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And I especially like knowing that Declan’s probably sneaking around behind Gray’s back just to have these simple, stolen moments with me.
18
Mid-terms are coming up next week, so maybe that’s part of why the entire fucking campus seems to have decided to attend the game on Friday night.
Guess I’m not the only one who needs to blow off some steam.
Blue and gold are everywhere—on flags, on shirts, on painted faces—and it makes my skin crawl a little. Call it a natural result to my upbringing, but I’ve always been a bit of an outsider. I’m more comfortable on the outskirts looking in, so being part of a massive demonstration of school spirit makes me feel weird.
“It’s a little cultish, don’t you think?” I mutter to Max as we crowd into the stadium with dozens of other students.
She chuckles, grabbing my elbow to stay connected as we make our way through the throng of people. “Tell that to my dad and all his football buddies.”
I brought a bit of the cash out of my winnings from Gray, and I treat Max and myself to some overpriced concession food before we’re joined by a couple of other people in our first year-class.
I haven’t mingled with the other students as much as Max has, and I hang back, expecting to be generally ignored while they speak to Max.
But Jeff, the guy, and Abigail, the girl, introduce themselves to me—managing somehow not to be awkward about it, considering I’m pretty sure they know exactly who I am and could probably spout off details of my medical records and describe the shape of my tits.
“Is this your first game?” Abigail asks as we shuffle into the stands.
“Yeah.”
I suck at small talk, and I find myself oddly regretful that Declan isn’t here. He’s easy as hell to talk to, because he never acts like he expects it. Any words spoken are spoken because there’s actually something worth saying, and not just to fill the silence.
“Cool.” She grins. “People give Hawthorne shit because we’re such a small school, but we’ve actually got a good team.”
I wonder how much Gray has to do with that, then I remind myself sharply that I don’t care.
We settle into our seats as the game starts, and I glance around at the utter chaos around me. The sheer amount of noise is disorienting. People are yelling, laughing, cheering, and booing.
A little ripple of unease makes my stomach flutter, but I push it away. The dizzy spells and disorientation that hit me from time to time are often brought on by extremes. Extreme loudness or quiet, extreme emotional states, anything that’s just too much.
I should be okay tonight though. I’ve had a few minor incidents where I got lightheaded or faint since the day I arrived on campus, but nothing anywhere near as bad as that first episode.
And Max knows about my shit—the version I told her, not the Cliff’s Notes version everyone knows from seeing my medical records. If she notices me acting weird or if I give her the signal, she’ll get me out of here before I make an ass of myself by collapsing in the bleachers or something.
As I’m talking myself out of worrying, someone passes me a drink, and I look over to see Jeff smiling.
“Got a fake ID from my older brother before I came here,” he says, like he’s the most rebellious rebel that ever lived. “I got us all beers.”
I press my lips together, resisting the urge to tell him I’ve been drinking in bars without an ID since I was fourteen.
We eat and drink as the game plays out on the field below us. I get a nice buzz going from the first beer, and that settles in even nicer when Jeff comes back with another round. Beer isn’t my beverage of choice, but I’m not picky when I’m not buying.
I don’t know shit about football, and only half pay attention to Jeff’s explanations to Abigail about it.
As I’m watching, trying very hard not to let my eyes search out number forty-five on the back of the jersey’s, my gaze snags on someone else.
Elias.
He’s not too far away from where I’m sitting with Max, Jeff, and Abigail. He’s watching the game, but not with the same kind of fervor the rest of the stadium seems to be. With his focus trained on the football field, a slight frown on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets, he stands out like a sore thumb from all the drunken, rowdy spectators around him.
There’s an intensity to the way Elias watches the game. His eyes are analytical, narrowing even as the crowd roars in appreciation. His mouth is the same, setting in a near-judgmental frown that I notice is actually moving, like he’s muttering things to himself as he watches the game.
“Apparently, he used to play.”
I look over at Jeff as he speaks. He’s noticed me watching Elias, and jerks his head in the blond man’s direction, draping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.
