Troy High (14 page)

GREG’S EYES WIDENED A BIT WHEN HE OPENED the door to see me standing on his front porch.

I looked down at my sneakers for a moment, then back up at him. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he answered.

Part of me wanted to run away as fast as I could and pretend I’d never come over.

But the other part missed him like crazy.

Mom and Elena were right: I couldn’t give Greg up without a fight.

So I took a deep breath and said, “Look, Greg, I’m really sorry about everything—”

But just as I started talking, Greg also said, “I shouldn’t have said all those things to you—”

We stopped and looked at each other.

Then we laughed.

Greg stepped back, opening the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

My legs felt trembly as I walked into Greg’s house, but I wasn’t sure why. I’d been inside his house hundreds of times. The house was quiet, except for the sound of the TV in the living room.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Mom and Dad went out to pick up dinner and Lucas is with Owen and Ackley.” He smiled. “It’s just you and me.”

His words sent a shiver throughout my body. I squeezed my hands together to stop them from shaking as I followed him into the living room. We sat, and I made sure to keep enough distance between us that I wouldn’t be tempted to do anything crazy. Like run my fingers through his messy hair. Or throw myself at him and kiss his perfectly pink lips.

What was wrong with me? I wanted to attack my best friend and smother him with my mouth. I needed to be committed.

Okay, deep breaths. I could stay calm and collected and not go psycho around Greg. I wanted to keep his friendship, not drive him away forever.

“I’m really glad you came over,” Greg said.

“You are?” My voice sounded low and raspy. I cleared my throat.

Greg nodded. “I wanted to come see you or call you or something. But I just couldn’t do it. I thought maybe the banner prank was your way of letting me know you never wanted to see me again.”

“Of course not,” I told him. “I’ve missed you. I mean, I missed hanging out with you.”

Greg smiled at me. “I missed you, too. I’ve had to put up with Lucas’s cheating at video games. It’s really getting annoying.”

I laughed. “Poor you. Turn the game on and let’s solve that problem with you getting a nice, honest butt-kicking.”

“We’ll see who gets their butt kicked,” Greg said as he got up to plug in the game console.

We played for a long time without speaking. I had never been more thankful for video games. It gave me something to put my focus on and took my mind off the fact that Greg had moved a little closer to me on the couch when he’d sat back down.

Well, it took my mind off of it a little. But I was still overly conscious of every movement Greg made, especially when it caused the side of his leg to bump mine.

“So,” I said, when I felt like my head would explode if I sat quiet any longer, “I really am sorry about yelling at you.”

“Me too,” Greg said. “I mean, I’m sorry for what I said. It was wrong of me to expect you to betray your brothers.”

I became distracted by Greg’s closeness again and it allowed his fighter to take down my dancing lady with a well-aimed kick to the head.

“How did we get so wrapped up in this war?” I asked.

“In my case,” Greg said, “I’m kind of stuck in it by default. Lucas needs someone to watch out for him and make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy.”

“You mean crazier than releasing chickens in my school?” I asked.

Greg laughed. “Well, that was one of my crazier ideas,” he admitted. “But Ackley would have talked Lucas into doing something much worse if I wasn’t around.”

“It’s so stupid,” I said, stabbing at the buttons on my controller with my thumbs. “If everyone would just get to know each other and put aside this rivalry, they might be friends. Lucas and Perry actually seem like they have a lot in common.”

“Like the fact that they both enjoy making out with Elena Argos?” Greg asked, smirking.

I couldn’t help laughing. “Well, there’s that. I guess they could bond over kissing techniques.”

It felt really good to laugh. Especially with Greg. This war between our schools had lasted way too long. I wanted
everything to go back to normal so Greg and I could hang out like we used to.

“You know,” I said, “the Trojans and Spartans getting to know each other isn’t a bad idea.”

“How do you expect to do that? Have a big picnic where we can all sit around and talk and eat peanut butter sandwiches?”

“No,” I said. “But you being at homecoming with me is a step in the right direction.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “You still want me to go to homecoming with you?”

My hands started to shake again and I gripped my controller tighter. “Yes. I mean, if you want to. I already have the dress, I might as well wear it.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Really?” I asked. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Greg said.

“Thanks.”

He smiled. “I’ll be at the game anyway, to cheer on Lucas and the others. So it won’t be any problem to stick around after for the dance.”

How romantic. A date of convenience. Just what every girl dreamed of.

