DONG! The football smashed against the inside of the right upright and Hannah put her pom-poms up in anticipation. The away crowd rose from the shambles they’ve been in all game for a split second before the horror hit: it had ricocheted in. She stared at the warped posts, too stunned to move like everybody else in the stadium. Rolling behind the goalposts, the football came to a dead stop, chocked on its laces. Under the goal, the two referees shook their heads and looked at each other before gazing at their shoes, masking their faces with the brims of their caps as they raised both hands up: it was good! Then pandemonium.

  Across the field, a wave of cream and swamp green surged onto the field, heading straight for their kicker.

  “I HATE him,” she mouthed as she walked along the track below the away stand smiling and waving, thanking Mt. Ham’s fans for traveling across town. To this dump.

  How the fuck does it always smell like rotten eggs here?

  A tap on her shoulder. Julia, her vice-captain, cupped her ear. Hannah could hear the smirk in her voice. “That so? Dare you to say anything to him. I’ll even give you, like N$50 if you shake his hand.”

  Juniors… But fifty bucks is fifty bucks…

  They shook on it. “Bet. But only because I wanna get a Coke later and I forgot to bring my wallet.”

  “Suuuure.” Julia stuck her tongue out at her. Hannah flustered as she held her pom-poms behind her back.

  They finished their duties, and Hannah set off on an arduous solo hike across the field. She held her pom-poms perfectly in line with her body, not even moving an arm. The joyous crowd of Shreks moshing on the field, clad in cream tops and swamp green hats, dispersed for her, clearing a path to the boy who destroyed her school’s 35-year playoff streak.

  “HEART ATTACK MAC! HEART ATTACK MAC! HEART ATTACK MAC!” the mob chanted.

  His name’s Mac? Didn’t expect that. With form like that, I thought for sure his name was Charlie Brown.

  Sitting on top of the crowd like a prince who just returned from a successful conquest of barbarians, he took off his helmet and shook his head. The sweat on his face glistened under the floodlights. He grinned as he looked into the crisp November night sky.

  Doe eyes and just the right amount of stubble… Maybe Julia’s not so bad.

  “HEY, CHARLIE BROWN!” Hannah shouted, but then immediately covered her mouth.

  Shit.

  Everybody turned to look at her. An awkward pause. The idea went viral through the horde as their one brain cell pinged between them all. Then a new chant. “CHAR-LIE BROWN! CHAR-LIE BROWN! CHAR-LIE BROWN!”

  The kicker kicked off his throne and waved at Hannah with the stupidest, dorkiest grin on his face. “Yo!”

  Hannah went up and faked a smile. It looked more like a scowl, but big money was on the line. Holding her pom-poms behind her back with one hand, she stuck her free one out. “G-good game.”

  They shook hands. Hannah just about kept eye contact.

  His hand’s so rough…

  He clutched his belly and let out a decadent roar. “You kidding me? I had a terrible game. That was pure dumb luck at the end.”

  Smiling for real this time, she laughed along. “Okay, yeah. That was a fucking terrible way to lose a football game and I wanna cry my eyes out and laugh my ass off at the same time but I’m the goddamn cheer captain so I can’t. What’s your name?”

  “Dave, but people call me Mac.”

  Thank you, Julia… For the fifty bucks, I mean.

  She now knew what to do with her winnings. “Hannah. Say, you wanna grab some food? I know a place.”

  “Sure, why not? It’s already unbelievable enough that someone like you is talking to me. Let’s make tonight even more ridiculous. Think my teammates would understand.” Mac’s eyes creased up and dimples formed at the edges of his mouth. He chuckled. Oh, how he did that so well.

  “Ooooooh!” the ogres whooped in unison.

  “Get ’em tiger!” a boy in the crowd heckled.

  “He can’t keep GETTING AWAY WITH IT!” another boy in the crowd jeered.

  Hannah didn’t care any more. She whipped around, sticking her tongue out and holding her eyelid open at Julia, who held her hands at her hips as she spectated in slack-jawed jealousy.

  My juniors are so good to me. Never would have met this guy if it weren’t for them. Gotta thank her later…

  “Then let’s go now,” she replied. “But first, I gotta take care of some business with my vice-captain. Won’t be long.”

