Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Landish, Lauren

  They've been playing together since they were in preschool. Fine.

  They ain't lost to us in a decade! Fine.

  Tonight, I'm laying it all on the line. Tonight, we lay it all on the line. And tonight, we teach Northern what it means to come to the Fox Den against hungry Foxes. You ready?"

  The guys don't cheer. There's none of that false bravado bullshit that fades away before the opening kickoff's done. I just look around and see a set to their eyes, a tightness to their hands, and I nod. "Good. Helmets up. Cory, take 'em out."

  It's our final home game of the regular season, so I'm sent out to do the coin flip, and I choose to go by myself, already helmeted. As I walk by the trainer's table, I stop and grab the white athletic tape. "Hey, Tim, you got a Sharpie on you?"

  "Yeah," our medic says. "Why?"

  "Just need to borrow it for a second," I say. He hands it over, and on the two-inch wide tape I write a big 'WN' on it. I wrap it around my left bicep, closest to my heart, and head out to do the coin flip.

  I see it in the Northern captains' eyes as we stare at each other across the gap between us. Northern tried to intimidate us by sending out the entire group of seniors on the offense, including their big fullback. But one look at me, and their swagger dims. "Call the flip, Sounders."

  "Heads."

  "The coin is tails. Silver Lake, you have the call. What do you want?"

  "Defer to the second half. Let them choose their way of defeat."

  My words rattle them, I can tell, and after we're done, I turn to go back, giving the Sounders my back first, and go to the sidelines. The band starts up the fight song, and it's show time.

  I've never played harder in my life, and we need every bit of my effort. It's not just me, though, as Gabe blasts the line for hard chunks of yardage, and Russ is a Grim Reaper over the deep middle, taking heads off every receiver Northern sends after him. We fight, dig, and claw for every thing we can, and the Silver Lake Foxes respond.

  The first quarter ends with both teams knotted at zero, but I can feel it, and looking around at the guys, they feel it too. The Sounders didn't expect to fight this hard. They're ready to buckle. "Thirty-four fire SAM slant," I call in the defensive huddle. There's only a minute left in the second half, and the Sounders are just trying to hang on until halftime. "Let's take it to them."

  "Cover two," Russ calls, and we break the huddle. We line up, and I can see it in the Northern QB’s eyes. He's afraid. He's 'hearing footsteps'.

  "Black forty-three! Black forty-three! Set! Hut!"

  The ball snaps on one, and I charge. A 'fire SAM slant' is a blitz, where I go on one side of the center, while our nose tackle slants to the other side. If it's done right, the center doesn't know who to block, and the guards are also caught off guard too. My going right up the middle means that if I'm quick and powerful enough, I can be past the line and into the backfield before anyone can do a damn thing about it. If the running backs are going out on passes, it's lights out for the quarterback.

  This time, I go to my left, the Sounders' right, and while the guard is at least half ready for me, he's not ready for the power I bring. We collide shoulder to shoulder, and he's goes flying backward, blown off his feet. The Northern quarterback sees me coming, though and runs like a scared rabbit, scrambling in the half-second head start the guard gave him.

  Right into the arms of our defensive end. Bill strips the ball, and suddenly, it's on the ground. I scoop it up and run for the end zone, with only the big Northern fullback between me and the goal line. He'd been sent out on a swing pass, and he's got depth and pursuit angle on me. Squaring down, I lower my shoulder and nail him, both of us careening, but I refuse to go down, twisting and putting one hand on the ground for balance, my knees never touching the ground. When I reach the end zone, the dam is broken, and we're up, six to nothing.

  After that, everything is a stat grab. My hit on the fullback took him out of the game with a dislocated shoulder, but more importantly, the Sounders had their hearts taken away from them and came out in the second half a shell of what they were. Final score: Silver Lake 42, Northern 6.

  I'm shaking hands with the Sounders when a man approaches me, wearing the crimson and black of Clement University. "Troy Wood?"

  "Yes, sir. Can I help you?"

