Chapter 5

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Friday night football is a time honoured tradition in the high school world. I'm not sure why everyone loves it so much, but I still attend. Mainly because Lily is the smallest cheerleader, and as such she gets tossed around an abnormal amount. I'd like to be there for her if she dies. Also a perk of football is James, who is number 45 and runs around doing something that helps the team. I cheer for him whenever he runs by. Hal is number 12. Not that I care at all. He just is.

I think, after all these years, I have figured out football spectating as its own sport. Each teams pays a small group of people to sit in the middle somewhere and scream and cheer at specified times. The rest of the crowd, having no clue as to what is actually happening, begins to cheer along. At least, that's what I do.

Another time honoured tradition is nachos and Coke. The best thing about football, as everyone knows, is the unhealthy food sold at ridiculous prices to cold and needy spectators.

I stand up from my seat and walk up the bleachers to get to the concession stand. I look up and see Mrs. Monroe in the press box waving at me, trying to get my attention. I pretend I can't see her and continue on my journey. I'm standing in line, waiting for my precious, sweet, cheesy nachos when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and am surprised to see Mr. Monroe standing among sweatshirt clad teens in his business suit.

"Hello, Katharine." He says.

"Um... hi." I reply.

"Where are you sitting?" I point to the bleachers, "Oh, well then, you ought to sit with the wife and me. Alice is craving some female company."

"Uh... well, I'm with my friend." I say as my lame excuse.

"Oh, well bring her up. I'm sure she'd rather sit in the warm anyhow. And don't worry, we have food up there, none of this processed, over-priced junk."

"Yea, great." I say, getting out of line and heading back to find Ruth.

"I think Noah just scored." She said, between cheers. The great thing about Ruth is that she doesn't understand football either. So we just fake it together.

"Did he?" I joke, momentarily forgetting my Monroe mission.

She grins a little, "No... not yet!"

"Hey, so I just ran into Mr. Monroe. He wants us to sit with him in the press box."

"Think I can swing a gas card if I go?"

"Doubtful."

"I'll pass."

"Come on, Ruth! Please?"

She sighs but follows me up the bleachers and around the back of the press box where security guards let us in.

"Oh!" Mrs. Monroe cries, standing up from her seat, "I'm so glad you could make it."

Like we had a choice.

The press box isn't fancy. Just a few couches and tables sitting on thin carpet. The tables do hold an impressive spread of food, sans nachos. I'm very depressed about this but manage to choke down some chocolate truffles anyhow.

I sit down on the couch between Ruth and Mrs. Monroe and instantly I'm overcome by a problem. In the stands, pretending that I understand football is easy, because I swear everyone else is doing it. In the press box, it's not so easy. I think the Monroes might actually understand. They start cheering like their son can actually hear them, and I start clapping and then so does Ruth. I'm completely confused the whole time, watching the tiny little blobs that are supposed to be our friends (or mortal enemies) running around.

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