Break
Page 23
“Would you like a drink, Jessica?” Brandon asked politely.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll get us a few pints.”
“Thanks mate.”
I looked at Luke curiously. His accent changed from an American one to one that was slightly British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, smiling.
Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.
I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and raised the frothy rim to my lips. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness of the beer.
“The crowd seems a bit crazy.”
A group of West Ham supporters behind our row drunkenly slurred a song about bubbles.
“West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It’s going to be mad.” Brandon smiled knowingly at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”
Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”
I leaned in closer, thoroughly enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”
Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”
“They deserved it.”
How interesting. “I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”
Luke gave me a roguish wink.
The fans behind me continued to sing. “Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”
One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.
“Sorry, love.” The man who had accidentally kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.
“It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.
His red-rimmed eyes scanned my clothes and narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you supporting?”
I was suddenly aware that they were probably drunk enough to fight anyone who wasn’t supporting their team. “West Ham,” I said before others could intervene.
“Good.” The fan leaned back into his seat and they resumed the team song.
Brandon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like we’d say anything different surrounded by this lot.”
At last, the players spilled over the field, and the red and blue fans stood up in unison, letting out earsplitting shrieks and cheers. I clapped my hands over my ears as the fan behind me screamed encouragement to West Man and shouted filthy obscenities to the black and white Tottenham players.
“Sod off, you fucking cunts!”
The man who had kicked my chair was standing on his seat, gesticulating wildly as he screamed insults. Taken aback, I looked at Luke and Brandon, who didn’t seemed perturbed by the filth streaming out of his mouth. Maybe it’s a British thing.
West Ham kicked off and the fast-paced game began. Within the first five minutes, the Tottenham forwards had passed the ball through West Ham’s defense. The right defense sprinted back towards the forward—he was inside the goalie box and everyone around me was screaming, even Luke was bellowing something intelligible. And then the Tottenham forward stumbled forward and tripped over the West Ham defense’s leg, foiling what could have been a goal.
The stands were in an uproar as the referee blasted his whistle and ripped out a bright red card, which he held up high. The reaction from the stands was downright frightening. Thousands of them stood up to hurl insults at the referee as the player argued with him. I was close enough to see the veins popping out from his neck.
“I don’t understand—what happened?”
Luke’s face was pinched with worry. “Well, the defense tripped the Tottenham forward within the goal box, so that’s an automatic red card. They’ll have to play one man short the whole game.”
Suddenly, I pitched forward and the rest of my beer spilled on the floor as the fan behind me jostled my seat in his haste to stand up.
“HE TRIPPED! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT, YOU FUCKING TWAT!”
His voice stabbed my ears with every syllable. He actually hurled his empty beer cup onto the field; I saw it sail over my head, sprinkling my hair with drops of beer.
“Fuck’s sake.” Now I was drenched with beer.
Within moments, a pair of neon green police officers swarmed over him. I turned around in my seat to watch, feeling a grim satisfaction. Serves him right.
“Sir, you need to leave the stadium.”
He ripped his elbow out of their grasp and sneered at them. “Piss off.”
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Each of them grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, but now his friends had noticed what was happening and they stood up, shouting at the police.
I reflexively grabbed Luke’s arm and squeezed; he was still focused on the game.
“What?” he said as he turned around. “Oh.”
I don’t know what it was. Maybe the years of living in violent homes had prepared me to spot a volatile event before it happened, but all the hairs on the back of my neck were raised and a voice told me to get out of the stadium as soon as possible.
“Luke, we need to leave,” I said, my grip on his arm was vice-like.
“What? Are you all right?”
He sounded insulted. I could almost hear his thoughts: Leave in the beginning of the match? Are you crazy? He tried to pull his arm out of my grasp but my fingers bit harder into his flesh.
“No, I’m not fucking all right.”
Brandon wheeled around to join our conversion, his face pulled in a slight frown.
My heart raced like a bird beating its wings against a cage. More and more purple-red fans converged together, completely ignoring the game on the stadium, infused with alcohol and rage.
The West Ham fans in our section stood up in unison, some of them making threatening gestures towards the police. The policemen jostled to the side and they yelled into their radios, fear written all over their faces. Then one of the fans grabbed an officer and another one sank his fist into his stomach. The policeman crumpled to his feet and submerged under a wave of furious fans.
“Oh, shit.”
Suddenly, Luke climbed over our seats with a determined look on his face. “I’m going to help him.”
I looked at Brandon’s stunned face. “Where is he going?”
