“Being an idiot,” Grey says as the medic again begins to shine a light into his eyes.
That’s when the shoving starts downfield. The excitement on the other end of the field—a Northland touchdown, as it happens—turning into anger about our laid-out quarterback. The whole crowd notices the action, too, a rumbling silence falling over the stadium.
Which only makes the ensuing fight louder.
Shanks, Napolitano, Cleary, and Sanchez begin herding Tigers back to the sidelines, the Jewell Academy coaches slow to do the same. But a core group continues to snipe at each other despite the distance, the refs playing force field.
Left with me, Coach Lee doesn’t flinch at the noise,patiently watching the medic do his work, but my body aches to run, muscles tense and ready to hurry Grey back to the relative safety of the sidelines.
After forever and a day, the medic gives the official word—probable grade three concussion.
Out comes Napolitano with the cart. Grey’s parents arrive, too.
I want to cry, but I actually feel so much better knowing that he’s okay. That he’s getting medical help. That the truth is out there and it’s going to be okay.
Though, man, if Grey isn’t going to have to run a bazillion extra laps for this.
As he’s loaded onto the cart, Grey’s hand lands on my thigh as I try to climb on, too. To stop me. To get my attention. To bring me out of girlfriend mode and into player mode.
“Better grab Brady and get warm. The rest of this game is yours.”
I’m in command.
I lean down and give him one more kiss—quick and gentle.
And then the cart, with Grey’s parents and the medic in the back, drives away. The crowd erupts as Grey raises a hand and flashes that smile of his toward the stands.
41
JEWELL SCORES QUICKLY ON THE NEXT DRIVE, AGAINproving why they’re the defending state champs. After the extra point flies in, we’re again tied up, 28–all. The ensuing kick drives us to the enemy forty-nine; it’s not great, but better than on the other side of midfield.
Time to go.
My heart thumps, a cold trickle of fear behind it. My knee is injured, yes, but I can do this. Ican. I can do it and I can do it without making it worse.
I hope.
A raucous cheer goes up as I jog onto the turf with the offense, the whole stadium—not just my family, not just my friends—lighting up. The thunder and crackle of the undertone clear: The girl quarterback is on the field.
I let the sound stream through my bones. Let it infuseany possible extra strength to my muscles. It’s oh so powerful.
For extra measure, my eyes shoot to the stands. My parents, Danielle, Ryan, Heather, and Addie—all together in a row. Their presence gives me an extra spring in my step.
I can do this.
The huddle is silent, all eyes on me. There’s no dissent, no questioning glances at my knee, though it’s still in its neoprene sleeve—just a hungry look on each face. I know that look well. The one of feeling like you’re down even though you’re actually tied, even though it’s your night, all because you have to work so much harder than your opponent.
I know that look, but I also know we’ve got this.
“They’re going to expect me to throw—new quarterback, showing off.” I glance to Jake. “So we run.”
Jake’s face breaks into a wolf’s smile. “White Three?”
It’s the perfect play for turbo Jake. “Exactly.”
“Break!” My voice rings into the night and we face the golden line. Fifty-five, one of the linebackers who downed Grey, does all he can to force me to recognize the evil grin on his face.
Suck it, fifty-five. You aren’t taking me out.
