Page 63 of The Midseason Fakeout

Before we head out onto the field, I check my phone one last time and find a text from my mom. It’s a picture of her, Dad, Bailey, and Darrin. Their smiling faces settle in my stomach, a sense of completeness ringing through me.

For so long, I thought I was missing something. As an adopted child, I went to therapy. I know all my feelings of being an outsider are valid, but this picture… Something about it just clicks.

It’s exhilarating and fucking scary at the same time.

Cade slaps my back a couple times. “My hands are ready, QB.”

“So are mine.”

He lets out a yell that fills me with fire. That thrill of competition. Nothing beats it. Except… Shit, except maybe the high of seeing Bailey.

I take a step back at that realization. Nothing ever compared to football. Not really. Now, I can see that gap decreasing each day Bailey and I pretend.

Fuck pretending. I’m fooling myself.

I grab my spare jersey out of my locker and follow the rest of my teammates into the tunnel. Nothing compares to a home game. There aren’t many in a season, but when they happen, a special snap fills the air. Elation.

We wait in the dark passageway, the crowd screaming for us as the announcer’s booming voice introduces “Your Warner Bulldogs!” The eruption of cheers and horns and bells sparks my whole body. On the TV screen in the corner, the cameraman pans over the crowd, and I pick my family out right away. They’re on their feet, yelling, jumping up and down.

Bailey too, her face painted with my number.

Her face painted with my number.

I run out with my team, the marching band starting the fight song that couldn’t drown out the crowd if it tried. They vie for attention until the crowd yells, “Fight, fight, fight!” with the few short horn blasts at the end.

I tip my helmet up, so my facemask sits on my forehead, then run to the gate in front of where my family’s seated. I crook my finger at Bailey. The crimson on her face deepens.I told you to meet me, I mouth.

Darrin tries to shove her forward, but her feet stay planted.

Well, we can’t have that.

I jump over the gate and run up to the wall, hauling myself up the few feet of concrete until I’m leaning against the metal handrails, staring Bailey down.

“Hi,” she squeaks.

I turn her cheek toward me, admiring the number one glittering there. “You look good.”

“The cheerleaders insisted.”

I’m hyper aware that my mom and dad are staring at me. “I told you to meet me.”

She murmurs, “I forgot,” but she’s clearly lying. I’m not sure she has a deceptive bone in her body.

“I want you to wear this.” I offer up my jersey, trying to display my number and my last name as best I can while not falling off the wall. The last time I saw a teammate of mine climb into the stands, it was West going after Kenna.

“Aww,” my mom coos, fanning her face.

Bailey looks like she could crawl under a rock and die.

“Aidan? Where’s Aidan?” the quarterback coach barks behind me.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I tease.

Bailey takes my jersey, and I grin as she pulls it over her head.

The way my throat dries up seeing my number plastered to her front only solidifies that I’m a goner for this girl. For real. I’m not faking. Or joking. I’m fucking falling for her.

“Now, have you ever wanted to kiss the quarterback who had the best game of his life?”

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