Page 7

MAYA

“ D ad? Are you busy?”

I walked into the living room where Dad was stretched out in his recliner watching television, but also with his phone in his hand.

“Depends,” Dad said with a stupid grin. “What do you want?”

I’d already thought up a fake reason why I needed to learn about football, so I answered with supreme confidence. “I’m helping with an article about the quarterfinal so I need to know a bit more about actual football.”

Dad brought his armchair into an upright position and put his phone down. “Super duper. What do you need to know?” He rubbed his hands together as if I’d just announced he was a contestant on Who wants to be a millionaire?

“Uh, about the rules and the plays,” I said, opening my laptop and setting it on his lap. “You know, like what the quarterback does and stuff.”

Dad pulled up the Owls’ quarterfinal game on screen and I brought the ottoman closer so I could sit next to him. And I proceeded to take notes in my journal about all the things the quarterback—aka Oliver Blackwell, my new fake boyfriend—was doing. Gets the play from the Coach, calls the cadence, signals to his center to snap the ball, hands off to the running back or throws the ball to the receiver.

“Wait, what, so...say that again,” I said, jotting down the words I’d heard in nonsensical order. “The quarterback calls the what?”

“Cadence. It’s the code, like what the team is gonna do,” Dad said. “You hear Oliver call Green 80 or something like that. That’s him telling his offense what’s going to happen.”

“You mean when he yells out random colors and numbers?”

“Nothing random about it,” Dad said with a kind of smug glee. “It all means something. The quarterback will have his own special code or signals for when the snap will happen, whether it’s a pass play or a run play.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, my ears and fingers not in sync. “Pass, run or what?”

Dad slowed down, iterating as if I was a five year old learning my spelling words. I wrote quickly, hoping it might make more sense when I reread it later.

“Now you notice when Oliver lifts his left leg?”

“Huh?” Heat flushed across my cheeks as though Dad knew my most intimate thoughts and how closely I had watched Oliver’s every movement.

“If you’ve ever watched Oliver, you’ll notice he’ll use a leg lift to let his center know he wants the ball right now. Just a rise of the leg.”

“He’s not just stretching his leg?”

Dad laughed. “No, it’ll be a signal to say he’s ready for the ball. Sometimes if the crowd is particularly loud, the players can’t hear the verbal call. So a signal, like a leg lift, or it could be a hand motion like a clap or a tap to his helmet, any of those things means something.”

“He doesn’t just have an itchy head?” I said.

“Every movement is precise and particular,” Dad said in an impatient and impassioned tone.

“How do you know so much about this?” I asked as I wrote down ‘lifts leg and hand tap means QB wants the ball.’

Dad inhaled through his nose and puffed his chest. “Bourkeville High Buccaneers’ junior varsity quarterback here,” he said.

“ You were quarterback?” I didn’t mean to sound shocked but Dad wasn’t exactly a prime athletic specimen. He’d affectionately pat his protruding belly and laugh about it, but get grumpy if Mom told him he needed to go on a diet. Dad loved football but I hadn’t known he’d played. It was an ancient high school trophy for discus champion that held pride of place on the bookshelf in the living room.

“Yes, in my freshman year I was starting quarterback, but unfortunately I only played four games.”

“Why?”

“I got a concussion against Sun Valley High, got knocked down pretty bad. I had terrible headaches after that. Doc wouldn’t let me play again,” Dad said, sheepishly adding, “Neither would your Grandma.”

“I didn’t know that. Is the quarterback a dangerous position?” It had never occurred to me that Oliver could get injured.

“Generally no, but I got clobbered by a hit I didn’t see coming. It happens.” Dad grimaced, his voice deflating.

“Is that why your memory’s so bad? The concussion?” I joked.

Dad shot me a cheesy smile. “I’ll have you know I once threw a 30 yard pass straight to my receiver who scored a touchdown. I had a good arm.”

“Thirty yards? Is that good?”

“Good? It was exceptional!” Dad wasn’t holding back on his self-acclaim. “It wasn’t just the distance, it was the accuracy. It was all anyone talked about for weeks. Me and Danny Iversen were heroes!”

I sucked on the end of my pen. “Ah...so can Oliver throw thirty yards?”

“Thirty yards and then some. He’s got a super arm for sure. But most importantly, he’s accurate and a smart player.”

My heart skipped a beat, my chest swelling with pride. My Dad just called Oliver smart, my new boyfriend, okay, my new fake boyfriend. That meant Dad would approve of us dating. That was one hurdle out of the way. Now, only Mom to convince, though there was no reason she’d not let me date—Lizzie had paved the path before me. My older sister had been a social butterfly and George Blackwell had been one of the many boys she dated.

“A smart player?” I croaked out in a feeble voice. “What does that mean?”

“The quarterback has to be able to lead his team, read the play, be aware of what’s happening on the field. He has to make decisions and direct his team. And he needs athletic ability, he’s got to have the arm strength, but also the accuracy.”

“Oliver has all that?” I asked in wide-eyed wonder.

“He has an incredible football IQ. Reads the game better than any quarterback I can remember. James Hastings, he was good back in Lizzie’s day, but I’d rate Oliver over him.”

“So, you’d say he’s an excellent quarterback?” I was no longer writing anything down, pretty sure I’d remember Dad’s words of praise forever.

“Absolutely. I’m guessing he has plenty of college options? Guess your mother will know.”

The mention of Mom made me close my notebook. Being a teacher, Mom might overhear about Oliver and me dating before I had a chance to tell her. “Thanks Dad. I think I can work with this,” I said, quickly getting up.

“Make sure you let me have a read of it,” he said cheerily.

I nodded, but departed like a hurricane, guilty that there would be no essay. I retreated to my room, trying to figure out the best time to tell Mom about this new development in my life. Preferably sooner rather than later because it might be awkward if she heard about it from someone else.

