“So how long do you think your dad will make me do this shit?”
Sasha’s steps slow completely, and I turn just in time to see him taking a seat behind me.
“Probably a lot longer if he sees you taking a break,” I say, craning my neck to look over my shoulder.
Sasha’s eyes meet mine, and he smiles on one side of his mouth, running his arm over his forehead, clearing it of sweat.
“You’re lucky you’re not in full pads doing this,” I say, just as he dips his head. He pauses and tilts his chin up enough to look me in the eyes. I nod to confirm I’m not kidding.
Sasha rolls his eyes along with his shoulders, adjusting his position and sinking more into the bleachers as he leans to one side and spits through the small opening to his left.
“Why are you even doing this?”
He doesn’t look at me when I ask, his focus on the loose drawstring dangling from the waistband of his gray practice pants. He tugs the string between his thumb and forefinger, pushing the end in the elastic. When his face comes up, he looks beyond me, out to the field. Leaning to his side again, squinting, he holds his finger out straight and points.
“That’s my boy, right there. He’s never quit on me. Not once.” His gaze shifts to mine, his expression tired but hard—determined. “He asked me to be here. So I’m here.”
I look from Sasha back out to the field, where my father is talking to Nico.
“You better get up, then, before my dad sees you,” I say.
When I turn around, Sasha’s already five steps up and climbing again. His pace is steady, and his legs look exhausted. But he’s not quitting.
Sasha runs the entire practice. My dad calls him out to the center of the field when he dismisses everyone else, but Nico stays behind, walking over to me. I don’t shut my camera off, and he’s quiet when he sits next to me. We don’t say a word as we watch my father speak with his best friend—both of them standing closed-off, their arms crossed over their chests. When my dad moves his hands to his hips finally, I hear Nico breathe in deeply. He doesn’t exhale until his friend reaches a hand forward and shakes my father’s.
I shut the camera off when they both walk out of the view from my frame, and as I’m packing up, Sasha and my dad are both at the bottom of the bleachers.
“We good?” Nico says, his feet tucked underneath the bleacher seat, and his hands gripping the metal front as he leans forward to make eye contact with his friend.
Sasha nods.
“Yeah, we all good,” he says.
My dad twists the leather band of his watch on his wrist, repositioning it and checking the time. The sky is transitioning from orange to violet behind him. “I’ll see you at home,” he says, his eyebrows raised just a hint. I’m sure only I would notice the difference in his expression, but I know my dad means it’s time for me to quit hanging out at dusk with two boys on the bleachers—two boys he’s called at-risk at least a dozen times at home.
He’s being protective. It’s sweet. But it’s also…I don’t know...something more. I kind of want to stay. Maybe I feel like I owe it to Nico, because he walked over here to sit by me. I would be abandoning him. And maybe I want him and Sasha to think that I’m better than the eighty percent of the football team who doesn’t seem to be on board with the idea of Nico taking the lead.
“I won’t be far behind,” I say to my dad, and the way his eyes level on mine, I get the subtle warning and nonverbal translation. I may be eighteen, but there will always be a curfew for me when boys are involved.
“A’right then,” he says, pulling a pack of gum from his pocket and unwrapping a single piece. He pushes it into his mouth, chewing vigorously, and I smirk because he’s being so very much a dad right now.
I watch my father walk around the end of the bleachers toward his office where, while I know he said he’d see me at home, I suspect he will be for the next several hours reviewing plays and thinking about how his offense could run if he really goes through with this.
When I turn back, Sasha has climbed the steps to sit on the rail near us. He pulls the tape from his ankles and balls it up, throwing it in the trash while he and Nico talk about meeting up with Colton.
“Dude, I need to get my ass home. My mom’s already pissed that I’m getting a C in Government,” Sasha says.
“That’s because you keep skipping,” Nico says, tilting his head toward his friend.
“Yo, I do. And it’s worth it every time. Damn Brittany Shafer! Fuck, man…that girl is so fine,” Sasha says as he brings his knuckles up to his mouth, biting them to show exactly how fine he thinks Brittany is.
“Pssshhh, dude, don’t be like that in front of Reagan,” Nico says, which only makes Sasha roll his eyes.