Under the beating sun, the line continues to move along, and it only takes ten minutes for us to reach the gate. It’s a relief to get inside, away from the heat, and the three of us scan our tickets and head through the turnstiles.
We enter a large concourse, with large banners of Yankees players along the walls. I hear Snake mutter under his breath, most likely something insulting, and Tyler throws his arm over my shoulders as we start to walk, leading us left.
“This is the Great Hall,” he tells me.
We don’t walk very far before we reach the elevators and stairs to the grandstand and terrace levels, and Snake makes for the elevators.
“No.” I reach for Tyler’s arm and pull him back, pointing to the stairs as Snake glowers at me. “Always take the stairs.” Whether they’ll follow or not, I don’t care. I head off, making my way up the first flight, only slowing down when the two of them come rushing up after me.
“How come you never use this logic back at the apartment?” Tyler asks once he’s by my side again. He matches his pace to mine while Snake groans from behind us.
“Always take the stairs unless it’s twelve flights of them,” I correct, smiling. Tyler nods in agreement, and I let him take the lead again, but only because I’m not sure where our seats are.
We wind our way up several flights of stairs, over and over again, through the mass of people milling around, all the way until Level 3. There are a lot of concession stands, selling beer and hot dogs and nachos and soda, and I can see Snake staring desperately at each one we pass. Echoing around us, the commentator is announcing safety information in between the sound of commercials, but I don’t pay too much attention. I’m too focused on the final set of stairs Tyler seems to be directing us up.
It takes us outside to the terrace level, where we’re greeted by tiered seating beneath the grandstand. It’s louder out here as people find their seats, yelling and cheering, commercials and sound effects blaring around the stadium. It’s hard to believe, but somehow it looks even bigger on the inside.
I follow Tyler and Snake to our seats, five rows back and three seats in, and they position themselves so that I end up in the middle. I sit down on the plastic seating and exhale. Overwhelmed, I try to take everything in.
The stands above are rumbling, the levels below are buzzing, and all the noise clashes together to create an energetic atmosphere filled with hyped-up excitement for the game, both teams’ fans hopeful. We’re not that close to the field, but our view is still great and unobstructed. We’re situated to the right of the home plate and I run my eyes across the field. From what I can see of the bleachers the crowd appears pretty rowdy already, but there’s a lot of security throughout each section of the stadium, so I doubt any brawls will be occurring. Behind the bleachers, the video board has switched from playing commercials to playing footage from previous games. Around us there’s a mixture of Yankees and Sox fans, but I think there are slightly more Yankees jerseys and caps than there are Sox.
“This is amazing,” I say. I’m not talking to anyone in particular, just stating a fact, but Tyler still smiles.
“So,” Snake says. He leans forward, edging over me and raising an eyebrow. “Now that we’ve got our seats, I’m heading back for a beer. Eden?”
I shake my head, declining the offer. I don’t think I can have another beer yet. We drank so much last week during our Harry Potter marathon that even the thought of it makes me feel nauseous. Snake, however, seems to survive on beer alone. He sighs at me before glancing at Tyler, who also decides to avoid booze for the night.
Snake shrugs. “More for me,” he says, and heads off, shuffling his way back down the stairs.
Left alone, just the two of us, Tyler takes full advantage of it. He angles his body slightly to face me more and he smiles, eyes smoldering. I try to look back at him, but I can’t. Seeing him look at me like that only makes me blush, so I bite my lip and stare at my Chucks instead. The pair he gave me.
My attention shifts, however, when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I’m grateful for the distraction, and quickly I reach for my device and tilt the screen up. It’s Dean calling. Of course it is, it always is. I can feel Tyler’s eyes on the screen too, so I angle it away from him, declining the call and shoving my phone back into my pocket. Now isn’t the time to talk to Dean. Not while Tyler’s by my side.
“Why didn’t you answer that?”