Dare to Fall

by Estelle Maskame

I’m still trying to think of something “normal” to ask him when he opens his eyes again, watching me with an expectant gaze, and I quickly splutter the only thing that comes to me that’s actually relevant. “Are you looking forward to the game against Broomfield tomorrow?”

  “That’s more like it,” Jaden says. His face lights up with satisfaction and his features relax, the frustration replaced by a relieved smile. “And yes, actually. Are you coming?”

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to relax in my seat. “Holden expects us to come to every game.”

  “Good. After last weekend, we need all the support we can get.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “You guys sucked out there.”

  Jaden rolls his eyes and we exchange a laugh as though nothing has changed, as though we’ve rewound to last year when we would tease each other just like this, because that’s what you did when you were crushing on someone. You flirted via insults, and Jaden and I were no different. We were always flirty. Always playful. Always laughing.

  “I should let you get home,” Jaden says after a moment. He taps his finger against the time displayed on the radio. It’s almost 12:15AM, but that clock is a little fast. “School in seven hours. AP Stats first period is going to kill me.”

  “I’ll bet.” I smile. Quickly, I glance around the lot, and I realize that there are no other cars here. I look at Jaden, and as much as I feel out of place, I ask, “Do . . . do you need a ride?” I am gripping the wheel tight.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t mind the walk.” He smiles then, but it’s different than usual. It’s not the kind of grin that forms on his face when he’s laughing, or the type of crooked smile he gave me in the hallway at school. It’s a small, lingering smile that’s full of sincerity. His gaze flits slowly across my face, taking me in. Then he reaches for the door and pushes it open, shifting his body away from me. “I’ll look out for you at the game tomorrow,” he says quietly, his voice soft as he swings his legs out of the car. He steps out, straightening up and pulling his hood over his hair, shadowing his face further. “I always do.”

  5

  It’s approaching 7PM and I’m sitting in the bleachers with Will, a couple rows from the back, sporting my Windsor Wizards hoodie. It’s the home game against Broomfield tonight, and there are high hopes for the Wizards to deliver a win after their lackluster performance last weekend against Pine Creek.

  We are a collective mass of maroon and gold up here, looking across the field toward the Broomfield students in the smaller bleachers, a sea of blue and white, the Broomfield Eagles players already down on the sidelines. It’s still light out, but the sun has disappeared and the sky is gradually growing duller and duller as the night rolls in. I love the fall solely for the football. There’s nothing else to do in this town, so my Friday nights are filled with supporting the boys. Especially Holden.

  The cheerleaders are already chanting their cheers below. The bleachers are rattling with the anticipation, loud and rumbling as a group of freshmen further along stomp their feet. The atmosphere is electric.

  “If Holden doesn’t catch a single throw again, I’m pretending I don’t know him,” Will murmurs into my ear. I turn to look at him as he shoves a handful of chips into his mouth, his eyes roaming the crowd around us.

  “I think he’ll play alright tonight,” I say. Earlier, Holden was in a good mood, stoked for the game ahead, ready to pull off some killer runs. I just pray that he can deliver on his promises to himself, otherwise Will and I will have to cheer him up for the rest of the weekend.

  The cheer squad finishes up its routine and moves into position at the far end of the field closest to the locker rooms, the girls climbing up onto each other’s shoulders. Out comes the huge banner that’s been made for the game, a giant white sheet of paper with “GO WIZARDS!” written in sloppy maroon paint. The excitement in the bleachers starts to build as our players emerge from the locker rooms in full gear. They gather behind the banner, forming a large huddle as they begin chanting, though it’s hard to hear clearly from all the way up here. Then, moments later, the noise around the field amplifies and the bleachers explode in an uproar of cheering, whistling, and applauding as the Wizards come barreling out onto the field, tearing the banner apart. Will yanks me to my feet and I throw my hands into the air, cheering as loud as I can, carried on the wave of excitement rippling through the field.

