The Hard Count(96)

“I thought you could use company, since nobody wants to sit by us,” my brother says, helping me shake the blanket out before laying it along the front row.

“Hey, no crutches!” I say, noticing he’s in a modified type of cast cut below his knee.

My brother hops on his good leg a few times.

“I went today. Doc says it’s healing incredibly fast. I still can’t put pressure on it, though,” he says.

“So you…hopped up here?” I scold him a little, knowing how my brother hates obeying any orders, even the ones from his doctor.

“Scooter,” he says, turning to look over his shoulder. I look to the corner, by the bleacher ramp at the end, and I see it.

“Cute…why pink?” I ask, looking him in the eyes again.

“Mom’s choice. She said she’s still punishing me in little ways. I have a feeling that’s going to last for years,” he says.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say.

We both sit on either end of the blanket, and my brother holds my various pieces of equipment as I set up my tripod, wanting to keep it in front of me to film tonight. I’m not taking any chances of it mysteriously getting turned off.

“Dad says USC is coming,” my brother says, handing me my equipment bag when we’re done so I can zip it closed.

“They are,” I say, inhaling and holding it for a few seconds before blowing it out hard enough to move the few fine hairs around my face. “I hope they let Nico play.”

“Oh…they will,” Noah says, his eyes out on the field where the team of referees are arriving and inspecting the sidelines. I stare at him for several seconds until he turns to look at me. “What?”

“Why are you so confident, Noah Prescott?” I ask, my lip ticked up in suspicion.

“Let’s just say Travis and Colton have a plan,” my brother says, pulling his seed bag from his back pocket and tearing it open with his teeth.

I watch him and his smile slides up on one side, too, to match mine, and he winks.

“I hope they know what they’re doing,” I say.

“I think they’ve got it handled,” he says, looking on again, pouring in a handful of seeds and relaxing back, his arms on the bleacher seat behind us.

My parents arrive a few minutes later, whispering about something that gets both Noah and me curious. I stare at them, leaning forward and showing my obvious interest until my mom finally acknowledges me with the tilt of her head.

“You two are whispering like teenagers and speaking in code. How would you like it if Noah and I did that,” I tease, but I genuinely want them to stop.

My mom pulls her lips in tight and smiles with a nod.

“You’re right. Chad? We should tell them,” my mom says, turning to my father.

“Holy shit, you are not pregnant!” my brother says.

“Uh…” my mom laughs out once, hard and guttural. “No. That…that is definitely not what we are talking about. Good lord, we finally almost have you two out of the house.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say.

“Well, that one’s kind of a handful,” my mom says, pointing her thumb to my brother on the other side.

I laugh and he flips me off. My mom smacks his arm with the back of her hand.

“It’s news about me, actually,” my dad says, running his hand over his chin, his gaze swinging from my brother to me and then back to my mom. “I…got a job offer today.”

“Oh my God, seriously? That’s…that’s amazing! What? Where?”

“Well, I’ve always thought your mother looked good in Crimson…” my dad begins, and my brother spits his seeds from his mouth in all directions, pushing up to look my dad in the eyes.

“No f*cking way!” Noah shouts.

“Noah James, you watch your mouth!” my mom scolds.

“Sorry, but…Mom…is he serious? Are you…Dad, are you serious?” Noah asks, and I lean forward to watch my dad’s face, too.

The smile is the proudest I’ve seen him wear in years.

“We’re moving to Alabama?” I ask, my stomach sick with the mixture of excitement and worry because I don’t want to move.

“Not until you graduate. I wouldn’t start until next year, fulltime, but I’m going to be working part-time for the rest of this season on the West Coast. I’ll be recruiting. I have games and practices I need to go to in California next week,” my dad says, excited for the first time since I can’t remember when. “Come fall, I’ll be the assistant offensive coordinator. Pay’s about the same as it is here, but it’s a foot in the door. Who knows, I might just find myself in a head gig down the road.”

“You will, oh my God, Daddy, I know you will!” I say, reaching over my mom’s lap and hugging my dad.

My father’s news forms an instant bubble around us, and even though I know there are people walking by, climbing to seats far away from us, not wanting to be associated with our family, I don’t care because they are the ones who are fools. They’re missing out on being a part of our celebration. I glance at the group of women my mom had her issues with last week, and I snicker to myself at the scowls on their faces, the way they try to give me the evil eye to prove a point. They are still stuck in their miserable world where one day someone is on top, and the next they’re tossed to the side. It could happen to any one of them next, and I’m so glad my mom has already escaped, however ungraceful her exit was.