Chapter 3: The Boys of Fall

Track 3: The Boys of Fall – Kenny Chesney

Sophia was waiting outside the entrance of Southridge High. I watched as she reached inside her purse and pulled out a pocket mirror, flipping it open and holding it above her as though it were a spotlight. She was fully enthralled in her reflection, twisting her head from side to side, sucking in her cheeks and puckering her lips to make a kissy fish face. The scavenger hunt within her purse continued, this time retrieving a tube of bright pink lip gloss – I could see the shimmer from 50 feet away. She applied at least three coats, tucking it back into the abyss of her couture. Sophia was tall, at least 5’10”, and weighed no more than I did at five inches shorter. Her copper-tone tanned legs and enviable hips held up her pleated royal blue mini skirt, and beneath that a white tight body suit to complete the Southridge High cheerleading ensemble.

Sophia and I had been best friends since kindergarten right up until our freshman year. We walked the 2 mile walk together on our first day, having rehearsed the moment all summer long when we would enter the halls as wondrous teenagers and depart enlightened adults ready to conquer the world. We planned our outfits for weeks, agreed on the boys each other could crush on, and strategized where we would meet up for lunch. When the noon bell rang, I kept my promise and waited for Sophia at the bench outside of homeroom. I munched on carrot sticks and Cheetos, scanning the crowded halls for a blonde ponytail and Adidas backpack, there were a few. After much deliberation and fashion shows in the confines of each other’s bedrooms, Sophia had opted for a sporty look for our first day.

I began to worry that Sophia was lost or got caught up with the wrong crowd. Maybe she needed rescuing? Had she gone to a different bench? Had I gone to the wrong bench? Debating all possibilities in my naïve teenage brain, I stayed-put until the third period bell rang. Sophia never showed up at our spot that day or ever.

We competed against each other during cheer week, a five-day long frenzy dedicated to destroying the self-of-esteem of freshman girls. With only three spots available, Sophia made the team, co-captain none-the-less, and I never made it past round one. We didn’t drift apart like most young friendships do. We broke apart in the matter of seconds like a Kit Kat bar.

Sophia looked down at her watch, peering around impatiently. She spotted me as I approached with caution, fully aware of her motives. “Hi Annie,” she said, beaming a forced smile as she sped towards me. “Are you excited for the game?” Her enthusiasm was overwhelmingly obvious, undoubtedly the reason she had made the cheerleading team over me, I’d give her that.

“Oh hey, Sophia,” I said dismissively. I kept moving forward, hoping she wouldn’t follow.

She was too quick for me, linking her left arm with my right like we were besties. “I uh…I just love what you’ve done with your hair” she said. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. My poker straight brown hair was the same as it had been the last ten years of my life, minus a headband.

Sophia had already lost interest before I could even so much as part my lips to respond. She released our linked limbs and jogged towards four more football groupies waving at her from the parking lot. I watched as they erupted in high pitched shrieks and raced towards the field, drawing every ounce of attention they possibly could to their school-spirit mob. I followed their trail of body spray and cheery lip gloss towards the bleachers, taking my seat at the press row, immediately behind the home team.

***

I began writing for the Register-Guard, Eugene’s daily newspaper last spring. I submitted articles to the editor in the hopes of earning a summer internship to add to my college resume and to bring in a little extra for my car fund. My repertoire of submissions included coverage of local fundraisers, music festivals and food truck fairs. I also tackled political issues such as the controversial ‘green spaces’ to be introduced along the Willamette, which proved far more exhausting than my adolescent patience could handle. A berate of letters arriving at our doorstep, criticizing me for believing that access to the river should remain pristine caused me to take a leave from complex issues and focus my efforts on sports and “fluff” pieces. I wholeheartedly believed that the Willamette did not need trees to be cleared into gravel parking lots nor did it need sculpted trails leading tourists directly to the river’s edge. No one would touch my Willamette.

My coverage of Southridge High’s football games ultimately caught the attention of the editor-in-chief, Ray Bolton. Ray hired me as a freelance writer, which sounded far more glamorous than it was. Going behind-the-scenes with the school’s senior football team, interviewing our star players after each game became my specialty. My ‘Beyond the Locker Room’ series immediately became popular amongst the Register-Guard’s readership, combining a play back of the game itself and intimate interviews. My weekly column was a local hit and earned me locker room access, which infuriated Sophia and her perky pom-pom crew. Ironically, being slighted by the cheerleading squad had worked in my favor and gained me more credibility than a mini skirt and a handstands.

***

The October sky was clear, but the air was deceivingly brisk, cooling the metal bleachers just enough to make me to shiver. I took a seat next to a talent scout and the editor of our school paper a few feet to my right. I placed my backpack next to me to save a seat in case he showed up.

