Page 70 of Fighting Spirit

“No.” Ruth’s cheeks stain pink as she abruptly cuts him off. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice,” Dad says before checking his watch, already losing interest. “We’d better get inside.”

“The game doesn’t start for another forty minutes,” I try, but he’s already turned on his heel. Walking in long strides toward the stadium entrance, absolutely sure we’ll follow.

“You sure you don’t want to make a run for it?” Ruth nudges me with her elbow.

“Nah.” I sigh and take hold of her hand, doing my best not to overthink it. Ruth startles a little but must realize I’m hanging onto the contact like my last thread, especially as we start walking, moving in the wake my dad’s left behind.

“You know, he’s not all bad,” I start, feeling the urge to defend him. “It’s mostly just around football stuff that he can get a bit…” I wave my free hand, not able to finish the sentence. Ruth doesn’t need me to, just nodding in understanding. “He got hurt his senior year; a linebacker from Raleigh hit him with a dirty tackle.”

“Raleigh?”

I shrug uncomfortably, following her line of sight to the Northridge V Raleigh poster suspended above the stadium entrance. “He comes every year.”

“Why?” she breathes.

“God knows. Maybe he just likes to torture himself.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“Don’t I know it?”

As we make it to our seats, Ruth tugs my hand, nodding toward the where my dad’s already sat down. I know what she’s asking and appreciate the offer, but he wouldn’t take it well if I had Ruth sit by him. I’d probably get an upset phone call from my mother before we made it home. The thought of that alone has me shuffling between the seats, struggling to maneuver my frame into the plastic chair. Ruth sits down next to me and leaves her hand resting palm up on her thigh. The offer’s subtle, but it’s there. I shoot her a smile of thanks.

“How’s your season going?” Dad asks, as if he doesn’t keep meticulous track of my game stats.

“Good,” I answer. “Team’s looking strong, it should be a good year.”

“That’s good to hear.” He nods. “You been working on your handling?”

“Yes, sir.” My tone is clipped.

He looks like he’s about to say something else but gets interrupted by the Northridge cheerleaders taking the field. Loud music blasts through the speakers, effectively drowning out any possible conversation.

“Oh wow,” Ruth breathes. I look over at her before following her gaze to see the Northridge bulldog charging out of the team tunnel. He throws out a couple cartwheels before jogging laps around the cheerleaders, jumping and waving to get the crowd amped up. “Look at him go.”

He’s got nothing on her. Even as it pains a tiny, petty part of me to give Allbreck any credit, Ruth’s the best mascot I’ve ever seen. The way that she can pull off these tricks like it’s nothing. I’ve seen videos from their games, and she’s completely magnetic.

“How’d you two meet?” Dad asks, looking over at me to see Ruth transfixed by what’s on the field. “Are you one of the cheerleaders?”

“Oh no, she’s-”

“I’m the mascot!” Ruth grins, her spine straightening in pride. I love seeing her like this. She knows exactly how good she is.

“Really?” He laughs. I straighten a little, ready to put him in his place if he starts saying stupid shit. I don’t want to get into an argument, but I won’t have him disrespecting Ruth.

“Yeah.” Her smile falters a little, and my chest aches at the sight of it.

“Well, how about that!” His smile is big, but I can see there’s something false in there. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to hide that pretty face under a big ol’ mask.”

“Dad,” I half growl in warning.

“What?” he scoffs. “I’m paying her a compliment! You’re pretty enough to cheer. I’m surprised my son hasn’t snapped you up.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss out.

“We really are just friends,” Ruth says quietly.

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