But I forced myself to smile. “Great,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “Then it’s a date.”

“Yep,” Greg answered.

And then my mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, like I had lost all knowledge of the English language.

Greg didn’t help matters. He just stared at the TV while our fighters battled.

I was almost thankful when I heard the front door open. At last, someone could say something to fill the awkward silence.

But my thanks disappeared when I saw Lucas walk into the room with Owen and Ackley.

“I thought I smelled the stench of a Trojan,” Lucas said, sneering at me.

“Lay off her,” Greg told his brother, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Relax,” Lucas said. “I’m not here to terrorize your girlfriend. I just want to ask her some questions. Is it true about your brother?”

My mind reeled from Lucas calling me Greg’s girlfriend, so I almost didn’t hear what he’d said after that.

“Is what true?” I asked.

“We heard Hunter broke his arm during the Cresswell game,” Owen told me. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed. “Is he playing in the game Friday night?”

“It’s just a sprain,” I said, “not a broken arm.”

“But he’s out of the game, right?” Ackley asked.

I shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see how his arm feels on Friday.”

Ackley looked almost rabid with excitement as he cracked his knuckles and curled one side of his lip into a sneer. “If the Trojan prince is too weak to play, it will be even easier to take the Trojans down once and for all.”

Greg scowled at them. “Not now, please?”

“Whatever,” Lucas grumbled. “Tell the traitor I said hi, Cassie.”

I rolled my eyes as they left the room. “Is he ever going to get over Elena?”

“She did break his heart,” Greg said.

“I’m not forgiving what she did to him,” I said, “but he’s blaming this entire war on her.”

“Well,” Greg said, shrugging, “it is kind of her fault.”

“It’s his too!”

“I know,” Greg said. “But maybe if she hadn’t broken up with Lucas, things wouldn’t be as bad as they are now.”

I sighed. Of course Greg would side with his brother, even if his brother was a complete idiot. “Let’s just forget it, okay? I don’t want to talk any more about Trojans or Spartans for the rest of the night.”

“Deal,” Greg said, pressing the Start button on his controller to restart our game.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” SAID THE VOICE through the loudspeaker system. “Welcome to the Troy High homecoming game!”

The crowd erupted into cheers. I had never seen the bleachers as packed as they were then. People sat shoulder to shoulder, and the sound of all the voices vibrated through the bleachers under me.

Everyone had come out to see the battle between Troy and Lacede. A sea of red and black filled Troy’s bleachers, while the visitors on the opposite side of the field wore Lacede blue and white.

“And now,” the announcer said, “please welcome to the field your Troy High School football team.
Trooooooooojaaaaaaaaans
!”

The cheerleaders stood in two lines, their red-and-black pompoms up in the air. The football team ran between them, waving their helmets at the roaring crowd. Hunter, who had insisted his shoulder had healed enough for him to play, jogged at the head of the line. He seemed more reserved than the rest of the guys, his helmet tucked under one arm and his eyes staring straight ahead as he moved onto the field.

The Lacede team ran onto the field a moment later and the boos coming from the Trojan bleachers drowned out the visitors side’s cheering. I sat with the rest of the band, my flute resting in my lap and the sounds from the audience around me thundering in my ears.

I could only focus half of my mind on the upcoming game. The other half obsessively thought about how much time remained until the dance. I had seen Greg earlier, but we didn’t have time to talk because I had to stay with the rest of the band. As he passed, he just gave me a quick wave.

But that was enough to send my entire body shivering.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go to a dance with Greg and pretend that we were just two friends hanging out. Hanging out meant playing video games in his den. It did not mean wearing a dress with spaghetti straps and putting on heels that pinched my feet.

A cheer from the crowd snapped me back to the game. Troy had opened with the kickoff, and the offensive line tried to force their way down the field. Patrick Hanson brought down a Trojan after only a few feet. The crowd booed around me.

I looked across the field at the Spartan sidelines. Ackley stood there, watching the game. He cheered when his friend Patrick tackled the Trojan, but then he just crossed his arms over his chest and stared stonily at the field again.

Why wasn’t Ackley playing? He was Lacede’s star linebacker. I’d seen him play enough times to know he was good. He had more tackles and sacks to his name than any of the other players. And it seemed like he’d want to be out there, trying to get revenge on Hunter for injuring him last year.