  As the players jog across the grass toward the bleachers to join the coaches on the sidelines, I search for Holden among them all, reading the jerseys until I find his number: nineteen. He may have been hyped up earlier, but when I spot him it’s clear he’s nervous now. He’s pacing around in a small circle, his helmet swinging from his fingertips, his head down.

  “Aaaand all hope is lost,” Will remarks. I elbow him in the ribs as we sink back down onto the bench. I roll my eyes, but then I quickly focus my attention back on the Wizards players. I’m not looking for Holden anymore. I’m looking for Jaden.

  My eyes scan each player as they drift around the pitch, stretching their legs, jumping up and down, talking to the coach. I can’t remember which number Jaden’s jersey is, all I know is that he plays on defense, that he’s a linebacker. Some players have taken their helmets off now, some still have theirs on, and so it makes it all the more difficult to actually see who’s who. I keep searching until finally I spot him.

  Standing rooted to the spot and facing toward the bleachers, Jaden has his helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes narrowed slightly as he searches the crowd. After last night, I’m pretty sure he’s hoping to spot me, and his blue eyes move along the rows until he gazes in my direction. It takes a moment or two before his lips twitch into that crooked smile revealing his teeth, and he gives me a nod that’s so small it’s barely perceptible. I half expect him to wave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls his helmet back on, his features hidden behind his facemask, dark and competitive, as he turns his back to the crowd. I forgot just how hot he looks in his gear, with all his padding and the way his jersey clings to his body, enhancing the dip in his spine. He looks cute in his tight pants, but I wouldn’t ever tell him that. The number fifty-one is emblazoned across his back.

  I stuff my hands into the large, warm front pocket of my hoodie and lean against Will. “I’m keeping my eye on fifty-one tonight,” I say. The referees and captains from each team are tossing a coin out on the center of the field to get the game started, but I’m still watching numbers nineteen and fifty-one over on the sidelines.

  “You mean Jaden Hunter?” he asks, surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  Whistles are blown and announcements are made, and suddenly the game is underway. I steal half of Will’s chips as we watch Holden out on the field, trying his best. He has the physique of a wide receiver: He’s tall and lean with a pretty mean sprint. He’s fast and boy, can he run when he has the chance. Some of the passes thrown his way are incomplete, others he catches before immediately being tackled to the ground. Nothing significant so far, but at least he’s playing better than he did last weekend. I rise to my feet as he catches a ball thrown down the field to him, and he’s off running. We’re screaming encouragement as he’s gaining yards, and the end zone is near, and . . . tackled. Never mind. I sit back down as Holden throws his fist into the ground. He’ll be bruised after this game, but he won’t care.

  Jaden, on the other hand, plays entirely differently. Jaden’s role is to tackle and block, and each time the defense is up I observe him closely. I’ve never noticed it before, but he plays the field well. He’s a tactical blocker and has a fierce tackle. An Eagles receiver catches a throw and sets off running, but Jaden is close on his heels. There’s one real reason Jaden is on this team: He’s fast. He was never much of an attacker, but he’s run his opponent down in no time and he promptly drags the player down to the ground. I find myself cheering loudly, much to Will’s confusion. Every time I so much as clap my hands together, I catch him running his eyes over me.

&nbs
p; Despite being the first to score a touchdown and get some points up on the board, by half-time we’re trailing behind 19–7. Holden walks off the field toward the locker rooms, kicking at the grass, fists clenched. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as competitive as him in my entire life. I can never decide if it’s a good trait to have, or if it’s slowly destroying him.

  “Question,” Will says. He slides away from me on the bench a couple inches. “Why the sudden focus on Jaden Hunter? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him.” People are moving around in the bleachers now as they edge along the rows to make their way down to the concession stands, and the marching band is performing on the field while the Wizards mascot prances around.

  “I don’t,” I answer automatically as a force of habit. It’s not true, though. Of course I want to have Jaden in my life, but I just don’t know where he fits yet. I already have a lot to deal with, and until I know how to work through my own struggles, there is no room for him.

