Will the Real Prince Charming Please Stand Up (12 page)

****

“So,” Tim drawled as he walked with me to my English class, “what did Dante do at Halloween that you and Talia are so adamant about not wanting Ally blogging about it? Did he crash your little slumber party or something?”

My geometry class wasn’t too far from homeroom, so Tim didn’t have much time to grill me before first period. But my English class was on the other end of the school, and since Tim had that block free for Independent Study, he’d stayed with me for the full six minutes, which was plenty of time to talk.

And time, I was discovering, was not the best thing to have in abundance when trying to avoid certain topics of conversation.

“No, nothing like that,” I replied, trying to shrug off the question. “We had a stupid fight, that’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes as he glanced sideways at me. “About?”

“He didn’t want me talking to you.”

Tim snickered. “That’s an ongoing theme with him, isn’t it? Any particular reason?” He grinned at me. “It’s my strong chiseled jaw line, isn’t it?” he joked. “He’s jealous of me.”

“Um, actually, yeah,” I replied.

“Wait. Seriously?”

“Only I don’t think it’s because of your profile.”

He smiled. “And I imagine you rushed to my defense and told him you couldn’t imagine a world without me in your life, right?”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

“So he’s jealous of me,” he said, more to himself than to me. “That explains a lot.”

“I guess, but I don’t know why he’s so, I don’t know, obsessive about it.”

Tim nodded. “I can’t really blame him, though. I mean, I’d be jealous of me, too.”

I groaned. “Now you’re starting to sound like Brady.”

“I’m kind of surprised you chose Ibsen for your monologue,” Tim said after a few moments, changing the subject. “Or maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you picked something from the end of
A Doll’s House
,” he said. “It’s from that scene when Nora comes to the conclusion that she’s never had the opportunity to make her own decisions, right?”

“Yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?”

He shrugged. “Maybe that thing with Dante yesterday was just coincidence, then.”

“Oh,” I said softly, wondering if, as he was suggesting, my subconscious may have been drawn to that play from the dozens of others on my bookshelf because of Dante’s accusations. I bit my lip as I considered it. “Tim,” I said after a pause, “do you think I only follow orders? I mean, do you think I think for myself?”

Tim looked incredulous before he laughed. “No. Absolutely not. You don’t follow orders, though I’m sure Brady would prefer it if you did,” he replied. “You think for yourself. You always have.”

“Really? You think so?”

“You don’t?”

I shook my head and he frowned.

“I ought to break that kid’s face just for this,” he muttered quietly. He stopped walking, took me by the shoulders, and peered into my face. “You have an independent mind, Bianca. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I nodded, and we continued walking.

“You listen to other people’s opinions and stuff, and you read things that may or may not influence you, but then you take all of that and piece it together and do your own thing. That’s what most people do. It’s not the same as blindly doing as you’re told.”

Hearing that from Tim cheered me a bit, and we walked the rest of the way to my class in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, the kind that seems to stretch on for an eternity until someone says or does something to break the tension. It was just quiet, like we were relaxed in our own minds without needing to know each other's thoughts.

“You know, Bianca,” he said when we arrived at the door, “you can tell me anything you want.”

I looked up at him and nodded. “I know.”

“Do you?” He reached over and deftly tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and I shivered at his touch. Plus, he was standing close enough for me to smell that oh-so-delicious scent of his, and it was starting to fog up my brain. “Whatever it is, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide stuff from me because your brother and I are tight, okay?”

I nodded again, finding myself mesmerized by his warm brown eyes. “Okay,” I whispered. The bell rang, and I reluctantly walked into the room, but not without first stealing a glance over my shoulder to watch Tim heading toward the cafeteria.

“I am so cold,” Ally whined. She handed me a cup of hot chocolate and sat beside me on the frigid metal bench. “I swear, I think my toes are numb.”

Talia raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a prima donna. It’s, like, fifty degrees and you’re wearing a down jacket. Seriously?”

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide with innocence. “I’m freezing.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“Are you girls doing okay?” my mom asked. I was a little surprised to see her. She rarely took breaks from running the Athletic Boosters’ booth for any game, so I didn’t expect to see her during the last football game of the year.

“Ally’s freezing,” Talia announced.

