Page 169

He stared at her. “Why are you like this?”

“My parents.”

The answer came so fast that I looked at her.

She was watching the field. Nothing in her face changed.

I bumped her knee with mine. She bumped back.

The announcer was already reading raffle numbers. Nobody around us seemed particularly interested in the eclipse.

That was all. A school announcement. Monday glasses. Something happening in the sky sometime soon.

Coach Ben was still near the bottom of the section, talking to somebody by the rail.

“Who are you staring at?” Sadie asked.

“Coach Ben.”

She found him. “Scandalous.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s handsome.”

“I’ve noticed in the same way I’ve noticed our mailbox.”

Sadie turned slowly toward me. “That was cruel to Coach Ben and the mailbox.”

“I mean he’s just there.”

“Your mailbox doesn’t have shoulders.”

I looked at her.

She smiled. “There she is. Meow.”

I rolled my eyes.

The teams started returning to the field. My attention went where it always went.

Chief came out with the defense, helmet beneath one arm. Sweat darkened the hair at his temples.

Even from the stands, I could see the split in his lip had mostly healed.

I knew because I had spent an unreasonable amount of time looking at it that week.

And touching it.

That memory did not belong at a football game with both of our families within arm’s reach. I pushed it away.

Chief put on his helmet. Then he looked toward the stands. This time he found me faster.

My stomach tightened.

I didn’t wave.

I held his gaze.