“Really? That’s the last thing I want to do tonight.”
“Too bad. I’m calling in another stamp.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Stamp of approval. I know for a fact that you don’t have work or dance tonight, and it’s time you got out of this house and got back to being a normal college student.”
“Normal college students frequently take naps and eat junk food and watch movies and don’t leave their house all weekend. That was my plan. Don’t mess with my plan!”
“Too late. The stamp has already been issued, and you can’t say no.”
“You are the worst.” I throw myself onto my bed, wishing I’d changed into pajamas after all.
“You mean best.”
“No, I mean worst. You suck.”
“I don’t suck. I . . . I don’t know what the opposite of suck is, but I’m that.”
“Awesome?”
“Yes. Awesome. That’s what I am, and you will thank me for this.”
“Unlikely.” I crawl up my bed and bury my face in my pillow while Stella starts ransacking my closet and throwing clothes on top of me as if I’m not even there.
Chapter 29
Carson
The team is as loud and excited as I’ve ever seen them. As we file onto the makeshift stage they’ve set up not far from the bonfire, they’re chanting, “Bleed red,” and jumping around, slapping each other on the shoulders. I jump when everyone around me does, so that I don’t stick out, but I’m too tired to chant.
I ran myself ragged this week, not just because it’s an important game, but because it was the only way I could find any semblance of quiet. Torres starts up an “impromptu” rap that I heard him practicing in the locker room a few days ago, but we all humor him, responding when he calls for it and cheering him on. When I get to the middle of the stage, I squeeze in next to Silas, who stands silent, smiling, but not getting caught up in the hype.
“Ready, QB?”
I nod, and he leaves me alone, thankfully.
The gathered crowd is huge, and we wave while they scream. Well, I wave while most everyone else shows off.
Coach looks amused, and he nods when our eyes catch. When all the players have filed onto the stage, he steps up to the microphone.
“Good evening, Wildcats!”
Hands raise up in the crowd like a rolling wave, curved into claws and shaking as the people yell.
Coach lifts his hands, and the crowd settles down.
“I’m not one for speeches.”
A few feet behind me Torres calls out, “Riiiiight.”
The crowd laughs and Coach whirls around like he’s searching for the culprit. Torres is the picture of innocence, and I sigh and shake my head when he grins at me.
“Fine. I’m not one for speeches that don’t involve yelling.”
I crack a smile.
“Last night, as I was watching game film, my daughter told me that mistakes make good teachers.” My chest tightens, and the cool fall air burns even sharper in my lungs. “We’ve had our fair share of mistakes this season, but these young men behind me have learned a lesson from every single one of them.” He smiles. “I can’t promise you that we won’t have more mistakes in the future. They happen, in life and in football. But a strong team, and a strong man, learns how to grow. Anybody who has watched this team from their first game can tell how much growing they’ve done. And I can guarantee you that the Hawks know it, too.” He raises up his hand in the Wildcat claw, and the crowd follows, screaming. Over them, he yells into the mic, “Tomorrow is our time to take the lessons we’ve learned and do some teaching of our own! Now, go wild!”
The crowd roars, and the band starts up the fight song. The cheerleaders and the dance team are down below us, dancing to music, and in the center of the crowd, people begin backing up as they prepare to light the tower of stacked wood.
I don’t know if my eyes are just trained to spot her or if I’m going mad and seeing her everywhere, but I catch sight of Dallas in the first row of the crowd. Stella is beside her, so maybe I’m not going crazy, but before I decide for sure, flames tear through the wood, and she disappears behind the fire and smoke.
As the team begins making their way off the stage, Coach claps me on the shoulder. “Get some rest tonight, McClain. You look tired.”
I dip my chin once. “Yes, sir.”
I think that’s it, so I turn to go, but he stops me one more time.
“Dallas is here tonight with her friend Stella.” I stiffen, wondering if he’ll order me to keep my distance. “I still want you in bed by a decent time, but if you happen to run across her, I think she’d be glad to see you.” He pats me one more time on the shoulder, and then strolls past me, leaving me to follow behind.
I’m not positive, but I think that might just count as permission.
It takes me a while to get past the crowd. Everyone is trying to talk to the players or catch their attention, and I seem to be the only one moving against the flow. By the time I get to where I thought I saw Dallas, there’s not a tall redhead in sight. I stand there for several long minutes searching. The wind has shifted, sending the smoke from the blaze into my watery eyes—probably why they moved, too. In all the thousands of people here, I know I don’t stand a chance of finding her.
Instead, I find Ryan still standing near the stage where I last saw him talking to Torres and Brookes and ask, “Hey, do you have Stella’s number?”