by Claire Adams
We went to the stadium and I showed our tickets to the person at the entrance. Unlike the last time, Jess hadn’t tried to bring anyone with us; I only had two tickets, so it wouldn’t have done any good, anyway. The seats were excellent—and if I were seriously interested in football they would have been a lot more thrilling. As the stadium filled up with people, I called all the details to my mind. It was the second to last game of the regular season and a qualifying game for the bowls. Our team was number one in our conference and the college we were up against was number two; they’d only lost one game that season. It was a tense game—the school we were up against wasn’t our traditional rivals, but they were a good team, with a solid lineup.
A lot of people on campus were speculating since the first string quarterback was still out of commission. He’d been injured badly in the game that Zack had taken over and was still recuperating, in no shape to play. Zack, I knew, was a good quarterback. I’d watched him play plenty of times in high school as his girlfriend, and the previous game he had taken the challenge of leading our team to victory after the shakeup without hesitating. But some people were saying it was bad luck, no matter what Zack’s skill level was. They had been saying amongst themselves that it was almost certain that Zack would end up injured this game—that we’d be doomed. It was the kind of talk that people use to hype themselves up, to raise the stakes for the game itself, and I knew it. But in spite of how angry I still was at Zack for using me the way he had, I couldn’t deny that the thought of him getting seriously injured worried me at least a little bit.
It was cold out, and I tried not to fidget in my seat as I waited for the game to start. In spite of myself, I found I was looking out over the field to try and see if I could see Zack on the sidelines. Of course, until the team made their big entrance, I wouldn’t see anything at all. It was stupid, but I was anxious about the situation. I just wanted to get it over with.
“Stop staring, Evie,” Jess said, elbowing me in the ribs. “Talk to some people, take a few notes.”
I took her advice and asked people around me what they thought about the game. The band was playing, readying for the big event, and I occasionally had to shout to be heard over them; I didn’t want to feel excited but it was impossible as more and more people got to their seats and started to cheer our school and exchange insults with the other team’s fans. I took a few different quotes and wrote a few notes about what the band was playing for the sake of color in the article; and then there was nothing to do but wait.
Fortunately, Jess’ suggestion had eaten up a good bit of time and I wasn’t left waiting for very long. The opposing team took the field first, making a splashy but not over-the-top entrance and basking in their fans’ cheers. It was an important game—the other side of the stands was totally full. Then, after they finished warming up and went to their sidelines, our marching band started up with our school’s fight song. They played the big cheer part and then started in at the beginning, and everyone—including me—was singing along as our team came out on the field. I was cheering with everyone else, swept up in the fervor of the crowd. I wanted to just be excited about the team as a whole, but I found myself looking for Zack amongst his team, finding his jersey and staring intently. If he was nervous, there was not a single sign of it in his body language or on his face. The whole team looked confident—but then, I thought, they should. We were number one in our division. This game would be tough, but I knew Zack was a capable quarterback.
The game finally began and I started taking notes in earnest. I listened carefully to the play-by-play through an earbud in my right ear, not quite blocking out the crowd around me in my interest in getting as much detail as possible. From the first snap, it was clear that the stakes were high for both teams. It was a brutal game right away, both sides pumped up and looking for a prime spot in the bowl games. My heart was pounding as I watched one play after the other. In the first half, the teams were almost even—we would score only for the other school to battle back to a tie. We would try to get our lead back and spend several plays struggling; and then the situation would be reversed. There were interceptions, sacks—once, Zack was down on the ground for longer than he should be and everyone held their breath. When he got up without limping and went back to the huddle, everyone exhaled in relief.
The halftime show was amazing—all that tension built up between our school and the other college made for a spectacular competition between the two bands. I wrote down all of the songs that were played, took notes on the different formations, and even snapped pictures. I took pictures all through the first half as well, trying to keep them evenly distributed between pictures of Zack and pictures of the team as a whole and pictures of the other team. Even though I knew I’d only get a couple of shots in the final article, I didn’t want to turn in a dozen pictures and have eight of them be of Zack.
Then it was the second half of the game. Both teams came back out looking almost as pumped as they had been to start with—which, considering how tense and brutal the first half had been was really saying something. Everyone was full of energy, and I was almost worried that I would end up going deaf from all of the screaming. Once more in the third quarter, it was a hotly contested game; both teams threw out their most challenging plays and both teams worked hard to try and find the weakness in the other, the one vulnerability that would let them get far enough ahead that the game would be conclusive before the final quarter. We hadn’t used our time outs that much in the first half, but the coaches seemed determined to use all of their allotted time in the second.
