Spiked

“Oh, uh, no one in mind,” I said politely, while in my head I was screaming dear God please do not force me to sit next to your mother for an entire football game please please please—

“Now wait a minute, though, have you just never been to a Harton game then?” Mr. Everett asked, squinting at me.

“I’m a freshman, actually, so no. Never had the chance,” I said, shrugging cheerfully.

“Oh!” Mr. Everett said, and perked up a little. He grinned, looking pleased with himself. “Then, Jacob, I don’t much think it matters— she can go watch you play the next game. Auburn! She can have our tickets to the Auburn game, since we’re taking hers for Clemson. I think we even have some vouches for nachos,” he added, giving me a meaningful look.

My mouth dropped. Since we’re taking hers? It was a statement, not a question. I looked over at Jacob, who was focused on adding more barbecue sauce to his dinner— very focused on it, in a way that made me certain he was just avoiding my eyes. Jenna was watching the entire conversation happen like it was a tennis match, so I looked to her for some sort of comfort. For someone else in the room to acknowledge, even if it was just through some eye contact, that this was some straight up bullshit.

Jenna gave a tiny, tiny little nod, and chewed at the corner of her lip.

It gave me the courage I needed. “I was really looking forward to that game. I hate to miss it. Maybe…” oh God don’t say it, “maybe one of you can use the other ticket, and we can sit together?”

Ms. Everett looked shocked. “One of us?”

“That sounds fun,” Jenna said. “You know. Bonding time. Girlfriend and parents. Woohoo.”

Ms. Everett shot her daggers, and Jenna shut up.

“Sasha,” Ms. Everett went on, “I think it’s really sweet that you would want to sit with one of us, but Walter and I have always been something of a united front when we support our son. I know that’s not always the case for some people, especially these days— are your parents divorced?”

“Are they what?” I asked.

“Hey, come on—“ Jacob started, though it wasn’t clear who he was speaking to. It didn’t really matter, anyhow, because Ms. Everett tore right over his interruption.

“It’s just a question! I know often divorced parents aren’t terrible amicable, so only one can go to their child’s special events. It’s nothing against you, dear, I’m just saying that Walter and I attend Jacob’s games together, so it’d just be best if you go to the Auburn game like we originally planned.”

“What we originally planned was for me to go to the Clemson game. And be we, I mean me and Jacob, who gave me the tickets,” I said, voice going shrill. I looked to Jacob, begging him to intervene, to point out that I was right, to say that after the trip and the bedroom and the general dislike that this was finally, finally, too far.

Jacob sighed. “Okay, come on, everyone. Sasha, you weren’t planning to go with anyone, so it doesn’t matter if the seat is a single, right? I’ll buy you a new ticket and my parents can take the other two.”

I stared, shocked. “Are you serious?”

“It’s just a football game,” Jacob said, eyes pleading with me to just go along with it.

“A football game you shouldn’t even be playing in,” I said, and stood up. My chair clattered to the floor behind me, and I felt electric in the worst way— the zapping, scarring kind of electricity that killed people when power lines came down. Jacob’s parents exchanged a glance that all-too-clearly broadcasted their less than flattering opinion of my behavior. I waited, waited, waited for Jacob to go on, to say something else, to throw me something in the face of all this.

He sighed again.

I shook my head, felt the heat of tears threaten my eyes. I had to get out of here— now. I righted my chair and spun in a disoriented circle. I wasn’t going to run to my room, and I couldn’t exactly jump in the car and speed away, since it wasn’t mine. So I took the first viable exit— the front door— and shoved through it, leaving a silent, stunned dinner table in my wake.

I hadn’t factored in a few things, when I charged out the door. One, that it was significantly cooler up in the mountains than it was in Atlanta, and I was wearing a sundress. Two, that it was hard night outside, with a milky moon and absolutely no streetlights, ambient city light, or headlights anywhere. Three, that there were bears in north Georgia. Weren’t there? I was pretty sure I’d heard about bears in this area.

So instead of stomping down a road, like I longed to do, I sat down on the edge of the porch and shivered, from anger and hurt and cold. I kept my eyes on the tree line, for bears, mostly, but also because staring into the darkness of the forest was soothing. The quiet, peaceful opposite of what had just happened inside.