All the Little Lights
Page 49

Madison zipped her coat and narrowed her eyes. “I dare her.”
“I don’t,” I said.
Madison giggled. “Don’t worry. What could she possibly do?”
“I don’t know, and I think that makes me more worried than anything.”
Madison put on a hat and black mittens and then opened the back gate of her 4Runner, pulling out two thick blankets. She handed a fleece-backed quilt to me, and then hooked her free arm around mine. “Come on. We’re going to watch our boys kick some Yukon Millers a—”
“Hey, Maddy!” Presley said, walking with the clones.
Madison shot her an equally fake smile. “Hey, girl, hey!”
Presley was no longer amused, her smug grin melting away. They continued across the parking lot to the ticket booth, and we made sure to stay far enough behind so we didn’t have to engage again.
The stadium was already churning with noise, deafening before we reached the ticket booth. Huge banners with Yukon Millers hung from almost every side, and the field lights were cutting through the night sky.
Madison’s boots skirted across the asphalt with each step, making me think about Althea’s insistence that I pick up my feet when I walk. I could almost hear her voice in my head, and that made me stop in my tracks. I didn’t want to carry them with me, even Althea. I wanted to be able to leave them all behind when I could finally step away.
“Catherine?” Madison said, tugging on my arm.
I blinked and chuckled to cover that I’d checked out for a few minutes.
“Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“Yeah,” I said, taking a step. She took one with me, her arm still hooked around mine. “Yes, I’m fine.”
We stopped at the ticket booth, showed our student IDs, and the grandmother behind the window stamped our hands with a smile.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Enjoy losing,” the grandma said, a Cheshire cat’s grin stretching across her wrinkled face.
Madison’s mouth fell open, and I pulled her away, guiding her through the gate.
“Did she say . . . ?”
“Yes. She did,” I said, stopping at the bottom of the steps that led to the guests’ side of the stadium. Half of it was filled with overflow from the home side, but there were a lot of empty bleachers and sporadic groups of parents.
We climbed the steps and sat in the sixth row from the walkway, as close to the center of the players’ benches as we could get. The cheerleaders were bundled and standing on the track in front of the band, dressed in full regalia. The players of the trumpets, tubas, and drums were already warming up in random, separate song.
Madison rubbed her gloved hands together and then noticed my bare hands. She grabbed my fingers, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Did you forget yours in the 4Runner?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay! It’s twenty degrees!” She lifted my blanket and shoved my hands under, holding hers on top of mine until she felt they’d had enough time to warm.
The band’s conductor stood in front, holding up a signal. A few of the horn players blew quick practice notes, and then they all bleated the same scale. The announcer came on over the PA system, welcoming the spectators and thanking them for braving the cold.
Madison and I sat closer as the air seeped inside our blankets and coats, watching as the Oak Creek Mudcats ran onto the field to the sound of our school song.
“Look! There they are!” she said, pointing to our boyfriends. They were standing on the sideline next to each other, listening to Coach Peckham.
Once the coach walked off, Elliott turned around, looking up in the stands. I held up my hand, raising my fingers and thumb. Elliott did the same, and like last time, I felt the eyes of those in the line of sight between us staring. Elliott turned back around, bouncing up and down, his breath puffing above his black helmet in a cloud of white.
“That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Madison said. “No wonder you don’t wear mittens. You couldn’t do that with these on,” she said, holding up one hand.
I bowed my head, feeling embarrassment heat my cheeks, but couldn’t stop looking at number seven as he moved to keep warm. Maybe for the first time, I realized what I meant to him and what he meant to me. The warmth spread to my chest and then the rest of me. I wasn’t alone anymore.
“Aw!” Presley said from a few rows up. “How sweet!”
Madison turned around, batting her lashes and smiling. “Eat shit, Presley!”
“Madison Saylor!” a blonde woman sitting next to Presley yelled.
“Mrs. Brubaker!” Madison said, surprised. A nervous laugh tittered from her mouth. “Good to see you. Maybe your daughter won’t be such a troll while you’re here.”
Presley’s mouth fell open, and the clones’ did the same. Mrs. Brubaker’s expression turned severe.
“That’s enough,” she said, unamused.
Madison turned, speaking under her breath. “Is she texting?”
I peeked up from the corner of my eye. “Yes.”
She hunched over and groaned. “She’s texting my dad. They go to our church.”
“No one is shocked more than me. I’ve always thought you were shy,” I said.
“I’m not. I’ve just never had a friend to defend. Isn’t that what friends do?”
I nudged her with my shoulder. “You’re a really good friend.”
She looked at me, beaming. “I am?”
I nodded.
She held up her phone, the display alerting her to a text from her dad. “Worth it,” she said, putting her phone down without reading the message.
Elliott, Sam, Scotty, and Connor walked to the center of the field to meet the Yukon team captains. A coin was tossed, Elliott calling a side. Whatever he said, the referee pointed to Elliott, and the few Oak Creek fans in the stands cheered. Elliott chose to receive the ball, and we cheered again. Canned music played through the PA system as the players lined up on the field and as the Yukon team got ready to kick to our receiver. We made a failed attempt to be louder than the home side.
Sam caught the ball, and Madison screamed, clapping for him the whole sixty yards he carried it.
When Elliott jogged out onto the field, I felt a strange twinge in my stomach. He was getting ready to face off against his old teammates, and I wondered what that must feel like. The pressure to win had to have been insurmountable.
Elliott yelled words I could barely hear over the noise, and Scotty hiked him the ball. Elliott took a few steps back and, after a few seconds, fired a perfect spiral to one of the receivers. I wasn’t sure what was going on and had a hard time following, but then the crowd gasped, the referees threw yellow flags, and I saw a Yukon defensive lineman stand up and point down at Elliott. My number seven was on the ground, his arms and legs splayed out.
“Oh my God. What happened?” I asked.
“They were worried about this,” Madison said.
“About what?”
“That Elliott’s old team would try to take him out. They know how good he is. They’re also pissed he left his senior year.”
I winced at her words, feeling guilty. I knew exactly why he’d left his teammates.
Elliott slowly crawled to his feet, and the crowd applauded. I put my frozen hands together, even though it shot pain up my arms every time I clapped. I slid them under the blanket, watching Elliott slightly limp back to the line.