And now I see fireflies in the grass down by the track that runs around the football field, and hovering around the hill sloping up the left side of the marching band—the very hill where I got my first kiss from Matt Kincaid, the quarterback himself, when we were in the eighth grade.
My eyelids are heavy, and the fight song is growing slower and slower, until suddenly, I must drift off, because there’s that abrupt falling sensation right through my middle, and then everything is gone.
Not the stadium or the field—but the sound, the band, the people. Even Megan.
Everything and everyone, except me and the crickets and those holy stadium lights.
As if another light is blipping into view, a person appears, out in the middle of the field. A boy, standing with his back to me, tall with broad shoulders, and long, kind of dirty dark hair. He’s holding a paper bag in his right hand, and he brings it up to his mouth, takes a swig of whatever’s inside, then tips his head back and looks up.
The silence is so big it makes the world swell, and the boy feels farther away than he possibly could be.
I follow his gaze upward, and the Kentucky sky seems miles higher than it ever has. There’s a waning crescent moon tonight, with a fair mix of clouds and a smattering of stars. I look back down at the boy’s shaggy hair, and his back and butt, trying to place him, but I can’t.
I’m dreaming about a stranger. I guess that’s not so strange, really. I’m reminded of that first time Grandmother appeared at my bedside, the way I should’ve been afraid and wasn’t, the way I knew to trust her and felt that I knew her, unlike all the visitors that came before her.
I stand and lean against the rail in the aisle between bleachers. I want to go down to the field, to stand with this boy between the sky and the grass until every part of me touches every layer of the world. It feels important, but even though I’m so sure this is a dream, I feel a little shy and embarrassed, like I won’t know what to say when I get down there.
But my need to get out there outweighs everything else. I go down one step, and the metal creaks under my foot.
The boy on the field must hear it, because he starts to turn around, but before I can see his face, everything snaps back into place: The fight song is ending; the crowd is shouting, clapping, cheering.
And he’s gone.
“Nat?” Megan shouts over the noise.
I’m standing in the aisle, holding on to the railing.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to leave?” she asks. “We can go.”
“No,” I answer honestly, sitting back down beside her. I don’t want to take my eyes off that field. Something’s happening here, and I’m afraid to miss it.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. What I need is to stay, and to watch. I need to figure this out.
Besides, I may not be on any teams, but Megan is, and this night matters for her and for all the girls we’re sitting with.
After the dance team’s performance come senior awards for softball and baseball, followed by the cheerleading team’s performance, then senior awards for soccer, at which point I’m forced to elbow Megan in the rib cage because Brian Walters’s icy blue eyes are so blatantly staring at her. “He wants to have your glorious, blue-eyed babies,” I whisper.
“So as long as no one tells him he doesn’t have a uterus, I have a chance?” she murmurs back.
The next award is for archery, which is when Megan and I first discover Ryle has an archery team. Then comes basketball, and then a color guard performance, and then, finally, it’s time for the football awards.
Coach Gibbons approaches the podium to call the seniors down, and the crowd bursts into whistles and foot stomping. Matty stands at the far end, looking both handsome and sheepish, and all around like a Disney prince come to life in his neat jersey and nice jeans.
“Most of y’all know I’m a man of few words,” Coach starts off into the microphone. “But I say them slowly, and that helps.” An appreciative chuckle rumbles through the bleachers, and, true to form, Coach slowly, methodically starts speaking about each of the seniors and the ways they’ve contributed to the team.