Page 71 of Fighting Spirit

“Oh, I believe you.” Dad grins, leaning forward so that he can talk straight over me. “He was never exactly a ladies’ man.”

Something in me deflates at his statement. He’s always made it clear how strange he finds it that I don’t like to party with the other guys, that I don’t take full advantage of the appeal that being a football player gives me. I’ve never felt the need to come out to my parents, certain they won’t have a clue what it means. The thought of having that conversation is so exhausting that I just don’t bother.

Ruth gives him a wobbly smile, tight around the edges. It’s nothing she doesn’t already know. I’ve said half as much to her before, but he’s hit a nerve. Luckily, before either of us has to come up with a reply, cheers erupt around us. We look back to the field to see the Bulldog finishing some kind of backflip as the cheerleaders make their way off the field.

Ruth’s face lights up. “He’s really good! Most mascots wear sneakers for those kinds of tricks. They’re super hard to land in the full fur.”

“You don’t wear sneakers,” I say. In every clip I’ve seen of her, she’s got those big green things on.

She blushes a little and shrugs modestly. “Oh, look!” She points back to the field. “See that crowd work? He probably can’t even see anywhere above his eye-line, but he’s making the whole crowd feel like he’s cheering right for them.”

I watch him, seeing what she’s talking about. I’d never much noticed what the mascots do outside of the tricks, but she’s right; he’s engaging every single person in the stadium, pulling their eyes to the field right before the players come out.

“I wonder what he uses to keep those gloves on?” she muses, her voice going quiet like she’s talking to herself. “I use Velcro.” She looks at me as she says it.

“I know.” My voice is rough as I remember that moment of holding her arm on my lap the first night we met. I wish I’d known then how much Ruth was going to carve a place inside me.

I keep telling myself we’re just friends, but that excuse is wearing thinner and thinner. As I look at her now, those big green eyes and the tendrils of hair that have escaped her ponytail to curl in ringlets around her face, something clicks into place. I may not know where I’m at, I rarely do when it comes to my own feelings, but I feel like maybe I’ll be okay as long as she’s there with me.

Somehow, Dad makes it to the third quarter without saying anything completely out of line. Mom was right, giving him a witness has kept him on his best behavior. I hate that this is what it takes to get him to treat me with some respect, but at least I know how to play his game. I know he loves me in his own misguided way; he’s just never let me forget that nothing I do is what he would have chosen.

He’s back from grabbing some drinks, leaning over me to pass a soda to Ruth. Northridge are down seven points, and it’s not looking good.

“God damn.” Dad sighs. “Look at Watson, he’s all over the place.”

I already know where this conversation could go. As soon as he starts commenting on their center, it’s only a matter of time before things turn around.

“He’s not so bad. Their coach just needs to change strategies; he needs more cover,” I say, mostly to myself.

“He’s second rate,” Dad hisses.

“Dad…”

“You’re so much more talented than him, son.” His hand comes to clap me on the shoulder. Anybody watching would think it’s a sweet moment, a supportive gesture between father and son. “You would have been incredible here.” He sounds wistful, like he’s grieving for some alternate reality.

“I’m doing a good job at Beaufort.”

“I know, I know.” He waves me away. “I just hate to see you waste all that potential.”

“I’m not wasting anything.”

“You’re throwing it away.” He starts to raise his voice before realizing everyone around us could easily overhear.

“Jesus, Dad.” I turn to face him more, putting my back to Ruth. Even though I asked her to come, I don’t want her to hear this.

“I just need to say it, Rowan.”

“You always fuckin’ say it,” I reply under my breath.

“Well, much good it’s done me since you never God damn listen.”

“I’m happy at Beaufort.”

“Are you? Do you even have any friends?”

“What are you talking about?” My chest tightens at his words. I don’t know how he’s always able to say the most hurtful thing he can in every moment; it’s like an awful gift.

“You don’t live with the team, your mother tells me you don’t go out with them. All you do is spend your time with that strange boy.”

---