THE QUARTERBACKS UNTOUCHABLE GIRL

THE BLANKET

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

One minute I was on the play mat with Willa, lying on my side while she climbed all over me like I was some new hill she’d just discovered. The next minute the room had gone quiet, the light through the window turned all golden and soft, and Willa was this warm, heavy little weight on my chest. We were both just out.

I don’t even remember closing my eyes.

The first thing that pulled me back was the front door opening, softly. Then footsteps... heavier than Rosa’s, the tired rhythm of someone who’d been on their feet all day. A bag hitting the floor, then silence.

I was still half asleep, floating in that fuzzy space where you’re aware but not really there. Willa stayed dead asleep on my chest, both tiny fists curled against my collarbone, breathing slow and peaceful like nothing in the world could touch her.

The footsteps got closer, then they stopped.

I could feel someone standing in the doorway, watching. Not in a creepy way... just… present. I was too far under to open my eyes, but I registered it anyway.

Whoever it was stood there for a while. Longer than a quick glance, long enough that it felt like something.

Then I heard a soft rustle close to the ground, and a blanket settled over us. Tucked gently at the edges without waking Willa up.

The footsteps moved away, into the kitchen. A chair scraping, something set on the table.

Then I slept.

When I finally woke up for real, it was dark outside. Willa was starting to stir, making those little pre-cry noises that meant she’d be fully awake soon. I sat up slow, getting my bearings... play mat, living room, the blanket I definitely didn’t put there pooled around us.

I looked at it for a second.

Then I scooped Willa up before she could really start fussing and carried her to the kitchen.

Dax was at the table, textbooks spread out, notebook open, pen in his hand, headphones around his neck. Still in practice clothes but he’d showered... hair damp, fresh shirt. He looked up when I walked in.

“She wake you?” he asked.

“I was already up.”

He glanced at Willa, who was all sleepy and heavy against my shoulder, one side of her hair smashed flat. “She go down okay?”

“She was just on me,” I said. “We both kinda passed out, I wasn’t trying to sleep, it just happened.”

He looked back at his book. “You needed it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and started prepping it the way the schedule said. Willa stared at it like it was the most important thing in the universe.

The kitchen stayed quiet. The normal kind... fridge humming, house settling, two people just existing in the same space.

I didn’t mention the blanket.

I stood at the counter waiting for the bottle to hit the right temp and thought about bringing it up… then decided not to. Then thought about it again and still didn’t. There wasn’t a good way to talk about it. He’d either brush it off like it was nothing, which would sting, or say something real, which I wasn’t sure I could handle.

So I stayed quiet.

I tested the bottle on my wrist and handed it over. Willa grabbed it with both hands and started drinking, eyes half-closed in that cute way she had.

“Dinner’s in the fridge,” Dax said after a minute. “Rosa left plates.”

“Thanks.”

More quiet.

He flipped a page, scribbled something. I watched the top of his head, the damp hair, the way he kept going even when he looked wiped out.

And I thought about fifth period, the back section situation.

I almost said something. Almost put it out there the same quiet way he’d put the blanket on us. That thing you said today… it wasn’t nothing to me.

But I pictured his face and couldn’t do it.

I thought about the guy who crouched down to take the ring from Willa that morning. And the guy who made that joke in English. Same person, same body. I still couldn’t figure out which one was real.

“I’m gonna put her down,” I said.

He nodded without looking up.

I carried Willa upstairs. She was already drowsy again, eyes drooping by the time we got to the nursery. I changed her, got her into the sleep sack, tucked her in with her elephant. She grabbed it, sighed, and knocked out.

I stood at the crib rail for a minute, watching her breathe. I’d started doing that lately. Just making sure she was real, that she was okay.

She was perfect, sleeping like the world wasn’t complicated at all.

I turned off the light and went to my room.

I crashed into bed by nine-thirty, which was kinda embarrassing, but I was running on almost no sleep and a full day of surviving Riverside Heights. I set my alarm and closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

My brain decided it was the perfect time to replay everything, the torn notebook pages, the teacher who just kept walking. The back section situation, the c***k in the desk. The way Crew looked at me, the way Dax turned that corner.

The blanket.

I kept circling back to the blanket, and it was such a small thing. He didn’t wake me, didn’t make it a big deal, didn’t say anything. He just saw us asleep on the floor and covered us up before going to do his homework.

It didn’t mean anything.

I told myself that, over and over, it didn’t mean anything.

I rolled over, stared at the ceiling, the house was dead quiet, that late-night silence where everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.

I thought about what he said that first night: At school nothing changes. Then I thought about the joke in class and Tyler’s laugh and Mr. Falade handing out packets like nothing happened.

I was almost asleep, edges finally softening, when Willa cried.

Not full screaming, that low, miserable teething cry that meant she was in pain and it wasn’t going away fast.

I was out of bed before I was even awake... hoodie on, down the hall on autopilot. I pushed open the nursery door...

And Dax was already there.

We both froze.

He was on one side of the crib, I was on the other. Willa stood between us gripping the rail, crying that exhausted, grinding cry. The nightlight cast everything in soft orange, the house completely still around us.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

Willa kept crying.

Neither of us said anything for a second. In the dim light he looked tired and real in a way people only get at midnight. Something about it made my throat feel tight.

“I’ve got her,” I whispered.

“I heard her first.”

“Okay, but I’m already here.”

“So am I.”

Willa reached both arms straight toward me, grabby hands, no question.

Dax looked at her arms, then at me.

I reached in and picked her up. She burrowed into my hoodie right away, crying dropping to a whimper almost instantly. I started swaying without thinking.

Dax stood there on his side of the crib, hands at his sides, just watching.

“She does that now,” he said quietly. “The reaching for you thing.”

“I know.”

“She didn’t do that with the last babysitter.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not...” He stopped, let out a breath. “I’m just saying. She knows you.”

I didn’t answer. I just swayed and let Willa settle against me. Two days. That’s all it had been.

“Go back to sleep,” I said softly. “I’ve got her.”

He stood there another long moment. I could feel him hesitating, same as I’d felt him in the doorway earlier.

Then he left.

I listened to his footsteps go down the hall, his door closing extra quiet because of Willa.

I sat down in the rocking chair. Willa’s breathing evened out fast, one fist curled against my collarbone. I rocked slowly, the chair creaking softly. Outside the window the street was dark and empty.

I thought about the blanket again, about both of us showing up at the same time like we’d been listening for her.

I thought about how two days ago I didn’t even know this room existed.

She knows you.

The thought came quiet and uninvited around 1AM in that rocking chair: This feels like the beginning of something.

I pushed it away hard.

I put Willa back in her crib, tucked her blanket, made sure she had her elephant.

Then I went back to my room, lay in the dark, and told myself it was just tiredness. Just the weird closeness of living in someone else’s house when you’ve got nowhere else to go. Just being grateful and sleep-deprived and seeing things that weren’t there.

I believed it.

Mostly.