“Omigosh, is this your dad? Hey, Mr. Lanley!” Gwen slung one wiry arm around his shoulders.
“Um, yeah,” Isobel began, not sure where Gwen was going with this, “Dad, this is Gwen. She’s, uh . . . she’s . . .” Mentally whacked, Isobel wanted to say.
“I’m the mascot escort,” said Gwen. She flashed her perfectly straight white teeth in a wide grin. “I babysit the mascot,” she added.
“Ah,” Dad began. He twisted to look around as much as Gwen’s friendly grip on his shoulders would allow. “Where is the mascot, then?”
“Oh, he’s around here somewhere . . . molting or something, I dunno. So, Iz, are you coming to my victory party or what? You never answered my Facebook invite.”
“Victory party?” her dad echoed.
All at once, Gwen’s genius dawned on her.
“Ohh,” Isobel chimed in, sounding appropriately glum. “I forgot to respond. I haven’t been online much because I’ve been really busy trying to finish that English project, y’know?
Anyway, Gwen, I don’t think I can go.”
“What?” Gwen deflated, her face crumbling in an instant. For added emphasis, she let her arm slip from Dad’s shoulders, where it flopped against her side. “Why not? Didn’t you get the project done?”
Isobel shrugged. “I got it done. I mean, thanks to Dad. I just . . .” She sent a pitiful glance to her father. Yes, she thought, catching a glimmer of indecision in his eyes. They just had to play it up a little more. “I just don’t know if I can.”
“Oohhhh,” Gwen said, looking between Isobel and her dad, feigning sudden understanding.
“How can you have a victory party if your team’s losing?” her dad asked.
“Wait, we’re losing?” Gwen craned her neck in search of the scoreboard.
“Where’s this party going to be?”
Isobel sprang on her chance. “Omigosh, Dad, for real, can I go?”
“Yeah, Dad, for real, can she go?”
“I just asked where it was going to be—”
“My house,” Gwen said, “all-girls’ sleepover, no guys allowed.”
“Are your parents going to be there?”
“Oh, they’re there right now, setting up the karaoke machine.” Gwen mimed holding a microphone and swayed against Isobel’s father. “Fame! I’m gonna live forever—take it away, Mr. Lanley.”
Isobel’s dad set a hand on Gwen’s offered fist, gently pushing it down from his face. “Who else is going?”
Gwen pointed at the figure waiting on the bench. “She is.”
“Nikki is going?” he asked, looking at Isobel, surprised. “I thought you two were on the fritz.”
“Oh,” Isobel said. She saw Nikki rise from the bench and start over toward them, probably at hearing her name. Thinking fast, Isobel blurted, “We made up.”
“Nikki!” shouted Gwen. “You’re coming, right?”
“What?” she called back, eyeing Gwen’s getup.
“To the party,” Isobel said, nodding, trying to communicate meaning through her eyes. Despite her recent show of perceptiveness, Isobel couldn’t see Nikki picking up the clue phone to get the message. “You know,” Isobel went on, “the party Gwen’s having tonight.”
“You’re having a party?” Nikki asked, studying Gwen. “Hey, isn’t that Stevie’s sweatshirt?”
Uh-oh.
“Dad might let me go now,” said Isobel, nodding again. Lots of nodding.
Nikki’s eyes remained on Isobel’s, searching, things still not fully clicking. “Well . . . okay,” she said finally.
“Someone taking you there tonight?” he asked, checking the time on his cell phone.
Isobel felt a leap of joy in her chest. He was going to let her go.
“She can ride with me,” said Gwen. Good old Gwen. Good old brilliant, inventive, industrious Gwen.
“And Nikki can bring me home in the morning,” Isobel added.
He sighed, and she knew that his resolve had already crumbled. She launched up into a fit of jumping and squealing, forgetting for half a second that she wasn’t really going to a girls’
sleepover, that right now she was tricking him, lying to her dad after everything. Again. A stab of guilt grounded her.
“In that case,” he said, “I’m going to go ahead and get out of here. It doesn’t look like the score is going to change any time soon. Maybe I can catch the end of the U of K game on TV.
Think there’ll be any candy left on the porch?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Isobel said, trying to resurrect her smile. He held his arms open for a hug, and Isobel reached over the top of the gate and stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Thanks, Daddy,” she said, pulling him tight and kissing his cheek.
“Be good and keep your phone on,” he said, shoving his own phone back into his pocket. “And don’t forget to check on Brad.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
He turned away and Isobel watched him as he went, blending into the crowd.
She felt her heart sink as she lowered her heels to the ground. She wished she could call him back, that she could tell him the truth. That he would believe her.
“Okay, for real,” Nikki said as soon as he was out of earshot. “What was that all about?”
After Isobel’s dad left, Gwen went off to change and meet up with Mikey in the parking lot. In the meantime, the squad took their position on the field, ready to once again perform the Nationals routine. Isobel, on the sidelines, waited for the music to start before telling Nikki she would be right back and sliding from the bench. She heard the familiar beats blast through the stadium speakers, and she couldn’t help mentally tracing through her moves.
She could hear the crowd’s cheering escalate (probably for the back tuck the squad did in a fanning wave), and slipped behind the brick siding of the home-side stands. She trailed her hand along the Hawk emblem painted over brick, moving more quickly now that she was out of direct sight, and hurried toward the entrance to the football locker room.
Coach Logan’s voice grated loudly from within. Could he still be yelling at the team?
Isobel drew up to the entrance and placed one hand on the archway, huddling up close to listen. She certainly didn’t have to strain to hear.
“Now I don’t know what you ballerinas are doing out there, but that scoreboard better change in this next quarter, or so help me, I’ll scout JV for replacements! And Borgon, I hope I don’t need to tell you again that when you catch the damn ball, you’re supposed to hold on to it! You got that? Is that clear? Now all of you, get your butts out there and turn this thing around!”
A unanimous scuffling noise came from within, players rushing off their benches. Isobel had to step back as a burst of team members emerged, escaping through the archway like steam from a pressure cooker. They shouldered and bumped their way through the door and past one another. Silent and moody, not a one of them seemed to notice her. She stood to one side, her back against the cold concrete wall. She hoped to remain invisible as she searched each back for the number twenty-one.
Brad’s number was not among them, though. He must still be inside the locker room. Isobel waited, and after a moment, Coach Logan came out. He turned and looked right at her, his ruddy face contorting into what she took as a dirty look. Isobel, resisting the urge to glower back, concentrated instead on the space between her sneakers while he stormed off toward the field.
Isobel left the wall. She slipped quietly into the narrow doorway and down the three steps that led into the locker room. The air here turned humid, saturated with the smell of sweat, grass, and dirt. When she took in a breath, the air felt thick in her lungs, as though it held no oxygen. It was like entering a sauna.