Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [101]
Michal leaned in close to him, whispering conspiratorially, “Some people would say that’s dangerous.”
Allistair laughed and reached out to guide her through the gym doors. “I don’t doubt that. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of being dangerous.”
Walking into the gym, they were immediately assaulted with its unique ambiance: the exuberant, raucous crowd, several calling out greetings to Allistair, cheerleaders shouting, the loud strains from the pep band. As they scanned the bleachers for a place to sit, Michal couldn’t miss the comments and looks she and Allistair were attracting. Several students noticeably elbowed friends, igniting conversations and even some openmouthed stares. Her date with Allistair was eliciting a gossip frenzy. She squirmed—emotionally and physically—beneath the obvious scrutiny. Like it or not, Michal was suddenly and totally on view.
Once they’d settled into seats, Michal shouted to be heard over the roar of the crowd, “So, were your comments a sneak preview of sophomore theology classes?” Gazing at his profile, she watched a smile slowly materialize. It struck her how much she enjoyed making that happen.
He turned to face her, beaming now. “Absolutely. Might have to charge you for it, though.”
“No way. Previews are always free. And besides, I’m still debating if I accept your do-over.”
“You mean I’m not forgiven?”
But Michal’s answer was lost in the din as the players ran onto the court, the band began playing the school’s fight song, and the crowd’s cheering went up yet another decibel. The students rose to their feet, and Allistair and Michal’s conversation from then until halftime focused on the refereeing and the opponents—how they clearly deserved to lose, though the smattering of fans on the opposite side of the gymnasium would’ve violently disagreed.
By the time the players ran off the court, the score was thirty-eight to thirty-five, Wildcats. Home fans—happy to be in the lead, at least for the time being—began spilling out of the bleachers, eager to visit the snack bar and chat with friends. Only one day remained before spring break officially began, and their enthusiasm was riding high, even without the added adrenaline rush of the game.
Allistair turned to Michal. “I’m dying of thirst. Too much shouting, I suppose.”
Michal nodded her head in agreement. “I can’t remember the last time I yelled this much. Feels good.”
“Great for stress relief, isn’t it? How about a soda?”
“Sounds great.”
Allistair held out a hand to help her down the bleachers, and Michal gladly accepted; the borrowed wedge sandals from Jessica were awkward to walk in, a real nuisance in her opinion. But the moment she gripped Allistair’s hand, she felt what seemed like butterflies flitting around in her stomach. Her small hand seemed to nearly burn in Allistair’s much larger, stronger one. Once safely on the gym floor, Allistair released her, motioning toward the snack bar. As they made their way through the throng of students, Michal could only think about how much she wished he were still holding her hand.
He steered her toward an empty table and held the chair as she sat down. “What kind of soda?”
“Hmm, grape, please.”
He laughed. “Living on the wild side tonight, eh? Anything else? Pizza? A hamburger or hot dog? Chips?”
“Oh, no. Thanks, Allistair. Just a grape soda would be wonderful.”
Michal stared at his back as he worked his way across the room. Others also watched his progression and pointedly turned to look at her. Feeling uncomfortably scrutinized again, she began examining one of her nails. Accompanied by a stern conversation with herself. You won’t be going out with Allistair again. So don’t make too much of his attention. That unreal butterfly stuff.
A small but insistent voice argued back. But he’s so easy to talk with. He laughs easily like I do. We could just see each other occasionally. What’s wrong with that?
The sound of Allistair’s voice pulled her from