Alyssa and I push our way through a sea of red and gray, somehow managing to only lose each once.. I death grip the ticket window when I finally make it and yank Alyssa's hand the rest of the way through the crowd.

"Good God, it's like these people have never been in public before!" She screams over the music blaring from a nearby tailgate speaker.

"Welcome to one corner of my own personal hell all filled with the same type of person carbon copied and pasted over and over again for miles." I leave out the part of the actual vision in my head where an overweight man in a "Kiss the Cook" apron repeatedly offers me hotdogs until he eventually forces me to play cornhole for six straight hours. All while the onlookers get shit faced to a balanced mixture of country and rock music.

We gather our tickets and field passes quickly from the Will Call counter. I didn't dare call my dad and ask for him to save me a ticket, although he has repeatedly offered to let me onto the field with the team. Alyssa instead, scrounges up the field passes claiming us as media which is a stretch. The actual tickets she waves in front of my face, however, are for the coveted WAG section. After very limited research and a very expansive overview from Alyssa, I've learned it's an exclusive box reserved solely for the wives and girlfriend of the players. It has apparently become Alyssa's assigned seating since making things official with Anderson.

She gracefully pulls me through the crowd now having found her footing inside the stadium. Alyssa leads me as if this area is nothing more than an extension of her home and she's leading me to the kitchen, but instead we head straight to the third level suites.

I already knew I didn't belong here, but it's a fact that is only solidified by the sign on a stand next to the door. It's a group photo with the acronym WAGs printed in block letters beneath it. It must be a recent photo, each girl is holding a bighead cutout of their respective players, because I spot Alyssa on the very end.

"Explain to me what we're doing here again?" I ask, for probably the hundredth time. The look Alyssa gives me could kill me if the speed in her step wasn't throwing off her aim.

"You call yourself a reality TV connoisseur," She tuts. "We are the wives and girlfriends of the players. We get this box because they get a lot of attention on social media. When we travel in packs, we get even more coverage. So the team just started giving us the box." She speaks as if she is a founding member of the club and not the newest member.

"Which players are married?" I ask, but she brushes right over my question as she opens the door for me. She pushes me in first and follows closely behind me. I know she's trying to box me in with no escape because I've entered a newfound corner of my own personal hell.

The box is filled with roughly twenty females all various shades of blonde or brunette. They're arranged around the room perfectly, as if it's a rule that you can't socialize in groups of more than five to ensure no girl is left out. My eyes bounce from small group to small group and it's like each one is just a slightly different version of the next. Aside from height and shoe choice, every single WAG is wearing a jacket similar to Alyssa's. Their jean jackets are some variation of the school's scarlet and gray colors. One in particular is literally split in half, red on one side, the other gray, as if they just couldn't choose between the two. But that isn't even the worst part. Each jacket has the same exact back. They resemble a jersey with a name printed largely across the top and an even larger number covering the middle. The denim has been the victim of a rhinestone gun with every square inch of font covered in little jewels.

"I'm not a WAG, I don't belong here. I don't think they'll even let me in without the jacket." I point to the crowd knowing damn well Alyssa is aware of the jacket thing making me stand out even more than I already do.

"You might as well be."' Alyssa shrugs and pushes me further in the room. "I've seen the way you and Taylor look at eachother. And we all made our own jackets at the last get together. I can make you one too!"

I haven't told her about the kiss yet considering it's only been twelve hours since then. And because of the fact that after I kissed him the second time, Taylor promptly picked both of us off the ground. I was instantly turned on by the sheer strength he holds, but my fantasy quickly came to an end when he placed me down on the ground and announced his departure. He practically sprinted away from me. I've been attempting to not read too far into it. I mean, I kissed him after he told me his mom is dying. It could have just been an emotional response, a need to be as close to him as possible. Taylor didn't exactly tell me to stop or pull away, but it could have been just too much for him to handle with everything else on his plate. Or at least that's the story I've spun in my head to occupy myself until I get the chance to ask him.

Alyssa divulges into greetings with the group of girls closest to the door. She introduces me right away to no doubt keep me from slipping out the door when she isn't looking. I only have to answer a few questions about why I'm there before the clock spares me. The minutes begin to slowly shed away, signaling that the team will be walking in at any time.. Alyssa promises to be back soon. I, however, promise to not come back. Brittany, one blonde who seems to be incharge of the room, laughed it off as if I were joking. I reassure her I'm not.

Alyssa again easily glides her way through the stadium. She turns down an unknown passageway that magically leads straight onto the field where a man with an earpiece is waiting to inspect our credentials. After giving us the necessary ocular inspection, he moves a rope and allows us to step onto the turf. I pick up the badge around my neck and inspect it, still unable to believe it was that easy with how exclusive my father makes being on the field out to be. I contemplate not going in, but the guy nudges for me to enter with a head tilted towards the stadium.

Like pushing through a curtain on a stage and finding the stage lights shining brightly into your eyes on the other side, I'm blinded by the sun that is now high in the sky. I cup a hand over my face, creating a visor and allow myself to take it in. I feel like an ant in an ant farm, as I slowly turn in a circle, letting the vast setting settle over me. The columns and pillars of the various levels of concrete that make up the horseshoe shape of the stadium swallow the many event workers walking along the sections.

