MOM BREATHES A sigh of relief when Garrett and his friends take off. “I guess Black Water isn’t as boring as I remember.”
“I’ve had enough drama in the last three weeks. Boring might be good. Maybe they have boring hot dogs inside.” I walk toward the stadium. That’s when I see the entrance.
It’s a tunnel.
I don’t do tunnels.
Mom notices it, too. “I’m sure there’s another way in.”
We circle around to the side of the building and find another entrance.
Inside the stadium, the field spreads out before us.
A commentator’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “Another interception by number seven, Cameron Carter!”
The crowd’s approval thunders through the stands that rise up above us.
The loudspeaker crackles again. “Touchdown! The Black Water Warriors are giving the Spring Hill Stallions an education tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”
“This is a high school stadium?” I ask Mom over the noise. “This place looks big enough for the NFL.”
“Not quite. But people in Tennessee take their football seriously.” Mom cranes her neck in search of my uncle. “All the stores in town close on Friday nights.”
“Sissy!” Hawk calls out. He’s the only person who calls my mom Sissy instead of Sarah—or, if we’re in Black Water, Sarah Ann.
My uncle waves from where he’s standing several rows up. At over six feet tall and built like a tank, he’s hard to miss—gray buzz cut, neat beard, and a kind face. Grandma used to call it a face you could trust. Mom waves back, beaming at her older brother. They don’t see each other often, but you would never know it when they get together.
I look around and take stock. The stands are packed with friendly faces—parents and grandparents wearing Black Water Warriors scarves and wool jackets, a German shepherd sitting on the bleachers next to its owner, and lots of people sporting blue-and-white face paint to support their team.
There are more letterman jackets and school colors in the crowd than I’m used to seeing back home. But, otherwise, the people my age aren’t dressed much different from the students at my school.
At least I won’t be the girl from out of town, who dresses weird.
Unless something has changed since I visited two years ago, I’ll probably be the only half-white, half-Cuban girl in Black Water. This place isn’t exactly a melting pot. But it’s nice to see some brown and Asian faces.
Mom and I weave between people carrying cardboard boxes full of hot dogs, fries, and six-packs. When we reach the narrow steps that slope up to the top of the stands, Mom lets me go first. “Are you sure you don’t want any—”
I glare at her and she stops talking.
Holding the handrail, I take the steps one at a time. If my knee gives out, I’m not falling on my ass in front of half the town—maybe the whole town, judging by the number of people here.
A pair of hiking boots stops on the step above me, and before I have time to look up, an arm swings around my waist. Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream.
Hawk lifts me up, and my feet dangle in the air. “At the rate you were going, the game would be over by the time you get a seat.”
I’m not that lucky.
Instead of using the steps, Hawk walks up the middle of the bleachers, dodging the people seated on them.
“Put me down.”
He ignores me. “Almost there.”
“Is she all right?” a woman calls after us.
My cheeks burn.
Before I protest again, Hawk lowers me to the ground. “Door-to-door service.”
I sit on the cold metal bench without a word, watching Mom walk up the steps like a normal person.
My uncle takes a seat beside me. “Everybody needs a little help once in a while.”
Once in a while, I could handle. But people think I need help all the time now. They take one look at the RoboCop brace, and they rush to open doors and pull out chairs.
And I hate it.
On the soccer field, my mind was always in control of my body. I decided if I was too tired to keep running. I decided whether or not to quit. Now my body is in control. I have a knee that gives out with no warning, and I couldn’t run the length of a soccer field if my life depended on it. Dr. Kao claims it will just take time.
But what if she’s wrong?
Hawk leans forward, with his elbows propped on his knees, studying the field.
I spot Mom at the end of our row. The people in the first few seats stand to let her scoot past them. She sits beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders. “What did I miss?”
“Not much.” I lower my voice. “It’s just football.”
“Fourth and ten. Stallions’ ball.” A flurry of activity takes place on the field. “Interception by the Warriors!” the commentator shouts.
People around us leap to their feet, cheering madly, and the sudden movement makes me jump. Mom notices and squeezes my shoulder. Hawk puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles.
