People were on their feet, craning their necks to see. Mark had taken down a guy two minutes into the game. They were having to check on him. He wasn’t moving.
Maggie covered her mouth with her hand.
“What the hell, Mark?” Tommy growled under his breath.
The kid (word passed remarkably quickly through the crowd) was okay but all his ribs were not. Even through the padding, Mark had snapped bones. He was angry. How could his friends not see the danger?
“Yeah,” she scoffed. “Not dangerous at all.” Tommy balked, but said nothing.
They sat again. The ball changed hands. She bit into her warm pretzel. “Thanks for this. It’s amazing.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, his voice smoky again.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.” She stared at the salt which she began picking off.
“I’m not staying. I wanted to support my brother. We can’t stop living, Mom says. Other people need us.”
“I like your mom.”
“Me too. She liked you.”
Music blared too loudly for conversation. There was more standing. She stood too, though she didn’t know why and her feet were already protesting. How was she going to last the evening in these heels? How was she going to dance?
“What’s happening?” she asked as they clapped.
“Are you serious? All those schools and you don’t know how football is played?”
She shrugged. “You going to teach me?”
“I guess I better. How else are you going to congratulate your date?” he mocked.
“Well isn’t that nice of you?”
It was a good game. A part of her hated to admit that, but it was. By halftime, they had made something of a comeback after being brutalized in the first quarter of the game. The Bulls were playing hard, probably partially due to having one of their dearest friends snapped like a marshmallow roasting stick. The score was actually pretty close, from what she understood, when the band took over the field.
“I better go see Tyler, if I can get through the amateur paparazzi.”
“I’ll go get us some drinks.”
“Aw, thanks. Water would be great. Just tap.”
It took her awhile and an awkward shuffle with her heels sliding on the grass to locate Tyler. She came up behind him on the bench, proud she knew his jersey number, and grabbed his shoulders. He, in turn, grabbed her hands and pulled her forward, swinging his head to one side. “Mags!” He faked surprise at seeing her. She laughed nervously, pulling away from him.
His hair was sweaty, beaded droplets falling down his face. “We are turning it around,” he grinned.
“So I see.”
He chugged some water. “My jacket looks good on you.”
Before she could respond, everyone hushed. Then, three familiar faces and a girl in a beautiful dress were escorted onto the field. Another girl, wearing a crown and sash, made her way out as well. Knowing it was important to her new friends, Maggie tried really hard to care about who got the plastic tiara.
They walked so slowly, so dignified. More so than she could ever manage. They struggled to keep their desire to win from their faces. The smiles were stone. Each held the arm of a much bigger male figure—a father in uniform was at Sarah’s side, Mazy had a boy in a suit, another football player was with the girl in the dress, and Mark escorted Becca. Everyone’s eyes were on the girls.
Until an easel was brought out onto the field; on it was placed a familiar poster board. While everyone around her seemed confused, Maggie realized what was happening at once. She watched it happen slowly. Realization did not dawn on Mazy and the other girl until the crowned queen draped her sash on the memorial. Amanda was never an honorary nominee; she was the honorary winner.
The crowd applauded in solemn unison as announcements were made, the team joining in belatedly.
As the girls came off the field, the principal said a few words about the poster and how it would be on display at the dance. Maggie wasn’t listening. A voice inside was loudly saying, this is bad, this is bad.
Mazy’s face showed her anger and shock clearly. The other girl left the field tearily. Sarah was composed as ever, but only Becca looked unsurprised. She looked pleased. As the girls headed over, Sarah and Mazy in shock, Maggie chewed her mouth, unsure what to say. She didn’t have to say anything. Once they were off the field, Mazy snapped, “You could have warned us.”
Becca put her hands on her hips. Without deciding to do so, Maggie felt herself move forward to her friends. Tyler followed.
“Don’t be jealous, Mazy. She deserved to win.”
“Why? Because she’s dead?” Mazy asked coldly.
Becca’s arms clamped to her sides forcefully and she stepped forward a half-step.
“Mazy’s right,” Sarah said softly, picking up her pom-poms and getting back to business. “If we were never going to win, you should have let us know. We would have understood, but we wouldn’t have to be disappointed.”
She was right.
“And look ridiculous,” Mazy mumbled, backing off.
“Like anyone else would have had a chance if she were alive,” Becca said. A ref’s whistle ended the painful moment.
She turned to Tyler who raised his eyebrows: “You going to actually dance with me after we win?” he asked, bringing back his wide grin.
“Sure,” Maggie agreed. She was going to a dance, with him; actually dancing wouldn’t kill her.
She walked back behind the stands where she spied the trail of troubled teens: empty bottles, little clouds of cigarette smoke, condom wrappers. She needed to feel separate from the world of the living again for a moment. It was cooler and quieter back there. She looked at the field stretching behind the school, the eventual tree line, all silent and dark.
In the shadows, she heard a faintly familiar voice murmuring to others, “We are doing it tonight. Her friend is right. Tonight was an important night for her; she’d want to be here.”
