“No prob, Teach.”
“You might have dialed up the creativity factor a little, but I appreciate your honesty.”
Then Kyle went. He called his entry “Wind and Rain,” and somehow his words were both hope-filled and remorseful at the same time:
Grain by grain the sand erodes
through my moments, slipping down
the fragile slopes of my days.
And I wonder, as I tumble down the side, who will change the weather
and give my life another shot
at glory?
Miss Flynn nodded. “The sand tumbles down quickly,” she told the class. “For us all.”
It sure did for Emily. No question about that.
Daniel wondered how long it’d taken Kyle to come up with that. Knowing him, he might very well have thought of it in the hallway on the way to class.
Two more students went, then it was Daniel’s turn.
Still debating which entry to read, he decided at the last minute that he’d be more embarrassed about the second than the first, so he went with the one he’d written when he was with Kyle.
He was seriously nervous and felt like he stumbled all the way through it, but at least he managed to finish without any major flubs. When he was done, Miss Flynn quietly jotted something in her grade book and then, without any comment, asked the next person to go.
There was something about her lack of response that made Daniel uncomfortable—especially since she seemed to be commenting on everyone else’s, no matter how weak they were.
After the last person had gone, she collected all the blog entries, then announced that since it was homecoming weekend she wasn’t giving them any assignment for Monday. “Enjoy your break.”
Nods and a few thank-yous around the room.
“And, as you know, next Wednesday is a parent-teacher conference day, so there won’t be any classes. We’ll only be meeting Monday and Friday. Have a good weekend.”
The bell rang, and everyone grabbed their things and headed for the hall.
Nicole happened to be heading in the same direction as Daniel.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey. I thought it was cool that you wrote a prayer and felt okay sharing it with everyone,” he told her candidly.
“Well”—she avoided discussing her blog entry—“I thought yours was awesome—but sad too. Where did you learn to write like that?”
“Busted. Kyle helped me piece it together.”
“Well, I’m just glad that’s over with, huh?”
“I’m with you there.”
They walked in silence for a few steps, and then, out of nowhere, Nicole said, “So, are you going to homecoming dance with anyone?”
“Am I . . . ?”
No—but you might be.
If you can get up enough guts to ask . . .
He was still trying to figure out how to finish his sentence when Nicole did it for him: “Going to homecoming dance with anyone? Call me curious.”
Tell her you’re going with Stacy, that you’re—
But you’re not. You never asked her. You don’t even know if she would go with you.
“No, not yet,” he admitted. It was the truth. He didn’t want to lead Nicole on, but he did want to be honest. Then it came out: “But there’s someone I was gonna ask.” It was one of those things you say and then immediately wonder what in the world led you to say it in the first place.
“Oh?” she said in a tone that was impossible to read.
“Yeah, but I guess I haven’t gotten up the nerve yet.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. Just ask her.”
Yeah, I wish it was that easy.
“The worst she can say is no,” Nicole reassured him.
Exactly.
“I guess.”
She stopped walking. “Practice on me.”
“What?”
“Practice. Ask me to go to homecoming with you.”
“Ask you . . .”
“Go on, pretend you wanna go with me.”
“Nicole, I was . . . Well, actually . . . It’s just that . . .”
She read volumes in his hesitation and her eyes grew large. “Oh, you’re . . . I heard that you weren’t . . . I thought . . .” She blushed and shook her head. “Seriously, I didn’t know—” She closed her eyes as if she were trying to disappear. “Please, please, please pretend this never happened.”
“I mean, it’s not that I—”
She held up her hand to cut him off. “It’s okay. Seriously.” Before he could reply, she turned abruptly. “I gotta go. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything, Nicole.”
But she was already hurrying down the hall. He watched to see if she would turn around and glance back at him.
She did not.
And she was staring down at the floor as she went.
Which made Daniel feel even worse.
He didn’t want to assume too much, but he wasn’t a complete idiot and he could read between the lines of what had just happened.
For the rest of the day he didn’t see Stacy or Nicole, and he found himself going back over the awkward conversation with Nicole again and again, replaying it in his mind, thinking of things he might have said differently, things that would’ve led their exchange in a different, more positive direction.
But ultimately, it didn’t matter. He might think of a thousand other things he could have said, but he hadn’t said them. His friend had left feeling bad, and it was all his fault.
After school he tried to ignore the headache that was coming on. The last thing he needed tonight was to be distracted during the homecoming game against the Coulee Pioneers.
Daniel told himself it would pass, that it was no big deal.
That’s what he tried to convince himself of as he hung out with some of the guys from the team at Rizzo’s pizzeria before leaving for school to get suited up for the seven-thirty game.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
It was autumn.
Football season.
Daniel’s time.
