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His jaw goes a little slack. Like he’s never heard of someone not going to one of the Titans’ football games. Maybe he legitimately hasn’t. Although honestly, I didn’t realize it wasthatweird.
“You’re not?”
I look down at the tiny axolotl I drew on the toe of my converse. “No. I’m not really into football or anything, so…”
“Okay…” He seems to still be trying to come to terms with this shocking revelation. “But you’ve been to games before, at least. Right?”
“Why would I go to a football game if I don’t like football?”
Or any of the people who play football. Or who go to the football games?
“Wait, what?” He pauses, still digesting this brain twister of a concept. “But it’s the Titans. You’re a senior here. I mean, it’s not just about football. It’s like, I don’t know… a school spirit thing. A whole town thing.” His eyes are so intense right now, almost shining with the power of his emotions. “I’ve been going to games since before I could even throw a football! The whole town comes out, and it’s… the games are a fucking blast. You’re totally missing out if you don’t come out for Friday Night Lights.”
Okay, now I’m getting kind of annoyed. Because he is being sort of a jerk, even though I realize it probably isn’t his intention. But come on, does he truly believe that everything does in fact revolve around a stupid high school football game? Is he really that brainwashed? And that… basic?
“Look, it’s just not my thing, alright.”
Again, with the wide eyes and jaw practically on the floor. And then, “How do you know it’s not your thing if you’ve never been?”
I blow out a slow breath, trying not to lose my patience. “Trust me. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m missing out on.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, and I feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze.
“Yo, Murdoch! Scarlett wants you to meet her at the picnic tables!” someone yells from down the hall.
“Sure thing!” he calls, but doesn’t even turn to look at them, his eyes still locked on me. “Listen, Caroline. You should come to the game. Bring a friend or something.” He kicks the toe of my shoe with his and flashes that dimple when I lift my eyes to meet his. Like he realizes he might have offended me earlier. “So you can say you experienced Friday Night Lights at least once.”
And I can’t be that annoyed with him anymore, because he really just doesn’t get it. I mean, he told me to bring a friend—he doesn’t know I don’thaveany friends. My life is as foreign to him as his is to me. Because, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sebastian Murdoch on his own before. Ever.
“Maybe.” I tell him. “I’ll think about it.”
And the intensity of his smile is so electric that I feel a twinge of guilt knowing full well I have zero intention of going to the game tonight.
“See?” He beams. “You helped me realize I might not suck so bad at civics, and I’m gonna help you realize football games aren’t just about a bunch of jocks throwing a ball around.”
God, now I feel really guilty. And also, what more can a football game be about than a bunch of jocks throwing a ball around? Because that is literally what footballis.
“Cool,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”
“You bet.” He turns and starts jogging down the hall, then calls over his shoulder as he removes his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “And I expect to hear you screaming extra loud at the game tonight, Caroline Heinz!”
I smile as he disappears around the corner… this guy who is making it harder and harder for me to dislike him.
Chapter Fifteen
Seb
“Whyareyoulaughing?”Scarlett smacks my shoulder. “What exactly about this is funny to you?”
We’re standing in the forest just off a path by the picnic tables on the west side of campus. The leaves are starting to change, and I had no idea how beautiful the campus is this time of year. I’m taking a leak, my back turned to Scarr, while she fills me in about finding Justin Tanner screwing around with Maddie Jarvik during her spare period this morning. And she seems legit shocked that the jerk would cheat on her. Still, she handled it in true Scarlett Thiels fashion: by taking a photo of them mid-act with her fancy bedazzled vintage-but-not-really-vintage polaroid camera. Then dumped Justin’s ass.
Then went and taped the snapshot to Mrs. T’s laptop screen.
And she’s been telling me all this with a weird hiccup in her voice that she gets when she’s holding back from crying. Because Scarr would die before she ever let anyone see her cry. Even me. But I, honest to God, have no clue why she’s crying over Justin Tanner. The guy is a total douche. She even has physical proof of it now. And it’s not like I didn’t tell her a dozen times what he’s like.
“I’m not laughing,” I tell her. Because even though she’s one of my best friends, she’s still a little scary when she’s upset. Or mad. Or, well, anytime, really. But come on, taping that photo to Mrs. T’s laptop is funny as hell.
“I mean it, Seb. Stop.”
