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KAYLA
Once I got settled, I turned my phone on and scrolled through the messages from Jay.
Jay: Can we talk?
Jay: I’m sorry I was a dick.
Jay: Will you let me know you made it home okay?
I felt bad. I didn’t want him to worry, but I’d been in a rough place last night. I’d inherited my mother’s temper and my cooler head was prevailing now. The next text was a picture of a tofurkey loaf.
Jay: What can I do? Will it help if I eat this?
From the timestamps, he’d been up late.
Jay: Kayla. I need to know you’re okay.
Oh, man. Guilt curled in my stomach. There was one more message, sent this morning.
Jay: Need to ask a favor. Watch for a sign when you get into Michigan.
I sat back in my seat, wondering what he was talking about. I tapped out the response, knowing it probably wouldn’t get to him until the game was over.
Me: Sorry I didn’t see these last night. I got home fine and we can talk about it later. Good luck today!
And I genuinely meant it.
I’d just wished for a Michigan player to have a good game, and one against OSU. Maybe there was hope for me yet.
The drive on the bus was completely different than my car rides yesterday. Fans drove alongside us, honking horns and waving as they sped by. Homemade banners were draped on the sides of overpasses and, as we crossed the border, they became less pleasant. My personal favorite was “You can’t spell C_CK_ _CKER without OSU.”
When we’d done this drive my sophomore year, it’d been on Friday night. The Game was typically played with an 11:30 kickoff, but like they did with 2006, the start time was pushed back. Everyone wanted to watch. Maybe the entire nation.
Was Jay nervous?
He had so much confidence, but this game was huge. I was nervous for him.
We were twenty miles from the stadium when I saw it, not expecting the ‘sign’ to literally be one. A white sheet fluttered over the side of the overpass, and I was so busy reading, I almost missed the guy standing behind it.
“Cooper?” I whispered under my breath. My brother, wrapped up in a red OSU jacket, waved his arms frantically as the bus zoomed by.
Scrawled in red paint, the sign read, “KAYLA: Ohio State is red.”
I blinked, totally confused. Had he lost his mind? Why was he standing out in the cold to tell me something so obvious? I pulled my phone from my bag and was halfway through composing a text, when Courtney called my name and pointed out the window on the other side of the bus.
I scrambled across the aisle and gasped.
Standing on the grass at the side of the highway were Marcy and Dave. They smiled brightly and held a giant piece of cardboard between them with another message. “KAYLA: Michigan is blue.”
My heart fluttered with anticipation. I didn’t understand what they were doing or why, but I was eager to figure it out.
When we exited the highway in Ann Arbor, a third sign came into view. One of the freshman up front spotted it first, but even from the outline of the figure holding the sign, I knew who it was. My father. He held up a poster and the corners flapped in the wind. The thick, black writing announced, “KAYLA: Win or lose, it doesn’t matter.”
The entire bus was buzzing about it, asking me what it meant, but I shook my head, just as confused as they were. Sure, winning wasn’t everything, but to say it didn’t matter? He’d never say that.
The bus wound through campus toward the stadium, and when it pulled to a stop, my heart lurched right along with it.
The final sign revealed the total poem.
Ohio State is red; Michigan is blue.
Win or lose, it doesn’t matter; as long as I have you.
—Jay
And the poster board was clutched in my mother’s hands.
Nervous, excited flutters tickled every inch of me.
The cheerleaders unloaded quickly, but I stumbled toward my mom, my shock making my feet slow. She was carrying a message from Jay Harris, a Michigan football player from the biggest game of the century. How had he gotten her to do this?
The stadium was already active, and a few Michigan fans booed us as we were escorted by security. I had to stay with the group, but my mom sensed I wanted to talk to her. She moved along the other side of the corded area, keeping up with us.
“How—” I started.
She gave me a tight smile. “When he couldn’t get ahold of you, Marcy gave him our number. He called us to say thanks for lending you a car, and ask for help.”
Oh my God. I was all twisted up inside. The conversation with my mother had to have been painful for him, and I was floored by the gesture. It made it hard to organize my thoughts. “With what?”
She glanced down at the white posterboard in her hands, written in thick black marker. Jay’s message to me, written in my mom’s handwriting.
“Your sign is from him,” I said, stating the obvious.
What kind of blackmail did he have on her to get her to do this?
She shrugged. “I realized he can’t be all bad, because that boy is completely in love with you.” We reached the gate where the cheerleaders were ushered through, and my mom ran out of real estate. Her eyes gleamed as if my swirling emotions were amusing. “Good luck today, and go Bucks!”
The surrounding Michigan fans groaned and lobbed insults at her, but it only made her stand taller and her smile bigger.
Her words echoed in my mind and made my jitters worse, but in a good way. In one phone call, he’d gotten my mother on his side, at least a little. Everything was upside-down, unfamiliar and thrilling.
Plus, she thought he was in love with me.
I didn’t have much time to think about that. It was time to focus and get ready for the game. The holding area we were led into was all sleek, modern, and every freaking inch was plastered with yellow and blue. “Am I at Michigan, or an IKEA?” I whispered to Courtney as we put our bags away.
She snickered. “Did you ask your boyfriend to lose and give you an early birthday present?”
Since my birthday was tomorrow. I smiled. “I totally should have.”
I tried to soak it all in, but the pregame went so fast. It was my last regular game as a cheerleader, and the emotions were shockingly powerful. As we lined up in the tunnel behind the OSU football players, I stared at the silver helmets decorated with Buckeye leaf stickers, each one awarded for a good play. Tariq’s was full.
