Nat’s eyes remained on the face above the letter A.
‘Nat’s the brightest boy in our class,’ Tom told Nat’s father. Michael smiled.
‘Only just,’ said Nat, a little defensively, ‘don’t forget I only beat Ralph Elliot by one grade.’
‘I wonder if he’s Max Elliot’s son?’ said Nat’s father, almost to himself.
‘Who’s Max Elliot?’
‘In my business he’s what’s known as an unacceptable risk.’
‘Why?’ asked Nat, but his father didn’t expand on the bland statement, and was relieved when his son was distracted by the cheerleaders, who had blue and white pom-poms attached to their wrists and were performing their ritual war dance. Nat’s eyes settled on the second girl on the left, who seemed to be smiling up at him, although he realized to her he could only be a speck at the back of the stand.
‘You’ve grown, if I’m not mistaken,’ said Nat’s father, noting that his son’s trousers were already an inch short of his shoes. He only wondered how often he would have to buy him new clothes.
‘Well, it can’t be the school food that’s responsible,’ suggested Tom, who was still the smallest boy in the class. Nat didn’t reply. His eyes remained fixed on the group of cheerleaders.
‘Which one of them have you fallen for?’ enquired Tom, punching his friend on the arm.
‘What?’
‘You heard me the first time.’
Nat turned away so that his father couldn’t overhear his reply. ‘Second one from the left, with the letter A on her sweater.’
‘Diane Coulter,’ said Tom, pleased to discover that he knew something his friend didn’t.
‘How do you know her name?’
‘Because she’s Dan Coulter’s sister.’
‘But he’s the ugliest player on the team,’ said Nat. ‘He’s got cauliflower ears and a broken nose.’
‘And so would Diane if she’d played on the team every week for the past five years,’ said Tom with a laugh.
‘What else do you know about her?’ Nat asked his friend conspiratorially.
‘Oh, it’s that serious is it?’ said Tom. It was Nat’s turn to punch his friend. ‘Having to revert to physical violence, are we? Hardly part of the Taft code,’ added Tom. ‘Beat a man with the strength of your argument, not the strength of your arm; Oliver Wendell Holmes, if I remember correctly.’
‘Oh, do stop droning on,’ said Nat, ‘and just answer the question.’
‘Don’t know a lot more about her, to be honest. All I remember is that she goes to Westover and plays right wing on their hockey team.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ asked Nat’s father.
‘Dan Coulter,’ said Tom, without missing a beat, ‘one of our running backs — I was just telling Nat that he eats eight eggs for breakfast every morning.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Nat’s mother.
‘Because one of them is always mine,’ said Tom ruefully.
As his parents burst out laughing, Nat continued to gaze down at the A in TAFT. The first time he’d really noticed a girl. His concentration was distracted by a sudden roar, as everyone on his side of the stadium rose to greet the Taft team as they ran out onto the field. Moments later the Hotchkiss players appeared from the other side of the ground and just as enthusiastically their supporters leapt to their feet.
Fletcher was also standing, but his eyes remained fixed on the cheerleader with an A on her sweater. He felt guilty that the first girl he’d ever fallen for was a Taft supporter.
‘You don’t seem to be concentrating on our team,’ said the senator, leaning over and whispering in Fletcher’s ear.
‘Oh, yes I am, sir,’ said Fletcher, immediately turning his attention back to the Hotchkiss players as they began to warm up.
The two team captains jogged across to join the umpire, who was waiting for them on the fifty-yard line. The Zebra nicked a silver coin into the air which flashed in the afternoon sun before landing in the mud. The Bearcats clapped each other on the back when they saw the profile of Washington.
‘He should have called heads,’ said Fletcher.
Nat continued to stare as Diane climbed back into the bleachers. He wondered how he could possibly meet her. It wouldn’t be easy. Dan Coulter was a god. How could a new boy possibly hope to scale Olympus?
‘Good run,’ hollered Tom.
‘Who?’ said Nat.
‘Coulter, of course. He’s just picked up first down.’
‘Coulter?’
‘Don’t tell me you were still staring at his sister when the Kissies fumbled?’
‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Then you’ll be able to tell me how many yards we gained,’ Tom said, looking at his friend. ‘I thought so, you weren’t even watching.’ He let out an exaggerated sigh, ‘I do believe that the time has come to put you out of your misery.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I shall have to arrange a meeting.’
‘You can do that?’
‘Sure, her father’s a local auto dealer, and we always buy our cars from him, so you’ll just have to come and stay with me during the holidays.’
Tom didn’t hear if his friend accepted the invitation, because his reply was drowned by another roar from the Taft supporters as the Bearcats intercepted.
When the whistle blew at the end of the first quarter, Nat let out the biggest cheer, having forgotten that his team was trailing. He remained standing in the hope that the girl with the head of curly fair hair and the most captivating smile, might just notice him. But how could she, as she leapt energetically up and down, encouraging the Taft supporters to cheer even louder.
The whistle for the start of the second quarter came all too quickly, and when A disappeared back in the bleachers to be replaced by thirty muscle-bound heavies, Nat reluctantly resumed his place and pretended to concentrate on the game.
‘Can I borrow your binoculars, sir?’ Fletcher asked Jimmy’s father at half time.
‘Of course, my boy,’ said the senator, passing them across. ‘Let me have them back when the game restarts.’ Fletcher missed the innuendo in his host’s voice as he focused on the girl with an A on her sweater and wished she would turn round and face the opposition more often.
‘Which one are you interested in?’ whispered the senator.
‘I was just checking on the Tafties, sir.’
‘I don’t think they’ve come back on to the field yet,’ said the senator. Fletcher turned scarlet. ‘T, A, F or T?’ enquired Jimmy’s father.
‘A, sir,’ admitted Fletcher.
The senator retrieved his binoculars, focused on the second girl from the left, and waited for her to turn round. ‘I approve of your choice, young man, but what do you intend to do about it?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Fletcher helplessly. ‘To be honest, I don’t even know her name.’
‘Diane Coulter,’ said the senator.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Fletcher, wondering if senators knew everything.
‘Research, my boy. Haven’t they taught you that at Hotchkiss yet?’ Fletcher looked bewildered. ‘All you need to know is on page eleven of the programme,’ added the senator, as he passed the open booklet across. Page eleven had been devoted to the cheerleaders supporting each school. ‘Diane Coulter,’ repeated Fletcher, staring at the photo. She was a year younger than Fletcher — women are still willing to admit their age at thirteen — and she also played the violin in her school orchestra. How he wished he’d taken his mother’s advice and learned to play the piano.
After gaining painful yard upon painful yard, Taft finally crossed the line and took the lead. Dutifully Diane reappeared on the touchline to perform her energetic routine.