Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,32

body is all wrong.

I lean against my car in the parking lot and take in the stadium’s bright, blinding lights. This isn’t some rinky-dink football field with wooden bleachers. This is like a mini pro stadium. I can hear the band from here, playing some fight song. There must be hundreds of people in the bleachers wearing school colors and yelling. No wonder the football players walk around like the kings of everything.

I usually head into Dallas on Friday nights to hang with my friends from the LGBTQIA Center. We go see outdoor movies, bowl, waste a bunch of money at Dave & Buster’s. And when I want to go to a party—which isn’t that often—Max always has an option.

I am entirely out of my element here. And alone. I should have invited someone, but my old school is hours away, too far for casual hangouts. And my queer friends from the LGBTQIA Center would blow my cover. Max doesn’t leave the house without a pride flag somewhere on him. People would wonder about me. I’m tense and uneasy about this situation, but Georgia wanted me here. So I’m here.

I walk through the chain-link fence and pay two dollars to a guy in a booth while a security guard swipes me a couple times with his metal-detector wand. I head toward the concession stand under the bleachers and watch kids balance foot-long hot dogs and bowls of nachos as they return to their seats. I give in to my hunger and get in line.

I don’t mind going places by myself, but I prefer low-pressure environments like movie theaters and Barnes & Noble. Chill things. This is a whole different ballgame. Literally. I am very aware of my aloneness and feel like everyone else is aware of it, too. I look around like I’m trying to find someone. I should have spent more time making friends the first two weeks, but I was busy flirting with a cheerleader. I’ll put it on my to-do list for next week.

I carry my nachos up the bleachers. It’s packed. The band is at full volume, the stadium lights are cranked, everyone is cheering. A heavily padded guy crashes into another heavily padded guy and they roll around on Astroturf. The referee blasts his whistle, and the crowd goes wild. Everything is loud. Everything is bright. This is sensory overload.

I find a seat at the border of the parents’ section, around the middle of the field. Seems safe to hang here and get the lay of the land. I dig up a tortilla chip covered in imitation cheese and devour the whole thing. It’s too salty and lukewarm and beyond delicious.

The cheerleaders are on the field facing the crowd, spread out side by side in one long line that goes from goal post to goal post. They are wearing matching outfits and waving to the crowd until the blond one in the middle signals them to start a cheer. There’s a massive megaphone in front of each girl with their name painted across it in perfect cheerleader cursive. Farther down the field, in front of the student section, I find Georgia’s megaphone. She’s impossibly cute. The girl, not the megaphone. I really am punching above my weight here. Or possibly, she’s just a shameless flirt. Texans are famous for flirting. But it feels like something more.

A macho dancing bear mascot skips over and hugs her until they fall to the ground. They overdo the dramatics, but it’s entertaining. Georgia dances with the bear until it struts off to give hugs to the kids in the bleachers.

The parents seated near me are having a ball. The moms are dressed up, Target chic, and laughing loudly while taking big drinks from thermoses. They’re preoccupied with talking and gossiping with each other, taking the occasional break to shout words of encouragement in the direction of the field.

The dads, on the other hand, are dressed like coaches and are laser focused on the game. They jump up and down and yell things at their sons. “Get your head in the game!” There’s no way the players can hear it on the field. The moms half-heartedly try to calm them down, mostly because they’re embarrassed. The dads are wringing their hands like it’s the Super Bowl.

As an outsider to this football thing, it seems very foreign and weird. This is what normal people do on Friday nights in small towns around Texas. I guess we’re all looking for a community