  "Yeah," he says, offering his hand. "Zach Peterson, I'm the assistant head coach for Clement University."

  "I've read your name before, Coach. It's a pleasure. Hope you enjoyed the game."

  "Enjoyed it? That was one of the finest displays of football I've ever seen at the high school level. Now, I know we were supposed to deliver this to you last week, but it kinda got lost in the paperwork shuffle around the office. Here you are," he says, handing me an envelope. "Your hands are sweaty, but it's an offer. Full ride. You play for Clement next year. I know you've got a few weeks until signing day, but we thought you might like to consider us as an option."

  There's a TV crew in our face suddenly, and some reporter is getting his bit for the news. "Coach, I don't need to think. You say Clement has an offer for me. I know I’ve gotta wait for the actual signing, but you have my word. I'm going to Clement."

  "And there you have it, folks. Local sports star, Troy Wood, has just verbally committed to Clement University after leading the Silver Foxes to a massive forty-two to six thrashing of the Sounders. Troy, do you have anything you'd like to say?"

  I nod, knowing there's only one thing I want to say. I hold up the strip of tape with the 'WN' on it, smiling. “That one’s for you.”

  I go to look for Whitney, and I hope that maybe, finally, we can put everything behind us. I look everywhere, but the crowd is huge, and I can't see anything beyond the pounding slaps of all the fans cheering our performance. Some of my teammates are coming up for hugs and high-fives, but it's Cory who really sees me. "What's wrong?"

  "Where's Whitney?" I yell, looking around. "I can't find her!"

  Cory nods, and slaps Pete Barkovitch. "Find Dani! She’ll know where Whitney is.”

  Pete disappears, and Cory grins. "Chill, Golden Boy. You earned a bit of glorification. We'll find your girl."

  Cory disappears, and I wait. The crowd lessens, and soon, there's only a few left, kids reenacting stuff they just saw, a few guys with their parents or their girlfriends, and me. I look around, desperate. "Whitney? WHITNEY!"

  "Troy," a tearful voice says behind me, and I spin to see Danielle, her face streaked with tears as she stands there. "She . . . she's gone."

  "What do you mean, gone?" I ask, not understanding. "Gone home? Why?"

  Dani shakes her head and takes out an envelope. "I promised her I'd give this to you after the game. I . . . I'm sorry, Troy."

  I open the envelope, not caring about the nearly identical sized one from Clement in my helmet, and unfold a single sheet of thick paper, no mere notebook paper like Whitney's note in my helmet liner, but high-quality stationary. The writing is the same, however, in Whitney's clear, fine script.

  Dear Troy,

  I've tried to write this four times so far, and each time, there's too many tears on the paper to make it readable, so I'm praying that I can get through it this time. It's about three in the afternoon, and right about now, you're leaving your last class to head over to the stadium to get ready for Northern.

  Troy, I have to leave. I've always had a desire to study abroad, and a few weeks ago, an offer dropped into my lap that I can't refuse. I thought about it long and hard, which is why for the past few weeks, I've been so off.

  You see, Troy, the problem is, when I started this year, I knew about the chance for the program, but I didn't worry about it. I only had Dani as a true friend, and I was willing to give that up for this program, have just a long distance friendship for a while. I never expected to date you, and then more importantly, to fall in love with you. And yes, I love you with all my heart.

  Which is why I have to let you go. I can't do the program and be your girlfriend. The time di
fference is too much, and the miles are too many. I can't rob you of your future, and I know where that is. I wish there were another way. I wish I could dance with you at the prom, or kiss you on Valentine's Day, or yes, make love with you again. I wish we could do all those things, but we can't. It's not fair to me, but more importantly, it's not fair to you.

  I'm leaving this note with Dani because I know she'll deliver it to you. Please, don't try to follow up, don't try to figure out where I went. Let's just chop it off clean here before I ruin your life. If fate should bring us together again . . . I don't know. I just know one thing.

  I will always love you, Troy. Please believe that.

