Knowing that my mom had done something shockingly similar actually did make me feel better. My mom was one badass human being, and if I turned out to be anything like her, I would be proud. “Thanks for sharing that, Mom. I love you.”

“Learn from your mistakes and have grace for yourself. You will be unstoppable,” she finished.

After a hug and a kiss on the forehead, my mom asked, “Do you feel up to watching the game? Your dad has prepared a feast.”

I actually did feel like watching the game, so I followed my mom to the living room. In light of recent activities—i.e., their daughter showing up in tears—my parents decided to watch the game on TV instead of going. I loved the hell out of them.

My dad had made enough potato skins and Frito pie to feed the entire football team. We grazed lightly on cheese and crackers in the shape of footballs and tiny meatballs as we watched the pregame show. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I wasn’t too concerned with the calories, but I still picked around the most carb-laden snacks.

The host started talking stats and highlighting some of the players. Oakley’s photo flashed on the screen, and the host greedily started spilling why he wouldn’t be there, like a sorority sister with juicy gossip.

“Oakley Davis, star running back for the University of Texas, was arrested last night by Los Angeles police—” I groaned, and my mom quickly flipped to another channel.

Once the game started, my mom was in her element. She was cheering and yelling at the ref like she had her life savings bet on UT, which was totally for my benefit, because she was a hard-core California girl.

My guys lost, and I felt a pang of disappointment at the score. More guilt laced through me when I realized they probably would have played better if Oakley were there. I also noticed that Dale was benched for the game. I’m glad he at least was punished too.

“There’s always next time. Oakley won’t be benched forever,” Dad said, turning off the game and patting me on the shoulder.

“Yeah. Next time.” I chewed on my nails. Guilt was eating me up. No longer feeling social, I kissed my parents on the cheek, then made my way to my guest room. Giving in to the exhaustion, I finally fell asleep.

* * *

“Baby, wake up,” my mother said while shoving me. “Baby. You gotta see this.” My room was pitch black aside from the faint glow of my mother’s cell phone illuminating her tired face.

“What?” I replied, my voice deep with sleep.

“I was just casually checking Oakley’s Instagram…” she began.

I checked the clock. “At two in the morning?”