Mom reached into her large canvas bag and handed her a green and yellow fleece throw that was emblazoned with the Westgate Wolverines mascot. “It’s definitely getting cooler,” she observed.

“Thanks, Mrs. Sullivan,” Ally said. She wrapped the blanket around her denim-clad legs and stuck her tongue out at Talia.

My mom looked up at the scoreboard and frowned. “I heard St. Francis is expected to go to the playoffs again,” she said. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think we have a chance tonight.”

St. Francis de Sales, the all-boys school we were playing against, had a formidable football team. They’d won the section title two years ago but had lost in the play-offs last year by a field goal.

“We’re only down by four points, Mom, and it’s still early in the game. I’m sure Brady and the rest of the team will put up a good fight.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She looked around. “Your dad is around here somewhere. If you see him, would you let him know that I could use some help at the booth?”

“Will do,” I promised, knowing that my father was probably with the other football dads and wouldn’t surface until well after the last play.

She started to leave but turned as she seemed to suddenly remember something. “Bianca, honey,” she said, “you never told me how your audition went.”

I shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. Riley let me finish my monologue.”

“That’s a good sign, right?”

“I guess. She was taking notes during Ally’s audition, though.”

“We’ll see the call-back list on Monday,” Ally said.

Mom squeezed my shoulders in a kind of half-hug. “I’m sure you did just fine,” she said before she headed back out of the stadium.

A referee on the field blew his whistle, and the crowd around us let out a collective groan.

“What happened?” Ally asked, searching the field.

“I don’t know,” Talia replied. “What does ‘offsides’ mean?”

“One of our guys was over the line of scrimmage,” I said.

“In English, please?”

I laughed and explained why the referee had called a penalty. I hadn’t gone to many of Brady’s games — I’d actually avoided as many as I could — but I’d still managed to pick up some of the rules of the game.

Ally had been elated that Talia and I agreed to go to the game after my audition. She’d tried to go to almost all the home games. It wasn’t because she was an avid football fan or had tons of school spirit. It was because, as she’d often said, it was where all the bloggable stuff happened.

“This is so boring,” she complained, looking around. “Nothing is going on. It’s like people are actually watching the game or something.”

“Um, yeah,” Talia said. “Isn’t that kind of the point of a football game?”

Ally looked down her nose and fixed her with a haughty glare. “Um, no. The whole point of going is to be seen. What’s the point of going to a game if no one notices you?”

“Maybe some people actually like football?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, turning her attention to the field.

“No, she’s right,” I agreed. “Football’s boring. You go for the scene.”

Talia scowled at me, and I laughed.

“Doesn’t it make you nervous?” Talia asked as we watched one of the players from the St. Francis team sack my brother. “Watching Brady get tackled, I mean.”

“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “He loves it. It gives him some weird testosterone boost or something.”

“Guys are weird,” she replied.

“This whole sport is weird.”

“I can’t tell who anyone is down there,” Ally complained. “I mean, I know who Brady is because he’s the one screaming when they’re all lined up, but everyone else looks the same.”

“That’s why they have numbers on their jerseys,” I teased.

“Thank you, Queen Sarcasm.” She sneered at me.

“I don’t really pay attention. When I go to Brady’s games with my parents, I have to sit up front, and I can kind of see everyone’s faces. The only numbers I know are Tim’s and Brady’s, but only because they keep the same numbers in all their sports.”

“Really?”

“You guys never noticed?”

My friends exchanged glances and shook their heads.

“Oh, yeah! Brady’s always number eleven, and Tim always picks forty-six. Those have been their jersey numbers for everything since, like, I don’t know. Middle school?”

“Huh,” Talia said. “No, I’ve never thought about it.”

“How do you even notice these things?”

I turned my attention back to the field as the center snapped the ball to my brother. “Well, I have to know Brady’s number. He’s my brother. And he says eleven looks like the field goal posts or whatever. But I remember Tim’s forty-six because it’s my birthday.”

I watched my brother take a few steps back and send the ball flying in a perfect spiral down the field. The crowd around us rose to their feet as Tim dodged a pass defender and deftly caught the ball. He headed toward our goal line, nimbly maneuvering past St. Francis’s defense as he ran. I started shouting, one of many voices urging him on, and the crowd erupted into excited cheers as he ran the ball into the end zone.

