"So," he said after a while, "will you be going to the bonfire?"
The campfire, for your information, is a yearly event usually preceding the state championships. It takes place in the woods near the field and at night. It usually lasts until morning. The bonfire night, not to be confused with Bonfire Night which celebrates the anniversary in which Guy Fawkes' Gunpowder plot was discovered in 1605, is open to all interested. I never had the chance to attend a bonfire night because I was never interested. Maybe I'll make an exception this time; after all, I am a cheerleader.
I nodded enthusiastically. "Sure, why not?"
Bruce Benet patted me on the head like I was either his little sister or a football. "See ya there."
***
"What else will her highness be needing?" Winona was talking in a faux English accent as she pushed the shopping cart. I squinted on the list Tara handed me. I was asked to purchase snacks and drinks for the bonfire night while she and the other cheerleaders help their selves to the players who are still out practicing.
"Her highness seriously needs to work on her writing," I showed Winona the list.
Winona rolled her eyes and took the piece of paper. "Tell me about it. I think this one's root beer." She pointed at one item on the list and I tried to confirm her guess.
"I guess so. Besides, I love root beer." I dumped several six-packs of Mugs root beer in the cart. My favorite. "Are you sure you don't wanna come?" I asked Winona.
"I'd rather dye my hair pink." She said with a scowl.
"That would be fun." We laughed out loud and a guy with glasses who looked like a businessman shot an angry glare at us. Grumpy old man.
After another fifteen minutes of deciphering Tara's handwriting and finding the items on her list, we dumped all the goods in my mom's minivan. I dropped off Winona at Barney's, where she's working the night-shift. It's already nine so I drove a little faster than usual. I have to deliver the supplies at nine thirty sharp.
This is the first time that I drove to school at night. Normally, I've left school by four in the latest. I maneuvered the minivan through the woods guided by the light of the bonfire. The first people I saw were Jaden and Ollie, who were strolling hand in hand. I finally stopped the ignition and hopped out of the van. I'm lucky I was wearing my school sweater for it was a really chilly autumn night. I opened the cargo door and tried to get the cooler out. It's already filled with ice and beer cans that I can barely move it. Heck, it won't even budge. I cursed and started pulling with all my strength when I heard Andrew behind me.
"Need some help?" He was wearing a plain gray shirt over a blue-long sleeve shirt. This was surprising, because players normally wear their football shirt the night before the game, for good luck. I always thought it was disgusting.
I stopped pulling and faced him with an irritated expression. "Oh gee, what gave me away, Alleyn?" I said sarcastically.
He smiled crookedly and said as he reached out for the cooler, "Calm down Kitty, I'll get your box for you."
I felt my insides burn. I've always hated it when he calls me Kitty. Nobody calls me Kitty except him. The last time he called me Kitty, I almost socked him in the nose. But since he's helping me this time, I think I'll let him pass.
With an effortless pull, he took the cooler out of the minivan and walked to the camp. I wondered how he does that. That guy doesn't even eat meat, for crying out loud. And he was just five-foot-eight. Several people were already settled by the bonfire. It was a pretty awesome sight; the bonfire was at its brightest. Coach Culkin was giving his famous pep talk over the megaphone. The students were cheering enthusiastically.
"Make sure to get a good night's sleep you guys," Coach Culkin finished his speech, "and kick Jackson's sorry little backsides tomorrow!"
The crowd gave a loud hearty cheer. Not to spoil the spirit, I tried to applaud enthusiastically. I can't believe these people enjoy music too loud you can't even hear your own thoughts. Worse, my mom even forced me to join the campfire because, and I quote, "it's your last chance to experience the spirit of the bonfire." Double jeez.
I caught a glimpse of Tara by her pink tent. Her blond hair shone brighter by the light of the fire. She was sitting on the grass next to Jason Bland. By the looks of it, they were most probably dating already. I heard from Jodie Kimmel that Jason helped Tara out the night of her party. He didn't need to do much though; Andrew pretty much did all the work. Anyway, Tara eventually found him more attractive than he already is. By now she had her head rested on his shoulders. The heat of the bonfire (or maybe it was the view) dried out my throat so I headed to the cooler. All I found inside were cans of Heineken beer. I put the lid back on and lazily walked to the minivan, were I was keeping another cooler with root beers in it.