The play resumed and Patrick headed toward Hunter. But my brother passed the ball to another Trojan before Patrick could sack him. Patrick still tried to grab Hunter around the waist and bring him down, but Hunter swung himself around, flinging Patrick to the ground behind him.

It didn’t stop there. Patrick went after Hunter every chance he got. Hunter soon learned to expect him. I knew my brother tried to go easy on him at first, since Patrick
was much smaller, but after a while Hunter got more aggressive. My brother usually remained even-tempered during a game, but even he had a limit.

“And at the end of the first quarter, the score is seven-seven,” said the announcer. “Great game so far by both teams. Can the Trojans pull ahead in the second quarter? We’re about to find out.”

As the guys returned to the field after a brief huddle, I hoped Patrick would leave Hunter alone. But no such luck. Wherever Hunter was, there Patrick went. Hunter tried to fake him out a few times, but Patrick easily changed his course to follow Hunter. He distracted Hunter so much that my brother fumbled the ball, something he rarely did.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the Spartans gained control of the ball again so Hunter and Patrick could go to their respective sidelines and cool off.

But my relief didn’t last long. The Trojans quickly regained control of the ball and Hunter jumped right back onto the field. Patrick joined him.

My hands gripped my flute so tightly that the keys dug into my flesh. Something bad would happen if Patrick didn’t back off, I could feel it. The dream I’d had about Hunter being injured flashed into my mind.

With only a minute and nine seconds left in the first half, something happened. Patrick charged at Hunter, his
head bent. Hunter, instead of trying to avoid him, turned directly toward Patrick. The collision seemed to happen in slow motion.

Hunter tucked in his arms and head, driving his shoulder into Patrick’s chest. Patrick wrapped his arms around my brother, almost as if trying to hug him. But then Hunter straightened up, pulling Patrick up over his back and sending him crashing to the ground behind him with a sickening thud.

Patrick lay on the ground, his arms and legs splayed out to his sides. He didn’t move. Hunter stared down at him a moment, then stepped back as the Spartan coach and medic came running to Patrick’s side.

“Number twenty-three on the Spartan team is down at the thirty-yard line,” the announcer said, his voice echoing over the quiet audience. “Time on the clock has stopped.”

Hunter watched from a few feet away as the medic removed Patrick’s helmet and talked to him. Even from my distance, I could tell that my brother looked lost. He removed his helmet and tilted his head back to stare up at the floodlights around the field as he rubbed a hand over his face. What was going through his mind? Was he sorry for what he’d done?

Ackley rushed onto the field and knelt on the grass, leaning over Patrick. Patrick still lay there, staring up at
the darkening sky and making no movement to get up. Around me, people murmured to each other.

“Is he okay?” someone asked.

“Serves him right,” someone else answered. “That’s what he gets for going after Hunter.”

The medic on the field lifted one arm and motioned toward his assistants on the sidelines. The two young men rushed onto the field, carrying a stretcher between them. They wrapped Patrick’s head and neck with a brace and then carefully moved him onto the stretcher.

“I am told that number twenty-three, Patrick Hanson, has suffered a hard blow to the head,” the announcer said as the medics carried Patrick off the field. Ackley walked beside the stretcher. Even through his padding, Ackley looked ready to pounce. “Hanson is being taken to the hospital for an examination and will be replaced by Lacede High’s number sixteen… .”

The game continued, although no one made much progress in the final seconds of the quarter. At the buzzer, the score was 17–10 with Troy leading.

I made my way down through the crowd. I had to be on the field for the halftime show in two minutes, but first I wanted to talk to Hunter. But by the time I pushed through the throng of people, he had already disappeared into the locker room, the door closing heavily behind him.

Patrick would be fine, I assured myself. Accidents like that happened during football games all the time.

Greg stood nearby and I started walking in his direction. But just as I reached him, Ackley met us with Lucas and Owen following.

Lucas scowled at me. “Go away,” he said. “This is Spartan business.”

I looked at Greg, but he just shrugged and gave me a reassuring smile. The guys turned and walked away, their heads bent together in conversation.

“What’s going on?” Elena asked as she ran up next to me. She looked toward the guys’ retreating backs. “They planning another stupid prank?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m not a Spartan.”

Elena grinned. “Thank goodness for that. I can tell you it’s not as great as those guys make it out to be.”

I looked at her kindly. “Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?”

“Do you want me to be mad at you?” Elena asked, rolling her eyes.

“I’m really sorry I snapped, Elena,” I said. “It wasn’t fair for me to blame it all on you.”

