⋆ h o m e c o m i n g f r e n z y & b o r r o w i n g j e r s e y s ⋆
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serendipity (n.) finding something good without looking for it
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TWO WEEKS FLY BY and before I know it, the homecoming game is this Friday. It's Thursday, and boys are still scrambling to ask girls to be their dates. At Lindon High, homecoming is a serious tradition that has been a big deal since the founding of the school. Since it is the senior's last homecoming, our grade is treating it more momentously. By lunch today, ninety-eight percent of our grade will have a date.
I, on the other hand, have only gone each year to take pictures for an hour before going home to binge on my favorite show. So when Nora asks me in the middle of a bustling lunch line who I am going with, I scoff and tell her no one. She is going with Stephen, a cute, studious boy she has had a crush on since the start of the year, two months ago.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?", she asks for the hundredth time as we put away our trays at the end of lunch, and I shake my head no again.
"I'll be fine, Nora, don't worry. I honestly don't care about the dance, I'm literally only going to take pictures," I say, pushing for her to drop the subject, and she does, shrugging. We part ways to walk to class. It's a calamity when I reach chemistry. Girls are swarming our lab table, voices rushing and flowing together, a river of begging and shouts for him to be their date. In the midst of it, Jordan sits on a stool, a slightly panicked look on his face. He spots me and his eyes plead me to help. I stifle a laugh and make my way over.
"Um, excuse me," I say loud enough to catch their attention, "Jordan already has a date to homecoming, I saw him asking her this morning." I hear a chorus of groans as most of the girls sigh and turn away, some staying back to ask me who, but I just shrug and stare them down until they leave. It takes all of my strength to hold back my amusement until they are all gone, bursting into a fit of roaring laughter.
"Come on, Bumble, it's not that funny," he says frustratedly, running a hand through his soft, black locks. However, I see a hint of a smile on his face.
"Has that been happening all day?", I ask, still chuckling softly. He nods.
"I'll just keep telling them I have a date, I guess," he says, shrugging.
"Wait, are you telling me that the oh-so-wonderful Jordan Lee doesn't have a date?", I ask incredulously, imagining that he had already asked some curvaceous blonde to be on his arm for the night. He looks slightly sheepish.
"There's no one I wanted to take that would want me to bring them", he says, and even though I try to stop it, his first words send a dagger through my heart.
"I guess now I have to find a date because everyone is expecting me to bring one," he mutters, shooting me a teasing sidelong glance, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
He appears deep in thought for a few seconds until he turns to me. I can see the gears turning in his mind.
"Do you have a date, Bumble?", he asks and I'm tempted to say yes because I already know what's coming.
"No," I say hesitantly, waiting for the inevitable.
"Do you want to be my date?," he asks, "it would be an easy way to avoid the whole hassle of asking someone else."
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure it would be so hard to ask someone else," I state sarcastically, "in fact, I bet I could walk up to any other girl at one of those tables, ask them for you, and they'd say yes." I don't want him to throw away better options for the sake of ease, but I can't stop the butterflies that come into my stomach at his words.
"Yeah, but they would expect me to be all loving and stuff," he says tiredly. His expression is one of boredom, but I can see him imploring me to with his eyes.
"Ugh, okay fine," I say, "but I'm not going to be a good date, I'm the photographer for the event for an hour, and since you're my date, you're picking me up." He gives me a self-satisfied grin and I roll my eyes.
"Since you're my date, you know what that means right?", he asks, his smug smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes making me nervous.
"What?"
"You have to wear my jersey at tomorrow night's game," he declares, smirking. I recall the tradition at our school that all football player's dates must wear their extra jerseys for good luck.
"Oh come on—", I start.
"This is non-negotiable, Bumble, when you agreed to be my date, you essentially agreed to all the terms and conditions," he cuts me off, and of course, before I can respond, the bell rings. He winks and walks out the door.
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A day later, I'm in my room staring at the jersey Jordan gave me at school. He promised me multiple times that it was washed, so I sigh and slide it over a black bralette and high-waisted jean shorts, tucking the front in.
I turn around, and crane my neck to see the giant 41 across the back in the mirror. Even though he said he washed it, I can still smell the faint traces of his cologne on the jersey. I put my glasses on and add a layer of lip gloss because if I was going to be stared at, I needed to look semi-decent. I grab my camera and drive over to Nora's house to pick her up.
"OMG. Is that Jordan Lee's jersey?", she squeals as she gets in, "why didn't you tell me you two had a thing?"
"Because we don't, I'm simply his convenience date," I shrug and she just stares at me. I can tell that she's bursting to ask more, so I give her a look and she drops it, moving on to other gossip and chattering the whole way to the game.
We get out in the parking lot, which is three times more crowded than usual. I pass dozens of people with our colors painted in lines under their eyes and many girls sporting different player's jerseys. I get a fair share of stares but I grab Nora and pull her through the crowds quickly. The stands are packed, rows and rows of people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and I've never been more glad to have a sports pass. Archer looks even more decked out than usual, wearing head-to-toe merchandise, a full top hat, and has a large foam hand on the bench next to him.
Anticipation and excitement hum through the air, the voices of eager people getting louder as the sun slips lower beneath the horizon. The trumpets of our marching band burst loudly, cheerleaders riling up the crowd with pre-show routines. Finally, the opposing team comes running out and then ours. I watch as they stampede by, snapping pictures, but when I'm finished, my eyes search for Jordan.
I watch him throughout the game in all of his glory, muscles rippling as he throws the ball, scoring touchdowns and nailing passes. Midway through the game he scores a touchdown and immediately turns toward the crowd, eyes searching, before he finds me. His hooded gaze sweeps me up and down, taking me in with his jersey on. He winks and throws me a thumbs up when our eyes meet, sending heat flooding throughout my body.
I can't wipe the smile from my face for the rest of the game.
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