One Last Night Read Free

then call me in tears, asking to
be forgiven for all of the shitty stuff she says to me when she’s
drunk. Not the first time I’ve been down this road and at this
point, the drama is just making me tired. “I’m not going to deal
with this right now,” I say, pushing past her.
    “Tyler!” she yells after me. “Where the fuck
are you going?”
    But I don’t answer, I don’t engage. Tomorrow
I’m going to get on an airplane and head for a new life—one that I
always thought would have Hailey in it, but now I’m not so sure. I
hear her screaming and cursing behind me, but I don’t even look
back—I just keep walking away.

 
    Jenna’s Last Night
    Even before the last notes fade into the
studio walls, I sprawl on the wooden floor and untie the ribbon
that winds around my calf, peeling the toe shoes from each foot and
carefully placing them in my dance bag.
    “Good work today Jenna,” Madame says as she
walks by, her steps steady and precise as always.
    “Thank you,” I say, secretly pleased she
actually knows my name. It took me almost all of freshman year last
year to make it into her elite dance class and staying here during
the summer means I get to take classes from her where most of the
other dancers at Garvin are off swimming, eating fried catfish and
flying off to Hawaii. I wipe my face with the towel again, enjoying
the last few breaths of cool air from the air conditioner before
braving the inferno outside that is Texas in August. Even with the
window unit firing at full blast, the ancient machine is no match
for the heat outside and the studio is sticky and humid. I pile my
hair on top of my head, securing it with one of the hundreds of
elastic bands floating around in the bottom of my bag, slip my flip
flops on my feet and step out into the blazing afternoon
sun.
    No matter what anyone says, you never get used
to this kind of heat, and I feel the sweat roll down my back as I
walk toward the stadium. Football practice should still be going on
and I love to watch Jake work out. Truth be told, I love to watch
Jake do pretty much anything, but seeing him all suited up in his
tight football pants and stained practice jersey does something to
my insides that nothing else can match. All last year I never
missed a football game, sitting under the lights with my friends
and screaming extra loud when Jake took the field, looking strong
and handsome in Garvin State red and white. I can’t wait until this
season starts in just a couple of weeks to do it all over
again.
    The campus is mostly deserted this time of
year, with the rattle of cicadas only broken by the scrape of the
occasional skateboard on the sidewalk, in contrast to the thousands
of people who swarm these very same paths when school is in. A
dark-haired guy nods as he passes me on his bike, the recognition
of the group that keeps the campus running while everyone else is
off having fun.
    I can hear the coach’s whistle and the grunts
of the guys as the shoulder pads slap together when I approach the
field gate and slip through the opening. Climbing up into the
stands, I pick out a couple of other spectators, mostly player’s
girlfriends like me, as we dot the mostly empty stadium. I grab a
seat just under the announcer’s booth and lean up against the wall,
savoring as much shade as I can find while I scan the field for
Jake, finally spotting him in a group by the ten yard line. With a
shout and a clap, the huddle breaks and the guys kneel down in
front of the quarterback, ready for the snap as he calls out the
count. On his signal, everyone leaps into motion and even from way
up here I can see Jake making a quick turn and racing up the field
ahead of everyone else.
    I watch until practice is over, texting Mom to
tell her what time I’m coming home tonight. They hate it when I
make the three hour trip in the dark, but I have to work at the
café until six and I want to leave straight from there. Jake always
takes a quick shower in the locker