“I thought you said football was boring,” Talia remarked when I sat back down.

I shrugged. “It has its moments.”

****

Ally, Talia, and I joined the football team for a celebratory meal at D’Amato’s, a local pizzeria owned by the family of one of the defensive linemen. They went there after every home game, mainly because Jason D’Amato’s dad let the team eat for free on game nights.

Varsity football definitely had its perks.

This was the first time I’d joined the team for a post-game party this year, and I wasn’t sure why, but the mood seemed different from previous years, almost melancholy. Maybe it was because this was Brady’s last game or something, and I could empathize with the other guys who were bummed he wouldn’t be around next season.

I’d never really paid much attention to how much the team looked up to my brother as a leader. I mean, it made sense; as the quarterback, he had to know each of the players’ strengths and weaknesses and how to work with them. But after all the grueling practices and games and whatever, he must have figured everyone out on a personal level, too, kind of like taking on a brotherly role in their little family. It was evident, watching him interact with all the guys, that they would all miss playing together.

It was sobering, really.

“Hey! You actually made it!” Tim said as he slid next to me in the booth I was sharing with my friends. “I didn’t know if you were going to come.”

“It was Ally’s idea,” I said.

Her mouth was curved in a smug smile. “I guilted them into it,” she said, “since it’s the last game and all.”

Tim looked at me and grinned. “I’m glad you did.” He shook his head. “Man, I still can’t believe we beat St. Francis tonight. They’re favored to take the section title again, you know. I mean, they have the best record in our division.”

“At least you’re going out on a big win,” Ally said.

“Yeah.” He looked out wistfully at his teammates.

“So do you think you’re going to play when you go to college, too?” Talia asked when the pizza arrived. She lifted a slice and slid it onto a little plate, struggling to separate the gooey, melted cheese.

“It’s only November, Talia,” I said, picking off a piece of pepperoni from the slice Tim set before me. “Brady’s still working on his applications. I don’t think they find out who’s accepting them until spring or something.”

“Actually,” Tim said, grabbing his own slice, “I might know in a couple of weeks.” I looked at him, surprised, and he explained, “I submitted an application for early action to Stanford last month.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure why that surprised me, but it did. I mean, Tim’s uber smart and all, but I was kind of expecting him to stay sort of local, like maybe UCLA or something.

“Yeah. My dad’s an alum and still has all kinds of connections there. So I should know pretty soon how much pull Phil Dorscher has at his alma mater,” he said. “And no,” he said to Talia, “I’m not planning on playing next year.”

“But you’re so good at it!” Ally insisted.

“Nah, football is Brady’s thing. I’m just along for the ride.”

“You’re the only one who can catch anything he throws, though,” I said. “You know that, right?”

He chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that made me smile. “You sound like Coach,” he said.

“Hey, Dorscher!” one of the players called.

Tim sighed and set down his half-eaten slice. “I’ll be right back. Don’t touch that,” he said, pointing to his pizza.

Talia watched him walk across the restaurant to talk to one of the juniors on the team. “I like him,” she announced when he was out of earshot. Something about the wistful way she said it made me choke on my pizza. “Well, not
like
him like him,” she clarified. “I just like him. I think he’s cool.”

“I think he’s cute,” Ally volunteered.

“You think everyone is cute.”

“Hey, guys? Whatever you’re thinking? Stop it, okay?”

They looked at each other, then back at me.

“What do you think we’re thinking?” Talia asked. “I just said that I liked him.”

Ally’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. “You know,” she said, “I don’t think it’s as much that she wants us to stop thinking what she thinks we’re thinking as much as I think she might really want us to think it because she’s thinking it herself.”

“What?” At least Talia seemed as confused by her statement as I was.

Ally let out an irritated huff and whispered into her ear for a few moments. Talia’s eyes grew wide, but she nodded in agreement with whatever Ally was telling her.

“Hello?” I said, getting annoyed. “Rude much?”

“Shh,” Talia hushed me. Then to Ally, she said, “You know, I think you’re right.”

“Oh, you know I’m right.”

“Would either of you care to clue me in?”

They looked at each other again. “No,” they said in unison.

Talia patted my hand when she saw how aggravated I was. “It’s okay,” she said. “If Ally’s right—”

“Which I almost always am!”

“—you’ll figure it out soon enough.”