Small Miracles

December rolls around. The semi-finals are coming up, and the Falcons are working harder and harder every single day. Nick’s taken a short leave of absence from work at Mom’s insistence, since she’s worried that school and work and football are going to take a toll on him. I privately think it’s a little late to be worrying about that, but I don’t say so.

Nick pretends to be annoyed that no one will let him work until football is over, but I know he’s secretly grateful. Coach Taylor has the boys out practicing every single day for as long as the law will let him. Across town, banners supporting the team are going up everywhere: in windows of businesses, on the front lawns of houses, even hung across the entrance of the church. It’s like a repeat of last year, except for one thing: Coach Taylor doesn’t make any big promises. He doesn’t vow to win by a landslide. He doesn’t talk about victory in any of his interviews. Instead, he discusses the hard work that the boys have put in this year, and how hopefully it will pay off. But he never, ever makes any guarantees. It seems like a simple thing to do, but of course, my dad failed to do it.

“Okay, y’all,” Mr. Covino calls. “There’s like twenty minutes of class left, please just focus. I know it’s almost lunch, but c’mon.” These days it’s nearly impossible to get anyone to concentrate on school. All everyone wants to talk about is the game. Predictably, I am not in this group. Just because I went to one football game doesn’t mean I’m interested in having a lengthy conversation about it.

“Get into a group with the people around you and answer the discussion questions for scenes three, four, and five in Hamlet. You’ll find the questions at the end of each scene. If you don’t finish in class today it’s homework for tonight. Understood?” Everyone groans, but we all know it’s a lenient assignment.

Savannah is in class with me, but she’s across the room. That doesn’t stop her from dragging her chair all the way over to my desk. “Hey, partner,” she says brightly.

“I don’t think you’re one of the people around me,” I point out.

Savannah glances at Mr. Covino, who watched her carry her chair over here with a look of mild exasperation before going back to his phone. “Oh well. Let’s try to get most of this done, there’s no fucking way I’m doing this tonight. Grey’s is on.”

“Priorities. I like that.”

“Hey guys,” a new voice says. It’s Melissa Burgos. She’s been in the popular clique pretty much since preschool, and only happens to be speaking to us because I sit next to her, thanks to alphabetical order. “Can I work with y’all?”

“Sure,” I agree. Savannah, who harbors some type of middle-school grudge against Melissa, looks less than pleased about it but says nothing.

The three of us work in companionable silence for a few minutes, only speaking to offer answers or ask a question. That is, until Melissa says, “So, have you guys found your prom dresses yet?”

Prom isn’t until the beginning of June, but some girls are already shopping for their dresses so they can get first dibs on the best ones. I shake my head. “I’ve been doing some looking online,” Savannah says. “Nothing really good yet, though.”

Melissa nods. “Same. Who are you guys going with? Anyone in particular, Sav? I always thought you and Brady Marshall would be cute together.”

Savannah shakes her head — a little too quickly, in my opinion. “Absolutely not. Too goofy. No.”

Melissa smirks. “Oh, right.” Then she turns to me. “What about you, Jules? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Savannah lets out a snort that’s badly concealed as a cough. Melissa ignores her, still looking at me. I’m a little surprised, but then I chide myself for being surprised. Just because some people are interested in mine and Nick’s relationship doesn’t mean everyone is. Maybe Melissa just doesn’t care about who’s dating who, and if that’s the case then I give her props.

“Um, yeah,” I say finally. “Nick Kingston and I are going out, I guess.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense now.”

“What does?”

She shrugs. “Nothing, it’s just that I always assumed you and Nick were friends and whatever. I mean, he treats you the same way he treats all of his other friends who are girls. I figured he didn’t like you like that.”

“Um, okay,” I say with a shrug.

“No offense or anything. You guys just don’t act like a couple, that’s all. A lot of girls weren’t sure if you guys were dating or not — and he’s a catch, you know.” Her tone is friendly enough, but I can tell she’s being mean. It doesn’t bother me too much, because the last thing I care about is whether Melissa Burgos likes me or not, but I’m mostly just confused as to why she’s targeting me.

“Maybe because it’s nobody’s business how they act, Missy,” Savannah snaps. I’m surprised to see her so pissed.

Melissa smiles serenely. “Chill out, Sav,” she says coolly. “I was just saying.”