  She walked over to Julia, who already had the money in her hand. Julia coughed it up, her expression a plagiarization of a moai statue. Hannah returned to Mac, who was already dressed in a well-loved trucker hat, a fresh black T-shirt that fit him just right, jeans, and a pair of beat-up hiking boots. He carried his gear bag over his shoulder like he was some dweeb trying way too hard to look stylish, but still managed to pull it off anyways.

  Hannah tilted her head at him in confusion. “How’d you change so quickly?”

  And how does he look so cool with like zero effort?

  “I always change under the bleachers. Said I was going to the bathroom, heheh!” Mac scratched the back of his head as he beamed at her.

  Hannah turned away and did a not-so-subtle underhanded fist pump like she hit the jackpot on a slot machine as she bit her lower lip. She turned back.

  Julia… I’m really gonna have to repay her someday.

  “You… Never mind. Come on. I’ll give you a lift.” They walked off the field and up the bleachers, heading for the parking lot.

  Mac’s classmates played him out with his now-legendary chant. “HEART ATTACK MAC! HEART ATTACK MAC! HEART ATTACK MAC!”

  ---

  Mac sat across from her in the cozy booth and smiled. Through the window, flickering fluorescent lights cast an ethereal glow around his ruddy, stubbled, glistening face. Hannah’s stomach tightened as she fidgeted with a napkin, unsure how to meet his eyes.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waitress’ black half-apron. She stopped bouncing her leg and looked up: a baby blue blouse, just pressed, a plastic name tag that read “Diane”, and her face, a reflection of world-beating hope. The model waitress.

  She dealt the menus, large single sheets, freshly laminated. “Welcome to Kaspar’s! My name’s Diane and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you all something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Coke, please,” Hannah ordered.

  “Sprite for me, please.” Mac did the same.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Diane offered a warm but distant customer service smile. “Sure thing, I’ll get those out right now.”

  She left for the kitchen.

  Okay Hannah, how can you even enjoy yourself if you can’t even look him in the eye? I mean, come on! He’s kinda—Well, I guess I should look at the menu first, right? Order of operations and all that…

  Her eye caught the entry for the bacon cheeseburger.

  Ooh, that one.

  She put the menu down.

  Wait. Shit shit shit SHIT. I did that without thinking. Now he’s gonna think I’m mega weird if I don’t—

  Mac interrupted her session of high-stakes date calculus. “That was quick. What are you having?”

  Date calculus? What am I saying? No. We’re just hanging out. HE’S the one that thinks it’s a date.

  Hannah stammered, in an almighty tug-of-war between meeting his eyes and the holographic ads scrolling across the wall. “B-bacon cheeseburger.”

  “Ooh, yeah. Can’t go wrong with those,” Mac replied.

  “What are you having?” she asked.

  “Guess.”

  And then it was back to her crunching numbers. She slid the menu in front of her again and pored over it, sneaking glances at his face, mining for a tell.

  Maybe he’s also a burger and fries kinda guy? But he also barely made a chip shot field goal from the left hash as a righty. No. Burger and fries is too basic. What else? I know his nickname is Heart Attack Mac… And he’s a huge dork. Pasta? But somehow he has this incredible fashion sense? So I guess that eliminates the pasta dishes… Because only the uncool dorks fucking order pasta at a diner, and he’s one of the cool ones.

  She looked up again. Mac belly laughed and held his forehead, bracing against the table with his elbows.

  Fuck! This guy. Wait… He ordered a Sprite! He’s gotta be cultured. Chicken for sure.

  Locking in her final answer, Hannah hit the buzzer. “Fried chicken.”

  Evil laughter and a twisted smile. Mac revealed his hand. “You were so close. It was chicken and waffles.”

  “Noo!” Hannah applied a palm to her forehead and sunk her eyes into the tabletop to hide a smile. Then they broke down laughing.

  Diane emerged from the kitchen, stuffing a snicker down her windpipe. She handed them their drinks. “You ready to order?”

  They ordered.

  “Alright, would you like me to take your menus or would you like me to leave one just in case?”

  Sharing a quick glance, they passed up one of the menus to Diane. Diane smiled knowingly at Hannah. Hannah blushed.

  “So be it. I’ll leave one. Food’s about ten, fifteen minutes more, okay?” Diane hustled back into the kitchen.

  Smirking, Mac turned back to Hannah. “So, you wanna break down for me how you came to guess fried chicken?”

