Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,40
to make a joke.
“Reed’s always been a good guy,” I say.
“I thought Wes was a good guy, remember?”
“No one ever thought Wes was a good guy,” I say.
“I know,” Merry Carole says, laughing.
“I’m just putting it out there, is all,” I say.
“Oh you are, are you?” Merry Carole asks, focusing back on the stage.
Reed’s wearing a black baseball cap with a gold stallion on it, pulled low. His dark brown hair is cut in an almost militaristic style. His broad shoulders thrown back and his chest puffed out. Reed Blanchard’s always ready to be the man people hold up as the shining example of decency.
“All right now. Quiet down. Let’s get down to business,” Reed says, his voice an annoyed sigh. Everyone obliges. The football team behind him settles down. Reed continues, “We’ve got some great boys coming out this season and I’m proud of all of them, but—” Reed motions for his assistants to bring out the lawn signs. The holy grail for proud Stallion parents across the town. These signs announce the player’s last name, jersey number, and position he plays, along with the usual rearing black stallion. Every player gets a lawn sign, but—and this is crucial—the starting lineup’s signs are black with gold writing as opposed to gold with black writing. Merry Carole hasn’t breathed in minutes. Cal stands off to the side. His face is creased with worry. He’s about to find out, along with the rest of us, if he’s the starting quarterback. The suspense is killing all of us. Reed starts with the defense, wending his way through the offense. He announces each boy’s name and presents him with his sign. A posed picture is taken with each boy, his sign, the now beaming parents, and an inconvenienced-looking Reed.
Reed announces that West will be starting as one of their wide receivers and the boy just looks relieved and happy. Whitney’s parents (West’s grandparents) make their way to the stage and are absolutely beaming as they pose for their picture. I look over at Whitney and Wes and they just look . . . broken. In all of this, I never thought about what it must be like for them not getting to be West’s parents. And he’s such a good kid. Wes takes Whitney’s hand as she brushes away tears—that she’ll pass off as tears of joy—and she collects herself long enough to take a few pictures of the big moment.
And then it’s time for the starting quarterback—the coveted title of QB1. The fabled black sign is brought out, accompanied with much fanfare.
“This year we have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to quarterbacks. North Star is very lucky to have so much young talent, but I’ve decided that one player can lead the North Star Stallions to the state championships this year,” Reed says. The crowd goes wild at the mention of North Star’s team reaching the championships.
“I can’t believe he’s just a freshman—Cal Wake, come on up, son,” Reed says, turning around and extending his hand to Cal. The rest of the football team proceeds to stomp on the stage as hard as they can. At first I’m thrown. Then they start chanting, “CWake! CWake! CWake!” as the stage rumbles like an earthquake. Cal’s face lights up and he takes a second to gather himself. I know he’s holding back a torrent of emotion. Cal and Reed shake hands and I look over at Merry Carole to see how she’s reacting to all of this. But she just shoves her camera at me and bolts to the band shell. The people of North Star go crazy as Cal raises his sign high above his head.
Wake.
The citizens of North Star are applauding for a sign that is emblazoned with the name “WAKE.” I never thought I’d see the day. I snap pictures of Reed and Cal shaking hands, Cal celebrating with his team, and then Merry Carole taking her place by Cal’s side. She’s trying to keep herself together, dabbing at her mascara, poufing up her hair, collecting herself on her proudest day. Merry Carole, Reed, and Cal gather around the sign and the official photo is taken. She hugs Cal, shakes Reed’s hand, and walks back and sits down with me.
As the rest of the football team is announced and presented with their signs, Merry Carole and I just sit in silence.
“I can’t believe it,” I finally say.
“I know,” Merry Carole says, her eyes still covered by her oversize sunglasses.