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Chapter 17— Moments Into Memories
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“Touchdooowwwwnnn!!!!” boomed the young announcer’s voice over the field loudspeaker. A chorus of cheers, squeals, and hollers erupted from the silver metal bleachers next to us, and I had to plug my ears so as not to go deaf from the idiot nearby who brought four air horns. I groaned and shivered as the chilling autumn air danced across my skin, raising goosebumps along the naked flesh of my arms. It was my fault for trusting the weatherman. And now I was damned to suffer in my navy and white polka-dot dress and thin white sweater. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” I spat, a puff of dragon’s breath clouding my face as I spoke. I’d been asking myself that very question all night as I contemplated the events that brought me to that crowded, nacho-scented football field. It sure wasn’t a love for sports or a burst of school spirit. Instead, it’d been Angie just yesterday who’d asked me if I’d like to hang out with her while she took photos of the game for the school yearbook. It was only after I said yes that I realized twenty other ways I could’ve said no. And Angie looked so happy, beaming from ear to ear. So, there I was. My house arrest was almost up and my parents had become much more relaxed since finding out I’d only punched Kurt Klein in an anorexia-induced rage. It was just halfway the truth.
On the brighter side of things, I was eating more now. More being no breakfast, no lunch, and a full dinner. But, progress was progress.
The blinding LED field lights illuminated the benches and sidelines like some strange sunlight substitute. They blotted out the stars just beginning to peak through the purple dusk in the sky. I looked around at the people in the bleachers and found each face twisted in raw emotion and passion. And, for a moment, it reminded me of a rock concert—the fans huddled in cramped spaces cheering on the stars of the show, a heavy smell of alcohol and sweat reeking off the bodies, the bright nauseating lights that made the blood in your veins pump just a little faster. In a strange way, I could very easily see the appeal.
Angie stood next to me against the chain-link fence decorated with vinyl posters of the Crossland High football team. She hummed a little tune while clicking photos on her bulky black camera attached to a beat-up leather strap around her neck. She smelled like the watermelon sucker hanging out of her mouth, and she had to keep brushing strands of blue-blond hair out of her face as she snapped shots.
“Please tell me you’re not taking photos of Kurt,” I groaned, leaning my head back against the cool metal of the fence.
Angie made a noise that confirmed my fears. And I rolled my eyes.
“Do you ever get tired of documenting all of these people when they aren’t really ever gonna matter to you?”
Angie dropped her camera slightly and thought deeply, her eyes focusing on a spot far off in space. “I guess I don’t think of it that way. It’s more like…well, all these moments are happening around me and I get to turn them into memories. Doesn’t really matter if I don’t like the person. I have the power to capture that moment. And, that’s all that matters.”
I let her answer sit with me for a few moments, tossing it up in my head and coming to the conclusion that maybe Angie was just a better person than me. But, that was okay. I left a note in my head for ‘turning moments into memories’ as good future song inspiration. We all have our strengths.
“Oh,” she piped up, pausing to take a really good photo of a field pass, “I almost forgot to mention: I talked to Jeremy.”
My eyes lit up, and I grabbed her shoulder. “Did you stand up straight?”
“Yes.”
“And did you smile, no teeth?”
“I think so. I don’t remember.”
“What about the conversation? Did you compliment him? Did you end it first?”
“I tried. And yes.”
“Well, what happened?”
Angie paused to let me take a breathe and calm my excitement before continuing with an innocent smile on her face. “It was fine, I guess. Mostly just talking about yearbook stuff. I took him up on his offer to work together later this week. Maybe I’ll ask him then if I’m feeling extra confident. But, I don’t know, Jenny. We go so well together, but all I kept thinking about was how he has a girlfriend.”
My shoulders slumped low. I shivered at a cold breeze passing through and I gently squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, Ange. But, maybe you can be happy to know that you can talk to guys without flipping out.”
“Yeah…” she mulled, trying to focus back on her camera work, “But, I just really wanted Jeremy to be the guy. I can imagine both of us walking into Homecoming and immediately pointing out all the flaws and debating all the pranks that would inevitably be pulled. I can picture holding his hand and slow dancing to some stupid Christina Perri song.” She trailed off into silence until the only noise around us was the cacophony of chatter and cheering in the nearby bleachers. She turned and picked up her head, taking a deep breath and gazing out at the game. “But, if I’ve learned anything from you, it’s that I can’t give up hope until there’s nothing left to fight for.”
My chest nearly puffed up from how proud I became. My face blossomed into a smile that Angie returned as she grabbed onto my shoulder and squeezed back.
“So,” she continued, “We’ve been talking all about my Homecoming dreams, but what about you? Anyone you’ve got your eye on?”
Homecoming? I thought. Oh shit, homecoming…
My mind reeled with excuses—names to throw out just to lead Angie astray from the truth of my Homecoming date with Rodrick. What about the loud guy from my English class? Or the senior class treasurer that always lends me a pencil when I forget one? Maybe it would be better just to tell Angie I wouldn’t go at all and try and hide from her all night long?
But as I was thinking, I heard a squabble of laughter coming from far behind Angie and I. It was coming from the sports team parking lot. I squinted and peered out to catch sight of three darkly-dressed figures leaning against the chain-link fence separating the parking lot and the football field sidelines. Ferret-Face, Blonde String-bean, and Rodrick. All smoking like a gang of street rats. But, why were they—the least school-spirited or athletic people I knew—at a football game?
I glared at them with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. But, they turned out to be the least of my worries.
“No,” Angie suddenly squeaked.
I whipped back around, suddenly remembering she was there. “What?”
She pointed weakly at Rodrick and his friends standing several yards away. “Do not tell me I saw what I think I saw.”