I turned my eyes up to the ceiling of the tunnel, squeezed my pom-poms tightly, and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. I couldn’t have asked for a better season and didn’t want it to end. But no way was I going to cry now. I was too excited, and it was time for my game face.
The OSU marching band began to play our fight song as a booming voice echoed from the announcement system. “From Columbus, Ohio—the Ohio State Buckeyes.”
The players poured through the tunnel, and we surged right on their heels, dashing out into the cold. It was nothing but green turf and blue fans in the stands. A huge boo erupted from all around. It was so loud, it drowned out everything, but I freaking loved it.
ABC Network cameras followed us as we jogged down to the end zone, where a strip of red was grouped together in a protest of defiance. “Go Bucks!” I yelled. “O-H!”
“I-O!” the crowd and my cheerleaders answered back.
The Victors played and, as the crowd roared in approval, I set my fisted pom-poms on each hip and turned to watch the Wolverines take the field. I didn’t usually get flustered, but that all changed when I’d met Jay, and now it was so different. Butterflies fluttered frantically in my belly as he stormed onto the grass, jogging with his team toward their bench.
He was fifty yards away, but when his helmet turned the direction of us cheerleaders, I swallowed a breath. Was he looking for me? His shoulders pulled back, and his hand came up, giving one short, quick wave. I pictured his grin under his facemask, imagining it matched mine.
Then, I didn’t have to imagine. His fingers curled around his facemask and yanked the helmet off, holding it at his side. It gave me a view of his dazzling ear-to-ear smile.
Seeing him in the blue Michigan jersey and yellow pants should have filled me with disgust . . . but it didn’t. For the first time, I could see past the uniform to the guy beneath. In fact, all I could see was him. My gorgeous, amazing boyfriend, who was probably freezing his ass off by not wearing sleeves. Was he making a statement about toughness, or was he one of those receivers who liked nothing in the way when he tucked the ball into the carry?
He’d removed his helmet for a reason, and I turned my attention to the American flag whipping in the wind above the stadium. The Big House had quieted to nothing as the band began to play the National Anthem.
When it was done and the crowd cheered, I shot a look to Jay from across the grass, which said, “Okay, Eighty-Eight, time to focus on why we were both here.”
I paired up with Sean as my base and Isaac as my backspot, and stepped into Sean’s cupped hands. Up I went, keeping my core tight and my spine as straight as possible, until his arms were fully extended beneath me. I found my balance on my supporting leg, and lifted my other behind, up until I could reach over my head and grab my toe.
A scorpion stunt was one of my favorite lifts. I could demonstrate my flexibility, and Sean got to show off how strong he was. I smiled at the crowd I could see better now that I was lifted high above the wall. My base was rock solid beneath my foot, and I pointed with my index finger to the sky, gesturing OSU was number one. They’d see it soon enough.
The game kicked off, and all one hundred thousand people in the stadium watched as the Michigan kicker sent the ball deep into the end zone. It dropped into the hands of our punt returner, who got a great run.
But we didn’t do much with it.
We got one new set of downs, but then had to punt it away. It was early. Our boys just needed to settle and find their rhythm. But Michigan’s defense was good, and anxiety twisted inside me as their explosive offense took over.
The Wolverine huddle was significantly downfield from me, but as it broke, I watched Jay move into position and I set my teeth. The ground felt less stable beneath me than when I’d been balanced on Sean’s hand. I’d never been so on edge during a game in my life.
The ball was snapped, and Radcliff didn’t move from the pocket. He turned and fired it to Jay, right in the numbers. My throat closed up as he spun out of a tackle and bolted downfield. It was like he was running right at me, and I was paralyzed. My brain fractured between wanting his success and not wanting Michigan to score on their opening drive.
Certainly not on their first fucking play.
Jay passed the thirty, the twenty-five, the twenty—
Dark arms wrapped around his chest and drove him into the ground with a loud grunt and the sound of bodies colliding with hard, cold turf. The Ohio State player took his time getting up off Jay, and I pressed my lips together. Tariq Crawford rose to stand and lingered for a moment over the opponent he’d just tackled. He was saying something to Jay, but I couldn’t hear it over the announcer, and probably wouldn’t want to. Tariq’s confrontational body language made me sure they weren’t exchanging recipes.
“Harris,” the male announcer said, “brought down on the eighteen by Ohio State thirty-three. First down, Michigan!”
The stands hollered and cheered as Jay put his hands on the turf and pushed himself up. His gaze found mine for a second while he snapped his loose chinstrap back in place, and he flashed an easy smile. Like he was enjoying himself. I didn’t get to look at him long, because he turned and hurried back to the huddle.
A tiny voice of worry would not shut up in my brain. Tariq Crawford had just done what he hadn’t been able to the last three seasons—he’d caught Michigan’s eighty-eight.
In between the play, we rocketed Courtney into the air for a huge toe-touch, and as she dropped safely into the basket catch, I shivered in the cold wind. I had long underwear on underneath my gray Nike warmups, and a fleece headband to cover my ears, so I could tolerate the temperature right now. But it was only going to get colder as the sun set, and the forecast called for snow tonight.
The Michigan huddle broke again. They came to the line of scrimmage. The ball was hiked and Radcliff handed it off to a running back, who wove through OSU’s defense like he was slalom skiing. Jay threw a perfect block, opening a hole.
No, no! Where the hell was our defense? The running back dove across the white line and landed in the paint of the end zone.
“Michigan touchdown!” the announcer said.
Once again, the sound of the fans in the stadium was too loud to hear anything else. Which meant no one heard me violate the uniform policy and utter the curse word I couldn’t contain.