opened it up and settled it over our laps. “Trust me, you’re going to be glad you have it after the sun goes down.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“These uniforms are hot as you know what.” Callie raised her eyebrows.
“As hot as Beckett?” Ginger whispered, nudging my arm.
Callie giggled. “Exactly.” She looked up in the stands toward the marching band. “I better head up there before I’m late. See you guys after the game!”
Ginger unfolded her blanket and spread it over her lap, revealing dozens of T-shirts with little league team names sewn together. “So, where is he?”
I pointed toward the players stretching on the field. Beckett was with the other team captain, leading them all.
But pointing was a bad idea because I caught Merritt staring at us, her eyes narrowed.
I turned my gaze down and said, “Do you know where Zara and Jordan are?”
She shook her head, making the curly hair protruding from her stocking cap bounce.
Time to send my first Sermo chat. I thumbed out the message, and soon, replies crossed the screen.
Zara: Getting us hot chocolate. Be there in a few.
Jordan: This job ran long. I need to change and I’ll be there soon.
She sent us a photo of her in her JJ Cleaning polo doing a thumbs down.
I showed Ginger the screen, and we both smiled.
“I could totally go for some non-organic cocoa,” she said. “My parents only bring stuff home from the store.”
Her family owned a health food store called Ripe—I knew because that’s where my mom bought all of our food.
“Can you tell your parents to stop selling my mom grapefruit?” I asked.
She laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
Zara came toward us holding a drink carrier. “Here you go!”
Ginger’s eyes lit up. “My hero!”
We each took one and drank deeply. The sugar flooded my mouth, and I closed my eyes. “You got marshmallows too.”
“Only the best for the girl who is going to singlehandedly take down the school’s queen bee.”
My smile faltered, but I brought it back. “You forgot a few letters after b.”
They caught my insinuation and laughed.
For the first quarter, we mainly joked with each other. Each of us was pretty helpless when it came to football, and with Callie busy playing piccolo, we didn’t really have anyone to go to for explanation.
Jordan showed up near the end of the third quarter, looking flushed. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”
Zara pointed at one goal post. “They ran that way, then that way.” She pointed at the other one.
I laughed. “That about sums it up.” Except she’d left out how well Beckett played, even while wearing a wrist brace. Even after being tackled time and time again, only to get back up and brush it off.
Even when he jogged to the sidelines for a timeout, clearly exhausted, he just squirted water in his mouth and took in everything his coach had to say, the picture of focus and grit. Amazed was a good word for how I felt watching him.
At halftime, he ran off the field with the rest of his teammates, and the band marched into position. Zara pointed out Callie, standing near the endzone, her piccolo poised at her lips. I couldn’t believe how good our band was and how hard they worked. As she marched back to the stands, I could see sweat beaded on her forehead, even though I had to stay bundled up just to keep from shivering.
The players entered the field again, playing the second half just as hard as the first, and securing an Emerson win. As the clock counted down the final seconds, Jordan asked, “So what’s the plan?”
Everyone around us began moving to the field.
“Follow Callie,” Zara said. “She’s going to see Carson, so we won’t be too obvious if we tag along.”
When the band finished playing the school’s fight song, we met up with Callie and walked to the field. The turf was soft under our feet, and my legs felt weak crossing closer to all the players. The one who had mooed at me earlier in the week stood near, and I shied away. Would they insult us in front of everyone here—classmates and parents and teachers?
So far, the answer was no.
Callie made a beeline to Carson and gave him a hug, which he returned with a wide smile. “I can’t believe we won!” he said.
Callie shoved his shoulder. “Quit being modest. You played great. Did you see that sack you made?”
“Um, yeah,” he said, holding up one side of his jersey to