  Whitney

  I read the letter twice, not believing the words, and I drop to my knees, the paper tumbling from my numb fingers. "But . . . why?"

  Dani shakes her head, and now both of us are crying, sobbing in a heap in the middle of the SLHS logo painted on the grass. "She handed it to me before the game, right after she talked to you," Dani sobs, holding my head to hers. "She gave me a copy, and told me that she was leaving right then. I tried to get her to stay, but she shook her head. 'I don't need to see the game,' she said. 'Troy's going to win, I know it.' And then she was gone."

  "How long?" I ask, desperation in my heart. "How long?"

  "Troy . . . it's been three hours," Dani says, sobbing again. "I kept hoping she'd come back, that it was all some joke or something, but . . . she's gone."

  I stood there, in a state of shock for a minute.

  “NO!" I yell, pushing Dani away and getting to my feet. Leaving my helmet behind, I sprint to the locker room, ripping my shoulder pads off to get my wallet and keys. Fuck the pants and cleats. There has to be a chance. I drive like a madman, running a red light to get to Whitney's house. Screeching to a halt outside, I run up to the door and begin pounding on the door. "Whitney! Whitney! Open the door! Tell me it was a prank!"

  The door opens, and Ms. Nelson stands there, ice cold and uninviting. "She left on the bus an hour ago, Troy. She's not coming back."

  "Please, Ms. Nelson. I need to talk to her again—tell me where she went. Tell me how to get in contact with her."

  Ms. Nelson shakes her head, still cold. "I promised her I wouldn't. Goodbye, Troy. Please leave before you cause any further hurt.”

  She closes the door in my face, and I step back, dropping to my knees in the grass again and sobbing. I won my dream and lost my heart, all in the same night.

  Chapter 11

  Whitney

  November 27

  Dear Dani,

  Thank you for your email. I'm sorry to hear that Silver Lake lost in the semi-finals. I know that it was something the whole school was fired up for. Thank you also for not telling me specifically about what Troy did. That wound is still too painful for me.

  Most of all, though, thank you for keeping your questions about my leaving to yourself. I’m sure you have your suspicions—you're too smart not to—but let's just leave it at that, okay?

  Life here in Europe is, well, different. I'm staying with a couple of family friends who are in the military, and no, I won't say where. No offense, Dani, but you've got a big heart, and even though you promised, I also know that if Troy is still heartbroken enough about it, you'd tell him where I am. It's enough of a danger just sending you this email.

  There I go, saying I'm not going to talk about Troy, but doing it anyway. Fine. Yes, I'm still crying myself to sleep about half the time. I dream about him a lot, and no, it's not the hot dreams either. They're the sweet kind, like when the two of us went down to the River not to do what I'm sure you thought we were going to do, but instead, he taught me how to fish. Or the time he explained football to me so that I could follow the action on the field better.

  Maybe some day in the future, I'll be able to get through an email without crying. I don't know.

  All my love,

  Whitney

  PS- Thank you for telling me that you rescued the letter. It hurts to know he kept it, but thank you anyway. And also, Happy Thanksgiving.

  W

  * * *

  December 25

  Dear Dani,

  Merry Christmas! Okay, okay, yes, the cat's out of the bag with that last photo I sent you, not that you didn't figure it out already. I'm about three and a half or so months along now, and I'm starting to swell. Not so much that I'm going to look like a blimp, but I'm bigger. I couldn't have hidden it from you for long anyway.

  I looked over the photos of the Winter Formal, just like you asked. So you and Pete are still together, huh? I'm glad for that. Like I said, he's a sweet guy, but you know that by now. And no, that doesn’t mean that you can give me details on what you guys do when you're alone, thank you very much!

  It hurt, of course, seeing Troy at the formal. He looked so lonely, going stag. I know there had to have been at least a hundred girls who wanted to have him take them, but still . . .

