“You're just looking forward to seeing the cheerleaders in those skirts and tops," Russ shoots back, laughing. "You're trying to see if Dasha is going to wear that thong like you've been trying to talk her into."
"Fuck that, man, that was just a side joke," Cory says, "but yeah, I'd tap that ass if I had a chance. Nah, to be honest, I'm looking forward to seeing Whitney's ti . . . sorry, her figure in the uniform."
I raise my eyebrow, and Cory clears his throat. Russ, however, doesn't get the clue. "Those are some bodacious ta-tas. You got to sample them yet, T-man?"
"She's not that type of girl," I reply, leaning back. I know the guys, and they're still not convinced that I'm really serious about Whitney. Not that we've exactly been seeing each other long, I mean, it's only been three days. "I'm going to take this one slow."
"Holy shit," Russ replies, his eyes wide with wonder. "Is that Troy Wood, or am I seeing a fucking unicorn? Three days and she's got you pussy whipped? She must be magical. Unicorn Nelson!"
"Call her that again, and you're going to be watching tomorrow's game from the sidelines in a cast," I growl, looking into Russ's eyes. "I don't care if you're the free safety or not. Say something again about Whitney, and I end you."
The guys fall silent, and there's some nervous shuffling. Russ and I have been buds since freshman year, and of everyone on the team, he's the one who is closest to standing up to me. Coach Jackson says that if Russ hits the weights hard and gets serious, he'll also have a chance to play college ball, but Russ is normally too laid back, a party kind of guy. Russ stares at me for a second, then gets up, brushing off his jersey. "Whatever. I'm gonna go sit down there, see what Watkins is up to. He doesn’t have a bug up his ass."
Most of the guys kind of drift off after that, until it's just me and Cory. He's got a look on his face, and I give it back. "What?"
"Nothin'," Cory says. "Just . . . you're changing. Last year, you were the guy, on and off the field. I figured this year would be more of the same.”
Out on the field, the marching band is doing a review of their halftime show, minus the ridiculous uniforms they wear. I never have figured out how a team from a town named Silver Lake Falls, and whose high school colors are Silver and Blue, calls themselves the Scarlet Regiment and wears red as their main uniform color. Damn near treasonous, if you ask me. I shrug, “Things can’t always be the same.”
Cory leans back and shakes his head. One of the drummers, a girl with a cute face, drops her stick, causing Cory to cup his hands over his mouth and holler, "If you need a bigger stick, I've got one for ya!"
The girl turns bright red, and Cory laughs while a few of the guys, who've gathered around Watkins, laugh as well. Cory shakes his head and looks back up at me. "Where was I? Oh yeah, you and your changing. I noticed it during summer workouts first. You got more serious about the football. I just chalked it up to you pushing for the scholarship. I know you've got verbal feelers from some schools, but nothing's set in stone until you get something on paper."
"Which you know I can't get for another month at least," I say. "Signing day's a long way off, Cory. But I feel like you’ve got more to say."
"I do. Past week, man, since Monday, you've really gotten, I don't know . . . serious? I won't go as far as Russ and sign my death warrant by saying something about Whitney, but you two looked pretty damn chummy at lunch today, ignoring the rest of us. Even her girlfriend—what's her name?"
"Danielle Vaughn," I remind Cory, who nods. I know Cory hadn't forgotten. He's had Dani on his 'to bang' list ever since Dani joined varsity cheerleading. He's got a thing for dangerous looking blondes, and Dani's the epitome of that. "But your point?"
"I'm just saying—you stepped up Tuesday after screwing up. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.”
"But?"
"But you're showing a softer side too, and that includes Tuesday. I guess what I'm asking you is, which Troy Wood is going to show up tomorrow night? The one who smashes heads on the field, or the softheaded fuckup? I know which one I'd prefer . . .”
I look out on the field and pat my friend on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it. First time I put my face mask in the Blueridge QB's chest, you'll see."