Catching Jordan

I think back to when Mike was a senior, and just about every team in the whole freaking country cal ed him. Everyone from crazy-big teams like LSU and USC to not-so-impressive teams like Appalachian State in Boone, North Carolina. Even after Mike made a verbal commitment to Tennessee, letters stil flooded our mailbox and the answering machine fil ed up, like, three times a week.



“I don’t know why no one’s cal ing,” I tel Carter. “But yeah, probably ’cause of Alabama.” Lie.



It’s because I’m a girl. Just like Henry said.



Feeling tears wel ing in my eyes, I wrap my arms around my waist, clutching my red and black jersey, and lean back against the fence, soaking up sappy marching band music until Mrs. H. comes rushing up to me.



“Jordan, sweetie,” she says, “I need a picture of you with Sam. Come on.” She grabs my hand and pul s me over to where the homecoming court is standing. Mom and Mrs. Carter are there too, oohing and ahhing over Carrie’s pink satin dress.



“Let’s get a picture of the four of you,” Mom says, pointing at me, Henry, JJ, and Carter. As Henry rips the crown off his head, I stand between JJ and Carter as our moms get camera happy. They make us trade places about a bil ion times and encourage us to smile while passing their cameras back and forth to each other, showing off their shots.



Final y after about fifty freaking photos, a teary-eyed Mrs. H. says, “Sam, Jordan, I want one of just the two of you.”



Carter steps away, leaving a gap between me and Henry. We simultaneously take a step closer together, but we don’t touch. “Smile!” Mrs. H. says, so I put on a fake grin, but when I look out of the corner of my eye, Henry’s face is blank.



This is the closest he’s been to me in three weeks, so I take my chance. “Sam, I’m so, so sorry.”



“Me too,” he replies softly.



“Can we talk about al this?”



“Jordan, I just can’t right now,” he whispers, glancing at my face once before walking to the bench, where he pul s his helmet on over his blond curls and starts reading a playbook.



Standing in the locker room after the game, which, of course, I rocked, I’m getting ready for the dance. I’m actual y excited.



I’ve never been to a dance, and I’ve certainly never worn a girly evening gown dress thing. Mom and Vanessa took me to the mal and while I played video games in the arcade, they picked out this awesome black number with a slit up the side. It had better drive Ty crazy, because I can’t breathe in this damned thing. I have to admit it looks real y pretty, though. Looking in the mirror, I brush my hair, trying to make it look good, but I can’t seem to do anything with it. The door to the locker room slams open and Carrie walks in. I haven’t spoken to her since that day at practice.



I don’t say anything; I just keep brushing my hair, hoping that maybe some sort of fairy godmother wil pop up and make my hair respectable, and maybe turn my Gatorade into a Ferrari like Cinderel a’s fairy godmother turned that pumpkin into a horse-drawn carriage.



“Love your dress,” Carrie says softly. Using the mirror’s reflection, I watch as she eyes me. She drops her bag into her locker and then rubs her elbows.



“Thank you. I like yours too,” I say, glancing at her pink dress. Only she could make that color look good. Biting her lip, she starts to leave.



“Carrie—wait.”



“Yeah?”



“Um, do you think, maybe, you could?” I lift a clump of hair.



She licks her lips, looking at the ratty black and red carpet, but then comes back over to me, takes my hand, and leads me to a bench. She sits me down and starts fiddling with my hair.



In the mirror, I watch as she brushes my hair and pul s it back. She lets little wisps of hair out of the bun so that it almost looks like one of my knots, but somehow this seems softer, daintier. It looks good.



“Thank you,” I say.



Carrie takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry I told you, Jordan…this is al my fault. I don’t know if Henry wil ever forgive me. I hope you can.”



Standing and smoothing my dress, I smile. I prefer being around guys, but I need this friendship too. It’s not like Carter or JJ could talk about girl stuff, like hooking up with guys. Or fix my hair when I’m desperate. If I asked Carter to fix my hair, I’m sure he’d muss it and slap a hat on me.



“Yeah—definitely. I’m real y glad we’re friends.”



She beams at me. “Thanks. Ready to hit the dance?



Ty’s outside waiting for you and he looks so damned hot I almost jumped him.”



I laugh. “Yeah, it’s hard not to do that,” I say as we leave the locker room, where we find Ty and Carter waiting for us.



“Holy crap, Woods,” Carter says, looking me up and down. “You can’t wear shit like that. It’s, like, against the nature of the universe or something.” Chuckling, I walk up and shove him, and he laughs too. “Just kidding,” he whispers. Pul ing me up close, he continues, “Seriously though, you’l be the most gorgeous girl at the dance tonight.”



“Thanks,” I reply, giving his shoulder a punch. Ty’s holding a red rose and he’s wearing a buttondown shirt and khakis with no tie. Carrie was right—he looks rugged and hot. I take the rose from him and give him a kiss.



“Who said the rose was for you?” Ty whispers into



“Who said the rose was for you?” Ty whispers into my neck.



“Who’s it for? Carter?”



“Uh, yeah.” Ty grins.