“It takes too much energy to be mad at people. And besides, you need someone to help you get ready after the game. I’ll bet you have no idea what to do with eyeliner, do you?”

I held up my hands in a protective stance. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my eyes with anything pointy.”

Elena laughed. “Aw, come on, Cassie. I promise not to blind you.”

A whistle sounded and Ms. Holloway called out for all the band members to line up. “Gotta go,” I said, waving my flute at Elena as I hurried away.

A light, misty rain drizzled down as I took my place with the rest of the band. I didn’t look forward to the homecoming halftime show, mostly because I still couldn’t keep in step the entire time. My knees trembled as I waited for the show to begin.

I stumbled a bit, but somehow I made it through the routine without causing any catastrophes. We moved around to spell out T-R-O-Y and then W-I-N on the field as we played the school song.

Once the band had retreated to the sidelines, the small parade that the school held every year circled the track that surrounds the football field. The homecoming king and queen rode out in a red convertible, waving to the crowd as the lights glinted off their aluminum crowns. Then the cheerleaders followed, doing cartwheels and shaking their pom-poms.

But the last parade float really caught my attention. Slowly moving along the track, pulled by a couple of golf
carts, was a Trojan warrior and horse. The float had to be at least seven feet tall from the top of the Trojan’s head to the bottom of the horse’s feet. What looked like black flowers made up the Trojan’s body, while red flowers made up the horse. A banner draped across the Trojan’s chest read
TROY HIGH
.

Our principal, Ms. Fillmore, rode on the float along with the Trojan and horse. And next to her stood a man I didn’t recognize, but he and Ms. Fillmore each had an arm slung around the other as they waved to the crowd. Ms. Fillmore wore a red-and-black Troy sweatshirt while the man next to her wore a blue-and-white Lacede jersey.

The horse slowed to a stop in front of the bleachers where the Trojan supporters sat, and Ms. Fillmore gestured to someone on the sidelines. Someone handed her a megaphone so she could address the crowd.

“Hello, Trojans!” Ms. Fillmore shouted. The crowd roared for a moment, until she held up her hand for quiet.

“Thank you so much for coming to this year’s homecoming game and showing your support for our boys,” she said. “Hopefully you’ll all bring us good luck so we can win this game!”

The crowd cheered again, stomping their feet and letting out whoops of “Troy! Troy! Troy!” in pounding
unison. It took several moments before Ms. Fillmore could continue.

“I would like to introduce my special guest for this evening,” she said, gesturing to the man at her side. “Mr. Richard Yancey, principal of Lacede High School.”

Mr. Yancey waved and nodded good-naturedly as the crowd let out a mix of applause and boos.

“Troy and Lacede have a long history together,” Ms. Fillmore said, “but we are still, in the end, friends and neighbors. Mr. Yancey has a few words he’d like to say on behalf of Lacede.”

Mr. Yancey took the megaphone and smiled wide at the crowd. His face shone under the floodlights and he held up two fingers to make the peace sign at us, making him look like a hopelessly unhip politician. “Thank you, Ms. Fillmore. And thank you all for letting me be here. We’ve had an eventful season, but I hope that none of you hold hard feelings against us Spartans. As Ms. Fillmore said, we are neighbors and friends. I know some things have been said and done between our two schools, but I am here on behalf of Lacede to extend the offer of peace.”

The boos continued.

“A few weeks ago, I asked the Lacede High student council to work on a project that we could offer all of you,” Mr. Yancey continued. “I don’t expect it will make up for
the damage done to your beloved Trojan statue, but I hope the gesture might begin the healing process between our schools. And so, Ms. Fillmore and Trojans,” he said, gesturing toward the Trojan and horse, “please accept this beautiful float with our apologies. We hope that by the time the flowers have faded, your statue will be as good as new and wounds will be mended.”

About half the crowd managed a smattering of applause, but as I looked around I noticed most people rolled their eyes toward one another.

“A stupid horse made of flowers doesn’t make up for Lacede’s pranks,” someone behind me growled.

The gesture might have been nice in the eyes of Ms. Fillmore and Mr. Yancey, but it obviously didn’t make a difference among the students.

“Thank you, Mr. Yancey,” Ms. Fillmore said, having taken the megaphone back. “The float will be moved into the gym so that we can all enjoy it during the dance tonight and remember our friends at Lacede. Now, let’s play some football!”