  Will looks at me funny. “You’re so weird, Kenzie.” He runs his hand through his hair and stands, pressing his hand on my shoulder to push himself up. He looks cute tonight in his light jeans and white Converse. Will has never been one to wear any of the school merchandise, except for once a year at the homecoming game when he wears a maroon Wizards T-shirt. “I’ll be back in a second. I’ll grab us some water. Wouldn’t want you getting too hot under the collar watching Jaden in tight pants.”

  I shake my head at him, smiling to myself as I watch him disappear into the flow of people and out of my sight. I look around for a few minutes, surveying the crowd to see who is here and who isn’t. I’ve already waved to a couple of friends before I notice Danielle for the first time, sitting on the very front row of the bleachers. I’m not sure if she has been here the entire time or if she has just slipped into the game halfway through.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her at a game this year. Both she and Jaden missed the entire season last year. She’s staring at her lap, repeatedly interlocking her fingers over and over again. The girls next to her are laughing amongst each other, wrapped up in a conversation, but I can’t tell if Dani is with them or not. Either way, she looks lonely down there, sitting in silence, playing with her hands. It is nice to see her out again, but somehow she still seems so disconnected from everyone and I’m not sure that will ever change.

  I hadn’t noticed Will returning until he sits down next to me again, handing me a bottle of water. I blink a few times, trying to push Danielle out of my mind, and then Will holds up his hot dog and offers it to me. “Want a bite?”

  I pull a face, repulsed at the yellow sauce that’s dribbling over the bun. There’s more sauce than there is meat, I swear. “Will, you know I hate mustard,” I whine, pouting at him.

  “Exactly,” Will says. “That’s why I asked for it.” With a devilish grin, he takes a huge bite, and I nudge my shoulder against his, secretly hoping he drops it. But of course he doesn’t.

  While he consumes the rest of his mustard-drenched hot dog, my attention returns to Dani. I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s still sitting there, head still down, still mute. No one is talking to her, but I wonder if she realizes that no one knows how to talk to her. That after we ask her how she’s doing, we don’t know what to say next.

  But Jaden knows, because he told me so himself last night.

  I decide right then, in the split second that Jaden’s words echo in my head, that I’m going to talk to Danielle Hunter. I’m not going to ask her how she’s doing, because it’s clear neither of the Hunters want to hear that question ever again. No, I’m going to ask her something normal that I would have asked her a year ago when we were still friends.

  I quickly rise to my feet and Will glances up at me, confused, his mouth full.

  “Danielle Hunter is down there,” I say, nodding down to the front row of the bleachers. “I’m going to talk to her.”

  “You? You are going to talk to her?” he asks, smirking. Realizing I’m serious, he adds, “I thought you . . . I thought you couldn’t be around them?”

  “I can’t,” I say quietly, exhaling, “but maybe you have to face up to things sometimes.” I turn around and begin my plea of “excuse me”s as I sidestep my way along our row. If I am to expect the Hunters to ever forgive me for not being there for them, then I need to do this. I need to earn their forgiveness. I want to.

  And at first, my determined leap down the stairs toward the front row is eager, but the closer I get, the more my steps begin to slow down. I have Dani in my vision, my eyes fixated on only her. There’s an empty spot by her side, and I awkwardly slide down into it. As soon as my body touches the bench, Dani’s eyes flicker up from her lap to examine her new bench-mate, and when she realizes it’s me, she looks baffled.

  “Hey,” I start, smiling despite my nerves. I can feel my guilt returning again too, but I feign confidence, because I actually think I know how to talk to Dani. I just have to talk to her the way I would have a year ago, and hopefully she will appreciate it more than she would sympathetic frowns and careful questions. “Jaden’s playing great, isn’t he?”

  Dani’s blue eyes soften and she is silent for few moments, almost as though she’s searching my expression for a hidden agenda. Perhaps she’s wondering why I’m mentioning Jaden’s name, considering I haven’t done so in a long time. She must come up empty-handed, though, because she finally answers, “Yeah. I forgot how good he is.” Her voice is quiet and a little cautious.

  “Did you see him sack the Broomfield quarterback? Coach’ll definitely be praising him for that tackle!”

