Dinged, page 6
“I will.”
I fist-bump Eric and slip out of the crowd before anybody else notices. It’s almost like I’m leaving him behind, literally. It makes me feel bad.
Nina looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. She’s surrounded by a bunch of people I don’t know, probably photography friends and musicians and those kinds of people. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite figure it out at first. Then it hits me.
She reminds me of me, after a football game.
When Nina spots me, she hugs three people, kisses two others on both cheeks, then runs over. Her eyes are shining and her smile is everything.
We hug, and the words rush out of her like a waterfall. “How was it? Was it okay? Are you mad that I didn’t tell you about that song? Were you embarrassed? I’m really sorry if you were. I just didn’t know how to tell you and I guess I kind of wanted it to be a surprise. Was that dumb? Are you mad? No, seriously, are you mad?”
I laugh. “Well, to be honest, I was a little surprised at first, and my friends were, like, ragging on me, but then the song was so awesome that we were all just, you know, like, super impressed.”
She looks at me like she can’t quite believe what I’m saying. “Wait, so you really liked the song?”
“Was it about us?” I ask her.
She smacks me on the arm. “Boy, football is starting to mess up your head for real! Of course it was about us, you dummy.”
“Oh. Well, actually I didn’t like the song.”
Her face clouds over.
“I loved the song.”
She squeals and jumps and then she kisses me. On the mouth.
I kiss her back. On the mouth.
We keep kissing.
It takes me a few seconds to realize two things.
One, everyone is staring at us.
And two, we’ve never done that in public before.
10
It isn’t until we’re at Jensen’s, the diner where everyone hangs out, that I have the nerve to ask Nina about the thing we’ve both been thinking about since the second it happened.
“So, uh . . .”
Well, I thought I had the nerve. Turns out, not quite.
She grins. “So, uh . . . what?”
“You know.” “No, I don’t know.”
I look at her, but she shakes her head. She’s going to make me say it.
So I do, finally.
“Everyone saw us kiss.”
“So?”
Good question. “Uh, well, you know . . . Did it . . . uh . . . I guess that means that the world knows we’re kind of officially girlfriend and boyfriend, right?”
She laughs, seemingly satisfied that she’s made me suffer enough. “I’m cool with it if you’re cool with it.”
“I’m cool with it.”
We let that hang there for a few seconds as we both check our phones for absolutely no reason.
“Are your friends cool with it?” she asks me, out of the blue.
“What? I mean . . . yeah, of course, why wouldn’t they be?”
“I don’t know.” Nina eats a fry while I wait for her to say more. “I guess maybe it’s, like, they don’t seem to like me very much.”
“They like you as much as they would any girlfriend I had, to be honest.”
“What do you mean?” Nina asks. “They’re jealous?”
“I guess.” I hesitate for a second before continuing, because I know what I’m about to say isn’t going to make me sound all that great. But I say it anyway. “It’s not just you, though, you know? It’s a bunch of things, like the fact that I’m the starting quarterback on varsity, and I’m getting all this attention and stuff. But also, I’m not sure what they want from me sometimes. Like, if I have the talent and I put in the work, is that supposed to make me feel bad?”
“Of course not,” Nina says.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are your friends upset because you play in a band and wrote a great song about your boyfriend?”
“No,” she says, quietly. “They’re really happy for me.”
“That’s lucky,” I say.
The conversation has broken our celebratory mood a little bit. We deal with it by checking our phones again, and then the lead singer from her band comes over and gives her a big hug from behind.
“GREAT SHOW!” the guy says. “You were on fire tonight!”
“So were you!” Nina tells him. “That was our best gig ever, by far.”
“Well, we’ve only had two, but yeah, totally!”
They look at each other with such excitement and happiness and pride that I suddenly feel a ridiculous twinge of jealousy myself.
The singer goes off to hug someone else, and I exhale. “What’s his name again?” I ask Nina.
“Oh man, I should have introduced you. I’m sorry! That’s Brian.”
“He’s really good.”
“Yeah, he’s amazing.”
“How long have you two known each other?”
Nina lets out a quick giggle. “He’s gay.”
“Oh. So?”
“So you’ve got nothing to worry about there.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “That’s, like, the last thing I was worried about!”
Nina’s eyes twinkle when she smiles. “If you say so.”
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my dad. Two words:
when home?
I quickly turn my phone over on the table.
“Who’s that?” asks Nina.
“My dad.”
The phone buzzes again.
it’s getting late, you need to come home
This time I put the phone in my pocket.
Nina’s smile fades. “You look stressed all of a sudden. What’s going on?”
“I don’t really want to get into it.”
“Oh okay,” Nina says, but I can tell by the change in her voice that it’s pretty much the opposite of okay.
I look everywhere but at her.
“You can’t be like that with me,” she says. “Not if we’re going to try to make this, you know, an actual thing.”
I exhale heavily. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Yes, you do,” she says, before I can finish my lie.