Is he nuts? “Luke!” I lunged forward and caught his sleeve. “This is no time for bravado!”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll get us a few pints.”
“Thanks mate.”
I looked at Luke curiously. His accent changed from an American one to one that was slightly British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, smiling.
Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.
I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and raised the frothy rim to my lips. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness of the beer.
“The crowd seems a bit crazy.”
A group of West Ham supporters behind our row drunkenly slurred a song about bubbles.
“West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It’s going to be mad.” Brandon smiled knowingly at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”
Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”
I leaned in closer, thoroughly enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”
Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”
“They deserved it.”
How interesting. “I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”
Luke gave me a roguish wink.
The fans behind me continued to sing. “Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”
One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.
“Sorry, love.” The man who had accidentally kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.
“It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.
His red-rimmed eyes scanned my clothes and narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you supporting?”
I was suddenly aware that they were probably drunk enough to fight anyone who wasn’t supporting their team. “West Ham,” I said before others could intervene.
“Good.” The fan leaned back into his seat and they resumed the team song.
Brandon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like we’d say anything different surrounded by this lot.”
At last, the players spilled over the field, and the red and blue fans stood up in unison, letting out earsplitting shrieks and cheers. I clapped my hands over my ears as the fan behind me screamed encouragement to West Man and shouted filthy obscenities to the black and white Tottenham players.
“Sod off, you fucking cunts!”
The man who had kicked my chair was standing on his seat, gesticulating wildly as he screamed insults. Taken aback, I looked at Luke and Brandon, who didn’t seemed perturbed by the filth streaming out of his mouth. Maybe it’s a British thing.
West Ham kicked off and the fast-paced game began. Within the first five minutes, the Tottenham forwards had passed the ball through West Ham’s defense. The right defense sprinted back towards the forward—he was inside the goalie box and everyone around me was screaming, even Luke was bellowing something intelligible. And then the Tottenham forward stumbled forward and tripped over the West Ham defense’s leg, foiling what could have been a goal.
The stands were in an uproar as the referee blasted his whistle and ripped out a bright red card, which he held up high. The reaction from the stands was downright frightening. Thousands of them stood up to hurl insults at the referee as the player argued with him. I was close enough to see the veins popping out from his neck.
“I don’t understand—what happened?”
Luke’s face was pinched with worry. “Well, the defense tripped the Tottenham forward within the goal box, so that’s an automatic red card. They’ll have to play one man short the whole game.”
Suddenly, I pitched forward and the rest of my beer spilled on the floor as the fan behind me jostled my seat in his haste to stand up.
“HE TRIPPED! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT, YOU FUCKING TWAT!”
His voice stabbed my ears with every syllable. He actually hurled his empty beer cup onto the field; I saw it sail over my head, sprinkling my hair with drops of beer.
“Fuck’s sake.” Now I was drenched with beer.
Within moments, a pair of neon green police officers swarmed over him. I turned around in my seat to watch, feeling a grim satisfaction. Serves him right.
“Sir, you need to leave the stadium.”
He ripped his elbow out of their grasp and sneered at them. “Piss off.”
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Each of them grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, but now his friends had noticed what was happening and they stood up, shouting at the police.
I reflexively grabbed Luke’s arm and squeezed; he was still focused on the game.
“What?” he said as he turned around. “Oh.”
I don’t know what it was. Maybe the years of living in violent homes had prepared me to spot a volatile event before it happened, but all the hairs on the back of my neck were raised and a voice told me to get out of the stadium as soon as possible.
“Luke, we need to leave,” I said, my grip on his arm was vice-like.
“What? Are you all right?”
He sounded insulted. I could almost hear his thoughts: Leave in the beginning of the match? Are you crazy? He tried to pull his arm out of my grasp but my fingers bit harder into his flesh.
“No, I’m not fucking all right.”
Brandon wheeled around to join our conversion, his face pulled in a slight frown.
My heart raced like a bird beating its wings against a cage. More and more purple-red fans converged together, completely ignoring the game on the stadium, infused with alcohol and rage.
The West Ham fans in our section stood up in unison, some of them making threatening gestures towards the police. The policemen jostled to the side and they yelled into their radios, fear written all over their faces. Then one of the fans grabbed an officer and another one sank his fist into his stomach. The policeman crumpled to his feet and submerged under a wave of furious fans.
“Oh, shit.”
Suddenly, Luke climbed over our seats with a determined look on his face. “I’m going to help him.”
I looked at Brandon’s stunned face. “Where is he going?”
Is he nuts? “Luke!” I lunged forward and caught his sleeve. “This is no time for bravado!”
