I froze, there in the middle of the aisle.
Hastily I grabbed the first thing from the shelf I could to hide the pads and wheeled around to face Jordan, shifting the basket behind me. It banged against the backs of my thighs as I took a few steps to distance myself from the brightly colored packages. I knew it was foolish. Like, I’m guessing Jordan was not entirely unfamiliar with the existence of periods. But if I didn’t want to buy that shit at the store with my mom, I certainly didn’t want Jordan Hunter there for it.
But Jordan just gave me an easy smile. “Hey, Champ.” He looked entirely unconcerned at meeting me here.
“Hi.” It came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad. Just picking up a couple of things for the fam.” He indicated a sticky note pressed to the handle of the cart, clearly a shopping list. I took a quick glance at the contents of the cart: some boxes of cornflakes, a carton of milk, a dozen eggs. Standard fare, except for the little black rectangular box resting atop a package of spaghetti. I knew what they were, and I knew at once why he was in the aisle.
Jordan noticed me looking and cupped a hand around his mouth and said in a loud whisper, “Those aren’t for the fam.”
“Adding rogue items?”
“I’m a free agent,” Jordan said with a smile.
Proud of myself for producing successful banter, I glanced down at my own basket and realized what it was I had grabbed to obscure the pads. I nearly choked. Adult diapers.
I tried, if possible, to force the basket even farther out of sight. Jordan hadn’t seemed to notice.
“So,” he said, as he began to push his cart down the aisle. I walked alongside. “Missed you at the party last week.”
“Yeah … yeah, I was busy.” I hurriedly shoved the adult diapers into an empty spot on a shelf as we passed and grabbed an economy-sized shampoo bottle instead. We turned onto the cleaning-supply aisle, and Jordan slowed in front of the fabric softener.
“How’s Foster?”
Inquiring after my family. Jordan had class that Jane would appreciate. “He’s all right.”
“Hope he wasn’t too down about the game.” He picked up a tub of softener and tossed it into the cart.
“Well … I think he felt like he could’ve done more, but I guess you always feel that way if you lose.”
“Yeah, that’s usually the case.”
We turned onto frozen foods. It was quiet as Jordan stared at a selection of microwavable snacks.
“Jordan?”
“Yeah.”
I couldn’t help but ask it. The Lake Falls game—and all its surrounding drama—was on my mind. “Do you think Lake Falls deserved to win?”
Jordan didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “Depends on how you mean it. Do you mean, do I think they deserved to win because of what happened to them? Or do I think they deserved to win because they’re a better team?”
“I don’t know. Both.”
He glanced over at me. “No, to the first. Yes, to the second.”
“They don’t have a very good record. You don’t … you don’t think Temple Sterling’s a better team?”
“Damn right I do. But it doesn’t matter what I think; it matters what happens on the field. And that night we sucked. So that night they were the better team.”
“But if they had put Ezra back in, you might’ve won.”
“It was a rough call. They pulled Ezra at the half because it looked bad.… There has to be some deference in that kind of a situation, you know? And if Lake Falls had scored six and we scored fifty-six, we’d look like a bunch of assholes. But try telling Ezra in any situation—let alone that situation—not to score, and he’ll tell you to fuck off, pardon my language.”
“But why didn’t they put him back in when Lake Falls started scoring?”
Jordan smiled wryly. “Because of the fit he threw. If any one of us acted that way, we’d be out for sure. They hold us all to the same standards, even the game-changer.”