“Doing what?” Maggie called boldly to the black figures. They did not seem happy to be interrupted, but when the kids in hoods approached, she recognized one as the ‘blood kid’ who had spoken of Amanda’s ghost. “Doing what tonight? I know you were talking about Amanda,” Mags persisted.
“Yeah, what do you care?” a boy with an eyebrow ring asked. Maggie wasn’t phased. This had been her circle briefly before. It was just a different kind of sprinkle on the same doughnut.
“No, this is the new girl,” the skinny, pale kid informed him. “Amanda’s replacement.” Mags bristled at that.
When she said nothing to their laughter, they were surprised. Laughter died down. They looked at each other.
“Name’s Maggie. What’s yours?”
The ‘blood girl’ looked her up and down, as if she’d just transformed in front of them. Maggie was wearing black under her jacket. She wasn’t afraid of tattoos or piercings or weird hair choices. She didn’t look away from theirs. She didn’t even look at those things. She looked at the people and talked to them without shifting uncomfortably.
“Anna.”
“Anna what?”
“Peters.” No M.
“You made the bull, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty cool.” She leaned on a pillar. “So what’s tonight?”
“We are having a séance to speak to Amanda.”
“So,” Mags tried to stay casual, “are you using a board?”
“Nope,” another girl answered.
“What are you asking her?”
“Trying to find out who killed her.”
“Will you tell me what she says?” They were quiet.
“Yeah,” Anna said, then added, “Why?”
“I think that person may be close to me, that they might be dangerous.”
“I’ve been here a long time, Maggie,” Anna told her. “There’s not just one person close to you who’s dangerous.”
“Fair enough. Good luck,” she
said yet again, and went to find Tommy. She felt her dimples return as she heard them behind her say, “She’s alright, huh?” But she felt cold. A good detective would have asked what Anna meant by that, but she had left quickly. She didn’t want to know. Maybe that was the most dangerous part.
Chapter Nine
Torn Apart
Maggie was headed back to her spot on the bleachers when she spotted Tommy down on the grass by the sidelines, looking around frantically.
“Hey,” she said as she approached, concerned. As his face turned to hers, it lit up with shock. He breathed in deeper and longer than was necessary.
“Margaret!” He put his hands on her forearms even though he was holding two drinks. “Where were you?”
His face searched hers over and over as if he was looking for something, perhaps waiting on her to vanish again. He had been worried, she gathered with a small thrill.
Of course he had been worried, she realized a split second later. He had just lost someone close to him unexpectedly and now she had disappeared.
“Sorry,” Maggie lifted her hand to his arm. “I just need to step away for some air. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
“That’s okay.” He let go slowly. She wondered for a moment why he was so alarmed when he couldn’t find her. If what happened to his girlfriend really was an accident, what was he worried about? “Shall we?” he asked, pointing to their top corner in the bleachers.
She nodded and followed him back up to their spot, teetering a little on the cold metal in her heels. “Careful.” He half-grabbed her arm again to steady her.
“These heels were not a good idea,” she laughed, not really joking.
“I have an idea.” He scooted far against the wall and straddled the bleachers, placing their drinks on the ground by his foot. “You sit here.” She sat longways on the bleachers, putting her feet up.
She groaned in relief. “So much better.”
He sat down next to her feet and said something. She couldn’t hear, only knew he’d spoken because she watched his lips move.
“What?” she asked. The people too busy talking to pay attention to the team, the cheering and songs, the band and the whistles made it impossible to hear any conversation not within a foot.
Purely out of necessity, she was sure, he slid over, lifting her feet and setting them across his lap in one fluid movement. She opened her mouth to say something, but she had no idea what, so she shut it again as he began talking.
“Why did you need to get away?”
“Down there…the crowning. It was just awkward. Did you, uh, see it?”
“Yeah,” he said coldly. “I didn’t know she was going to do that.” He stared out into the field, the smooth green surface torn into by cleats, leaving brown trails.
“Becca?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I guess it was sweet, it’s just—”
“Just what?”
“She didn’t warn her other friends. Mazy and Sarah thought they still had a chance to win.” Maggie shrugged.
Tommy frowned thoughtfully.
She was dying to ask him. Why would Amanda have been out there on the road that night? Who was called M? Did he really think Mark wasn’t capable of hurting anyone? Did he think Mazy might be?
But more than that, she wanted to kiss him. In the cold evening air, she could feel his warmth pressed against her panty hose, such a thin layer. She could smell him, so close that it was all she smelled, wrapped in it like the leather jacket around her. She could watch his eyelashes bat over his eyes. His voice rumbled, quiet and deep as usual, so that she felt it more than she could even hear it. That was Tommy’s voice, and she wanted to press her lips to its source, feel it vibrate against her even warmer than she was then.
But she didn’t. She felt a pang of guilt that kept her from doing it. She was wearing his brother’s jacket, after all, and she felt like Amanda was watching.
“Why don’t you play?” she asked, watching his lashes flutter.
“What?”
“Football. Why don’t you play? Seems like all your friends do.”