  Remarkably, I see a very vague hint of a smile as the corner of her mouth twitches. Her lips are dry and chapped. “I know,” she says, then adds, “Holden’s playing great too.”

  “Right? He’ll be so pleased with himself for that forty-yard catch,” I agree. “He didn’t catch a single pass last week.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I say, then laugh. I’m surprised when Dani almost laughs with me. Almost, but not quite. I haven’t heard her laugh since last year.

  When we fall silent, I lean forward a little in order to look past Dani at the girls on the other side of her. Up close, I realize that they’re the same people she was with last weekend at Dairy Queen. The three of them are still wrapped up in a conversation amongst themselves, leaving Dani excluded the same way she was on Sunday. It’s nice that they invite her out with them, but it’s sad that they don’t know how to include her when she comes.

  I lean back again and meet Dani’s expectant gaze. “Do you want to sit with us? I’m near the back with Will.”

  Suddenly, her expression distorts and she defensively leans back, away from me. She stares at me with suspicion now and blankly asks, “Why?”

  “Because I want you to.” And it’s true: I do. After talking to Jaden last night and realizing that it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it would be, I am now making a conscious effort to talk to Dani too. Maybe the Hunters won’t forgive me, but I have to try. It’s the least I owe them.

  Dani releases a long sigh and looks away, her black hair now covering half her face because she’s lost the energy to push it back. “No thanks, MacKenzie,” she mumbles, staring at the ground.

  “Okay. We’re going to Cane’s Chicken in Fort Collins after the game, so how about you join us then instead?” I urge, trying to keep my tone light so that I don’t sound desperate. I know I shouldn’t push Dani into doing something she doesn’t want to do, but I want her to see that I’m trying to make an effort for the first time, and that it’s taking me a lot of damn courage to do so. Sure, it’s easy enough to ask her a normal question, to talk to her the way we used to talk, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that she’s still suffering. I still have questions that I know I just can’t ask, like: How do you cope? How are you still breathing?

  “I’ll let you know,” Dani says, and I blink several times, surprised that she hasn’t strai
ght up told me no. I think she just wants to get rid of me, honestly.

  “Please do,” I say, standing up. The girls next to her stop their conversation to look up at me as though they hadn’t noticed me until now. “If you need a ride, Will has space.”

  “Okay,” she says, and when I give her a small wave goodbye and turn to walk away, I hear the girls finally begin to talk to her. Probably wondering why I was there, no doubt, but as long as they’re talking to her for once, I don’t really mind.

  Half-time is over and the game is starting back up again as the players from both teams make their way back out onto the field, hyped up and ready to go again. Everyone seems to quickly scramble back to their seats, and as I make my way back up to Will, he stares at me the entire time, slowly shaking his head as though he still can’t believe that I actually made an attempt to communicate with one of the Hunters.

  “So?” he says as I sit down, eagerly awaiting the verdict. “What did you say?”

  I scoop up my bottle of water from the ground, glance sideways at Will, and I smile. “I invited her to come to Cane’s with us.”

  6

  Windsor loses the game. The final score is 37–25 for Broomfield, so the build-up of excitement in the bleachers meets an anticlimax as the game comes to an end. Holden kicks at the field in anger and tosses his helmet away, but Will and I only roll our eyes and pretend that we don’t know him as we file out of the bleachers. The rest of the Wizards have their heads hung low, though they do shake the Broomfield players’ hands before disappearing into the locker rooms as fast as they possibly can, most likely embarrassed by yet another loss. We’re not doing so great this season.

  I search for Jaden, but I can’t find him out on the field, so I figure he’s one of the guys intent on making a quick getaway.

  I follow Will back to the student parking lot and over to his bright red Jeep. It stands out by a mile over everyone else’s cars, but only because everyone else is more than grateful to drive a ten-year-old beaten-up Honda that they don’t bother to wash. Will says he doesn’t care that much about nice cars, but the amount of effort he puts into maintaining the gleaming bodywork of the Jeep begs to differ.