The drummer from the band comes over, but before she can say anything, Nina says, “Not right now, Becca, sorry.”
“Oh okay, cool,” Becca says, and walks away.
Nina watches me and waits.
“I think something might be up with my dad,” I say.
I’m not exactly sure what I’m thinking, but whatever it is, it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
Her face softens. “What kind of something?”
“Something like, with his behavior. Like, with—he’s—”
I stop talking, because I realize I’m not sure how to end that sentence. She leans in, and the noise and crowd and chaos in the diner start to fade away, like the end of a song. But Nina doesn’t say anything. She just waits for me to be ready to say more.
“He’s just gotten a lot more intense lately,” I add. “A little . . . weird. And forgetful, sometimes. My mom thinks so, too.”
Nina’s eyes narrow. “Is this a football thing? Like, because of an injury or something?”
I feel the blood in my body get hot. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I read something somewhere about—”
“No, of course not!” I say, cutting her off. “He’s, like, forty-six years old! He’s just, like, he’s stressing out because I’m in high school now and starting on varsity and there’s a lot more pressure, and he just really wants to make sure I take advantage of my talent, and so he’s, like, acting a little freaked out because of it.”
“Okay, okay,” Nina says. “If you say so.”
“I know so.”
I’m not sure Nina’s going to leave it at that—she rarely does—but before we can go any further, Hurricane Ron blows in. “THERE THEY ARE!!!!”
That’s followed by the unmistakable sound of a bunch of kids stampeding toward me.
When Ron reaches our table, he immediately puts me in a headlock. “DUDE! You never told us that your girlfriend was a ROCK STAR!”
I’m struggling to breathe, so Nina answers for me. “I’m hardly a rock star. I just like playing music.”
Ron decides that a live quarterback is better than a dead one, so he eases up on the choke hold. The kids behind him take little shots at me—slaps, ear twists, noogies, that sort of thing. They’re letting me know that they have the right to mess with me, even if they don’t have the right to manhandle me the way Ron does.
He takes a large swig of my milkshake. “Well, whatever, that music was pretty BADASS.” He eyes Nina. “But we have a strict rule about girlfriends.”
Nina eyes him back. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“No girlfriends.”
Nina bursts out laughing. “HA! That’s funny!”
Ron giggles, which sounds weird coming out of a very large body. “Nah, I’m just busting your chops. It’s all good. As long as your boy toy here remembers that he needs to be all about the TEAM. Job number ONE!” He slaps the top of my head a little too hard. “I know I give this kid a tough time, but that’s my job. Especially since the rest of the world seems to think he’s some kind of god just because he can throw the football a long way.”
I’m not sure what to say, or which direction this conversation is going, so I just keep my mouth shut.
But Nina doesn’t.
“I agree, Ron,” she says. Then she looks at me and winks. “I don’t get why everyone thinks you’re such a big deal, Caleb. I mean, it’s not like you’re saving lives by doing brain surgery, right?”
“Uh, right,” I say.
Ron guffaws, which means all of his followers guffaw, too. “I LOVE this girl!” he says, loud enough for everyone in the diner to hear. “I LOVE her!”
And with that, Ron and his crew walk away.
After the dust settles, Nina and I sit quietly for about a minute, absorbing what happened.
“Do you want to get back to what we were talking about?” she says, finally.
“What was that?”
“You were telling me about your dad.”
“Oh, that.” I check my phone again, in case something fascinating happened in the last thirty seconds. “Uh, nah, I don’t think so.”
She gives me a long look. “Okay.” Then she takes my hand. “If you change your mind, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
As we sit there for a little while longer, the quarterback and the singer, I think about her song, and how she was able to nail exactly what we are in just a few words, and how hard that must be.
I couldn’t be further from you
You couldn’t be further from me
But right next to each other
Is the only place we wanna be
It occurs to me that writing something like that is probably just as hard as throwing a football.
Maybe even harder.
11
“I’m sorry.”
My dad pauses, then takes a deep breath. It’s the next morning, and we’re in the basement, lifting weights. I’m on time for my workout, just like I promised I would be.
“About what, Dad?”
“About last night, giving you a hard time about going to that concert. I’m sorry. I should trust you. I do trust you.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“Was it fun?”
“It was awesome.”
“I’m so glad, Cae.”
We settle in, and we lift, and it’s all good. It’s not like lifting weights is a blast, but it’s comfortable, it’s chill, it’s a tradition, it’s kind of like breathing.
My mom comes down with a cup of coffee, like always. “So, how was the music?”
“Nina’s incredibly talented, Ma. I literally think she might be famous one day.”
My dad whistles. “Whoa, that would be some power couple! The Super Bowl quarterback and the rock star.”
“Easy there, cowboy,” my mom says, and we all laugh.
My dad suddenly stands up. “Well, I gotta go to work,” he says.
My mom looks at him. “Work?”
Now it’s my dad’s turn to look confused. My parents own three car dealerships. My dad is the one who gets all the attention, but my mom is the one who actually runs the business.
