Free Bama Boy by Sheri Cobb South

it’s your funeral.”
    He led me into the living room, where a slow dance was just beginning. We took our places among the dancers, and Jimbo drew me close.
    “Tracy,” he murmured just above my ear, “do you remember the night we took Richie snipe hunt’n’, when you fell and I rescued you?”
    Did I remember? I only thought about it every waking moment!
    “I remember,” I said softly.
    “I told you then that I might need you to do the same for me someday. I think this makes us even.”
    “Jimbo, you shouldn’t have come,” I said, looking up into his blue eyes.
    Jimbo grinned down at me. “Well, I reckon everybody’s thinkin’ that, but so far you’re the only one who’s come right out and said it.”
    “You know what I mean! You don’t have to subject yourself to this kind of treatment. Why don’t you go on home? Maybe by Monday things will have cooled off some.”
    He gave a snort of humorless laughter. “If they got any cooler, I’d freeze to death! Tracy, you don’t understand. I had to come to this party, or it would’ve looked like I was ashamed to show my face. I’m not particularly proud of throwin’ away a game in the final seconds, but the only thing I really regret is that the rest of the team has to suffer because I made a bad decision. They’re the ones I feel bad for. As for everybody else, if they think they can do any better, they’re welcome to try.”
    “Bravo! But I don’t see how you can laugh about it.”
    “Self-defense. I gotta laugh so I don’t cry.”
    I heaved a little sigh of pure contentment. “Jimbo Maxwell, you’re a class act.”
    I was vaguely aware of the sound of a telephone ringing in another room, but didn’t pay much attention until Maggie came up to us.
    “Brian just called,” she told me. “His ankle isn’t broken, but he’s at home with an ice pack on it. I told him I’d be right over. Are you ready to go?”
    I was extremely reluctant to leave Jimbo alone, but I had made a promise. “I’ll get my purse.”
    I started to step away from him, but Jimbo held my arm.
    “You go ahead, Maggie,” he said. “I’ll take Tracy home.”
    Maggie positively beamed at us. “Jimbo, you’re an angel! You two have a good time. Bye!”
    Maggie made her escape before I could protest, but she needn’t have worried; I wasn’t about to leave. Instead, I nestled my head into the curve of Jimbo’s neck. He hummed softly into my ear as we danced, and it all felt so warm and so right that I began to wonder exactly what was in that punch I’d been drinking.
    By the time we left the party, it was almost midnight. We climbed into Jimbo’s truck, and he switched on the radio.
    “Do you mind?” he asked. “I’d like to hear a final score on the Lee-Mitchell game.”
    We talked about the party until the sports announcer’s voice came over the radio. We both fell silent while he recited the final scores of all the area football games, including an account of Hillcrest’s thrilling last-second victory over the previously undefeated Elmore Eagles.
    “I could have gone all night without hearin’ that,” Jimbo said, turning off the radio.
    “But still no score on Lee-Mitchell,” I remarked.
    “Well, they were playin’ at Mitchell, and that’s a pretty far piece,” Jimbo pointed out. “They’re probably just now gett’n’ back home, so I’ll bet the final score hasn’t been called in yet.”
    We spent the next few minutes exploring various hypothetical situations that might return Elmore to the state playoff picture. Things didn’t look very hopeful, but there was still a chance, however remote. If Lee had somehow managed to pull out a win over Mitchell, then Elmore’s playoff hopes were still alive. It was the simplest scenario, but it would take nothing short of a miracle. As Jimbo explained, Mitchell was the two-time area champion, and Lee had only won two games all season. Deep in conjecture, Jimbo hardly noticed the school bus making a