Adorkable(80)

Like I said before, guys = strange. Period.

“Thanks everybody,” Becks said, looking right at me, before Clayton stole the mic for his own special announcement.

“Sally Spitz,” Clayton said, scanning the audience as my face grew hot. I sunk down lower in my seat, but he still spotted me, not too hard since a few others were looking too. “There you are, girl. Just wanted you to know, if we lose this thing, it’s on you.”

Gee, thanks, Clayton. If people hadn’t known it was me before, they sure knew it now. I couldn’t look anywhere without meeting a glare thrown by one of Chariot’s many diehards. I took note of the exits just in case things started going south.

“I don’t get it,” Hooker said, her face a question. “Why’d he say that was for you? All he did was get his stupid facial hair shaved.”

“Don’t know,” I lied, smiling as I turned away—looking straight into the eyes of another glaring fan. I dropped the grin, didn’t want to provoke the woman, but I was beaming on the inside. Hooker didn’t have to understand. Like Becks said, that performance was for me, and I knew exactly what it meant. My broken heart tessellated (a great SAT word, meaning to mend), and it didn’t matter if half the stadium attacked. Becks’s confession had given me wings. I could fly out of there if I had to.

The second-half was even more brutal than the first. Broughton got ahead, four to three, with just minutes remaining. The menacing looks got worse, and Hooker moved down a few seats, fearing for her safety. It took a team effort, but with an assist from Becks, Ash tied it up. In a real nail-biter, especially for me, public enemy number one in the CHS section, Becks knocked the final goal in, making an impossible shot, one only he could’ve made.

At the whistle, everyone jumped up, cheering, screaming. The stands shook as hundreds of people raced for the stairs. It felt and sounded like an earthquake rolling through. I tried to meet Becks right after—but it seemed like every person in Chariot rushed the field. There was no getting around the wall of bodies as the stadium emptied out. TV crews and reporters, family members, the fans, it was crazy. By the time I made it to the stands’ railing, I couldn’t even see Becks in the sea of people.

That is until he was lifted high into the air on the shoulders of his team.

Look at me, I thought. Please, look at me, just once, so I’ll know we’re okay.

And then he did.

It was only for a moment, but our eyes found each other above the crush of people and held. Everything else melted. It was just Becks and me. The next second he was whisked away as the crowd rolled on toward the dressing rooms while I was still stuck in the stands, but it didn’t matter. Just before he’d been carried off, Becks had given me the most desperate look—like he didn’t want to leave me as much as I didn’t want him to go.

I knew I was smiling like an idiot but couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. I wasn’t nervous anymore. I knew we were going to be okay. Better than. And I also knew, with a certainty that couldn’t be shaken, that Becks would call, and we would talk, and things would be right again.

Setting the volume to high, I put my phone in my pocket and tried not to check it every five seconds.



#



When Becks finally called, it was 4:27 a.m.

I’d fallen asleep in my room but got blasted awake by an earful of the Star Wars theme.

“Becks?” I said, suddenly standing. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the door.”

“What?”

“I’m at your front door,” he repeated, louder but still whispering, “outside your house. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said. “Be down in a sec.” Throwing on my Yoda snuggie, I tiptoed to the front door as quickly as I could, not wanting to wake Mom. When I opened it, Becks said, “Thanks,” then shot past me into the living room, barely meeting my eyes. I closed the door carefully, flipping the lock, wondering what all that was about.

Guess I was going to find out here in a second.

I turned on a lamp then took the seat next to him on the sofa. Becks was just sitting there, smiling right into my eyes, like it wasn’t two hours before dawn.

“Sorry, I’m so late. I just managed to escape Clayton and the boys. Aren’t you gonna congratulate me, Sal?”

“Huh?” I said.

“On the game.” He leaned back, making himself comfortable. “You never said anything about the game. Everyone else and their mother talked to me about it, but I wanted to get your take.”

“At four thirty in the morning,” I deadpanned.