Life, Love & Other Short Stories

:homecoming:

It's loud and uncomfortable. It's been raining for practically half of the first quarter, but no one has thought to throw up an umbrella just yet. They're all waiting for it to pass. Willow is standing as close to the concession stand as possible, watching from just beneath the overhang as the rain pours down on the unfortunate passersby. Her jacket has a hood, but it isn't rainproof so she just stands there. Ignoring the plastic tray in her hands even as the nachos get soggy from the weight of the cheese and chili unceremoniously dumped on them. They're going to squish between her fingers when she goes to eat them and she knows it, but she can't find it in herself to be upset.

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" asks a voice from behind her. She shrugs, not turning to look at the guy hanging out of the order window, her back would get wet.

"If I have to." Her tone is sarcastic, even if her face and body language aren't. It took her Mama an hour to get her hair pressed down so smoothly and it's already starting to puff up from the sheer humidity. He doesn't respond right away, but she guesses that maybe he nods.

The field lights are shining blindingly onto the painted grass, but now puddles are littering the field and the lights get reflected from murky pools of ripples, trembling with the hard footfalls of all the running players.

"I used to like football," the guy is saying and she's more than ready to huff out a sigh, but he seems to be ahead of her and laughs. "I said: used to. Everyone's just in it for the glory now, ya know? I remember when we were just kids and it was fun. You used to play too, right?"

She shakes her head, that was an old her in an old town, but it was the first thing she had thought to say during introductions on the first day of class a couple of months ago, and it doesn't stop him from asking her how she likes watching the new team or if she thinks they're any good. His mouth is moving a mile a minute, his hands smacking on the counter during points he thinks are absolutely vital about the sport. It sounds like bullshit to Willow. After the fourth time, she is turning around to face him.

Her hair is puffing and the air around them feels misty. She makes eye contact and opens her mouth to tell him to shut up about football already to just stop talking to me at all, but when he blinks languidly at her she can see the mirth in the set of his lips and the way he is trying not to completely laugh in her face. It's with an ethereal sense of clarity that she realizes he is trying to be her friend. The first one since she's moved here and she takes a deep breath. Offers him the soggy nachos and a tentative smile. She's never done the making-friends thing before. Her friends back home had just flocked to her because their parents all knew each other. He grabs one, happy to eat on duty. The chip doesn't crunch as he bites into it.

"I used to like football too," she says finally and she's sure his grin is ten times brighter than the lights surrounding the field.

When he finally comes from inside the concession stand where other people are actually trying to work to stand next to her, the bell is being rung to signal a touchdown and the rain has briefly stopped. He's grinning at the sky for a second then they're both talking rapidly. Trying to do introductions and share stories and figure each other out before it rains again and the moment is washed away with the rest of the field paint.

She offers him more nachos.