The score ebbed and flowed, the two teams moving back and forth across the field. It was—even without my personal interest—a thrilling game. I could only imagine how much more exciting and stressful it was for the people who were actually invested in our team and with going to the bowl games in a few weeks. I told myself over and over again that from my perspective it didn’t matter whether we won or not, it would be just as newsworthy and I had lots of ways to cover it for the paper. In fact, a loss might be an interesting thing to interview Zack about afterward. But deep down, I knew that I would feel bad for Zack if the team lost the game; he’d catch all the blame for it if they did, and even if he’d been a jerk to me, he didn’t deserve the whole school’s hate.
At one point the other team was ahead—heading into the final quarter, everyone was tightening down, alternating between tense quiet and uproarious cheers. We could still make a comeback. We could still scrape up a win. My heart was pounding in my chest as I watched, both spectator and reporter. If Zack lost, he would be crushed and no one would let him live it down; even though we would still qualify for a bowl game, it wouldn’t be the most prestigious one. I was wringing my hands as I watched us even the score, and then everyone in the stands—on both sides—was quiet for the last play. I made myself remember to breathe as I watched, my stomach churning.
In the end we managed—in a Hail Mary—to get the last score in right as the clock was ticking down to zero. Our side of the stadium erupted in cheers so loud I had to cover my ears and crouch down in my seat to try and avoid being completely deafened by them. I watched as the other side of the stadium seemed to deflate, everyone sort of crumbling in on themselves. Since they were still the number two team, they would get to go to a bowl game—but we were on our way to the most prestigious one. We had one final game in the season, but we’d secured our position as the number one team in our division.
At first, it seemed like no one in our side of the stadium wanted to leave; the band was playing their hearts out, everyone was singing and cheering. Then, all at once, the crowd started to dissipate. After all, there would be a raging party to celebrate such a huge win—nobody wanted to miss out on what the frats and sororities would put up for the occasion. I told Jess I would meet her back at the dorm; she wanted to go out, but I knew the parties would last until almost dawn, that she’d have plenty of people to choose from once she arrived. I didn’t inten
d to stay at the stadium for very long. I would ask Zack the questions I’d written out and get his answers recorded and then I would go home and relax for the rest of the night.
The team was still on the field, still shouting and cheering, as I made my way down from the stands. Professor Grant had given me an ID and Press pass for the campus newspaper, so no one blocked me on my way to the sidelines where everyone was milling around, clapping Zack on the back. One of the defensive linemen grabbed him by one leg and another took him by the other and they lifted him up in the air on their shoulders.
“We good….We good…” the team was chanting, jumping up and down.
I approached the coach, who was off to the side, watching the antics of the players. “Hi,” I said, waving my hand slightly to catch his eye. He turned and looked at me, for a moment scowling—until he saw my press pass. “I’m from the campus newspaper; I am supposed to be interviewing Zack about the game.” I tried to keep my voice level—even as I had to shout—in spite of how anxious I felt.
“Zack! Get over here. Interview time.” The linemen put Zack back onto the ground and he loped over, grinning until he caught sight of me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely below a shout.
“I’m not happy about it either, but I was assigned to interview you, so here I am.”
Zack rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said, raising his voice so the whole team could hear him, “Just because we had sex a while back doesn’t mean you can stalk me.”
“I’m not stalking you,” I said firmly, even as my cheeks burned with a blush. “I told you why I’m here. If it weren’t for the stupid newspaper assignment I wouldn’t have watched the game at all. I don’t give a good Goddamn about you.”
“Oh, is that why you dumped a tray of food over my head?” He didn’t shout that part—and in his deep scowl I could see he was still angry about it; almost as angry as I had been when I’d done it.
“I dumped a tray of food over your head because you were being an asshole.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look. Just answer the questions and let’s get this over with.”
The coach let out a sharp whistle. “Everyone but Zack—hit the showers!”
The team started to file towards the entrance into the lockers, and I waited until they passed. Zack was obviously irritated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking around with a hardness in his eyes in spite of the ready grin on his lips at the praise from his passing teammates.
I took my recorder out of my purse. I was going to get this over with. “I want to record this so that I can make sure that I quote you accurately, is that okay?”
Zack sneered. “Are you sure you don’t want to record it so you can do something weird with it? Let me see your press pass. Is it even real?”
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t about to let him get me angry.
“Here’s my press pass. Look, Zack, let’s just get this over with, please? I don’t want to deal with this any more than you do.”
“Let me see your questions.” I begrudgingly handed him my notebook with the questions I had already thought up. “Nope, not answering that one. Not answering that one. This one’s good, but not answering it either.”
I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. “Zack, you’re acting like a child.”
