His popularity has been skyrocketing and his base has increased to a problematic level. During his last rally, he spent a record twenty minutes spewing his lies about Quinton, convincing his followers that Quinton is protesting the military and disrespecting our troops . . . despite Quinton stating multiple times why he’s protesting—fairness and equality for all. “If he cared about any of these causes, he’d quit throwing a football and sign up to serve his country. But the only person he’s concerned about serving is himself. We aren’t fooled!” The crowd went crazy over that and the more conservative news stations have been playing it on what feels like a loop.

It’s absurd. From what I’ve seen online, a lot of people are ready to grab their torches and burn things down. I’m really concerned about how that will translate to real life.

I slide open the glass door with my hip since my hands are occupied by an overabundance of snacks and a filled-to-the-rim glass. Nobody seems to notice my entrance, so I take a seat in the back row. It will be easier for me to pay attention without someone pointing out how cute Quinton is (Brynn and Vonnie) or telling me about all the chemicals in my tortilla chips (Greer).

“Please stand and remove your hats as Carol Langford performs our national anthem,” Jack says as a woman in a bright-red dress settles into her position behind a microphone in front of the Mustangs sideline.

A group of four military members in their uniforms stand behind her; the two in the middle are holding flags while the other two hold what look like guns. Children and adults burst out running from the center of the field in different directions, all holding onto a giant flag they’re now spreading across the field. But even with all of this, my attention is focused on one person and one person only, Quinton Howard Junior.

I can’t see the front of his jersey to see if he’s used the tape or not, but I know it’s there. Then the music starts, and for a moment, he stays standing. My lungs stop working and even though it doesn’t make sense, dread that he might stay standing courses through my body. I close my eyes, not able to watch. But when the wave of boos fill the stadium, my eyes snap open and I see him on one knee. Relief blooms from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head even as Vonnie and Brynn both turn around, concern for my livelihood evident on their beautiful faces. They offer me what I’m sure are their best attempts at reassuring smiles, but what in actuality look more like grimaces.

“It’s fine.” I get out of my seat and I walk down the few steps to their row. “I’m really not worried, I promise.”