“What’s up, Jos?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes... I mean, no... I mean...” He smiled at me and I felt my insides melt. “I don’t belong here, Ry. This isn’t my world.”
“What do you mean, this isn’t your world? You are part of my world, so you do belong here.” His grin widened as he led me away from his car. My giddy, high-school-crush butterflies came out of nowhere because he had referred to me as belonging.
“You going to sit on the front row and cheer me on?” he asked, although I could tell by his tone he already knew the answer.
“Ha ha. No. I will, however, give you the loudest feminine yell from somewhere near the middle.”
“That’s my girl.” He reached over and rumpled my hair like a dog’s, ruining my perfectly placed hood. I gave him a spiteful look as I fixed his handiwork, but he only grinned at me before running off to join his team.
I watched him before turning around as some of the other boys began asking about me. Although I couldn’t stop their ogling, at least from a distance I could pretend to ignore it.
I had moved about halfway up the stadium seats when a large, inclined roof caught my attention. Without even thinking about it, I changed directions toward the enclosed announcer’s booth. It was covered in the same smooth flagstone as the other buildings, but it was the roof that called to me. The deeply angled slope extended high above the field.
I jumped up about three feet and hoisted myself onto the red asphalt tiles. I loved being so high for the same reason I loved that our apartment was on the third floor with a big open window where I could sit for hours. From up here, I could watch over everyone; I could see what was going on and feel a part of it without the worry of someone else thinking something was wrong with me. What I loved the most, though, was the way the wind moved across my face, tickling my sun-starved skin. The powerful energy of the wind pushed against me and moved into me. It was lucky I was sane, because part of my soul wanted to take off into the air and soar away.
I sat perched on top of the booth; legs dangling on either side of the A-shaped roof, watching both teams run drills on opposite sides of the field. Ryland’s team wore deep blue shorts and matching shirts, each shirt emblazoned with a giant dragon spewing a perfect line of fire. The dragon wasn’t the school mascot, however; it was the logo of Ryland’s father’s company, Imdalind Forging. Being around Ryland so much, I often forgot how large his family’s company was and how much it had a hand in everything Ryland did.
After about an hour of drills and prep, the crowd began to file in. When the slow trickle became a more steady flow, I decided it was time to leave my roost, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I moved my way down the steep slant of red asphalt shingles, freezing in place when a hot trickle moved up my spine. I looked up, afraid some bird had decided to humiliate me, but stopped halfway at the sight of Edmund strolling into the stands.
He wore all black, his good looks accentuated by a heavy leather jacket and diminished by his usual scowl. I glued my body to the roof; I knew I shouldn’t be there.
Edmund was accompanied by a shorter boy who appeared to be about Ryland’s age, but given his height, it was hard to tell. His features were rough and rounded, giving him an odd boy-like quality that didn’t fit him at all. He had unkempt, deep-red hair and eyes so dark that, from my distance, looked almost black.
I sought out Ryland, fully prepared to glare daggers at him, only to find his face panicked as he looked back and forth between his father and me. I guess Edmund’s appearance was a surprise for him, too.
Ryland looked at me one last time before he turned away and began signaling his father down. I took Ry’s distraction at full value and dropped the remaining six feet before rushing to find a seat that was, hopefully, far enough away.
I dodged through the growing throng of people, my femininity becoming apparent. I was one of a sprinkling of girls surrounded by the over-rambunctious boys of Whittier Academy, most in their bright blue blazers, even though it was a Saturday. I dodged through them, trying to avoid the catcalls that had started the second I had been noticed in the stands.