The cooler was buried in a pile inside the minivan so I have to put myself partly inside. I finally found the cooler when suddenly, someone grabbed my leg. Acting on instinct, I kicked my leg and hit whoever it was squarely on the jaw. The person moaned and backed away a little. I saw the person's identity through the light of the moon. I was not truly shocked when I realized that it was Andrew.
I stepped closer and tried to help by checking if he had a broken jaw. "I am so sorry. You shouldn't have surprised me like that. No broken bones, though." But I was not yet taking my hands off his face. You know, if you really think about it for a while, he is pretty good-looking. I have never seen eyes like his. They were even bluer tonight, if that's possible.
He broke my stupid trance when he put his surprisingly warm hands on mine. "Don't fall for me, Sherlock." He said with a mocking smile. I shoved him and grabbed two cans of Mugs from the cooler. I handed him a can and opened mine. I savored the sweet smell and taste of root beer.
"Why aren't you there by the bonfire?" I asked him as I climbed the minivan's hood. Wesley and I do this all the time when observing phenomena in the night sky like meteor showers or such.
He shrugged, climbed the hood and sat next to me. "I just don't like it there."
"Yeah," I sighed, "the view kinda sucks."
He chuckled and put his hands behind his head as he leaned on the windshield. "You mean Jason Bland?"
"No." I glared at him angrily. I supposed I was being too obvious. "Why does it always have to be Jason?" I said quite frustratingly and leaned on the windshield too.
"Well, you had a crush on him since third grade."
"That is not true."
"Oh yeah? You can't even say his name without blushing."
I sat up straight. "I can." I cleared my throat. "Jason Bland. There."
He too, sat up straight. "You're blushing, Sherlock." He sounded so serious that I'm beginning to wonder if I'm really that into Jason Bland. "I don't even know why you liked him in the first place. He can't even spell Shakespeare, you know."
"You really think you know more about me than I know about you?" I raised my left eyebrow at him.
He shifted a little, "Well, I know for a fact that your middle name is Emerald. Because of your eyes."
"You just got lucky." And that was an easy one, too. "Your middle name is Jet. Because of your jet black hair."
He clapped his hands as if he just won a bet, "Nu-uh. I was name after my grandpa Jet, who served during the Vietnam War."
"No way."
"Way. You can ask anybody. Everybody's practically my stalker. Face it, Sherlock. You'll never top me."
"Whatever. I'm not listening. Blah blah blah." I covered my ears with my hands.
He chuckled and leaned back on the windshield. He had one hand behind his back and the other stretched freely behind me. "You knew that the moment you saw me adding in the sandbox."
"Remove your hand. I want to lie down too." I told him but he pretended to fall asleep. I tried removing his outstretched hand but we wouldn't budge. I stifled a yawn. My watch says eleven in the evening. That is way past my bedtime. I'm too drowsy to even set-up my tent. Screw that. I don't need a tent. I had slept on the van's hood a numbe
r of times.
"Suits me." I lied down on the windshield anyhow, my head resting on Andrew's arm. This is the closest we've been so far. "You'll wake up with an arm so sore you can't even hold a stupid football." I told him and giggled.
He was still pretending to be asleep. I was surprised when the arm I was resting on moved and pulled me closer to him. I thought of struggling away, but I never did. Instead, I just closed my eyes. This is such a weird and alien feeling. Girls will kill to be in my place right now when I didn't wished to be here in the first place. I did not move for a long time but I couldn't sleep either. Andrew moved gently and brushed my hair behind my ear. It was creepy and I could've pushed him away but I didn't. Instead, I fell asleep in the arms of my enemy on the hood of my mother's van.
***
I woke up by the sound of birds flying overhead. Andrew was now nowhere beside me and I was wrapped snugly in a wool blanket. Now that was preventing me from having hypothermia all night. I wonder what my mother would say when she learned that I slept on the van's hood.
