Just Friends(23)

Declan finishes his speech to the team and they clap each other on the back while shouting “BREAK!” They disperse throughout the field like bees leaving the hive, jogging, stretching, or getting water before the game begins. But Declan stands still, helmet in hand, as his eyes begin scanning the crowd. They find mine in impressive time.

I wonder if he also had that subconscious meter, working at all times regardless of my efforts to silence it, that scanned a room for his presence. I always seemed to know where he was. His face softens when he spots me, the tension melting from his eyebrows like butter melting in a warm pan. Like, if he hadn’t found me in the crowd, it would have crushed him.

He waves at me and I try to stifle the giddiness that swims up my chest as I wave back. He winks before putting on his helmet and running into position. It reinforces everything I’ve been feeling (and trying with effort not to name) that’s been shifting in our friendship since this past summer.

I try to wipe the idiotic grin off my face. The game has begun.

As I watch, mesmerized by Declan’s ease on the field, I find my mind sifting through memories of the past summer when we spent every second together that he wasn’t training. I’ve replayed them so many times, combing through each frame for new hints or clues, there must be grooves permanently engraved into my brain.

Starting with prom at the end of junior year: us swaying to the sound of The Cars singing their contemplative lyrics, “Who’s gonna pick you up when you fall?” Forfeiting our dismissive, playful demeanors for heated silence. As if we were trying to communicate something through sight alone. “Who’s gonna pay attention to your dreams?” The sentiment stuck in my mind as I stared into Declan’s soft green eyes.

It was something big. So big that it felt too scary to acknowledge quite yet.

But then, nothing. Heated stares dissolved with the turn of his head. Almost moments became nothing moments.

He had so many opportunities to end this nauseating friendship purgatory. But he never did. So, I guess it wasn’t purgatory for him, just normal life. One he enjoyed, where he kept me as his friend and nothing more.

He must have felt something, but I was never going to find it in me to break the tension first. The thought of losing him forever over emotions he didn’t reciprocate sounded worse than swallowing glass. So, I bowed my head and kept my wrists devotedly together, forever caught in his invisible grasp.

I blink and the crowd of students erupts into a cacophony of cheers.

Declan threw a game changing pass.

We have this game in the bag now, but it doesn’t diminish the frenzy we feel as a collective, watching the team with your school’s name dominating the field.

Declan removes his helmet and I’m entranced by the sight of his puffy maroon lips, swollen by his mouthguard, and the errant strand of hair dripping sweat over his forehead. There was nothing more attractive than watching someone lost to what they loved doing most. The full-bodied focus, paired with the comfortable ease with which they maneuvered in their expertise. It could be underwater basketweaving, but if they were passionate, it was intoxicating to witness.

Finally, it’s the fourth quarter. Declan runs back onto the field with the offense, huddling in a tight ball before yelling a series of words, and they scatter into their positions.

“DOWN. SET….” Declan pauses a second longer before calling “HIKE!”

And the ball is in motion, hurtling from the center and into Declan’s palms.

My leg bounces uncontrollably, and a pointed glance from the girl beside me causes me to grip my knees to keep them steady.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

She just nods, looking back toward the field.

“Come on, Declan. Come on,” I murmur under my breath.

Declan makes eye contact with a wide receiver farther down the field. Throwing it from where he stands would be a fifty-five-yard pass across the field.

Almost half the football field.

There’s no way he could make it. He glances toward the opposition, checking if anyone is close to tackling him while he decides who to throw to.

He makes a face of resolve, and there’s something about it that I just know. He’s going to attempt the half-field throw. He’s insane. There are NFL quarterbacks who wouldn’t be able to complete that pass.

A millisecond passes as he grinds his lips together, pulling his arm back as far as it will go before launching the football with all his weight. It soars so high for so long that everyone seems to hold their breath. Our wide receiver continues running full speed toward the end zone, tracking the football with unrelenting concentration.

It lands perfectly into his hands. And he’s so far from any defenders that he casually strolls into the end zone, slamming the ball down and roaring in pure ecstasy.

The game-winning touchdown.

Every single person in the bleachers jumps up, including me. The commotion is so sudden it feels like an earthquake.

“YESSSSSSS!” I join the crowd, fists pumping in the air.

“SEABROOK! SEABROOK! SEABROOK!” they chant.

The screams of joy ripple through the crowd as the realization dawns on them. Declan might lead us to the state championships for the third year in a row.

Everyone stampedes down the metal stairs at once, charging onto the field to lavish the football players with praise. My eyes furiously scan the turf for one person. There are so many bodies cheering at once. It adds to the commotion filling my head. There’s blood pounding in my ears. But I have no one to share my joy with until I find him.