We finish our work without speaking, and when the bell rings, Melissa gets up and leaves without even glancing back at us. Savannah is quiet as we both go to our lockers, and then as we walk to lunch. But not for long. “God,” Savannah says angrily as we sit down at our usual table, “she is such a bitch.”

“Who is?” Ashley asks, interested.

“Did she really not know Nick and I are dating?” I ask.

“No, of course she does. She was just being a bitch, surprise surprise.”

“Who?” Ashley repeats.

“Melissa Beyer.”

“Oh, well, duh,” Ashley says. “What happened?”

Savannah relays the full story to her. When she’s done, Ashley says, “What a bitch.”

“Right?”

“Everyone knows she likes Nick,” Ashley says dismissively.

“I didn’t,” I say.

“Well, you don’t count,” Savannah says. “You never pay attention to those things.” It’s true, I guess.

“Still. Do you guys think she’s right?”

“Hell no,” Savannah says immediately. “You and Nick are cool. You guys act like you’re best friends — which you are. And that’s cool. She’s just jealous because she knows that she’ll never have a chance with him now.”

I shrug, focusing on my sandwich. Their words of encouragement only make me feel a little better. Suddenly, someone knocks into me as they sit down next to me. It’s light, but because I’m so deep in thought it sends me reeling to the side. “Hel-lo,” Nick says, grinning as I right myself.

“Hey.”

“Want my pie?” he asks, offering me the small plate of apple pie he got with his lunch. “I asked for just a fruit cup, but the lunch ladies always give me pie with it.”

Savannah scoffs. “Boo hoo. Worse things could happen.”

“Shut up.”

“Thanks, Fruit Cup,” I say as I take the piece of pie.

“You’re the fruit cup,” Nick retorts, ruffling my hair and making me laugh.

I forget about the Melissa issue until after lunch, when Nick and I are walking to class. He has to stop at his locker first, so I go with him. Melissa and her friends are lingering nearby, which normally wouldn’t bother me, except now I’m noticing, really noticing. I notice that Nick and I never hold hands; we merely walk close enough for our shoulders to brush. We never hug or kiss as a greeting or a good-bye; instead, Nick smiles at me and says “hey” or “see ya” before we go on our merry way. We act like . . . friends. And although I know it’s dumb and it’s what Melissa wants, it bugs me.

“Would you ever go out with Melissa Burgos?” I ask abruptly.

Nick looks up at me from where he’s going through his locker. “What?”

“Melissa Burgos. Would you go out with her?”

He stares at me. “Why, do you want me to?”

“No!” I say quickly, only to realize he’s kidding. “No, you jerk. I was just wondering.”

“Jules,” Nick says patiently. “Why would I go out with her when I’m going out with you?”

“I dunno,” I mutter. Now that he says it, it does sound silly. But my worries haven’t been eased yet. “How come we never do PDA?”

“What?” Nick says again, looking even more startled.

“I just noticed that we never show any PDA. And I was just wondering why.”

He continues to stare. “I don’t do PDA because you don’t do PDA, remember?” And oh, that’s right. When Nick and I first started dating, I told him that there would be no public displays of affection between us whatsoever. At the time, Nick was still so pleased with himself for getting me to like him that he agreed without a second thought. However, although the novelty of dating me wore off (probably the day after we started going out), Nick still has never complained about it. I can’t believe I forgot.

“Oh. Yeah. Well, does it bother you at all? That we, um, don’t act like a couple?”

Nick shrugs. “Not really. I don’t really want to be those people who suck face in the hallway all the time anyway. Everybody hates them. Plus, you know we’re dating, and I know we’re dating, so who cares?”

He’s right. Of course. “Yeah,” I agree. “True.”

He closes his locker and straightens up. “Anything else concerning you?” He looks at me wearily, waiting for whatever torrent of bullshit I’m about to release next.

“No, I’m good,” I say, and it’s the truth. I do feel better, and also embarrassed for letting stupid Melissa Burgos get in my head.

“Why are you so interested in PDA? Did you change your mind about it?” Nick asks.

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“You sure? You wouldn’t like it if I did this?” Nick opens his arms and envelops me in a big bear hug, squishing me against his chest.

I push at him, laughing. “Get off of me!”

“Or if I did this? In front of —” he gasps, “— in front of everybody?” I’m laughing even harder as he pulls back with his arms still around me, planting about a dozen kisses everywhere but my actual mouth as I try to get away from him.

I can barely breathe, I’m laughing so hard. “Nick, stop!”