“Angie, what?”
“You! And…” she faked a gag, at least I thought it was fake, “…him.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”
“During the fight, I thought he had just jumped in front of you because Greg was there. But, god, no. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, pulling my sweater tighter over my chilly arms. “Seriously, I have no clue what you’re talking about—”
“You and Rodrick!” Angie yelled just a little too loudly. I freaked and hurried to quiet her with a fierce shush. “That’s what I’m talking about. You and that bonehead loser. I know you have a class together. Oh yeah, I have my information. And I know that Carrie Jean Foster spotted you two outside the cafeteria smoking.”
I brushed it off, scoffing and rolling my eyes once more. “You’re gonna believe that?!”145Please respect copyright.PENANA2988I4fyVg
“Look. I know you don’t have to share every bit of your life with me, but maybe tell me when you’ve got a punk rock wannabe preying on you.”
“He’s not preying on me!” I whisper-yelled back, pulling her closer into our secluded corner between the fence and the bleachers.
“Ha! So, you are hanging out—”
“Okay, fine. Yes. I talk to Rodrick, and sometimes we hang out. But, that’s…” I sucked in a deep breath, knowing I was bound to regret what I was about to say next, “…that’s because I feel bad for him. He doesn’t have many friends and everyone at school teases him and he’s kind of…stupid. So, yes, I’m letting him take me to Homecoming.”
Angie stared back at me, absorbing every word I said like a sponge. “Wow, that is sonice of you, Jenny.”
I responded with a weak smile and a nod, knowing not a bit of me felt nice. Not at all.
Suddenly, the pealing shriek of a referee’s whistle interrupted us and reminded Angie of what her real job here was.
“Geez, I really have to get back to this. If I don’t get good shots, Jeremy’s gonna kill me. Jeremy!”
The watermelon sucker tumbled out of Angie’s mouth as she alerted me of the two figures approaching us from the bleachers. First, there was Jeremy dressed in a thick brown jacket and his classic Buddy Holly glasses, a smile quickly forming on his nerdy-cute face. And walking—no, strutting—beside him was the tall, pink blonde I’d seen in class before. The one who was always on her phone and always carried a pale pink Louis Vuitton handbag on her arm. The two rounded the corner of the bleachers, and I could visibly see Angie tense up. Quickly, I whispered to her, “Relax. Smile. Shoulders down. Tits out. Don’t look directly at her.”
“Angie!” Jeremy called, waving with one hand with the other on his girlfriend’s back.
Angie waved back, stiff but not terrible.
“Hey,” he said, his dimples peaking through his smile, “Almost forgot you’d be here taking shots.”
“Yeah…” she started, her voice a bit shaky, “I’m still trying to find some great angles, but, um, it’s going great.”
“Awesome, and this is your friend…Jen, right?”
“Jenny.”
“Jenny, yeah. Of course. Who could forget you after the whole cafeteria fight thing? Kurt really had it coming to him. Makes me think how I should’ve gotten to him first.”
Both Angie and I laughed, her voice noticeably calmer and more casual. Damn, maybe she really did listen to me.
“Oh, by the way, this is my girlfriend Heather. I don’t know if you’ve met yet.”
Heather suddenly glanced up from her phone, her sapphire blue eyes bored and unimpressed as she looked Angie up and down and decided she was no threat. “Might have seen her before. Dunno. Don’t remember.”
I blinked a few times, refusing to believe that was real. But, Heather sighed and turned away from the group, instead looking out at the football game and, more specifically, Kurt Klein’s jersey number 42.
“Sorry,” Jeremy shyly muttered under his breath. “Heather isn’t good around new people. Especially not other girls.”
“That’s alright,” Angie said. “I get how hard it can be to make new friends for some people.”
Damn.
Jeremy smirked and stifled a chuckle. “So, Angie, you wanna show me what you’ve got so far?”
Her face lit up pink as she smiled and waved him over. I watched as Jeremy stood dangerously close to her face and they clicked through photos on her camera, chittering away about lighting and levels. It made my heart warm to see them. So natural. So easy.
While a few feet away, Heather was still locked onto Kurt running across the field. And, maybe I was wrong, but…was she biting her lip?
It was then that another sound broke my attention—another shout of boyish laughter coming from behind us. But, the spot where Rodrick and his friends had once been was abandoned. I scanned the area, trying to follow the direction of the laughter but found that it led deeper into the parking lot. Then, just as I was about to turn back to Angie and Jeremy, I noticed a flash of jeans and Converse crouching next to a line of trucks—more specifically, Kurt and the jocks’ trucks.
A new rush of adrenaline kicked into my system. And, I didn’t know what I’d do, but all I knew was that I had to stop whatever this was and fast. I whipped back around to Angie and Jeremy who were nearly lost in the camera, occasionally looking up and locking eyes before nervously looking back down.
“Hey,” I interrupted, their heads bouncing up as they remembered I was still present, “I’ll be back. I’ve just gotta…take care of something.”
“Okay,” Angie said. “Where are you going?”
“Just…I’ll be back.”
I broke away from the group and quickly shuffled across the sidelines and further and further away from the football field. There, at the edge of the field, the bright LED lights grew dim and the dark night shadows overtook the parking lot. But, the raucous laughter told me I was getting closer.
The quiet stillness of the parking lot was broken by the scuffing sounds of sneakers against asphalt and a strange clinking of cans. Following the sounds, I began to hear whispers and mischievous snickering. Finally, as I rounded the corner of Kurt Klein’s obnoxiously large and polished truck, I encountered Rodrick and his two friends crouched around the side of the truck. They were all dressed in their ripped black jeans and band shirts but had red paint coating their fingers. What lied before me could only be described as a murder scene just waiting to happen.
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