The Rivalry

To my right, a section was corded off and a line had formed at the base of the steps. These students were going up on stage? At the front of the line, a girl wearing a headset looked down at the clipboard in her hands.

“Jordan Ruttles?” she called.

A hand near me shot up and Headset Girl waved him over. The excited guy moved past security and took his place at the end of the line, high-fiving with the girl ahead of him. I inched closer, curious.

Headset Girl glanced down at her clipboard, and made an unsure face. “Uh . . . Shree-vid-ee-ah Sangupta?”

I scanned the crowd just as Headset Girl did. No hands went up. No one came forward.

“Am I saying that right?” she asked the crowd. “Shreevidia?”

God hates a quitter, my father always said. It was a gamble, but how could I not take it? I flung my hand up. “Yes, that’s me.”

Headset Girl’s eyes went narrow with suspicion. “Seriously?”

I nodded and pretended not to notice the ridiculous looks I was drawing as I ducked under the tape and scurried to the back of the line. Headset Girl gave me a once-over and after a moment, seemed to decide she was okay with me. “You’re in the front, Sangupta.”

“Oh?” I squeezed the binder under my arm, trying to hold in both my nerves and the shiver from the cold. I followed the direction and went to stand at the front of the line. I peered across the stage. All the players were on the other side. I couldn’t see them past the cheerleaders.

“Okay, everyone’s here,” Headset Girl announced. A smile burst on her face. “Got your questions ready for ’em, superfans?”

Everyone else in line cheered and nodded, but I could only form two words in my head.

Oh.

Shit.

-35-

JAY

It was cold enough to see my breath on the wind. Tomorrow would be good weather for crushing Buckeyes, or so we’d been told during a post-practice speech. I’d gotten two seconds to check my phone after dinner—only enough to see I had voicemails from Kayla, but not long enough to listen to them.

The president of the boosters finished his speech at the main microphone, and the crowd ate it up, cheering loudly as he turned his attention to the far side of the stage. “And now it’s time for something new. These are your ‘Superfan’ contest winners!”

Students filed onto the stage. It was mostly guys. Some looked hammered, others just high on excitement. The group was wearing jerseys or blue shirts, all except for a girl near the front, who was wearing . . . shorts?

What. The. Shit?

Darius’ elbow dug into my side. “Is that your girl? What’s she doing?”

No idea. I stared at Kayla, wordlessly demanding she look at me, but her gaze was locked onto the crowd. This had to be her worst nightmare realized.

The booster president gestured to the group of Superfans. “Each student has a question for the team. I’m going to turn the microphone over to our first winner, Shreevidia Sangupta.”

A woman wearing a headset gave Kayla a nudge toward the mic stand.

This couldn’t be happening. I stood there dumbfounded as she put one foot in front of the other and stepped up.

“Uh—” Kayla’s voice echoed through the speakers. She was shuddering, probably from both the cold and the stress. I needed to do something, but what? The crowd must have thought she was suffering from stage fright and began to offer encouragement, shouting out questions.

“What’s the final score going to be?”

“Ask them why OSU’s a bunch of pussies!” someone else yelled.

I was behind her on the stage, so I couldn’t see her face, but I pictured the fire in her eyes. It jolted her back to life.

“My question is for number eighty-eight.”

I pushed through my teammates and came to the front. Amos stared at her with suspicion. Did he recognize her? It was probably okay. He wouldn’t call us out on stage, and Darius and I could deal with him later. I went to stand beside her and gazed down.

She’d come to bail me out. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and her eyes were chaotic, but she looked so fucking beautiful I wanted to kiss her.

She leaned into the microphone but kept her gaze fixed on me. “I wanted to know . . . if you’ve heard the good word about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”

A needle dragged across a record, and her question pushed the mute button on the crowd. I expected to hear crickets at any moment, and I stared at her. Seriously, what are you doing?

“Everything you need to be saved,” she said, “is right here in this book.”

A green binder was thrust into my chest and, holy shit, my playbook was inside. I took it, beyond grateful. Her sacrifice was amazing, and I was going to need to start thinking of all the ways I was going to make it up to her. “Thank you. There must be an angel watching out for me.”