As I try to relax, I realize how much the stadium has filled up. Most of the sections seem to be full by now, and only a matter of minutes later, roll call comes into action. The noise within the stadium amplifies as each player is announced, the crowds cheering and whistling as they stride onto the field. Beneath their caps, each player has a competitive look in their eyes. However, none of these players are the slightest bit familiar to me. There’s only one player whose name I recognize: Derek Jeter.
His name is announced and the stadium erupts into applause: applause which I don’t hesitate to join in with. I’m on my feet alongside Tyler, chanting Jeter’s name in unison with the thousands of other Yankees fans while a middle-aged guy saunters onto the field, smiling. It occurs to me while I’m cheering that I’m seriously rooting for Derek Jeter. I’m depending on him to hit a home run.
The game breaks into play at exactly 7:30. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but the game starts off relatively slow and ends up being rather tedious. The first two innings are a total waste of time, with neither team gaining any runs. The most action I see is a Red Sox player get to third base. He’s tagged before home plate. By the second half of the fourth inning, the Yankees have two runs, the Red Sox have three. No home runs yet.
Snake keeps slipping out for more beers every twenty minutes, and by the sixth inning, I’m considering him impaired. I’m not sure why the staff at the stadium keep on serving him. Drunk or not, he still manages to sit down in his seat without swaying too much.
“This game sucks,” Tyler murmurs.
“ ’Cause you’re losing,” Snake slurs, smirk lopsided. “Losing, losing, losing. Losing bad. Losing so bad.”
“We’re only down by one run,” Tyler shoots back. He folds his arms across his chest and slumps further back into his seat, sighing. “We’ll catch up, trust me.”
The sixth inning drags on and I’m really starting to wonder why people find baseball entertaining. The Red Sox gain another win and Tyler keeps on groaning from my side. The other Yankees fans around us also seem to be growing impatient, and it’s not until the break between the sixth and seventh innings that everyone seems to liven up.
Suddenly and out of nowhere, our section seems to go wild. People start yelling, and people start cheering, and people start whistling. Someone behind me grasps my shoulders and shakes me around carelessly, whooping in my ear. From my left, Snake is howling with laughter, chuckling so hard he ends up spilling his beer. He covers his face with his hand and points his beer over in the direction of the video board.
My eyes immediately follow. Up on the video board, in front of Yankee Stadium and in front of fifty thousand people, I see myself. I see myself and I see Tyler. I see us surrounded by a pink border with love hearts. I even see the word “KISS” flashing over us.
I shift my horrified stare to Tyler. He looks back at me, eyes wide, his forehead creasing. Snake’s still laughing and our surrounding audience are still cheering, but all I can do is sit there, absolutely paralysed. Maybe I’d find it hilarious, too, if I did see Tyler as just my stepbrother. Maybe then we wouldn’t look so panicked. I can’t laugh about any of this, though, because I really do want to kiss him, but I just can’t. I can’t because Snake’s here, because there are fifty thousand people around us, because this game is being televised.
Burying my head in my hands, I shake my head firmly. I feel so humiliated. The cheering turns to booing and I’m too afraid to even sit up again, so I steal a quick glance through my fingers instead. I’m so relieved to discover that Tyler and I are no longer on the screen. Instead, there are now two guys frantically locking lips.
I meet Tyler’s eyes. He shrugs back at me, but his mouth is gradually forming a small smile. “Why us?” I groan as I run my hands back through my hair. “Out of everyone here, the camera had to land on us?”
“That was hilarious!” Snake yells, leaning forward to look at us both. He pats my back with his free hand, hard. “So awkward.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. I shrug him off me and he returns to drinking the remainder of his beer. I look back to Tyler again, but he’s only staring at me intensely and smiling.
After a moment, he looks back to the field as the seventh inning comes into play. His smile never falters. I want to ask him why he seems to have enjoyed our embarrassing moment, but he’s so focused on the game again that I doubt he’ll answer me.