I saw several people setting down their tents. Watching them was like watching a zombie movie. Their eyes were bloodshot, their stares vacant, and there were eye bags under their eyes. I climbed down the hood and took my duffel bag from the passenger seat. I jogged to the girls' locker room where I saw Tara and her friend Shelona. I smiled at them and they waggled their fingers at me. By now, I'm sure that signal indicates a greeting, such as a hello or a goodbye.
"Excited for the game?" I asked as I find myself a decent shower cubicle.
"Yeah." They replied quite enthusiastically.
I've never been excited for a championship game before. Not only that this will be the first time I'll be there in the field to watch it, I'll also be there to cheer for the Greenvale team. Go Leviathans.
"No, no, no." Tara shook her head as she watched me tying my hair up in a ponytail. "It looks better down."
"Oh," I replied dumbly. "I guess so."
I studied myself in the mirror. I'm not used to wearing my hair down. Tara fluffed my hair to give it more volume. I hate to say this, but I think it does look prettier down. I smiled at Tara and she smiled back.
She put one arm around me and whispered, "Andrew likes you, you know. He won't tell, but I just know."
I was stunned and was not able move as she and Shelona grabbed their stuff and strutted out of the girl's locker room. She's crazy. She'd no idea what she'd just said. I took a deep breath. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and saw a very different girl than the one I saw before back in my room. This girl was now wearing her hair down.
I walked out of the locker room feeling like a very different person.
***
The game was only an hour away but I still can't find Andrew anywhere. I decided to jog around the field for some morning workout. I thought about Tara and how her IQ must have dropped another ten points. If that's even possible. Yikes.
I jogged for about fifteen minutes when I immediately hid behind some bush. That's when I spotted Andrew Alleyn with some guy who's positively older than him. I'm sure it wasn't his dad. I've seen Mr. Alleyn Sr. before, when Wesley (accidentally, but I have my doubts) swallowed a penny. Besides, this guy's too young to be his father, even though they looked so much alike. The same jet black hair (although I favored Andrew's messy hair over his crew cut) and the same blue eyes.
"Why do you have to come today?" I overheard Andrew saying angrily, "I have a game to play."
"Andrew, you're smart enough to know that this is more important than your game." The guy was telling him just as sternly. "You're eighteen years old, for crying out loud."
"I already told you I don't want to live with you." Andrew looked and sounded irritated. This upsets me.
The guy shook his head. "You can't possibly live with them. They don't want you there, Drewey." His expression softened.
I've never admitted this to anyone before, but I really love my name. It's simple and no one will ever mispronounce it. Kit. It's as easy as that. One awesome syllable. It can't be cutesified. Hearing Andrew's name being cutesified like that, almost made me laugh out loud.
"Thank you for pointing that out, Chris." Andrew said in mock appreciation.
"Hey, that's when we're one and the same." The guy brushed Andrew's hair like he was his younger brother. And then it struck me. The similarities were too much. The guy known as Chris was Andrew Jet Alleyn's older brother. I thought about me and Wesley, how we're very much different but still brother and sister. How I threw tantrums when I was five and told my mom to "stuff that ugly thing back to where it came from". Then to the time I popped Rick Harris' nose until it bled like crazy when he chased Wesley around the neighborhood with an aggressive dog on a leash.
Andrew stuck his tongue at Chris and punched his shoulder. "Hey, wish me luck."
"You'll do good. After all, it's no coincidence that you're Christopher Jesse Alleyn's younger brother."
Hey did he just say Christopher Jesse? I think I've seen his photo in some old yearbooks I collect. So he's really the Greenvale football legend. I can't believe Andrew and I are just the same. We're standing behind someone else's magnificent shadow.
Andrew finally said his goodbye when Coach Culkin blew his whistle. It's show time. It's time to kick some serious Jackson butts. I saw Joe Fulkner with his team. They looked absolutely vicious. Like they've just eaten human beings for brunch and they're hungry for more. Oh no. I shot a glance at Andrew. For some reason I can't explain, it turned out I looked at him longer than I've intended.
