forth between Maren and Reese.

“Jules,” Maren demands.