was right.
It was best for them to present a united front and not let anyone believe that what the site was saying had any serious effect on them.
Stephen had his arm draped around Sandra’s shoulder, and whenever one of his constituents stopped to say hello, he’d gently pull her in closer to him in an effort to prove they were just as happy and loving as they had always been.
It struck Sandra as insincere and quite frankly artificial, but she knew it was vitally important for Stephen to act as if nothing was wrong.
She couldn’t help but wonder if his trip up from Washington, DC, was more about damage control than about missing his family. She hated herself for making judgments about her husband and his motives. However, she had spent years playing the role of the loyal politician’s wife, always upbeat and smiling, but underneath the surface she had become hardened and jaded to that unattainable public image.
Everyone in the bleachers jumped up and cheered as the home team wrested control of the ball. It was the fourth quarter. They were behind by seven points now after the opposing team had taken advantage of a fumble and scored an unexpected touchdown. The pressure was on for a win, since they had lost the last two games. Sandra couldn’t imagine what was going on in her son Jack’s head. He was the first-string quarterback. The team’s fortunes seemed to rise and fall on his shoulders. She watched him conferring with his team and Coach Cooper in a huddle.
There were just a few seconds left on the clock.
Stephen clapped his hands and shouted, “Come on, boys, you can do it! Woo-hoo!”
Sandra looked at him. Was he showing off for the crowd, trying to be the engaged, supportive father who came to every game to cheer his oldest son on, even though this was the first one he had attended all season?
She scolded herself for being so cynical.
She noticed Ryan sitting on the opposite side of Stephen. He appeared distracted, staring over at the left side of the bleachers, down a few rows. Sandra followed his gaze but couldn’t see what he found so interesting. She did notice a statuesque woman with beautiful brown skin and gorgeous curly black hair sitting with a pregnant friend and a very pretty young girl, probably fifteen or sixteen, who bore a striking resemblance to the tall woman and was probably her daughter. Sandra stared at the gorgeous, confident woman. She looked so familiar. Had they gone to high school together? Before she could place her, the team broke from their huddle and was back on the field.
She leaned across Stephen and spoke to Ryan. “What are you looking at so intently?”
Embarrassed, Ryan just shrugged. “Nothing.”
He quickly averted his eyes back to the game.
Stephen continued shouting words of encouragement to the team, clapping his hands.
Sandra stood up with the rest of the football fans in the bleachers as the cheerleaders, a mix of boys and girls, finished up a rallying cry complete with cartwheels.
She felt a wave of sadness when she noticed Joel Metcalf wasn’t down in the front row on the end like he usually was. He never missed a game, but of course didn’t make it today given his son’s situation.
The clock resumed, counting down the last few seconds, and the center lineman bent over and snapped the ball to Jack, who grabbed it and backed up to pass to the wide receiver as the offensive line kept the opposing players at bay. The receiver was wide-open, arms outstretched, and all Jack had to do was throw the ball, but he just stood there, stunned for a moment before slamming the ball to the ground and leaping on top of a player who had broken through the defense.
They punched and kicked each other, rolling around on the field as the rest of the players from both teams piled on, shouting and fighting. The referee blew his whistle, and the coaches sprinted out onto the field to break up the brawl.
Once the boys were dragged off each other and escorted back to their respective sides of the field, the red-faced referee officially ejected Jack from the game to a cacophony of boos from the irate home crowd, who, despite what they had seen with their own eyes, believed the fight was the fault of the visiting team and certainly not theirs.
Stephen yelled at the referee, who appeared slightly shaken when he looked to the crowd and spotted a U.S. senator berating him. Sandra watched as Jack stalked off the field, yanked his helmet from his head, and hurled it to the ground, where he promptly kicked it with his cleat. The helmet sailed through the air, nearly beaning a male cheerleader who had to duck out of the way.
The game resumed and the opposing team, which now had possession of the ball, managed to run out the clock and won the game by seven points. As Sandra glared at her benched son, who sat alone in his grass-stained football uniform, his head buried in his hands, she was sure of one thing. He had started that fight for some reason, and it had cost his team the game.
CHAPTER TEN
“I would like for you to explain to me why I shouldn’t bounce you off the team for the remainder of the season,” Principal Hicks said, sitting behind his desk with his arms folded, a stern look on his face.
Jack, sitting in a chair opposite him, stared down at his Nike Air Force sneakers and just shrugged.
“Principal Hicks asked you a question, Jack.” Sandra sighed, nudging her son’s arm.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.
Sandra had warned her son that it was in his best interest to apologize for starting the brawl that had led to his ejection from the game and just take his punishment like a man. Jack had spent the Saturday evening after the game and all day Sunday pouting in his room. And now, Monday morning in the principal’s office, he was still acting remote and uncommunicative.
Sandra gave Principal Hicks an apologetic look, not sure what was wrong with her usually socially adept and carefree son.
Hicks unfolded his arms and slapped his hands down on his desk. “Okay, if you are not going to help me out here, I’m just going to have to make a decision on my own.”
There was a knock at the door.
Hicks, annoyed, called out. “Yes?”
The door opened, and Coach Vinnie Cooper popped his head into the office. “Sorry to interrupt. I was hoping you might let me say a few words.”
“By all means, Coach, come in,” Hicks said, waving him in. “I would love it if you could offer us a little insight as to what happened on Saturday.”
“As a matter of fact, I can,” Coach Cooper said, slipping in and closing the door behind him. “Morning, Mrs. Wallage.”
“Good morning, Coach,” Sandra said, smiling.
Coach Cooper stepped around to the other side of Jack, who still sat slumped over in his chair, a sullen look on his face. “Jack . . .”
“Coach . . . ,” Jack mumbled, wishing he was anywhere else.
Sandra could not believe her son was acting like this. It was so out of character, and she couldn’t imagine what was bothering him so much that he would pick a fight during a football game.
She
