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“Bucs for the win!”
A chorus of positivity fills the room, and we continue to pump each other up until Coach arrives to give us our final instructions.
“A lot is riding on this game tonight. We will not accept defeat, you hear me. On the field or off it. Bucs are born to win, and that’s exactly what we’ll do tonight.” His gaze zeros in on me.
“If you feel the way you say you do about my daughter, you’ll play the best game of your life tonight. Scouts from all over are sitting in that stadium tonight, you better kill it out there.”
With adrenaline pumping through my veins at triple speed, I nod. “We’re ready, Coach. We got this.”
The stadium lights shine bright in the night sky as we make our way out onto the field. This is it—time to earn my place in Paris’s life. Getting drafted has been my lifelong dream, but right now, it will be a bonus win.
The crowd roars as we begin to warm up. I search the player’s family section for Paris, knowing her and her best friend Veronica are sitting up there somewhere counting down the minutes until I can publicly claim her as mine.
That’s when I see my girl’s smile light up the Jumbotron. She blows a kiss, and I make a spectacle of catching it, the crowd cheering louder.
Paris spins around, her back to the cam, giving the crowd a good view of my name and number 12 on her fan jersey. Veronica passes her a sign and Paris turns back to the field, facing me, and holds the sign high above her head.
It reads Marked by Magik #ParisMagik in a huge heart with a photo of us taken together at the Fall Festival. I give her a bow and thump my chest, blowing a kiss back to her before I strap on my helmet and get back to work.
Game time.
“Focus, Romeo,” Coach yells from the sidelines. I give him a thumbs up and jump into formation for a few footwork drills as we wait for Georgia to wrap up and return to the bench.
After the first quarter, the score is tied at 14 all, but Georgia is coming at us hard. They’ve never won a championship before, and they are hungry for the win. When I take the field at the start of the third quarter, I call a set play we’ve never run against them before. It pays off, Nate snaps me the ball, and I pass it to Kennedy who’s open on the sideline for a first down at the fifty-yard line.
On the next play I take the snap and pitch the ball to my running back. My guards cover me as I sprint downfield ready to receive the pass from Brenton, when he’s tackled in the backfield, forcing him to fumble the ball, but luckily he falls on it first.
Frustration sets in. I call a time out. Coach is in my ear to pick up our game as if I need the verbal reminder. At the end of the third quarter, we’re ahead by six. Up for the first time in the game.
Heading into the fourth quarter, it’s not lost on me that my entire future is riding on it.
No pressure.
Fletch slams my shoulder on his way onto the field, “I got you, man, keep your eye on the prize.”
Paris.
She’s the prize.
The first snap from Nate goes high, but I avoid a fumble and attempt a long pass. “Fuck.” Sacked from behind, I’m driven to the ground by a three-hundred-pound defender. My body crumbles beneath the pressure and I see red.
I turn to my left tackle, Bender, who’s a flurry of apologies. “No excuse, man, you have one job. Protect my blindside!
The play is hard. Our running backs aren’t gaining the yards they should be. We’re only up by two on the scoreboard now, and it’s not enough. The clock is winding down. The crowd is on their feet. The stadium is loud, and our fans are rooting for us to bring this title home.
We’re running out of time.
“Magik,” Fletch calls and gives me a nod.
He’s ready. This is our chance to rain down hell on the opposition.
We get into position on the ten-yard line. Nate snaps the ball with perfect precision. I take it and drop back, gripping the ball with two hands as if I’m about to throw. But I place the ball behind my back with one hand while pretending to throw it across field. While in motion, I hand the ball off to Fletch who runs the football up the field for a winning touchdown.
The crowd goes wild. Coach is screaming at me, “That’s my boy!”
Elation spirals out of me. The team race to my side as the siren sounds. Kennedy and Wheeler lift me onto their shoulders, and I take a moment to soak up the atmosphere. My eyes wander, looking for Paris.
“Magik!” I hear her before I’m able to focus on where her voice is coming from.