He loved all that it was: the rub of the shoulder pads, the dirt beneath your fingernails, the taste of blood in your mouth after you took a hard hit, the shot of adrenaline when the ball was snapped, running through the banner the cheerleaders made for the players, the invigorating evening air, the crowd going crazy. Everything.
Tonight, the smell of moist soil, someone’s wood-burning stove, and the faint odor of manure from a dairy farm not too far from the football stadium mixed in the gentle evening breeze.
The headache didn’t go away.
This year, homecoming was senior night, so all the seniors from the football team, as well as from the cheerleading squad, the cross-country team, the marching band, and the color guard, all got honored.
Before the game, one by one they met their parents at the fifty-yard line, where Mr. Ackerman, a newspaper photographer who did this at high schools throughout the area, stood and snapped their pictures. The parents smiled; the football players all tried to look tough.
The school also took time to recognize the homecoming king and queen. At Beldon High, either juniors or seniors could be chosen, and there’d been talk of nominating Daniel. However, he was only a junior and he didn’t like the idea of taking that honor away from a senior, so he’d pulled his name.
Besides, even though he was captain of the football team, that kind of attention off the field made him feel a little awkward.
Beldon’s concession stand was stocked with popcorn, hot chocolate, candy bars, pizza, and nachos with cheese. Some parents had been pushing for “healthy alternatives,” some sort of vegan health bars, but as far as Daniel knew, they’d never sold any of them yet except to themselves.
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Parked beyond the southern end zone were two emergency vehicles: Daniel’s dad’s squad car and an ambulance for any trouble, on the field or off it, that might sprout up at a game between these two rivals.
After the players had warmed up, the school district superintendent went to the announcer’s booth at the top of the Eagles’ stands, took the microphone and offered a moment of silence in honor of Emily and her family.
Then the marching band played the national anthem, the two teams took the field, and the game began.
During the first half, the headache was still bothering Daniel, but he managed to throw for two touchdowns, one in the first quarter, one in the second.
Coulee ran back the second kickoff and then, after the change of possession, hit a thirty-three-yard field goal with twenty seconds left in the half to bring the score to within four.
Home 14.
Visitors 10.
At halftime in the locker room, Coach Warner offered a few words of encouragement to the team as a whole, then the assistant coaches met with their offensive and defensive units.
“Byers,” said Coach Jostens, “you need to keep an eye on that defensive end and stay focused on reading your keys. Recognize the coverages on those pass plays. We’re gonna be throwing the ball a lot in the second half.”
“Yes, Coach.”
He spent a few minutes reviewing blocking schemes for pass protection with the offensive linemen, then turned to the receivers. “We can break this open in the second half. We need you to run disciplined routes. Crisp. Clean. Got it?”
Nods of agreement from the players.
However, as Daniel ran onto the field to throw a few balls to loosen up his arm, the headache that’d been lurking somewhere in the back of his mind crawled forward and tried to swallow up all of his focus and attention.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The third quarter began with the teams exchanging touchdowns and converting the extra points, bringing the score to Eagles 21, Pioneers 17.
Run.
Evade.
Pass and play.
The fans were loud and wild and it was hard to hear, so when Coach wasn’t sending in plays with the running back, he was holding up signs with the names of college teams on them to signal Daniel which plays to call.
First and ten, their own thirty-five yard line.
This time the sign read, “Alabama,” which was a gun slot left slant trail pass. On this play, Daniel would have four possible receivers to throw to.
In the huddle he told them, “You get open, I’ll get you the ball.”
They broke huddle and the guys took their positions. Daniel started in a gun set, gave the count, and the center snapped the ball.
The Pioneers had gone to a 4-2-5 defense and Daniel found his wide receiver, Randall Cox, in the middle of the field for a twelve-yard gain just before the end of the third quarter.
At the start of the fourth, after a botched running attempt, Daniel found himself at second and ten, at his own forty-nine yard line.
Beldon High’s band started in with some type of chant song and, because of the noise, Coach Warner held up a sign with “Nebraska” written on it, code for a read option right out of the gun.
On a read option, Daniel’s line wouldn’t block the defensive end. If he crashed at the running back, Daniel would keep the ball. If he didn’t crash, he would hand it off to his running back. So at the snap, when the left defensive end came at him fast and hard, Daniel made his read and gave to the running back for a gain of three.
Third and seven.
And that’s when it happened.
Daniel went with gun bunch right, a play with three receivers on the right side. He liked to hit Cox on a flag route as he angled toward the corner of the field. If he could connect with him it would typically be good for a nine- to thirteen-yard gain.
They lined up.
Daniel gave the count, received the ball from the center, and was scanning for an open receiver when he saw her.
