Sweet Dandelion

“Not funny, Meadows,” he grumbles, pulling away from the building.

“A little funny.” I hold my thumb and forefinger up a tiny bit apart.

The drive to school isn’t too long, but the lot is already full. We end up parking a block or so over in a grocery store parking lot and walking. People pass by with golf carts to pick up people and take them to the football field, so we hop on.

Sasha: Where are you guys? Waiting at the ticket booth.

Me: Almost there.

Sasha: Hurrrrrry.

The golf cart drops us off and we meet Sasha at the ticket booth, paying our five dollars so we can get in.

The dull roar of the growing crowd sends a shiver of fear through me.

Closing my eyes I take a moment to center myself. I can’t spend the rest of my existence hiding in Sage’s condo. I have to get out here and live. If I don’t face my fears they’ll drown me.

I follow them through an archway and around the track to the stands. The end of the field nearest the scoreboard is painted red with white letters spelling ALH for Aspen Lake High.

We make our way up through the stands, scooting past students and parents until we get to a spot where all three of us can sit somewhat comfortably.

I shiver, tucking my hands into the front pouch of my hoodie.

“Cold?” Sasha asks. “I brought hot apple cider.” I open my mouth to ask where the heck she has it, when she pulls out a thermos from her bag and plastic cups. “Want some, Ansel?”

“Sure.”

She fills up a cup and I pass it to him before taking one for myself.

I take a sip, and it’s surprisingly good with the smallest hint of alcohol.

“Do you normally carry around hot apple cider?”

She shrugs, pulling a red beanie out with the school’s mascot, a jaguar, on it. She puts it on, tugging it over her ears.

“Only to football games. It gets cold. Gotta have something to heat you up.”

“Do you make it?”

“My mom does. But I add a little somethin’-somethin’ if you know what I mean.” She winks, taking a sip of her own cup.

“Yep, I do.” I finish mine and she fills it up again. “How much do you have in there?”

“Two thermoses. Games can get long,” she reasons, lifting her shoulders and letting them drop.

Ansel holds his cup out so she’ll top him off.

The game starts, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m more entertained by Sasha and Ansel’s commentary and cheers.

After Ansel’s second drink he stops, since he’s driving Sasha and me to the party.

The game ends, our team winning, and the atmosphere is buzzing with life. My body flushes from the excitement, or maybe it’s from whatever Sasha put in the apple cider.

We ride a golf cart back over to the parking lot and get in Ansel’s car. Sasha piles in the back. “Do you have anything on you I can smoke?”

“Always. You have any money?” Ansel asks her, looking in the rearview mirror before pulling his seatbelt over his body.

She passes her hand up through the middle console and hands him some cash. He pockets the money and pulls something from his pocket.