D. MacHale - SYLO

Quinn liked to dream too. His mouth hung open as he stared at her unashamedly. I gave him a small shove to bring him back to reality before the line of drool hit his shoes.

“Thanks, Olivia, this is great,” I said as I took the cold glass that was already wet with condensation.

“I’m sorry to hear about the guy from your team,” she said. “What happened?”

“Funny you should ask,” Quinn said as he stepped forward to begin a lecture on the subject.

“Nobody knows yet,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not good to start rumors.”

Quinn backed off.

Olivia frowned. “So sad. He was having such an amazing game.”

“You were there?” I asked with surprise.

Olivia gave me a coy smile. “I wanted to see you play.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed.

“Oops,” Quinn said and pretended to be focused on his lemonade.

“Oh. Well, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t play much.”

“I didn’t see you play at all,” she said bluntly.

There was no pretense with Olivia—and no filter. She wasn’t malicious; she just said what was on her mind.

“Tucker’s on the kickoff team,” Quinn said, jumping in to save my dignity. “The most dangerous part of the game because they give up their bodies with no concern for their own well-being. They call them Kamikazes.”

“No, they don’t,” I said, scoffing. Then quickly added for Olivia’s benefit, “But it is pretty dangerous.”

Olivia gave a pouty frown. “I don’t know much about football. I just wanted to see you play.”

“I’m afraid you’ll get that chance,” came a voice from inside.

The screen door opened and Kent Berringer stepped out. Kent was the starting middle linebacker on our team. A junior. He was a tall guy with blond hair that was always perfectly messed up and a tan that lasted through the winter. His family was old-school Pemberwick. They’d lived there for centuries and acted as though they owned the place…because in some ways they actually did. His family owned the Blackbird Inn, meaning Quinn and I had been mowing the grass for Kent. Indirectly.

He stood next to Olivia, looking down on Quinn and me from the porch like he was the lord of the mansion…which I guess he was.

“How do you figure that?” I asked. “Freshmen don’t play much.”

“Unless a starting senior drops dead,” Kent said with an incredible lack of tact.

It hadn’t hit me until that moment. I was Marty’s backup.

“That’s right!” Quinn exclaimed. “That makes you the starting tailback.”

“You up for that, Rook?” Kent asked, as if he didn’t think I was even close to being up for it.

My head was spinning. “I…I guess.”

“You better be,” he added.

It came across like a threat. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence, and Kent came down firmly on the arrogant side. The Blackbird was the nicest hotel on Pemberwick Island, which meant that Kent’s family was rich and Kent was set for life. He knew it, too. He treated most everyone like he was their boss. Of course, in my case he actually was my boss.

“I saw you play, Kent,” Olivia said, suddenly all coy and flirty. “You were so…violent.”

She emphasized the word “violent” as if it made her all tingly just to think about it.

Kent shrugged with fake modesty.

Quinn rolled his eyes.

I had no right to be jealous, but I was.

“So does this mean you’ll come watch me play again next week?” I asked, trying to reclaim the conversation.

Olivia frowned. “I’m not sure. School starts soon, so I don’t know how much longer we’ll be staying.”

“Your school starts late,” Quinn pointed out.

Olivia shrugged. “What can I say? Private school. They make up their own rules.”

“But you’re not leaving today,” Kent said. “Let’s catch a movie.”

Jealousy growing.

Olivia brightened. “Kent Berringer! Why did you wait until the end of the summer to ask me out?”

I knew why. She’d been hanging out with me. But now that I had been revealed to be the bench-jockey scrub and Kent the violent star, the dynamic had changed.

“I wanted to,” Kent explained with a shrug. “From the minute I met you, but hotel policy says we can’t socialize with guests.”

“Too bad,” I said, not meaning it.

Kent added, “But seeing as you won’t be a guest much longer, I think it’ll be okay.”

Quinn kept looking back and forth between me and them, hoping I would say something to stop the Kent-train from gathering speed.

“Why don’t we all go!” he declared with a touch of desperation. “You know, a group thing like you see on TV.”

“That sounds like fun,” Olivia said with genuine enthusiasm.

Quinn beamed. He had successfully derailed the express.

“Sorry, Rook,” Kent said. “Your father agreed to finish the lawn today and you’re not even halfway done.” He lifted up the lemonade pitcher and added, “Too many breaks, I guess.”

And the train was back on the tracks.

“Rook?” Quinn asked with mock confusion. “What’s with the chess reference, Kent? You strike me as more of a checkers guy.”

Kent glared at him. Quinn knew full well that “Rook” was short for “rookie” and that Kent didn’t know a pawn from a bishop, but as I said, Quinn liked to push buttons.

Kent ignored him and faced Olivia. “You should get dressed. As much as I’d like to hang out with you like that, you might get cold in the movie theater.”

Olivia giggled and backed toward the front door. “You are so bad! Back in a jiff!”

She spun away and skipped inside.

“Jiff?” Quinn repeated with confusion.

Kent gave me a triumphant smile and said, “Finish the job, go home, and rest up for Monday.”

He left us standing there holding our lemonade glasses.

“What’s Monday?” Quinn asked.

“Practice. I’m the starting tailback now, remember?”

“And you just lost the hottest girl on the island,” Quinn added. “You’re oh-for-two today, my friend. Let’s hope you do better on Monday.”

As it turned out I didn’t have to worry about practice the following Monday. It was canceled out of respect for Marty. There was no practice for the rest of the week and Friday’s game was postponed. I’d never had to deal with the finality of death. All four of my grandparents had died before I was old enough to understand how it all worked. It was a strange feeling to know that I was the last person Marty had ever spoken to. The memory of his final few moments haunted me. What had been wrong with him? Did he know he was about to die or was it just the excitement of the game talking? I wondered if I should tell somebody about it, like his parents, but decided it would only make them feel worse if they knew Marty’s state of mind at the end had been so—so what? Troubled? Confused? Frightened?

The funeral was held on Tuesday afternoon at the big white Congregational church near the town square. The whole football team was there. Coach asked us to wear our game jerseys, which I thought was a bad idea. Marty had died during the game. His parents didn’t need to be reminded. But I was part of the team so I went along.

The church was packed. Looking around I saw many of the same faces I had seen watching with worry from the bleachers as Marty lay still in the end zone. I had never been to a funeral before so I didn’t know what to expect. I imagined everyone would be all weepy but it wasn’t like that at all. I think everyone was in shock. Especially Marty’s family. He had two younger sisters who sat with their parents, stone-faced, in the front row next to the coffin. I couldn’t imagine a sight more tragic than that.