  Anyway, it was nice that you said you danced with him. I know six months ago, you'd have rocked his world, but I guess childhood's over for all of us, kind of. That makes me kind of sad, but maybe just because I feel like for me, childhood ended just when I was making some of the best memories. Don't ever think that the silly little things that everyone's doing aren’t important. It's all important, and I wish I could still be there with you all . . . and him.

  I'm getting along well here, learning the local language. The friends I'm with have already gotten me placed under their military health care, so I'm getting excellent care here. I'm keeping up in school, and who knows? I may be in college before you at this rate. The Europeans have really awesome university systems, if worse comes to worse.

  Take care over the rest of winter, and know that I love you.

  Whitney

  * * *

  March 12

  Dear Dani,

  So you've decided that you're going to go to State, huh? That's awesome! I know they've gotta have something that'll pique your interest, and let's face it, you're going to raise some hell there too, I just know it.

  Yes, you guessed right, I'm in Italy. I guess the picture of me in front of the Colosseum was too much of a hint, huh? I'm not upset that you figured it out. I wanted to let you know, and you're my best friend. I realize I can trust you. No matter what happens, Dani, I want us to be friends.

  The guy? That's Lorenzo. He works on the base, and his parents are friends with the people I'm staying with. He's teaching me Italian, and before you ask, no, he's not teaching me any French techniques! Actually, most of the time, he ends up escorting my rapidly swelling ass around to the various sites and art galleries. I think I'm going to go into the art business, actually, once the baby comes. It's so beautiful, and it moves me in ways that very few other things have.

  So Troy’s hitting the weights hard, huh? I guess his telling me that he's going to leave behind playing QB to go for linebacker in college is true. I hope it turns out well for him. I wish I could see it, honestly.

  I suppose you know why I left, and I suppose you probably don't agree with it. But thank you for not saying it. I know it's trite, and I know that we're in a world where a woman, even an eighteen-year-old with her GED, can make something of herself. It's not like in my mother's day.

  Still, I know Troy, and that's why I stay in Italy. Dani, I told my Mom, and I'll tell you now. If Troy knows that I'm pregnant, that he's a father, he won't ever be able to reach the pros. He won't be able to reach the potential he has. I'm sure of it.

  I'll keep you up to date, and I hope to hear from you soon. Of course, we can set up a Skype call some time. I'd love to do that. Just make sure you have privacy when we do.

  All my love,

  Whitney

  * * *

  May 29

  Dear Dani,

  You'll find attached the first photos of Laurie Patricia Nelson. She was born yesterday at 3:53 PM, weighing eight pounds, two ounces. Isn't she beautiful? She's in perfect health, and that’s all I cou
ld ask for.

  It both hurts and helps for me that Laurie looks so much like her father. Lorenzo's a bit jealous, but he says he can get over it. He already says he loves her, but—and hold your horses—he says he loves me, too.

  I'm not saying I love him, and I've told him as much—I’m not ready, and I don’t know when I will be. But you said it yourself, graduation has already come and gone. Hell, you and Pete broke up, although I understand why with him joining the Navy and you going to State. At least that one was mutual and with as little rancor, I guess, as you can get when a couple breaks up after dating for as long as you two did.

  But Lorenzo's a good guy. He's a little older than me at twenty-one, but I swear, that has nothing to do with it. It's just that, holding Laurie yesterday, the nurse going off in Italian, I realized something.

  I never told you this before, and Mom and I only discussed it once, but I was seriously considering giving Laurie up for adoption after she was born. I mean, I'm sure a couple of times you wondered why I didn't terminate, and well, that option went through my mind too. But I just don't believe in it. So I thought, at least back in October, that I'd give the baby up. Then, who knew? Maybe I could come back and go to State, and when Troy comes back for summer break . . .

  I've got to stop torturing myself like this. I saw Laurie's tiny little face yesterday, and the way she tugged on my finger and her tiny, tiny little blue eyes stared at me, like she knew that she didn't have a father and that it was just me and her in this world, and I knew I would’ve regretted that decision for the rest of my life if I did it.