I bring the rose to my nose, to smel it. “Thank you anyway. You look nice.”



Ty eyes my dress. “You look sexy.” He pul s me away from Carter and Carrie, heading away from the gym and toward the parking lot.



“Uh, Ty, the gym is that way.”



He turns around, moving backward as he keeps pul ing me. “I know. But after seeing you in that dress, I want to rip it off you.”



Laughing, I drop his hand. “No way, man. I’ve never been to a dance. We’re going.” I turn and march toward the gym, making him chase me. From behind, he jogs up and slips a hand around my waist.



Inside the gym, red and black bal oons hang from the wal s and crêpe paper is everywhere.



“Über-cheesy,” I tel Ty. “Even I could do better than this.”



Still , I’m glad to experience this before I graduate. A slow Tim McGraw song is playing as Ty grabs my hand and leads me to the center of the gym. He whirls me around, then pul s me in close. I rest my chin on his shoulder and gaze around at the darkened gym, taking in the scene.



JJ and Lacey are standing in the corner, fighting. Carter and Carrie are dancing, smiling at one another. I sure hope she’s able to get over Henry, because it seems as if Carter actual y likes her, and he never seriously likes anybody. Kristen is dancing with Higgins, but she keeps glancing at me and Ty, then quickly looks away. Jealous much?



I lean my forehead against Ty’s for a minute, but then move my chin back to his shoulder, taking in the scene again. Now, JJ and Lacey are standing in the corner, making out. Ridiculous. Then Henry comes into the gym. He certainly didn’t dress up for the dance. He’s wearing holey jeans and an old T-shirt, but he stil looks damned hot.



He’s twirling that stupid cheapo crown on his finger and gazing around the gym. A couple of girls hustle up to him, probably asking him to dance, but he waves them away. Leaning against the wal , he keeps twirling the crown. As the slow song ends, Henry’s green eyes find mine, and I pul away from Ty and begin walking toward my friend. Henry stares at me, then stares at my dress. And then he just turns around and leaves the gym, dropping the stupid crown.



What the hel ?



FROM: Woods, Jordan



TO: Tucker, Mark (Athletics, University of Alabama) DATE: Saturday, October 9, 06:47 a.m.



SUBJECT: District finals



Dear Mr. Tucker:



I hope you are well. I’m looking forward to attending the Alumni Charity Ball in December. Thank you for the proofs of the calendar. I love it.



I just wanted you to know that we won our final game of the season last night. We beat Davidson County 31–7. I threw for 320 yards. I’ve attached a video of the game for you to share with the football coaches.



Next week, we head to district finals, and if we win, we’ll go to the state championship. I hope you and Coach Thompson can make it to the game.



Thank you again for everything.



Sincerely,



Jordan Woods



party at carter’s,



saturday night



Loud music



Low lights



Lame cheap beer



Ty’s at work



JJ made me come



Don’t know why I did



Carter and Carrie sit out by the pool



deep in conversation



JJ and Lacey sit on the couch



deep in each others’ throats



I sit in the kitchen, surrounded by junior varsity guys sucking up



fishing for compliments on their game



asking what chicks like



(as if I’d know)



The back door opens—



Carrying a whiff of chlorine and fall



And Henry being dragged by Samantha Milton



She says, “Let’s find a room”



He sees me



Stops



Swallows



I run outside



Start my engine



When I look up



He walks out



We wave, we stare



I drive away



dad



the count? 30 days since the fight with



henry



Ty and I are throwing a bal around in the backyard. We’re playing burnout, a game where we throw the bal at one another as hard as we can, and the first person to drop the bal loses.



Ty is standing about thirty yards away as I launch the bal at him. He catches it and throws it back to me. He’s a damned good quarterback—I have red stinging hands to prove it. I jog back a couple steps and hurl the bal at Ty, and surprisingly, he actual y drops it.



“Damn,” he shouts. “That one had some heat on it, Woods.”



“Want to play again?”



“Nah,” he says, walking toward me, tossing the bal up and catching it. Then he grabs my side and pul s me up against him, and we kiss. “So guess what?”



“What?”



“I might sign to play at Tennessee.”



I squeeze his biceps. “That’s great!”



“It’s good that I’l be living near Mom and Vanessa. It’s no Alabama, but it’s stil a damn good team,” he says, laughing.



I rest my chin on his shoulder and wrap my arms around his waist. “Yeah, it’s no Alabama.”



“And since your brother is graduating next year, I’d be starting as a sophomore.”



“I’m real y excited for you.” I’m also really jealous of you.



“When do you think you’l start at Alabama? As a sophomore? Or a junior?”



I hug Ty harder and close my eyes. “Not sure,” I lie, thinking about how Mark Tucker never even discusses my skil s on the field, and probably never wil . This embarrasses me so much, that deep down I know the truth, that Alabama is probably never gonna let me play, that unless I look for another col ege program that might take a girl, my footbal career wil probably be over at the end of this season. But what if Alabama ends up giving me a shot? Why should I give up now when I’ve worked this hard?

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