The Tailgate Read Online Free PDF Page A

Arts editor, flair for the dramatic.” Clen was overly enthusiastic with the tonic and the first cup bubbled over. “She can be a real bitch.”
    Dabney accepted her drink and reached for a wedge of lime. “Well, yeah. I noticed.”
    â€œYour picnic is beautiful, Cupe,” Clen said. “I mean, look, it’s almost gone.” He gazed off, in the direction of the stadium. “Jocelyn’s just jealous.”
    â€œJealous of what?” Dabney said. She wanted clarification. Was she jealous that Dabney went to Harvard? Was she jealous that Dabney could cook? Or was there some other reason, something that had to do with Clen?
    Clen didn’t have time to answer because at that moment, voices filled the air. The Whiffenpoofs were forming a semicircle in front of the Daily News tailgate. The Whiffenpoofs! Dabney felt a flutter of celebrity awe. She loved traditions like this; the most famous a cappella group in the country was right here! Dabney forgot about Jocelyn—she had disappeared into the crowd, anyway—and grabbed Clen’s arm.
    â€œThe Whiffenpoofs!” she said. “They’re going to sing!”
    â€œThat’s what they do,” Clen said. He bent down and whispered in her ear. “Wallace’s twin brother is the one in the middle. Ralph, his name is. Ralph Waldo Emerson Wallace.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me,” Dabney said. Sure enough, the tall guy in the center looked exactly like Henry—same hair, same smile, same glasses.
    â€œHenry asked Ralph to stop here,” Clen said, “because I told him you would want to see them.”
    Dabney felt a thrill run up her backbone and explode in euphoria at the base of her neck. The Whiffenpoofs were here…to sing to her!
    Ralph leaned in and hummed to give everyone the key, and they launched into “Ride the Chariot.”
    Dabney swooned. The voices blended and separated and blended again, melodies, harmonies, top lines, bass lines.
    â€œThe Boxer.”
    â€œIs She Really Going Out with Him?”
    And one more—“Brown-Eyed Girl,” which was Clen and Dabney’s song. Clen led Dabney to a clearing a short way from the car and they danced.
    â€œDid you ask them to sing this?” she asked.
    â€œWhat do you think?” he said.
    Dabney looked down at her penny loafers. This time, she was surprised to see they were touching the ground.
    Â Â 
    It was almost a disappointment to head into the stadium. Dabney had managed to eat one chicken salad sandwich and grab a few bites of the onion dip before the bowl was licked clean. Everything she had brought had been devoured. So there! Dabney thought.
    Harvard 1, Yale 0.
    Â Â 
    Dabney saw Jocelyn again inside the Yale Bowl. She was sitting three rows ahead of Clen and Dabney and five seats to their left. She was with a girl with curly blond hair and two guys/boys/men, one of whom was wearing a white cardigan sweater with a blue Y that looked like it had been rescued from a 1952 time capsule, and the other of whom wore a plain gray T-shirt and a baseball hat and seemed like he had just rolled out of bed.
    Dabney prayed that either Letter Sweater or Boy Who Just Woke Up was Jocelyn’s boyfriend.
    There was a lot of fanfare before the game began. The Class of 1935 ran out onto the field—seventeen men remaining, more than double that killed in World War II, a moment of silence. The presentation of Handsome Dan, the bulldog, wild applause. Then, the Spizzwinks sang the national anthem; the Spizzwinks were the underclassman version of the Whiffenpoofs. The person who named these groups must have been smoking opium with Lewis Carroll, Dabney thought.
    Then…kickoff! The crowd went bananas. Dabney and Clen stood up along with the rest of the stadium and cheered.
    Jocelyn turned around and appeared to be searching for someone sitting behind them. She was wearing brown cat’s-eye sunglasses.
    The kickoff