Sidelined- The Qb And Me Official

But I had seen Marcus after the game. He wasn’t celebrating. He was sitting on the bench, alone, staring at his hands. When I walked past him to leave the stadium, he looked up.

I laughed. Because the irony wasn’t lost on me. —everyone assumes that’s a story about the girl who lost the superstar. Sidelined- The QB and Me

Final score: 24–21.

The breaking point wasn’t dramatic. It was a Tuesday. Dylan had skipped physical therapy to watch film of Marcus’s latest start (another boring, efficient win). He was dissecting every throw. “See? He’s afraid. He won’t throw over the middle. He’s a coward.” But I had seen Marcus after the game

That night, I sat in my car in the high school parking lot and cried. I wasn’t crying for Dylan. I was crying for myself. Because I had realized something terrible: I had spent a year on the arm of a star, and I had never felt more in my own life. I wasn’t a girlfriend. I was an accessory. A prop. A good-luck charm that had lost its luck. When I walked past him to leave the stadium, he looked up

I texted Marcus. I didn’t know why. Just: “You up?”