There were advantages to having Mom on the teaching staff at school. All of the teachers were nice to me and I assumed it was because they were friends with Mom. But on the downside, Mom got to hear all the gossip. No drama escaped her ears. And some kids blamed you if she gave them a low or failing grade.

From my bedroom window, I saw the lights of Mom’s car arriving home. Coming from her yoga class, I figured she’d be in a calm and relaxed state of mind. Perfect for telling her about my first boyfriend.

Giving her a few minutes to hang her coat and put her bag away, I made my way into the kitchen in a casual way, pretending I needed a drink.

“Do you want me to heat up your dinner?” I asked. “Dad made nachos, they’re real good.”

Mom looked a little startled at my offer. “I might shower first,” she said. “How was cheer practice?”

“Yeah, good,” I said, carefully pouring water into a glass. It had been a good training session because for the second day in a row Savannah hadn’t been there and Coach Foster said she had the flu which meant it had nothing to do with breaking up with Oliver. Realizing it was now or never, I blurted out, “Uhh, something exciting has happened.”

“Has it?” Mom bent down and opened the oven door and peeped in at her meal.

“Yeah...” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Um, I have a date for Saturday night.”

Mom let the oven door close and stood up tall, her eyebrows raising in curiosity. “A date?” She was immediately interested. “Oooh, how exciting!” I nodded vigorously. “Well,” Mom urged, “don’t keep me hanging, tell me who with?”

My throat tightened and it felt like I was trying to swallow a lump of coal.

“Is it Simon McAllister?” Mom probed. “I don’t know why you didn’t go to Homecoming with him. He’s a nice boy.” To Mom, nice boy likely equated to top student. She probably hadn’t noticed Simon’s fashion sense—or lack of it.

“It was too last minute,” I said in my defense. “I’d already organized to go with the girls.” Sammy, Paige, Evie and I had all gone together, none of us having dates. “And no, it’s not Simon.” A smirk was creeping onto my face, and unable to hold back the rush of adrenaline, gushed, “It’s Oliver, Oliver Blackwell. Oliver asked me out!”

There was no denying the utter shock on Mom’s face as it contorted like someone in a cheesy cereal advertisement, eyes widening, eyebrows rising and mouth gaping. A pang of hurt hit my heart as it seemed my mother could not fathom the thought of Oliver Blackwell asking me out.

Her voice fluttered in disbelief. “Oliver? Oliver Blackwell? But...isn’t he...doesn’t he go out with Savannah?”

“They broke up,” I said, mimicking an authoritative teacher voice. “And he asked me out.”

Mom was flabbergasted. “I didn’t know you talked to him.”

“I am on the cheer squad,” I stated. “I practically see him everyday. And remember, he gave me his Owls flag.” And not giving her a chance to respond, I carried on. “So, it’s okay? I’m not sure where we’re going, but I’ll let you know.”

Mom blinked. “I have to admit I’m a bit surprised,” she said. “Oliver’s a senior.”

I’d already anticipated that she’d bring that up. “Remember when Lizzie dated Zack Wilson? She went to his senior prom when she was a junior.”

Unable to dispute that, Mom nodded in a slow, deliberate way. “Yes. That’s true, but...”

“I really like Oliver,” I jumped in, grinning widely in case she was about to crush all my hopes and dreams.

“But...I’m just worried that he’s come out of a long term relationship and is jumping into another one so quickly,” Mom said with all the rationality of a parent. “I’d hate to see you get hurt, honey.”

I had a sudden urge to tell her the truth—to say it was fake dating—but had a hunch she’d disapprove, like Sammy. “Well, it’s just one date,” I said, wincing as it occurred to me that one date might be all Oliver intended.

Fake date me, he’d said. That was no guarantee of more than one date. Maybe one would be enough to convince Savannah that it was all over.

Mom was beside me, hand on my shoulder. “I do like Oliver,” she said, adding with a playful smile, “But I’d like him better if he put more effort into his schoolwork.”

I rolled my eyes, typical of Mom to judge a prospective date by his grades. “So, that’s a yes? I can go?”

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “My little girl going on her first date. Wait till I tell Lizzie.”

“What? First date? Who’s going on a date?” Dad was looming in the doorway, carrying his empty mug.

“Well, it’s not me,” Mom joked.

“Maya? What’s this? What are you keeping from me?”

“She’s going on a date. With Oliver Blackwell .”

I tell you, it was impossible for me to get a word in, Mom and Dad continuing the conversation as if I wasn’t standing right there.

“Oliver? From next door?”

“Yes, Oliver Blackwell.”

“Quarterback for the Owls?”

“The one and only.”

“Hmmmm, is that right?” Dad’s silly smirk sent a rush of blood to my cheeks.

I nodded, not quite looking him in the eye. For sure he’d be putting two and two together about why I’d been so interested in the quarterback position.

“Well, make sure he comes in when he picks you up,” Dad said. “I’ll need to lay down the ground rules.”

“What? No, don’t be stupid!” I said.

“If someone’s taking out my daughter, I need to know his intentions,” Dad said with a stern face.

"Intentions? What?” I was on the verge of pleading. Oliver would run a mile if he knew fake dating me involved meeting an overzealous, crazed father. “No way, we’re not living in the dark ages, you know.”

Mom put her arm around me. “Dad’s kidding,” she said, squeezing her cheek next to mine. “Don’t you worry about him.” Then her eyes flashed as she eyeballed Dad. “If anyone will be asking the questions, it’ll be me!”

My parents cackled like they were the funniest people on the planet. The laughter eventually died down and Dad returned to the living room, Mom went off to shower and I headed to my bedroom, keen to read over my notes and learn more about the quarterback’s role which was way more important than my algebra or history homework.