Page 69 of Taking Sides

“Nah.” I keep my gaze locked on Whitney. She shakes hands with the Stanton coach, then follows her guys down the tunnel toward the locker rooms.

Fuck. I feel like I just lost. Fans are standing, stretching, heading out for the break between games. I pull out my phone and open up my texts with Whitney. The last messages are wishing her good luck and now I have no clue what to say next.

I tap out several things, immediately deleting each one as soon as I reread them. I’m racking my brain for any words of wisdom. Minutes pass and still I can’t think of a single thing. I’m about to type out “sorry” and hope that’s enough when she sends me a text.

Whitney

Well, that sucked.

Relief whooshes through me at her directness and I chuckle a little.

Me

I’m sorry.

Whitney

Thanks. Are you staying for the varsity game?

Me

Yeah. We’ll be here.

Whitney

Fingers crossed this one goes better.

While I’m waiting for D-Low to return, I scroll through my other unread messages. My dad has recently discovered reels and sends me several a day. I watch each one—his feed must be ninety-nine percent political humor, but I indulge him anyway. As soon as I heart the last one, my phone rings in my hand.

I put it to my ear, answering before the ringer can annoy those around me.

“Hey, Dad. I can’t talk right now. I’m at a game.”

“You don’t play tonight, do you?” It’s my mom. I don’t even bother asking why she has dad’s phone. They switch like their devices are interchangeable.

“No, it’s a local high school game.”

“Oh, how nice,” she says, and I can hear the happiness in her tone.

“What’s up? Did you need something?”

“No, well, yes. I ran into your old coach, Coach Carson, at the grocery store today.”

“How is he?” I rest my feet on the bleacher in front of me. Whitney returned to the bench and stands next to Grady as the two watch the varsity team warm up.

“Good. His wife, Wendy, just retired and they’re considering moving to Florida.”

“Sounds . . . warm.”

She hums her agreement. “Anyway, he mentioned that the high school is having a ceremony before he goes, honoring him and some of the players he coached.”

Shit. I know what’s coming even before she continues.

“And that they’ve been trying to contact you for a couple of months.” Her tone is pointed, and I swear I can feel her no-nonsense mom glare all the way from Washington.

“Mom, I can’t drop everything in the middle of the season for some award banquet.”

“This isn’t some award banquet. It’s a big deal. You’re a big deal. The school and Coach Carson want to honor you.”