Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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"There you are." Dad patted my shoulder while I squeezed past again. I sucked in my stomach, trying not to bump my butt on the people's heads. "That was a long bathroom break. Where did you go?"
"I said hi to Logan's mom." I pointed to the opposite side of the stadium, although she now sat on our side and held up a brown paper bag. "And I needed a snack."
"Jake was looking for you." Since Jake had almost no chance to injure himself during halftime, Mom's face was relaxed, and some color had returned to her cheeks.
"Really?" I glanced at the field, where the teams warmed up again, and spotted Jake. "If I jump up and down, flapping my arms like an idiot, do you think he'll see me now?"
Mom tipped her head back and laughed. "No, but if we all do it, he can't miss a family of idiots."
From her seat, Harper's eyes looked up at me from under her lashes. With no amusement on her face or in her voice, she muttered, "Nope. I don't do Harrison family embarrassment things."
"How was your halftime?" I smiled and exaggeratedly scanned her face for any signs. Her lips were a little pinker and fuller than before halftime, so I inspected both sides of her neck for further evidence of... Harperness.
Her shoulders tensed, and she leaned away. "What?"
"Checking for hickies." I snickered at the idea that I ever made her feel uncomfortable. "I'm disappointed."
"We weren't gone that long," she said in a dry voice and rolled her eyes. With an eye shift and a slight nose lift at the field, she redirected, "Go squawk and arm flap at your brother."
"Jake-JAKE! Jake!" Mom, Dad, and I screamed and flapped like wild turkeys, to no avail. The only reaction we got was confused looks from people below us.
"We need to do it together, like a one-two-three thing." Dad held up his hand.
Mom's forehead creased with a frown. "Fine, but are we saying Jake on three, or is it one-two-three then Jake?"
"It's not that complica- oh, he sees us." I waved at Jake. He raised one hand in our direction, then turned to his warmup tosses. Across the field, Logan's number ten ran through similar actions with two of his receivers. "Thirty more minutes of playtime." My heart thumped harder in my chest. "Then I can breathe."
"Me too," Mom agreed as we all sat down. Wedged between Mom and Harper, a soft crinkled sound erupted on my left side.
"What's that?" Harper pointed at the brown paper bag I'd tucked under my elbow.
"Churros." I removed two long, slender sticks of fried dough deliciousness and waved them under her nose. "Want one?"
"Fuck no." She shoved my hand away. "Especially not because you got the cinnamon."
My lips opened around the head of a churro when Harper whispered, "Plus, that's not the kind of stick I'd put in my mouth."
First balls, now a stick. Only Harper. "Mmmm," I teased and bit down. Crunchy layers erupted and coated my tongue. Flecks of cinnamon and sugar rained down onto my chest and lap. "You're missing out."