A man who is way too old for blue-and-white face paint turns to my uncle. “Your boys are tearing up the field tonight. Think they can keep it up until the championships?”
Hawk smiles proudly. “That’s the plan.”
Two huge guys on the field bump chests and yank on each other’s helmets. When they turn around, CARTER is printed on the backs of their jerseys.
“Wait. Those giants are the Twins?” I ask. Not possible. The last time I saw them was a year and a half ago, at Dad’s funeral, and they were stocky, but they look taller and even bigger now.
Hawk nods. “Yep. Right there. Number seven and number eleven.”
The cheerleaders break into a routine. I give them credit. They make backflips and handsprings look easy. The rest of the game passes with more backflips and the Twins mowing down players from the other team.
After the Warriors slaughter the Stallions, Hawk waits until the stands empty out before he gets up and walks in front of me as we make our way down the steps. At the bottom, the Twins stand off to the side, patiently shaking hands with adults waiting in line to congratulate them. They’re definitely taller and their features are more defined. A few cheerleaders hang out next to my cousins, smiling as if they personally contributed to the win.
One of the Twins notices Hawk and waves. “Over here, Pop.”
I have no idea if he’s Christian or Cameron. Most identical twins don’t look exactly alike. Subtle differences, like the curve of a jawline or the slant of an eyebrow, help people tell them apart. But Christian and Cameron are mirror reflections of each other—the same broad shoulders and square jaws, blue eyes and dirty-blond hair, and milky white skin and boyish smiles.
“That was one hell of a game, boys.” Hawk clamps a hand on each son’s shoulder.
“Did you see me take down their receiver?” one of my cousins asks, sweaty blond hair flattened against his skull.
His brother elbows him out of the way. “Yeah, yeah. That was after I sacked the quarterback.”
“You both did your part.” Hawk sounds as if he’s used to the Twins competing for his approval. “How about you both try not to embarrass yourselves in front of Aunt Sissy and your cousin?”
“Which one is which?” I whisper to Mom.
“Cameron is number seven and Christian is number eleven,” Hawk says. He must have dog hearing.
Cameron sees me and grins. “You look so much older.”
“So do you guys.”
Christian looks at me and elbows his brother. “This is gonna be a problem.”
Cam nods. “I was thinking the same thing.”
I cross my arms. “Why would I be a problem?”
“Not you,” Christian says. “This.” He moves his hand up and down in front of me, like he’s referring to what I’m wearing—or he thinks I’m such a mess that they need to hide me in the house. “We don’t want the guys at school—”
“Talking about me?” I finish for him.
Cam gives me a weird look. “He was going to say looking at you.”
“I think the Twins are giving you a compliment,” Mom says.
“Oh.” I feel like a jerk, but I’m relieved my cousins aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me. “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to handle your friends.”
Christian looks unsure. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“You can’t bet on anything because you don’t have enough money to buy a pack of gum, loser,” Cameron fires back. Within seconds, the Twins are shoving each other like ten-year-olds.
“That’s enough, boys,” Hawk says, and the Twins stop.
“There’s a party at Titan’s,” Cameron tells Hawk. “We’ll take Peyton with us and introduce her to everyone.”
I have zero interest in meeting people tonight. I’d rather sit through another football game. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m worn out from the drive.” I yawn for effect.
Cameron’s eyes dart to my brace. “You’re probably not ready to go to a party after what happened at the last one.”
“But things wouldn’t have gone down like that if we’d been there. Your ex would’ve been the one who ‘fell’”—Christian makes air quotes—“down the stairs.”
My stomach lurches.
The Twins know what really happened to my knee. The one thing I don’t want anyone in Black Water to find out.
“I think you embarrassed her,” Cam whispers to Christian loudly. “Change the subject.”
I glare at the Twins.
A crease forms between Christian’s eyebrows as he tries to come up with something. Cam elbows him. Christian shoves him back. “I’m working on it.”
What are the odds these two can keep a secret?
Suddenly, Christian blurts out, “Buck Richards kissed a hot girl after the game in Knoxville last week and it turns out she’s his cousin—twice removed, whatever that means.”
The secret-keeping odds don’t look good.