Small Miracles

On a Friday night, I’m lying up in my room on my bed. When I was twelve and Mom had James, we needed to make room for him, and I somehow managed to convince her to let me move into the attic. It probably helped that Dad was on my side, he lobbied for it more than I did, I think.

My room is kind of plain, but I think it fits me. Mom’s always trying to get me to decorate it, put up some posters and pictures, but I tell her that there’s really no point, since I'm just going to be leaving in a few months. This is usually when she says, “For God’s sake, Julianna, you’re going to college, not moving out for good!” But it might as well be the same thing, in my opinion.

Savannah’s been texting me updates from the game, even though I never really asked. It’s all pretty predictable, anyway: touchdowns are scored, the other team gets pummelled, the Falcons are heroes, and Coach Taylor is a miracle worker. He’s the one who replaced my dad. He’d only been in Sterling for a few days when he knocked on our door and gave my mom an apple pie his wife had baked, introducing himself and telling us how bittersweet getting this job felt.

I really want to hate him, but I can’t. He’s a nice man, honestly. He’s just doing his job.

Game is over, we won, Savannah texts.

Wow!!!!!! Big surprise!!!!

Ha ha. Very funny. There is a party at Brady’s house, u should come.

Before I can say no, that I’m in bed and feeling very comfortable, thanks (even though it's only nine-thirty - I'm pathetic, so what), she sends another message.

Nick is asking for u.

I furrow my eyebrows, because not only is that a little strange, but Nick has my cell phone number. My mom made all of the employees at Blue Sky exchange numbers, in case we need to text each other questions or to cover shifts. If Nick wanted to talk to me, all he had to do was text me.

I think for a few seconds before, in a fit of unexpected boldness, I decide to text him first.

Heard you won the game, superstar.

The response comes almost instantly.

Hiiiii. Yeah, we did :)

I can almost hear him saying that in his slow, endearing drawl, and I roll my eyes. Another message comes through.

You didn’t come to the game :( there’s a party at Brady’s . . . make it up to me please?? :)

I stare at the screen for a long time, going over my options. I can either sit in this bed all night and wallow in self-pity, or I can go to a party and interact with my classmates and have a few drinks and see Nick (not that I want to, anyway).

Finally, I sigh and text Savannah, Can you come pick me up? Then I get out of bed, change my shirt, run a brush through my hair, and slip on some shoes.

Apparently, I’m going to a party.

▲ ▼ ▲

Even though the party just started, the house is already crowded. Apparently Brady’s mom and dad went out to celebrate with Coach Taylor and the rest of the team parents, so everyone is gathering here.

It looks the same as Will’s: most of the seniors are here, the cheerleaders making their rounds, there’s a few kegs, some bowls of chips and pretzels in a half-assed attempt to be a real party, and Aiden Fischer is sitting in the middle of the room with his guitar, surrounded by people and leading a sing along to what sounds like Justin Bieber. I make sure to steer clear of that whole scene.

Savannah left to go get us drinks, so I stand there and wave to Anna and Kate and Ashley, congratulate Will and Brady and a few other football players who I’ve made peace with, and then -

“You came!” a voice says. I turn, and Nick is standing there, smiling at me. I can tell he rushed here from the game, because his hair is still wet from the showers and his flannel is buttoned up rather messily. There’s a bruise on his collarbone and he’s moving gently, like his body hurts.

“That I did,” I agree.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” he says teasingly.

“Yeah, well,” I say, and I finally crack a smile, “sorry to shatter that dream.” Then I add, “They beat you up pretty bad, huh?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Nick brags, still smiling. “You didn’t come,” he points out, his face falling a little. I raise an eyebrow.

“You’re not used to people saying no to you, are you? I told you, I don't go to football games.”

“You came here, though,” he says smugly.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Savannah asked me to come.” Since I’m feeling pretty gutsy tonight, I add, “I also heard you were asking about me. What’s that about, huh?”

Nick flushes a little. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“I’m not gonna reveal my sources. Is it true or not?”

“Maybe,” Nick says. “Maybe not.” Aiden Fischer ends the song and there’s a lot of clapping, and then he’s calling out, “Anybody have requests? And will somebody please get me some more beer?”

Savannah appears at that moment, thrusting a beer into my hand and shouting, “Play ‘Wonderwall’!” There’s a loud murmur of assent, and Aiden is nodding vigorously as he sips his brand new cup of beer.

“Excellent choice. Good beer. Anyway, here’s ‘Wonderwall.’” He starts to strum.