“I used to,” he answered to her surprise. “Back in middle school, I played with my brother.” She waited for the explanation. He leaned forward, closer—so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice so much, she supposed. “One day, at the beginning of eighth grade, I passed out. At the hospital, they ran some tests and found out I had a slight heart arrhythmia. Nothing to worry about, I’m just not cleared for such a high contact sport.What about you?”
“What about me?” she half-yelled over the ruckus.
He was close to her ear, warm breath brushing her hair when he answered. “Why don’t you play football?” He sat back, smirking at his joke. She laughed at him a little. He did too, shaking his head and looking at his lap.
Absentmindedly, she was sure, he slid his hand along her calf. Up and down. “You know,” she blurted, trying to distract herself from the movement of his hand. “I can kind of relate.”
“How so?”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer, but she didn’t have to—touchdown, apparently. They didn’t bother to stand at first. Both seemed to be hung up, frozen, staring at each other as if someone had hit a pause button.
She had no idea football took so long. Not that she minded. Soon, Tommy would leave, she would have to stand up in these heels again and try to pass as a cool kid at a dance when all she really wanted to do was go to the library and write down possible M suspects. Or maybe spying on her suspects. She still didn’t know crazy Ashley’s last name, though goth girl was out.
Then she realized: the dance was the perfect place to move about, to eavesdrop, to hear gossip without looking the least bit out of place. And thanks to Becca and her memorial, there was bound to be loads of chatter about Amanda. And someone had to know something, like Becca kept reiterating. Maybe they could search for info together. Honestly, Maggie was the only person Becca could be sure had not killed Amanda.
“He was going to quit, you know?”
“Who?” she asked, shaking her head in confusion.
“Tyler. When I couldn’t play anymore, he was going to quit football too. I told him not to; it’s just a game to me, but to him it could be a future, you know? He’s good.”
“Yeah, he is.” She glanced at the field.
“He’s a good brother.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “So are you.” Pretty selfless for a thirteen-year-old boy.
“But I’m saying, he’s a good guy. If you’re interested.” He stared straight ahead.
She ignored the little pain in her chest. Feeling brave, she leaned closer to him and put her lips by his ear. “I told you. It’s just for show. No one else asked me.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then swallowed hard.
They were on their feet again for the last few minutes of the game. It was close. Wilbur Mason had gradually caught up to the Bulls’ strong opening and the few points they had managed to score since. They were neck and neck as the boys pushed their exhausted, sweaty, bruised bodies harder and further, the clock ticking down.
They barely moved at all, two opposing forces smashing into one another, over and over, equally stubborn. And then, at last, the Wilbur Whatsits scored. They were up by a few meager points when Maggie felt her voice begin to hurt from shouting at them the way she yelled at the TV when she played Mario Kart or watched dumb people in horror movies. The Bulls tried desperately to score again, but it was surprisingly another goal for the Wilbur Whatsits, and that was it. The time wasn’t quite to zero, but there was no way, Tommy explained with excitement, the Bulls could score enough points to win in that time.
“Come on! Let’s go down to Tyler.”
It took a while, and more than once Maggie almost fell, so Tommy, being nice, she reminded herself, took her hand and led her down each step.
It was hard to get to Tyler on the sidelines as the game ended and the boys jumped on one
another, elated. They actually hooted.
“Congratulations!” Maggie yelled towards the circle of boys, feeling her grin pulled almost too wide across her face.
Tyler looked surprised to see them, but then smiled at her and his brother. With a glance around at their friends, he strode over, looking her right in the eyes. Unconsciously, she took a step back, bumping into Tommy’s chest.
Tyler was too many surprises. He wrapped one arm around and under her bottom to lift her up for a half second so that he could kiss her loudly on the cheek. Smack. “Thanks, dimples. You look like you actually paid attention.”
“Yeah, well, Tommy explained it,” she mumbled shyly, wobbling in her heels and trying to keep the embarrassment off her face.
“Thank you for coming, brother.” And not bothering to try to keep sweat and grass off him as Tyler had with her, he squeezed Tommy tightly and held on for a moment. Tommy gave him a pat on the back and a sad smile.
“Great game,” he said. “I’m going to go now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. You sure? I mean, I’ll let you dance with my date.” He squeezed Mags with one arm, jokingly.
Tommy cleared his throat. “Nah, but thank you.” Was he jealous? She didn’t dare think so.
“You sure? I’ll dance with you.” Tyler laughed.
Tommy was already backing away, shaking his head, his voice tighter with emotion than usual. “That’s really okay,” he tried to chuckle. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tomorrow,” his brother corrected, clearly intent on partying.
“Margaret,” he nodded up once. “Call me if you need anything.” And he was gone.
Oh yeah, she thought of saying. Could you drop me off at that séance to try to contact your dead girlfriend? I’d rather do that than dance and go to parties because I am a lunatic.
That was not normal. Dancing was normal. She had promised to dance. And she could spy while she did it, she reminded herself. Besides, she needed to talk to Becca about joining forces.
“Now what?” she asked Tyler.
Keep Your Friends Close Page 12