"We're gonna win this, Sherlock." He said with the same amused expression that I'm very familiar with. He moved in closer. Or was that me? Nevertheless, the space between us eased.
"Do me a favor and total Faulkner." I showed the light scar on my right palm to him. "Get even."
"What's in it for me?"
I shrugged. I knew I looked funny carrying those green and white pompoms. "I don't know. What do you want?"
He narrowed his eyes. "If I, in your words, total Joe Fulkner the Incredible Hulk today, will you promise to grab coffee with me?"
I almost dropped my pompoms. "Are you asking me on a date, Alleyn?" I asked in a copycat version of his amused tone.
He nervously put on his helmet. "Not a date, Sherlock. You have to pay."
"Oh really."
"Uh huh."
"What?" Stop staring at me like that.
"What 'what'?" Stop staring at me like that and act as if it was no big deal. You're seriously making me swoon right now.
"Alleyn come over here!" Coach Culkin called for Andrew. The game was about to start.
"Hey goodluck." I wished him and did what a cheerleader like me supposed to do. I waggled my fingers at Andrew as he made his way to the field.
***
The game finally ended when number eighteen aka Andrew Jet Alleyn (who else?) made the phenomenal touchdown. Christopher Jesse Alleyn was there to congratulate his younger brother and his former team. Coach Culkin was ecstatic to see his favorite player-of-all-time again. I was not surprised when I did not see any glimpse of Mr. or Mrs. Alleyn. Usually parents were proud of their child's accomplishment. I should know. Mom, Reed and Wesley were there even if they're not even familiar with football. The only sport they know is paintball. Yep. Every Saturday and Sunday mornings.
"Nice game, Sherlock, don't you think?"
I was busy tying my Chucks (despite Tara's severe prohibition of wearing one) to notice that Andrew walked right up to me and was now striking a conversation.
"Great game actually." I was still tying my shoes and did not bother to face him.
"Need help with that?"
"Uh no. I'm almost finished, as a matter of fact."
After I laced up my Chucks nice and tidy, I finally faced Andrew. He was happy, that's for sure. He just won the state champs for his team, for crying out loud. The game was covered by local television. College teams were probably readying his schola
rship, that is, if he would ever want one.
"About our date -" He started but I cut him off.
"I thought it was not supposed to be a date?"
"Don't you want it to be?"
"Are you crazy? Why would I want that?" I asked with my eyebrows raised. Was I questioning him or myself?
"Oh." His shoulders slumped but he still managed to force a smile. "You're right. What am I thinking? I'll see you around." He walked away, glanced back for the last time and continued.
I was glued on where I was standing as I watch Andrew walk away from me. I don't like how it feels, as if I was doing the single and worst mistake I could do in my life. What am I doing the entire time? I was blinded by the fact that someone could be better than me. And that someone may have any other meaning than just competition for me. At that exact point in time I made the biggest decision in my life. Even bigger than the decision I made that got me through Radcliffe instead of Yale, where my father went. Four years of high school and not a single leap of faith. I know I have to make one. Now.
I ran as fast as I could amidst the noise of the crowd towards Andrew. He was walking away slowly, as if expecting me to run to him and tell him that I'm a coward for not telling him that I love him soon enough. And as I looked through his blue eyes to the person I knew and cared for so much inside, he was silently expecting me to stand on my toes and kiss him because I'm dying to. Jerk. Why does he always have to be right?
***
The spring play collaboration by the Drama and Ballet clubs was a huge success. Juilliard gave out five scholarships to the most talented performers. I was proud to say that three out of five came from the Ballet club. We've decided to do Romeo and Juliet despite my intense disapproval (it's not even a love story, for crying out loud).
To my surprise, I finished valedictorian this year. My GPA was 0.03 higher than Andrew's 99.95. Speaking of Andrew, he was accepted in Harvard for his pre-law undergraduate studies with a full scholarship. Being his girlfriend, I can't express how proud I am. We won't be far from one another after summer, though. Because of my senior thesis, I got in Radcliffe, the world's foremost educator of women and basically Harvard Annex. I decided to take up Journalism. You know, like Lois Lane.
What's In It For Me Page 4