Brady walks by and shakes his head in disgust. “You guys are gross.”

“Oh, no,” Nick says dramatically. “Now it’s done. We’re gross. Oh, God, the humanity.” He releases me, still grinning.

“I hate you,” I say, but there’s no bite behind my words.

Nick laughs. “Not true,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Never true.”

▲ ▼ ▲

They win the semi-finals. By a landslide, actually. The game isn’t at Sterling High, since now it needs to be at a “neutral” location for both teams so no one has an advantage or whatever. Instead it’s at a random school near Port Arthur, about an hour and a half away.

I’m purposely working all day to try and get my mind off of it. I don’t want to think about the game or football or even Nick. Of course, this backfires when he comes into the diner around eleven o’clock.

I pretend he’s not there as he stops to shake what seems like everybody’s hand as they wish him good luck and tell him he’ll be great. I can see him walking towards me out of the corner of my eye, but I just continue to wipe the counter down and talk to Savannah, who came to keep me company.

“Your man is here,” she informs me.

“I know,” I say. “I’m pretending he isn’t.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ladies,” Nick says, sitting down next to Savannah. “How are we today?”

“Oh, hello,” I say, like I just noticed he’s there. He raises his eyebrows at me. “How are you?” I ask instead.

“Fine,” he says slowly. “Just thought I’d stop in before the bus leaves.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Um, I’m going to the bathroom,” Savannah says, standing up. “Good luck today, Nick.”

“Thanks.” He watches her leave before he turns back to me. “What’s with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you saw me come in here. I know you saw me walk over here. And I know something is up with you. So . . . what is it?” He swivels around in the seat a few times.

“I’m just nervous,” I say. “Like, really nervous. Really, really nervous. And I really don’t want to think about the game or the sport of football itself or even you. Because if I do —”

“— it’ll just make you nervous?” Nick finishes dryly. I nod. He rolls his eyes. “Jules, you’re not even on the team. Hell, you’re not even going to this game.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up. “I’ll leave you to be a nervous wreck in piece. I just thought I’d come in before my bus leaves and say hi.”

Before I can answer, Mom comes through the kitchen door and sees him. “Oh hi, Nick! Are you distracting my daughter? Don’t you have a game to get to?”

“No ma’am. I mean, um, yes ma’am,” Nick says, and I’m pleased to see he looks a little flustered. “I just wanted to say hi before I left.”

“Well, hi. Good luck today,” Mom says cheerfully. She ruffles his hair and goes off to take someone’s order. As soon as she’s out of earshot I start to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick grumbles. “Your mom intimidates me, ha ha.” He checks his phone. “Shit. The bus is leaving in a few; I’d better get going.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Have fun. Don’t get hurt.” Before I can change my mind, I lean forward and kiss him once on the mouth, and then again on the nose.

He looks surprised. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know. Luck?” I offer. He grins at me and I roll my eyes. “Get out of here. Go throw a ball or something.”

“Maybe they’ll put me on TV. We should have a secret signal, so that way I can say hi to you on camera and only you’ll know.”

“You’re so cheesy,” I groan, but I secretly like the idea. “Okay, what should the signal be?”

He thinks for a second before he taps his nose, right where I kissed it. “There. That’ll be the signal. Make sure you look for it.” I salute him, and this time he finally does leave, practically running so he doesn’t miss the bus.

Despite my protests, Mom changes the channel on the TV to a local one that’s broadcasting the game and so everyone eating can see it. Savannah sits there and squeezes my hand and we watch as the Falcons score touchdown after touchdown until it’s finally over and we’re moving on to the finals, just like last year.

There are cameras and news anchors there, and of course they want to talk to Nick, the quarterback, captain, and senior. One of them taps him on the shoulder and he turns, looking startled. “Nick, you’ve just made it to the state championships, how are you feeling?” she asks.

“Uh —” He starts to talk, but realizes his mouth guard is still in. I shake my head as he sheepishly takes it out and says, “It feels amazing, I mean, we’ve worked so hard all season for this and it feels good to have it pay off. We couldn’t have done it without everyone at home supporting us, all our friends and families, and of course Coach Taylor.” Coach is standing nearby, a gruff look on his face that I know is just an act.

The news reporter moves to talk to him, but I can still see Nick in the background. I watch with a smile as he looks straight into the camera, grins, and taps his nose. “Why’d he do that?” Savannah asks, amused.

I shrug. “Oh, you know. It’s for good luck.”