from Kearson and picks up a different frequency. Over the top of her menu, she watches Kearson pull the sweetener packets from their white ceramic holder and begin grouping them by color: Equal, Stevia, Sweet’N Low, sugar. She’s mostly focused on the task, though every few seconds or so, she glances out the window.
“Kears. You all right?”
“I’m worried about Phoebe.” Kearson shakes her head, quickly stuffs the sweetener packets in willy-nilly. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“I guess that depends on your definition of ‘okay.’ I mean, she did manage to sneak out of the school and steal a car without any help.”
“This whole week, Phoebe thought I was gunning for her spot. I could tell. She kept her eye on me all the time. If I got close to her when we were running laps, she’d run faster. If Coach subbed me in, I could tell it killed her.” Kearson shakes her head. “Maybe she ran off tonight because of me. She probably thinks I’m happy she got injured.”
Even though something must have really upset Phoebe to make her take off the way she did, Grace can’t imagine it was Kearson. “No way. No one here thinks that.”
Pleading, Kearson whispers, “The only reason I wanted to play well this week was so that Phoebe would know I was ready to step in if she needed me. That if she needed to take a break, she could trust me not to screw up like I did last time. But I feel like my being here at all is making everything worse for her.” Her eyes fill with tears. “And you want to know the saddest thing? I’m actually terrified of playing tomorrow. I mean, what if I cause us to lose again?”
“Unless Phoebe undergoes an emergency leg amputation between now and our scrimmage, I’m guessing she’ll be on the field tomorrow, ready for action.”
Finally Kearson laughs. It’s small but seemingly enough to pull her back from the brink. She lets out a breath. “I really hope you’re right.”
“But even if I’m not … you are a great player, Kearson! Plenty of girls wanted your spot. But Coach picked you for a reason.”
Grace leans back and holds up her menu. But the type is sadistically small and the laminated plastic coating reflects the overhead lights straight into her eyes. It’s too late at night to try to parse through the different combination plates, so she puts down the menu.
Kearson now has her head down, her face replaced by a stripe of luminous scalp running between her braids. Her tears hit the table one sad plop after another.
“Kearson!” Grace quickly takes a paper napkin from the dispenser and wipes up the tears, then lays a second napkin out to catch the rest as they fall. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“You’re right,” Kearson concedes, “but you don’t know the reason, Grace.” The muscles in her jaw tighten as she works up the courage to make a few more words. “Coach didn’t have a choice. He had to let me on the team.”
Grace wrinkles her nose. Before she can ask Kearson to explain, Ali and two other junior girls claim the remaining open seats at their table. As they do, Kearson grabs Grace’s menu and uses it to shield her face.
Mel hovers near their table, her phone pressed to her ear. Grace is so close to her she can hear everything, one ring and the beginning of Phoebe’s voice mail.
“Does anyone know what time it is?” It doesn’t occur to Mel to look at her own phone.
“Ten minutes to four,” Luci answers. Her eyes stay on her watch as she quietly says, “Maybe we should think about calling it quits for tonight.”
“No,” Mel says, pacing between the tables. “Obviously this night’s taken something of a turn. I can’t get in touch with Phoebe, and we should have been asleep hours ago, but we have to finish the fight song for Coach. We cannot quit on this when we’ve only got one more stanza to do.”
Ali yawns and stretches. “I’m so tired I can’t even remember it.”
“?‘Three cheers for the Wildcats, your honor we’ll defend,’?” Mel sings, pausing to yawn herself. “?‘?’Cause when you’re a Wildcat, you’re a Wildcat till the end.’?”
A bell from the kitchen. Grace didn’t realize how hungry she actually was until she smelled food cooking. She isn’t the only one. Everyone turns their heads.
The waitress arrives, looking tired and not exactly happy that her quiet section is suddenly full. “So long