Resentment(9)
“Good morning,” Dean says as he slides into the empty seat next to me.
“Good morning. That’s not your seat.”
“I’m aware.” He shrugs.
“We have assigned seats for a reason,” I whisper as the class starts to fill up. “If you’re aware, then why are you sitting there?”
“Max is absent today.”
“So?”
“So, it’s athlete skip day and most of the athletes won’t be here today.
“But you’re an athlete.”
“I am.” He moves closer to me. “The only reason I came is because today’s the day we pick partners for the semester project.”
Butterflies immediately flutter in my stomach, and I don’t get a chance to respond to that before the teacher starts class. I keep my focus straight ahead, refusing to believe that Dean is clearly staring at me for the entire period. That he writes his name down next to mine when the teacher asks us who we would prefer to work with for our upcoming assignment.
When the bell rings, I jump out of my chair and nearly run out of the room, but he grabs my hand and forces me to look at him.
“Yes?” I try to ignore the way his simple touch is making me feel.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Are you coming to the pep rally tonight?” he asks.
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“School spirit isn’t really my thing. No offense, but...football isn’t either.”
He laughs, and I suddenly realize that the two of us have never talked about football during our sessions together. In fact, whenever I’ve brought it up, he’s changed the subject to something else.
“Well,” he says, letting my hand go. “You should come for me instead.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean, since you’re not into school spirit or football, but you’re clearly into me, you can make an exception and come tonight.”
“You’re getting quite presumptuous lately.” I put on my best poker face. “Do I need to help you with that definition?”
“Not when I know the true word you’re looking for is cognizant.” He grins, stepping back. “I hope to see you tonight.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m sure you always do.” He gives me a look so sexy that I almost melt into the floor.
Goddamn, Dean Collins...
***
Later that night, I grab a stack of graham crackers from the cheer station and hand them to Autumn.
“Do they really have to dye all of the marshmallows blue?” I ask. “Do you think they know that too much artificial food dye can be poisonous? Do you trust this?”
“Oh, god...” She laughs. “You’ve really got to get out more. And what the hell have you done to your top?” She adjusts my shirt, pulling the left sleeve down so my shoulder is exposed.
“That’s how the shirt is supposed to look, Mia,” she says. “All the girls wear it like that. See?”
I look all around us, at the field of fans, at the sea of royal blue and silver shirts that are surrounding the bonfire. As Autumn said, all of the girls have cut their shirts to hang off their shoulders. I decide not to ask any more questions, to just accept the blue food dye, awkwardly cut shirts, and the incessant, loud cheering.
As the football coach tests the mic, the two of us move closer to the bonfire.
“Alright, everyone!” He bellows. “Alright, everyone! Before we start the bonfire, let’s introduce your two-time State Champion Bulldogs!”
The crowd’s screams reach a fever pitch and the coach has an immediate change of heart. He doesn’t bother waiting for everyone to calm down, he simply goes right into the roll call. First, he calls out the names of the defense, and with each name he says, the crowd claps a little more excitedly. A little louder.
When the last defensive player’s name has been called, he moves on to the offense, and the crowd loses its mind. In between him calling out the other players, everyone is screaming for Dean.
The coach purposely saves him for last, but the second he says his name, the crowd manages to get even louder and crazier. They’re so loud and jumping up and down so much, that I don’t get a chance to see him come out of the huddle.
I step back away from the screams, covering my ears and mouthing “I’ll be right back” to Autumn. I head toward the bleachers, hoping I’ll be able to see everything from there and the sounds will be a lot more bearable.
As I’m taking my seat, our band begins to march onto the field, touting chants in between a slightly remixed version of “We Are the Champions.” They’re encouraging everyone to stand up and sing along.