“Yeah, hon,” he says. “It’s Saturday.”
“No, honey, it’s Sunday.” My mom puts her hand on my dad’s arm. “The day you work out with Caleb, remember? And then you swim?”
“Oh right!” he says, slapping his hand down on the weight bar. “Of course!”
My mom kisses me on the top of my head and goes back upstairs. My dad and I are left sitting there. It’s quiet, but the feeling is different. My dad’s mood suddenly seems a little off, maybe because of what just happened.
“I think we’re gonna work on some third-down conversion sets this week in practice,” I say, bringing the conversation back to football, his comfort zone. “I think we could use a little sharpening up there.”
My dad nods. “Good idea. There are still some improvements to be made with the run game, too. You can’t be expected to bail out the offense on every drive in every game. The good teams will smell that out a mile away.”
“Totally agree.”
We keep lifting, and we keep talking about football.
It’s where we belong.
And it feels okay.
WALTHORNENEWS.COM
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 11, 9:14 AM
Freshman Sensation Already Being Recruited? Young QB to Visit State for Game Today
There’s been lots of buzz about Caleb Springer, the freshman quarterback who has guided the Walthorne Wildcats to a 4–0 record this year, most recently throwing for two touchdowns and running for one in last night’s 41–14 thumping of Praterville. The son of former NFL standout Sammy Springer, young Caleb is already drawing interest from some major college programs. In fact, WalthorneNews has learned that Brandon Williams, an assistant coach and recruiting specialist at State U, has invited Caleb up to campus today to watch the Buzzcocks play Auburn in an exciting matchup. Adding to the speculation is the fact that Williams and the elder Springer were teammates together on the New York Jets for three years, and have remained good friends ever since.
When asked about the rumors at a recent game, Sammy laughed and said, “It’s way too early to talk about any college plans for Caleb. He’s just concentrating on winning tonight, and then hopefully making it to the playoffs. We’re taking it one game at a time, and let’s see what happens.”
Caleb himself was not made available for comment.
12
It’s a pretty long drive to State. My mom puts on one of those political podcasts she likes to listen to, while my dad closes his eyes. I scroll through my phone, doing some texting, some social media, and trying to find out a little more about Brandon Williams. When I asked my dad about him at breakfast, he just kind of shrugged and said, Great guy, great football player. It’s funny, my dad doesn’t love talking about the old days as much as you might think. The only time he does it is when fans bring it up—which is always. I guess that’s why he doesn’t like to do it the rest of the time.
“Dad,” I say, in the car.
He grunts.
“It says here that Brandon led the league in sacks two years in a row.”
“That was when he was with the Rams,” my dad mumbles. “I was out of the league by then.”
“Oh.” Then I ask him, “How come you guys are such good friends? I thought offense guys hang around with other offense guys, and same with the defense.”
That gets my dad to open his eyes. “Well, that’s true usually, but not always.” He turns his head toward the window and squints, as if trying to find a memory that’s not quite there. “When he was a rookie, I was in my fifth year. We were on special teams together. Special teams are for veterans who are trying to stick around, and rookies who are trying to make a name for themselves. We’re trained to be like heat-seeking missiles, you know, running down the field on punts and kickoffs, just trying to crash into people. Well, there was this one game—against the Falcons, I think it was—we were kicking off to start the second half. I’m next to Brandon, and I’m about to tackle the guy returning the kick when I get blindsided—I mean completely wrecked. Some guy came up and just demolished me; I had no idea he was there. Complete cheap shot, dirty play, he’d be ejected if that happened today. Well, I was barely back on my feet when Brandon popped the guy. Just leveled him. I forget the guy’s name, but he’d been in the league for a few years, you know, and was a respected guy, and Brandon was just a kid, but Brandon didn’t care, he defended me, and there was this fight, and Brandon got ejected and suspended for two games, meaning he had to give up two weeks of salary, too. The guy did that for me, to protect me.”
My dad turns from the window and swivels around to face me, in the back seat. “He’s a solid guy. A real solid guy.”
I nod, kind of in shock. It’s the most my dad has talked to me about his playing days since—well, pretty much since ever. “That’s cool,” I say. Then, hungry for more, I ask, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that play on YouTube. Were you, like, injured from the hit? Or were you fine?”
But my dad’s eyes are closed again. This time, I think he might be asleep. Or he’s pretending to be.
Either way, the conversation is over.
13
It’s raining a little, but who cares? The stadium is full and the roar of the crowd is deafening. We’re smack on the fifty yard line, in one of those inside-outside boxes where we can watch the game then go inside during breaks to eat from the incredible spread of food that’s just sitting there.
And it’s all free!
My mom and I watch as my dad says hello to a nonstop stream of people. You can pretty much figure out who the former players are—most of them are huge, and a few of them limp or wear sunglasses. My dad wears sunglasses a lot, too. I used to think it was to avoid being recognized, but my mom says it’s because he’s really sensitive to light. I guess that happens to a lot of guys who played.
