Page 19 of Sunshine

“Is it always like this?” I ask, turning to look at them.

Margot’s smile spreads wide. “Oh yeah,” she confirms. “It’s like a drug—enjoy it while you can.”

And I believe her, because soon we’re grabbing our pom-poms and bouncing onto the field and into formation for our season-opening kickoff, and I’ve never in my life felt anything like it.

The stands become downright thunderous as we move through our choreography, and even as I’m twisting and flying in the air, I can hear the distinct chanting from the crowd as they roar “M-U-S-T-A-N-G-S, GO MUSTANGS GO!”

I’ve been to a handful of these games before, but with Annie so much younger than me it wasn’t always easy for us to make it. Mom worried the games were too loud for her little ears, so someone needed to stay home with her, and with Barry’s late nights at the office, we didn’t have many opportunities to go.

I never realized how electric it all is, like a current zipping through my spine as the entire stadium becomes feral for the team to make their debut on the field. I wonder if they can hear the roar from where they’re still tucked away in the locker room.

Soon it’s time for them to make their appearance, and Lizzie and David run to the sidelines to grab the huge paper sign we painted this morning before school. A few girls lift me onto a senior named Hoa’s shoulders as Lizzie is lifted to stand on Regan’s a few yards away, and together we hold the top two corners of the paper sign high in the air while the rest of the girls form a long tunnel out toward the field.

The music from the marching band grows into a frenzied crescendo just as the first of the football players rips through the banner and runs onto the field. I spot Jason in his bright red jersey sporting the number 24, closely followed by Wells brandishing a crisp white 88, and I almost burst into tears from the sheer adrenaline of it.

I’ve never been prouder to be a part of something.

As if on instinct, I study the line of red helmets that shines under stadium lights as the guys huddle together on the side of the field. The Titans are running out from the other end zone to their own screaming fans, but I don’t pay attention to any of it because my eyes land on Jason and now that I’ve found him, I feel like I can’t peel my eyes away. He’s one of the tallest onthe team and the sight of him in full uniform sparks a fire in my heart.

Especially as he turns my way and I see him smile.

My eyes have been gluedto Jason for the last five minutes since Coach Andersen pulled Noah King out of the game after a couple of bad throws. Jason stepped in and helped the Mustangs push for a first down at the thirty-yard line as they try like hell to secure another touchdown before the Titans get the ball back. The score is tied at seventeen points each, but even if we kick for a field goal right now to gain a three-point lead, there’s plenty of time left on the clock for the Titans to get a touchdown and take that lead back before the game is over.

The stands are electric in a clash of red and blue, and despite the relief of our first down, the game can literally go either way at this point—thirty yards is still a long way to the end zone. Jason rocks back on his heels and looks down the line of scrimmage for a pulse check on his teammates. I can sense his nervousness in the way he can’t keep himself still, but he seems to maintain control as his pads rise and fall with a deep breath before he shouts, “Red eighty!” for the snap.

Ethan whips the ball back to Jason who captures it with ease, then he twists his body to the left to look for an open receiver. The Titans’ defense is mean, and it feels like there’s two blue jerseys for every red one. But Jason must spot an opening, because he hurls the ball toward the left side of the field.

Brad jumps high in the air to catch it, but he’s tackled assoon as his feet touch the ground. Still, the Mustangs gain another eight yards, and the cheerleaders around me catapult into flips and back handsprings to celebrate. I’ve become so focused on the game that I almost forget I have a job to do—I need to cheer for this team, for the boy on the field who is slowly capturing my heart.

In the next play, Jay underhands the ball to Ethan who charges through a blue wall of defense to gain another yard before the cluster of Titans surrounding him takes him down. The air surrounding the stadium is thick with excitement as we inch closer and closer to another first down, to a touchdown, and I want so badly to see them get it. Jason may not have started in this game, but if he’s able to help clinch a win in this last quarter, there’s no telling what opportunities will open for him for the rest of the season. Noah King might be a senior but his throws tonight were sloppy—the Titans even intercepted a pass in the first half of the game.

The seconds seem to grow longer as everything on the field slows down. Jason calls for the next snap and my heart jumps in my throat as one of the Titans defensemen—the biggest guy on their side of the field by far—guns it right for him. He’s huge, and even from here, I can see he’s determined to squash Jay like a bug. I almost cry out a warning—as if Jay would be able to hear me from where I stand on the sidelines—but Wells sees him too, and he launches himself between the player and Jason, effectively taking both himself and the rogue Titan down. With the threat of a tackle eliminated, Jason throws the ball high in the air toward the end zone.

Where Brad catches it for what might be the game-winning touchdown.

The stands erupt in absolute chaos as the boys onthe field rush Brad in a celebratory tackle, but Wells gets back to his feet and sprints toward Jason. I watch as he hurls himself at his best friend, wrapping his arms around his bulky shoulders in a giant bear hug. Jason’s smile is so big it shines through his face mask and I feel the heat of his joy crash into me from all the way over here.

He’s like a supernova, bright and all-consuming as it streaks across the sky. I want to capture this feeling in a jar and savor it forever. I want to run to him, to jump into his arms like Wells did. I want to give him my heart—I just hope he’s careful with it.

I look up at the clock on the scoreboard and see there’s only fifty-five seconds left of the game. The girls around me are gathering into a formation . . . for what, I’m not sure. I must have missed a call from one of the captains for a stunt. After scanning the three separate huddles, I realize they’re setting up for a pyramid. As the smallest one on the team, I’m the center flier, so I shuffle toward the girls in the middle, grabbing their shoulders and readying myself to launch.

I brave a quick look at Jason as he jogs back to the sidelines with the rest of the offensive linemen, and his gaze lands on me for the smallest of seconds, that goofy smile still wide across his face. I shoot him one back before I refocus on the girls in front of me who put their hands together to support my weight. I take a deep breath, then step into their hold.

I’m still a little nervous every time I fly, but the toss goes well and we all stay coordinated. I can’t help but squeeze my eyes shut as I fall, but I manage to keep my limbs loose enough that my landing is relatively soft. Hoa, who knows I’m still gaining my confidence with flying, whispers a quick “Nice job!”before we roll right into a choreographed ground routine that I know by heart. But everyone in the stands is focused on the field where our kicker, Matt, is about to try for the extra point.

Everyone in the stadium collectively holds their breaths as the ball is kicked high into the air, coming back down to settle perfectly between the bright yellow goalposts at the end of the field. And once again, the crowd erupts.

The Titans end up running out of time in a scramble for their own touchdown, cementing a season-opening win for the Mustangs. For the second time tonight, I almost burst into tears as the swell of kinetic energy overcomes us all. The whole team storms the field as the clock hits zero, high on the win and the tangible magic of a Friday night game.

My eyes snag on Jason again to find him already watching me from inside the team’s huddle. He’s pulled his helmet off his head, and a lock of golden hair sticks to his sweat-slicked brow. His smile turns soft and as his feet begin to move this direction, I feel my heart pound from where it’s currently lodged in my throat.

It takes him only seconds to reach me on the edge of the field, seconds to carefully shoulder past the other cheerleaders around me, seconds before his hands are on my waist and his mouth is on my lips for a searing, blissful kiss.

I don’t hear the shrieks of the girls around me, or the heckling that comes from people in the stands. All I can feel is his smile against my mouth as he whispers, “That win was for you.”

I pull back to look at him, grinning. “Pretty sure it was for the entire town.”

But he shakes his head in earnest. “No, Layla . . . I wantedthat win for you. That throw, the touchdown . . . it was for you.”

---