I try to think of the last time I was on the field. I think of how differently it must have looked then. It had to be the year my mom died when my dad won coach of the year. He was being honored during the spring game. I didn't want to go, but like always he got his way. He even forced me to wear a red dress and Cal a matching red tie. I later cut it off and threw it away. It wasn't my style and he knew that. It was just a way for him to try to mold me into the daughter he wanted others to see. But the only thing it accomplished was to reassure him that I was a square peg and the mold would always and forever be a circle.

I take the cap off my camera and begin to take shots of the empty stadium. The light is reflecting perfectly off the empty red plastic seats that will soon begin to fill quickly. Alyssa and I walk our way across the also barren field. It's eerie considering the performance that will ensue in such a short time.

I pull my phone out quickly and shoot a text to Taylor while I know he still has his phone. I haven't heard from him, and didn't expect to. If he's anything like Cal on the day of a game, his words are extra short and headphones are a permanent fixture in his ears. Regardless of where we stand after last night, it's a big day for him and I want him to know he's not alone. I settle for a meme of Sharpay in High School Musical telling Gabriella to break a leg with the message, "Don't suck." A reference he should now get, considering I made him watch High School Musical after karaoke night.

A deep voice booms through the stadium speakers, announcing that the team is crossing the street from the hotel and arriving at the stadium. It's another tradition that fans swarm to witness.

Alyssa and I join the other media members walking towards the tunnel at the other end of the field. This one leads from the rotunda, the entrance to the stadium the players ceremoniously take before each game. We watch quietly as a slew of suited men carrying duffle bags emerge from the shadows as if they appeared at will from the atmosphere. I watch the pack file into their route. Straight down this ramped tunnel and across the field to the other end zone where the tunnel to their locker room is housed.

So many unfamiliar faces pass. I'm instantly reminded that a football team is a pseudo army with the sheer number of men it calls for and that Taylor and his friends are not the only components of the team, although the amount of area they take up in any given room could fool a commoner.

I pull the camera up creating slack in the strap. I snap a couple of shots of these unknown players, each one, like their WAG's, are a slightly different version of the next. The only change needed when copying and pasting would be the type of headphones they are sporting atop their heads. Just like the player before them, each one is dead behind the eyes. It's like the lights are on but no one is home as they mentally prepare for battle.

I move away from Alyssa to the right corner to allow the sun to move behind me, creating a more appealing visual for the pictures. I crouch down to take a few shots from a lower angle. I love how it turns out. The deficit creates the illusion that the already freakishly large men are twice their size. The way I imagine many people actually view them. Almost fictitious, like they hold abilities more closely aligned to Andre the Giant instead of boys who just love to throw a ball around.

I stand back up, regaining my height when I see him. Instinctively I raise my camera and snap a series of pictures of him. Taylor is fitted in a perfectly cut gray suit. One I recognize from a ceremony that is plastered online. He looks up briefly and I give a small wave. He's almost passed me completely, when at the last second he nods in my direction. He's very formal and shows little emotion. I make a mental note to ridicule him for it later on.

🏈🏈🏈

I blink and the stadium is filled with a record breaking one hundred and six thousand people. I had no idea the Horseshoe stadium could hold that many people. I assume that a million different fire codes have been broken to create enough space. It only proves just how much money this program brings in for the university, and why my father makes more himself annually than most professional football players.

I snap a few more photos of the now full stadium at field level, but quickly recap the lens and find Alyssa again to watch the band perform their pregame set. It's over too quickly and leads straight into the coin toss. I watch as my brother and Taylor take the field as game captains to call it. They win the toss, choosing to receive the ball first. I don't know much, but I know it means that after the initial kick, Taylor will get to step back onto the field for real.

All the captains scramble back off the field and each team sets themselves for the first play. I curse myself for telling him not to suck, because as soon as he steps onto the field and sets himself up on the left side slightly crouched and ready to run, my stomach is in knots for him. Bile rises in my throat and I too, crouch forward with my hands on my knees in anticipation of what is about to happen.

The nausea quickly wavers when I see him take off as Cal calls the snap. Taylor runs with ease up the field, blocking opposing players in the process and somehow lands exactly where my brother throws the ball. He gains a few more yards before being taken down by a player from the other team. He pops right back up and resets like a robot. His instinct is kicking in with little thought needed because his body just knows what to do.

Three plays later and Taylor has scored the first points in the game. I watch it through the eyepiece of my camera as he flawlessly catches an unguarded pass from Cal. I capture it all, including his celebration dance. It's a combination of moves that involve him to curve and roll his body in a way I could never have imagined him doing, but I want him to score just so I can see him do it again.

My mouth is dry and my cheeks are flushed when Alyssa finds me and drags me back to the box to watch the halftime show from an elevated view. She quickly notices my state and it takes everything in me to procure an excuse. I claim to be affected by a random heatwave that's taken over in October and I'm choosing to believe that she didn't just roll her eyes and mumble, "Mhmm, a six foot five heatwave."