Page 70 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
“Ah, Jess, shouldn’t we keep going up to an empty row?” I asked.
“This is where I sit,” he said. “They’ll make room.”
Of course he’d have a reserved spot in the best available location. My guess was that the people of Prescott would make room for him no matter where he wanted to sit.
A lot of faces were aimed my way, giving me a thorough inspection. I was happy to spot a few I recognized and focused on them instead of the strangers staring me down. In our row was Silas Grant. Behind him and off to the side was Maisy.
“Brick, come on in. There’s plenty of room,” a man sitting three seats in called before people started squeezing together to make an opening.
Jess nodded and shuffled sideways down the row, still carrying Rowen, until we reached the open space next to Silas.
“Gigi,” he said.
“Hi, Silas.”
“First game?” he asked.
Jess started chuckling, so I elbowed him in the ribs.
He let out a “humph” while I told Silas, “Yes, first game.”
“It’s a good year to become a fan. Mustangs are a great team this year. Favored to win the state championship,” he said.
“Which one are the Mustangs?” Roe asked.
“Green team. That’s who we’re cheering for. Right down in front of us,” Jess said.
“Who are the red guys?” she asked.
“Sheridan Pioneers. We want the green team to get the football past the red team and into the end zone down there,” he said, pointing out all of the different spots on the field.
“Oh.” Her chin fell and her eyes filled with tears.
“What’s wrong, Roe?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Little bit?” Jess whispered. “What is it?”
Roe finally looked up and the tears fell onto her cheeks. “The bad guys are red and my sweater is red. Does that mean I can’t be a Mustang?”
“Of course not, sweetie,” I said, holding back a laugh. “You can cheer for them. It doesn’t matter that you’re wearing red.”
“It does matter! I’m not dressed right!” my mini-diva cried again.
We were starting to draw a bit of an audience. “Do you want to wear your coat?” It was a deep purple and would blend better with the sea of green we were sitting in.
“Okay.” She sniffled.
“Want a hot dog, little bit?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding enthusiastically, all smiles again now that her wardrobe better supported the home team.
“Georgia?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “And a Coke. Juice box for Roe.”
“Okay. Be back.”