A girl had climbed over the fence and stepped onto the field.
She walked in a stiff, jerky, unnatural way, keeping her head down. All Daniel could think was why the refs didn’t throw a flag or try to stop the play, to protect her.
But they didn’t, and Daniel couldn’t stop the play himself.
The defense blitzed.
And as they did, time seemed to grind to a halt and then tick forward slowly again, frame by frame, all within the breadth of a moment.
Everyone around him was moving at an impossibly slow speed. He could see what he should never have been able to see—the fierce expression on the face of one of the advancing defensive linemen, the flicks of grass left in his wake as he came toward him.
He heard the wash of sound from the crowd sharpen and suddenly become clear, almost as if he could distinguish between the separate people, each shouting.
An air horn went off.
He became aware of the lights shining brilliantly down at him, the moon high above the cornfield south of them, the world quickly dropping off into darkness beyond the bleachers.
And the slow, distinct movement of players surrounding him.
The only thing that didn’t change speed was the girl, who lurched forward, with her head still bent forward, staring at the ground.
When she was maybe ten yards away, she lifted her head and looked directly at him and he saw the blank eyes, the gaping mouth, the pale and bloated skin.
Emily Jackson.
The dead girl.
And she was coming straight toward him.
She reached up and grabbed a silver chain necklace she was wearing, yanked it, and it floated right through her neck, leaving a thin streak of fresh blood behind it, as if something really had passed through her muscle, her bone, her skin.
Then she held up the necklace, a locket dangling from its center, and opened her mouth trying to say something, but no words came out, just a slurp of ugly water.
Blood oozed from the thin red line encircling her neck.
In a fraction of a second, all Daniel’s senses seemed to become one: the sound of the crowd somehow merged with the damp autumn scent of the field, the sight of the sharp lights, the feel of the smooth-rough leather of the ball in his hand—everything flowed together, leaving him dizzy and off balance.
And then time caught up with itself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cox open downfield, but he didn’t have time to throw—two defensive linemen had gotten past their blockers and were closing in.
Fast.
He only had time to protect the ball as he felt the crushing blow of the two guys sacking him together, one of them grabbing his face mask, snapping his head around, and when he landed on the ground, he hit hard on his left side, and his head smacked into something—another helmet, the ground, someone’s knee, he couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter.
The huge tackle, the guy who weighed over 260 pounds, landed right on Daniel’s stomach.
And the world went black. Just like it had at Emily Jackson’s funeral.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Lost in a waking dream.
The girl.
The game.
He heard words as if they were coming from the inside of his head rather than from the outside world: Stay on this. Seek the truth. Learn what happened.
The team doctor was leaning over him when Daniel opened his eyes: the second time in less than a week that he’d blacked out and awakened to see someone’s anxious face bent over him.
“Hey, buddy? You alright?” the doc asked. “Can you see me?”
Daniel felt himself nod. “Yeah.” It was different from when he woke up in the church on Tuesday. This time he’d had the air knocked out of him when he was sacked, so he was also short of
breath.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?” he mumbled.
“Yes.”
“Daniel.”
“And your last name?”
“Byers. Daniel Byers.”
“Do you know where you are, Daniel?”
He turned his head, looked for Emily coming toward him across the field, but didn’t see her. “Yeah. In the stadium. It’s homecoming.”
The doctor held up four fingers. “Daniel, can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”
“Four.”
Daniel found his attention shifting to the sidelines, but there was no sign of Emily.
Where is she?
Where—
“And what day is it?”
Person, place, and time. Daniel had been playing sports long enough to know that those were the three things they ask a player after he wakes up from blacking out. That, and checking his visual acuity, which the doctor was testing when he asked about the number of fingers he was holding up.
“Friday. September twenty-ninth,” Daniel said.
The worry on the man’s face eased. He glanced to the side, making eye contact with Coach Warner, who stood nearby. “Good.” Then he stepped back and a couple of people helped Daniel to his feet.
He was slow getting up, and a little wobbly. Relieved applause from the crowd greeted him as he headed off the field with the coaches beside him.
At least he wasn’t on a stretcher. Randall had told him the Coulee defense was trying to earn a pizza by tackling a player so hard he couldn’t walk off the field. So, no pizzas on that play.
On the way to the sidelines, Daniel scanned the field, the track encircling it, and the stands, but he didn’t see her. Thank goodness he didn’t see her.
Please don’t let me see her again.
Don’t let me see her ever again.
He knew better than to tell the doctor and his coaches about Emily’s appearance. They would only think he was hallucinating, that the knock on his head was worse than they’d imagined. And they would undoubtedly do a bunch of tests on him, since they’d be convinced he was seeing things that weren’t there.
And they’d be right.
You are.