Page 21 of End Game

I sigh. “I’ve met them. They’re worse.”

Johanna frowns. “They can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, no, they are,” I assure her. “How he and Dougie turned out so normal, I’ll never know.”

“Dougie?”

“His brother. He’s at… Brown, I think? Working on his MBA.” Belatedly, I realize I’m giving out all of my best friend’s secrets. Secrets that aren’t mine to tell. “He’s a good guy. Used to pull my pigtails and then Barrett would beat up on him.”

“That’s sweet,” Mason says, biting her lip to hide her smile. “Older or younger?”

“Barrett is two and a half years younger, but he’s bigger than Dougie by at least two inches and fifty pounds. Maybe more. He played hockey.”

“Hockey is a fun sport,” Johanna says haltingly. Her eyes dart between us.

Melissa leans over Fred, saying something I don’t make out, and Mason laughs and turns to her friends. She’s not ignoring me, us; she’s just being social with the group. The bleachers aren’t exactly what I would call comfortable. Johanna and I sit there in silence as the guys warm up on the field and the band sets up.

Barrett looks good out there. Instantly I know which one is him, even without his name printed on the back of his jersey. It’s like there’s an invisible red string connecting us, like in those folk tales my grandmother used to tell. He stretches on the thirty yard line, chatting with Tucker and Wes. It’s a little weird to see Wes without his ever present book.

I wonder if he’ll want me to wear a Zhang jersey. I would go down to the student store and buy one tomorrow if he asked me to. I have no problem with wearing his number, supporting him. In high school, I would borrow one of his enormous Dalton Football sweatshirts to wear on Friday nights. I don’t think I can ask him now. It’s such a girlfriend thing to do. I don’t think I realized that at the time.

He’s scoping out the crowd now, a hand over his eyes. I know the moment he sees me because he jolts, and then the biggest smile I’ve ever seen crosses over his face. He waves.

My heart is in my throat. I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t breathe, can’t think. I wave back. What is this? It’s just a wave, a simple hello from afar. I’ve gone to his high school games. I’ve been by his side for years.

But now… it’s so much more than that. Why? I’m not sure. It just hits differently in a stadium of twenty-five thousand people.

Beside him, Tucker is communicating with Mason, based on the sign language he’s got going on. Tucker folds his fingers into a heart and aims it up in our direction. Barrett doesn’t even tease him. His attention is locked on me, on us.

I send him a thumbs up. He nods seriously, patting his chest. Over his heart.

The coach’s whistle sounds, gathering his team, and he nods at me one more time before he jogs over to the defensive coordinator for a huddle.

Johanna and I sit in awkward silence. She pulls out her phone and flicks through her social media page.

I went to USC football games all the time. It was the thing to do. All the girls from the team would gather, we would tailgate for a few hours, and then, liberally sauced, we would watch the game and cheer on our fellow athletes.

It’s completely different here at Newton. It feels more important. This is Barrett’s team, the guys he’s spilled blood, sweat, and tears with over the last four years.

Newton wins the coin toss and defers. Once the kickoff is complete, the defense takes their positions on the field.

Barrett is a defensive end, primarily on the left side. He gets right into the thick of the scrums. I watch with bated breath as he crouches on the twenty-five yard line, fingertips of one hand on the ground. He steadies, readies, and once the ball is snapped to the opposing quarterback, he flies into action, tackling the offensive lineman and launching towards the quarterback.

The ball sails through the air, and Barrett retreats. Tucker takes out the receiver at the thirty-two yard line. Not enough yardage for a first down.

The Newton stands go wild.

It only gets better from there. Wes sacks the quarterback on second down. They convert for the first down, and Miles takes out the tight end at the fifty yard line. It’s a raucous crowd enjoying the first football game of the season. The boys are playing better than ever.

There’s a flag on the next play. Pass interference on Sullivan, the safety I met at the pub on move-in day. The other team gets a five yard advantage. Barrett is shaking his head, clearly pissed.

Miles says something to him, slapping him on the helmet. Barrett nods, hunkering down at the line of scrimmage. Bring it, he seems to tell the guy opposite him. He’s laser focused. He manages to evade a tackle, dodge a lineman, and get to the quarterback, sacking him effortlessly. He makes it look so easy.

Johanna turns to me, giving me a high five.

“That’s our boy,” she yells over the roaring crowd.

Instead of feeling pride in my best friend, I feel uncomfortably territorial. He’s mine. He’s not hers. If I have my way, he’ll never be hers.