Little Do We Know(19)
And then she pointed to the left, and I followed her finger. “The three defenders stay down there with the goalie and try to stop the other team. All the players use those sticks to pass that little white ball around and beat the crap out of whichever guy has it.” She looked back at me to be sure I was keeping up. “That’s pretty much all there is to it. Next week I’ll make Luke take you to one of my games and explain how women’s lacrosse is played. It’s totally different.”
“Why?”
“There’s no contact. I used to play men’s lacrosse so I could smack people, too, but then the guys got a lot bigger and my parents decided it was too dangerous.”
The horn blew again, and her head whipped back to the center of the field. Dominic Murphy and some other guy were crouched low on the ground, staring at each other.
“That’s called the face-off,” she said. Then she cupped her hands to her mouth and screamed, “That’s yours, Murph!”
I stayed quiet, watching the game, taking it in. At first, I mostly watched Luke, but after a while I tried to follow the ball instead. When Luke finally got it, and started sprinting toward the Falcons’ goal, I found myself leaning forward just like Addison did, craning my neck to see what was happening, unable to take my eyes off the action. He pulled his stick back and swung it toward the goal, and the ball slammed hard into the upper right corner of the net. Everyone in our section jumped up, clapping and screaming as the announcer called out, “First goal for the Falcons by senior Luke Calletti, number thirty-four!”
As Luke was running back to the white line, he looked up at the stands and when he saw me, he gave me a little wave. I waved back. And then I yelled, “Go Luke!” louder than anyone else.
By halftime, I was completely into it, yelling along, jumping to my feet every time we scored, and covering my mouth when any of the guys took a hard hit. Luke got another goal in the third quarter. And he had three assists, which sounded like a big deal when Addison explained it to me.
When the game ended, we gathered our stuff and I put my sweater on. Addison started to say something, but then she looked past me, over my shoulder, and said, “Oh, hey!”
I turned around and saw Luke’s parents. Mrs. Calletti gave me a fist bump and said, “Well, it looks like you survived your first lacrosse game. What did you think?” Her dark hair was peeking out from under her Falcons cap, and she was wearing one of Luke’s jerseys, too.
“I loved it,” I said. “But I had no idea how hard they hit each other!”
“Just wait until next year,” Mr. Calletti said. “That was nothing.”
His comment didn’t register right away. Not until I took in his outfit. He was decked out in Denver gear. Denver cap. Denver jersey.
I was at a loss for words, so I made a joke instead. “Is there anything you didn’t buy?”
“Nope.” He lifted his pant leg to show off his Denver socks.
Luke’s dad was beaming at me, eyes full of pride, and I tried to match his expression, but out of nowhere, it had hit me. I’d never wear Luke’s Denver jersey. At some point in the not-too-distant future, some other girl probably would, but it wouldn’t be me. My throat tightened. I bit the inside of my cheek, pushing the emotions back down where they belonged.
Addison must have been able to tell I was upset because she took one look at my face and changed the subject. “We’d better go. Everyone’s heading to the diner.”
But I didn’t want to go to the diner. Not yet. I gestured in the opposite direction. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I need to grab something from the theater.”
I hugged Mrs. Calletti, and then Mr. Calletti, and waved good-bye before any of them could question me or offer to come along. I followed the walkway that led from the stadium to the theater in a daze, and I when I arrived at the backstage door, I was relieved to find that the janitor hadn’t locked it yet.
I slipped inside, walked straight to the stage, and sat down on the edge with my feet dangling over the side. I looked around, taking in the room. The aisle lights were still on, casting a glow on the dark red velvet seats, and I inhaled the scent of old wood and damp towels. They say our sense of smell is most closely linked with memory, and I believed it. I already knew that any remotely similar scent would forever bring me right back to this room.
It was almost over. All of it, and all at once. High school. Performing on that stage. My relationship with Luke. Mom and me, and our family of two. It was bad enough that I’d already lost Hannah. Soon, the rest of it would be gone along with her.
I looked down at Luke’s jersey-dress, staring at the number thirty-four, thinking about the end of us, and feeling this uncomfortable tightness in my chest. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried, and I wasn’t about to do it now. Not yet. There were still 159 days until we were officially broken up. Still, I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep it down that long.
As I sat there in the silence, I realized what I had to do.
I stood and left the theater, stepping into the cold night air, walking to the diner with a determined stride and rehearsing what I was going to say to Luke when I saw him. But when I got to the parking lot, I couldn’t go in.
I could see everyone through the window. Luke and his teammates must have just arrived, because they were still standing in clusters, taking off their jackets, trying to figure out where everyone was going to sit. By contrast, on the opposite side of the restaurant, I saw Charlotte, Tyler, and the rest of my drama friends, looking like they’d been there for hours. They were smashed into one booth, even though they probably would have been more comfortable divided up into two. The table was littered with empty plates, dirty forks, crumpled-up napkins, and half-empty glasses.