“Zack, you’re acting like a child,” he parroted back, pitching his voice high. “Jesus, Evie, you’re always so serious.”
“You’re the one who was just yelling at me in front of your teammates over something that happened days ago!”
I nearly threw my press pass on the ground, my frustration mounting every moment. Zack’s dark eyes glinted with amusement and I got hold of myself, clenching my teeth and taking a deep breath until I could calm down.
“You’re kind of cute when you get angry, you know,” Zack said, grinning at me unabashedly. “Of course, it’s less cute when you ruin a perfectly good meal and a perfectly good outfit.”
I took another deep breath and snatched my notebook from his hands. “Okay.” I smacked the notebook against my leg a few times, speaking slowly and carefully, barely keeping my frustration under control. “What is it going to take for you to answer the freaking questions?”
Zack looked at me for a long moment and I thought—for a heartbeat or two—that he might actually relent and treat me like a regular person.
“I will answer your questions and give you a great interview on one condition.”
I pressed my lips together. If he demanded that I have sex with him again I was going to refuse, and I would find some way to make it okay that I didn’t get the interview. Or maybe, if he demanded it crudely enough, I would find whatever gaps I could in his pads and hammer at them with my fists until he relented.
“What condition is that?” Zack’s eyes were glittering in the stadium lights as he smiled.
“You have to let me take you on one date.”
The demand startled me. I had expected that he’d ask me to have sex with him, or tell me I had to do something humiliating, or something like that. Even that he’d ask about Jess and hook him up with her. I hadn’t expected anything like a date. I didn’t want to go on a date with Zack; if there was anything I could possibly want less than to have sex with him again, it was the idea of going on an actual date with him. I’d been angry at him in the back of my mind ever since I’d stormed out of the dining hall.
Still, I knew that I absolutely had to get the interview. I needed to turn in the best possible article for my first assignment, and even as angry as I had been before, I knew there was no option if I couldn’t somehow manage to get Zack to talk. If I turned in an article about the game that included “Quarterback Zack was unavailable for comment,” I would be tossed from the newspaper before the edition even came out.
“Fine,” I said, holding out my hand to shake his. Zack was still grinning as he shook my hand to seal the deal.
I half-expected him to continue messing with me throughout the interview; certainly, his idea of an effective way to get a girl to go on a date with him left a lot to be desired. How could I have ever liked him, I wondered? But instead of continuing to make my life miserable, Zack led me over to the bench and told me to sit down. He recorded his acceptance of the fact that I was recording his answers, and we got into the interview immediately. He answered completely, giving me details and insight into the team that I wouldn’t have even imagined I could get. He told me about the fact that they’d been practicing with this game in mind most of the season, that they knew that the other team was their steepest competition within the conference, and that they knew that even with all their planning it was good odds that that might not win.
“We want to finish the season undefeated. I mean, all teams do, but we’ve only got one more game in the season left. So we’re going to be working hard to make that happen. An undefeated season…kind of a big deal.”
By the time Zack was called back to the lockers to clean up and head out, I had finally regained some of my composure. I managed to thank him, and shook his hand again. “Remember,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. I hated the idea of going on a date with him, but I would keep my word.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day I sat at my desk in my room, trying to listen to the recording of the interview I’d done with Zack without paying any attention to the fact that it was him. I wanted to transcribe the contents of the digital tape and then insert the quotes I needed into the article I was already writing. My email pinged, and I switched out of my word processor. It was from Lisa.
As I’m sure some of you are feverishly working on your articles last minute, the email read, I’m sure you’ll all be very glad to know that due to some issues at the printer, we won’t be able to send the paper to the presses until Tuesday, so you all have until Monday evening at 6 to get your articles in.
It was a relief to know that if I got too tired working on it, I could
just go to bed and finish before my morning classes; but I was determined to at least get the interview transcribed.
Just when I was getting into my groove again, my phone buzzed. “Oh God, what now?”
I looked at the screen as it lit up—it as a text message from Zack. Maybe, I thought with a little bit of hope, he was texting me to cancel. The date had seemed like a silly idea anyway; it was just sex, there was no reason for him to ask me out—or to demand I go out with him as the price of giving me the interview I needed. I opened up the message.
Hey…get ready to come downstairs. I’m on my way. You promised me a date.
I was nearly done with the article; I had gotten all but the last few quotes transcribed.
Where are we going?
I looked in dismay at my outfit. I knew that Jess would tell me it was the exact wrong thing to wear in a situation like this—but she was off somewhere on her own date. I hadn’t expected that Zack would claim his date so soon. I couldn’t imagine Zack would take me anywhere fancy without giving me at least a little bit of notice. My phone vibrated again.