I scribbled down the important plays for my article and snapped a few photos of the team during half-time using the camera that Ray lent me and instructed I “guard with my life.” I asked coach Taylor a few questions before the third quarter to add some soundbites to my piece, Ray would love that. I took it easy during the second half, tuned in to my disc-man as I watched the boys rush across the field in their grass-stained jerseys.

“Hey, Annie,” Sophia said as she sat beside me. “Me again! How’s it going way up here?” Way up here? Sophia’s dig that I was in the stands and she was on the sidelines did not work on me. I was one row behind the boys which seemed like the best seat in the house to me.

I said nothing and pretended I did not hear her through my headphones.

“Have you seen the new guy Andy? I think he lives near you. He seems like such a nice guy. Kind of quiet. Has this super cute bad-boy thing going on. He’s your neighbor, right?”

I continued to ignore her.

Sophia went on. “Do you know if he’s coming tonight?”

She was relentless and really getting on my nerves. If he were coming, I would certainly not share that information with her. Truth be told, I had no idea.

“I was hoping to talk to him,” she pestered. “I heard he plays guitar and I want to ask him if he could give me some private lessons.”

There was no goddamn way Sophia was getting close to Andy if I could help it.

“Can I wait here with you until gets here?” She asked.

I pressed pause on my disc-man and removed my earphones. Regardless of my answer, I knew she was not leaving.

“Sophia, I have no idea if he’s coming,” which was the truth, “and I’m not sure he plays the guitar all that well,” I lied.

“Oh, you must not know him all that well then,” Sophia fired back “Stacey says she can hear him from her bedroom window. Apparently, he has a voice like Gary Allan. Stacey says he’s amazing.”

Stacey Carter would be the death of me.

Unsure how to shake Sophia without leaving altogether, out of the corner of my eye I spotted Andy approaching the stands. Part of me wanted to leap for joy, elated that he had showed up. Another part of wished he had not come at all.

“Oh my god there he is!,” Sophia said tugging on my right arm. “Eek – he’s coming this way!”

I was half expecting her to wave him over to sit next to her, but she seemed too giddy. How on earth did Andy turn every girl into a hot mess?

I looked up at him and he smiled back as he made his way towards me. A scruffy face, blue jeans and a grey hoodie under a black bomber jacket made him look kiss worthy. Andy had a way about him that was captivating and mysterious, making you want to get close enough to figure him out and learn what was beneath. Andy was mine, and there was no way Sophia would get her hands on him.

Andy gestured for me to slide down the bleacher so he could be next to me. I nudged Sophia on my right and immediately became a wedge between her and Andy.

“What did I miss?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around me. Absolute perfection.

“Really not that much,” I said, accepting his warm embrace.

Sophia stared at his arm around me introduced herself, “Hi. Sophia Morgan. Cheer-leading co-captain. You must be Andy?”

Andy unraveled his arm from my shoulders and extended his arm to meet her handshake. Thanks, Sophia for ruining my moment. Fortunately for me Andy picked up on my get-her-the-fuck-out-of-here vibe and responded, “Andy Black. Annie’s boyfriend.”

My heart skipped a bit. It was the first time he said it. Annie’s boyfriend. We had agreed we were “together”, but we had never referred to or introduced each other for what we were – boyfriend and girlfriend. It sounded official coming from his lips.

Sophia looked annoyed. “Are you for real? Like you two are like together, together?”

Was it not obvious and was it that impossible that someone like Andy would be with me? I was starting to take pleasure in how much she loathed me. This was getting quite fun.

“Yes,” Andy confirmed.

Sophia did not say another word. She made her way back to the grass just in front of the 40-yard line. I noticed the other girls whispering as they watched Sophia’s failed attempt to win over Andy.

“See you tomorrow, Soph,” I shouted as she walked away.

Andy leaned in and kissed me on my left cheekbone, just below my lips. His untidy shave ticked my skin, causing me to shiver in bliss. I blushed and returned his kiss in the same spot he left mine.

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”

Andy made me feel beautiful and hearing him say it made me believe it.

***

The final score was 21-13 for the Southridge Skyhawks, guaranteeing my article front page exposure. A win-win all around. Andy and I sat on the bleachers, his jacket covering my shoulders, as we watched the crowds trickle out of the stadium until ever car in the parking lot had vanished except for ours.

The stadium lights zapped off as if a gust of wind had extinguished them, leaving only the stars in the clear night sky to guide us back to our vehicles. Hand in hand, Andy walked me to my car and teasingly would not let me get in. He leaned me up against my car door window and kissed me as deeply as we had ever kissed.

“I love you, Annie,” he said as his lips returned back to mine.

When we both caught our breath, I told him I loved him too.

I would always love Andy.