  “Uhh…” she explained her thoughts to Mac.

  “Wait, what? No way dude! Hahaha!” He held his gut as some other patrons turned around. Hannah saw but still found it within herself to join him.

  Not to be outdone, Hannah volleyed back. “Oh yeah? Tell me how you made a simple chip shot look like THAT, Charlie Brown.”

  But Mac held up his palm and stopped the bullets in mid-air before redirecting them back at her. “Saw you standing on the track behind the other sideline and I thought you were… kinda cute, even from across the field. If I had a boring game where I made all my kicks, you probably would’ve gone home as soon as the game ended on account of your team getting whooped. So I prayed that I would have a bad game so you would come talk to me afterwards. Near the end of the fourth quarter, I was like ‘Maybe I’m being too selfish. I still want my team to win,’ so I prayed some more as I kicked the final ball. And then the rest was history.”

  Hannah was at a loss for words. Steam from her blood escaped from their blowoff valves, forming a pink condensate under her freckles. “Oh…”

  “…Huh?” Mac’s face reddened as much as the vinyl seats as he angled his gaze out the window. Hannah followed his gaze and they made eye contact again through their faint reflections. They turned to each other again, then immediately looked away.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them looking anywhere but at each other. Diane came to their rescue, their food in her hands.

  “Bacon cheeseburger for the girl, and chicken and waffles for the guy. Enjoy!” She walked back into the kitchen, starting to snort, but beat at her breast and cleared her throat. Then with her head held a little higher than before, she walked through the double doors.

  “Smells delicious. Let’s dig in!” Mac exclaimed.

  Hannah nodded. She picked up her burger and took a bite.

  That’s weird. Why can’t I taste anything?

  The whole diner faded into white, leaving only Mac sitting across from her in the booth.

  “Can’t. Feel. My. Arm.” Mac clutched at his arm as the booth teeter-tottered, tossing Hannah around on the bench.

  Then the booth and Mac disappeared as well, the ether collecting them. The lights turned down, and reality gradually faded in.

  “Five more minutes…” She drooled as she hung off someone’s arm.

  Someone’s arm?

  Hannah’s eyes broke their crusty seals.

  What was I…? I was…? How long was I…?

  “Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Mac chuckled. Not that dumb one when he roasted her, but the other one she really liked: the one where he does it from his belly, almost sounding like a growl. “Glad you woke up. My arm would’ve been amputated if you clung any longer.”

  Her eyes grew to the size of clay pigeons. She hit the eject button on his arm and sprung up from the couch, fully recovered. Grabbing a pillow, she launched one at his face. He dodged, moving his head to the side just enough for a close shave.

  “You…!” Hannah pouted.

  “Now, is that any way to treat your favorite pillow? After he cooked for you and kept watch while you were sick?” Mac smirked, cradling his chin between his index finger and thumb.

  This guy. I can’t even be mad.

  Stealing a play from his book, she softened her gaze and smiled at him, shattering Mac’s troublemaking frame.

  On the couch, Mac propped his elbow against his knee as he sat his chin on his fist. A pregnant pause. Then he craned his neck up at her.

  “You’re… not as guarded as I expected you to be,” Mac said.

  This puzzled Hannah. “Why would I be?”

  “When we first met… I thought you were… the type to not let others in, but I guess it just took a little time with you.” His soulful brown eyes reflected the light seeping from the crack in her ego’s armor.

  Yeah. I guess you got me there. Wait a second…

  “O-oh, it’s dark outside now. What should we do about dinner?” Hannah moved on hastily, tweaking her ankle on an awkward step as she dragged the chains of the conversation forward.

  “Plenty of soup in the pot. If you want, I can whip up some garlic bread to go along with it. That should do us fine. Kinda just slept all day anyways.”

  Garlic bread…

  Her mouth watered.

  Tap. Tap tap tap. Taptaptaptaptap. Raindrops began to patter on the window.

  “Sounds good.” Her smile bloomed to full size under the warm glow of the lights as she kept thinking about it. The now was even more outrageous than any of her wildest fever dreams: she was about to share another warm and tasty meal with the real Mac high and dry in their fifth-floor sanctuary as yet another spring acid shower rolled in, the rest of the outside world not daring to cross the threshold. She held the hourglass in her arms, crushing it against her chest.