Page 12 of The Late Hit
“Brynn,” he greets, stretching his arms out for a hug. “How are you doing?”
Stepping into his arms, I give him a warm hug back.
“I’m doing great. It’s the first game of the season!” I pause, taking a look around. “It was so kind of you and Mrs. Boyd to invite us to join you for dinner.”
“You’re always welcome to join us, Brynn. Abigail always plans way too much food for these tailgates. This week, she hired a pitmaster to do our barbecue. Now, you guys go and help yourselves.” He gestures toward the door of the motorhome where I know all of the food is prepared. “Oh, and Brynn, it’s Howard and Abigail, not Mr. and Mrs. Boyd,” he says with a wink, and I just smile back.
Macy, Gregg, Chloe, Cody, and I make our way inside the motorhome, where we are greeted by the delicious aroma of smoked meat. Spread across the large counters are all of the food—brisket, pork ribs, chicken wings, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, coleslaw, cornbread, and an assortment of cupcakes decorated in CTU colors.
“God, it smells so good,” Cody says.
“Thank you,” I hear Mrs. Boyd respond from behind us.
I feel my body tense and my butthole clench. I was hoping my run-in with Abigail would be after we got our food and were back outside among the crowd. The more people we are around, especially her friends, the friendlier she is, especially when Quinton is not at my side. Turning her gaze to me, Abigail looks me up and down. The disapproval over my outfit radiates off her. That’s fine. I don’t need her approval.
“Brynn,” she greets me. “Howard said you arrived with friends.”
“Hi, Mrs. Boyd, thank you so much for extending the invitation to us. You remember my roommates, Macy and Chloe.” I gesture to each of the girls as I introduce them. “This is Gregg, Macy’s friend, and this is Cody Jacobs—he’s on the baseball team.”
Mrs. Boyd, Gregg, and Cody exchange pleasantries. “Go ahead and help yourselves, there’s plenty. There are coolers under the tent with drinks.”
“Thank you,” we all respond, grabbing heavy-duty paper plates.
Rumbling. There’s rumbling beneath my feet as I make the long descent toward the first row of the student section. The fans are starting to fill Valor Stadium, and the crowd is getting eager.
Eager for kickoff.
Eager for redemption.
Eager for the start of the best time at Central Texas University.
It’s a sea of blue and red. Pump-up music blares through the stadium speakers. The cheerleaders are performing stunts, hyping up the rambunctious crowd even more.
And now we wait. Biding our time to hear the band fire up our fight song as our team comes running through the tunnel.
This is the atmosphere I crave.
It's chaos, and it’s loud.
It sends chills down my body.
There’s nothing better than the first game of the season.
We all make our way down the aisle until we get to the first row. Quinton pulled some strings to get these seats reserved, and I’ll love him forever for it. In case he enters the draft early and this is his last season, Q wanted me to have the best seat in the student section to watch him kick some ass. I can’t help but notice the girls around us giving us dirty looks. Jealousy does not look good on them.
“We need pictures!” Chloe yells over the crowd.
She turns to the person behind us to have him take our pictures. We all turn our backs to the field, and Chloe pulls Macy and me into her sides for our first set of pictures. The three of us take a variety of photos in different poses. Once the three of us have our fill, it’s time for others to join in.
Obviously, we’ve gotta do it for the ‘gram.
Kickoff is about to start. The mini photo shoot took up enough time to run down the clock.
The announcer comes on over the speakers, and we turn our attention to the big screen. A hype video fills the screen as “Humble” plays. The crowd goes wild. As the video ends, the CTU band fires up with the fight song. Next to the tunnel, flames shoot up in the air, and the team comes running out with Quinton, Will, and Tyler—our three Captains—leading the way.
The student section erupts when the team starts running out. It’s mayhem. I’m jumping up and down, screaming. I already know that I’m not going to have a voice tomorrow, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Sundays are recovery days, especially since I don’t have a class until Monday afternoon.
The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” fills the stadium as the Eagles line up for kickoff. All around me, students begin to jump up and down on the bleachers with that all-too-familiar chant as our kicker runs to kick off the football.