Nick grabs my hand, and I’m too surprised to pull it away. “I’m not drunk enough to enjoy this, and I don’t plan on it,” he mumbles into my ear. “C'mon.” He drags me outside to the porch, and there's no one else out here. Now I’m a little nervous, not because I think he’s going to hurt me or anything, but because I have no control over this situation whatsoever.

“Um, should we -” I gesture to the steps, wincing when I see a few puddles of puke.

“No,” Nick shakes his head and jerks it towards the porch swing. “Here.” He sits down and waits for me to settle next to him before putting an arm around the back of the swing, so he’s not quite touching me, but almost.

We sit in silence for a while until a breeze blows past us and I unconsciously shiver in my t-shirt and shorts. Nick says, “Are you cold?”

“No, I'm fine,” I start to say, but he’s already standing up and undoing his flannel, pulling it off to reveal a white t-shirt underneath and practically thrusting it at me. “Jesus, Nick, it was just a breeze.”

“Shut up,” he says, shaking it in front of my face. “I’m being nice, take it.”

“I don't even like plaid,” I grumble, but I accept it and pull it on. The sleeves fall over my hands and I quickly roll them up, trying to make it look like I’m not swimming in the thing, but it’s a little obvious. Well, it’s not my fault Nick’s tall. But the shirt is really warm. I glance over at him once I’m done buttoning it up, and I see that he’s biting the inside of his cheek, trying to force back a huge smile. “Oh, shut up.”

“What?” Nick says innocently, grinning even harder. “Y’look good. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s a compliment,” I mimic him, trying to ignore the flush on my cheeks. Hopefully it’s too dark for anyone to notice. We don’t talk for a little bit after that, but finally I tuck my knees up to my chest and say, “Well, go on.”

“What?”

“Tell me about the game.” Nick’s face lights up, but then he pauses.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. That's what you’ve been wanting to talk about all night, right?”

“Yeah, but . . .” I shoot Nick a glare, so he shrugs and hesitantly starts to talk, but eventually he gets more and more enthusiastic, launching into a play-by-play of every quarter. It should be boring (actually, it is), but since I'm the one who brought it up in the first place, I do my best to stay interested, even though it hurts a little.

The night wears on, and occasionally people filter through the door, either coming in to join the party or leaving to go home and sleep. Sometimes, they’ll stop and talk to Nick about the game, and he’s more than happy to oblige, but as soon as they’re gone, he goes right back to his previous story, and I do my best to listen. I sort of zone out, watching him as he waves his hands around in the air, describing one of the Panthers' failed blitzes.

At one point, Savannah comes out, stumbling a little. “There you are -” she starts to say, but then she stops short once she sees who I’m sitting with. “Oh. Hi.” She raises her eyebrows at me and waggles them, like Nick isn’t sitting right there, watching us.

“Hi,” I say, glaring at her. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nearly midnight. Will you drive me home?” she asks pleadingly.

I almost point out that I have no other way to get back to my house, but decide not to because she’s drunk enough already. “Okay.”

“How are you gonna get home?” Nick asks.

I shrug. “I’ll walk.” As soon as I say this, though, I want to groan. Savannah lives a few blocks away, and walking home in the dark by myself is stupid and Mom would kill me if she ever found out.

“No,” he insists. “I’ll follow you, and then once you drop Savannah off I’ll drive you home. Don't argue,” he adds. “There's no way you can get out of it.”

I sigh and start to help Savannah over to her car, sitting her in the passenger seat and buckling her in before getting behind the wheel. I drive through the quiet streets, Nick behind me the whole time, and finally pull up in front of Savannah's house. “Do you need help getting in?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m okay. Thanks, Jem, I owe you one.” She tries to hug me, but mostly ends up leaning on me. I muffle a laugh into her shirt and pat her on the back.

“No problem. Go get some rest.” I make sure she gets inside her house okay before I climb inside Nick’s truck, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes.

“Hard night?” he jokes, backing out of the driveway and into the street.

“You have no idea,” I say. “I had to listen to you for most of it.”

“Heeeeey,” he says, mock offended. “You said you wanted to hear it!”

“Not for two hours, though,” I say. I feel a little mean, though, so I add, “I’m just kidding.”

He huffs but doesn’t say anything else. I crack one eye open and watch as he blows through a few red lights, which shouldn’t really matter because the streets are deserted, but it makes me feel nervous anyway. I watch his profile as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other leaning against the window.

He pulls up in front of my house, and I’m reminded of the last time I went to a party and he drove me home, how different things were then compared to now. “Well,” I say. “Thanks for the ride and everything.”

“No problem. See you around, Jules.” Nick winks before he drives away.

It’s only when I get back inside my house and sprawl out on my bed that I realize I’m still wearing his flannel.