Free Heart on a Chain by Cindy C Bennett Page A

involved.
    Henry chooses that moment to look over at me, and seeing the confounded look on my face, leans toward me. Yelling to be heard over the crowd, he asks “Have you ever been to a football game before?”
    I shake my head.
    “ Watched one on TV?”
    I shake my head again.
    “ Do you know anything about it?”
    “ I thought I did. I thought they were supposed to tackle each other.”
    “ Mostly that’s true.”
    “ So why did they all stop?”
    So he explains it to me—and explains each play after that. I listen intently, determined to learn. It’s difficult to concentrate because the noise around us makes it hard to hear, so he wraps his arm around my shoulder with each explanation, pulling me close so I can hear better. It creates a private little cocoon, and I can look up at him, eyes locked on his without it meaning anything more than that I’m listening.
    Not more to him, anyway; but so much more to me. After a while, he quits taking his arm down between explanations, leaving it resting on my shoulder.
    When quite a bit of time has passed, he says, “Come on,” grabbing my hand and pulling me up the stairs, this time to walk along the sidewalk at the top of the bleachers.
    “ Is the game over already?”
    “ No, it’s almost halftime. But if we don’t get to the snack stand now, we’ll have to stand in a long line.”
    When we get to the snack stand, the line is a dozen people deep, and I wonder what he considers a long line. I hear the whistle blow, then both teams jog off the field and I assume that means half time has arrived. The line behind us grows, snaking out until I can see what he meant.
    Just before we arrive at the front of the line Henry turns to me and asks me what I would like. Panic freezes me for a moment. I didn’t bring any money. I don’t have any to bring even if I’d wanted to. I simply shake my head.
    “ You don’t want anything?” he’s genuinely baffled.
    “ No, I’m okay. I…I ate earlier.” Again, not exactly a lie since I had eaten—lunch, at school.
    “ Come on, you can’t be at the game without a hot dog. It’s tradition .”
    “ No, really, I’m fine.”
    It’s our turn so he steps forward and orders while I look around, pretending my empty stomach isn’t grumbling at the smells. I can’t help but notice the looks I’m getting from those standing in line who attend our school. The same looks I’ve seen on other faces all night. I ignore them, not wanting my night ruined.
    Henry turns and hands me a soda and a hot dog, shoving them into my hands before I can refuse them, turning back to the girl at the stand to grab a matching pair for himself.
    “ No, I said I was—”
    “ I know, but since this is your first game, I don’t want to be accused of not giving you the full experience.” His smile disarms me.
    “ Okay. Thanks.”
    He leans his head down toward me, eyes black in the night, and my breath stops. “You’re welcome,” he says, a smile in his voice.
    We walk over to a table laden with condiments, most of which have been spilled across the table. We load our hot dogs with ketchup, mustard and relish and eat them, dripping condiments on the already splattered ground. It’s the best food I’ve ever eaten.
    We make our way back to the stands just as the teams came back out onto the field. There’s more cheering, though not as enthusiastic as when the game first started. Henry stands next to me, only occasionally having to explain plays or rules now. Because he isn’t standing with his arm around me—to my disappointment—I’m thinking more clearly and notice things I hadn’t before.
    There aren’t very many people actually paying attention to the game. Most of them that are watching are the parents. Everyone else is milling about, talking and laughing, only turning to the game when a good tackle is made, or when points are scored.
    It’s as I’m looking around that I see her. Jessica stands a few rows above me and one section