But, incredibly, even that’s not good enoughbecause we’re losing.
On its last possession, Jewell Academy went for two, rather than the extra point. With precision and what I would say was a huge-ass amount of swagger, the golden guild coolly went up one.
So, Jewell’s up 43–42 with exactly a minute left on the clock.
Goddammit.
Every bone in my body is weary as I cough down one last swig of Gatorade. My knee’s been much better than I hoped, but it aches more than the rest of me if I’m being honest. Lee and Shanks loom above my spot on the bleachers. I’m missing Grey, who’s still somewhere with the medic, and I’m wishing he were here, shoulder-knocking the jitters out of me.
“Plenty of time, plenty of time,” Lee says, almost as a mantra. I force myself to look Coach in the eye, but all Ican see is him addressing us during my first practice, sharing his hopes and dreams for us—for his final season.
Lose this one and getting to state becomes nearly impossible. Not totally, but reality takes a detour into the Candy Land of statistics and scenarios.
I have to win. I can’t be the gamble who led the offense in the two losses in Coach Lee’s final year. I can’t.
“Rodinsky, you listening?” I nod and his voice drops twenty decibels, zeroing in on me. “Look, I know I give you a hard time. You’re not the second coming of Peyton Manning, but you’re not half-bad. Know that.”Sheesh, thanks.“Keep those feet moving and follow your instincts. You know better than those boys out there how to win.”
I don’t know that I do, especially compared to “those boys” on the Jewell side, but something about Coach Lee’s voice makes me believe. Maybe because he’s never said anything so damn nice to me in regard to my football playing.
Lee pats me on the helmet and peels off, visor pointed toward the ensuing kickoff.
Shanks squats down in his place—his dark face looming level with my eyes.
“No matter what happens here, you Orange Nine to Tate. Next White Nine to Jake. We’ll call it from there.”
The drums begin, another kickoff imminent. My mind swims with images of that final-second loss to Central. I shake my head, ponytail a ratty ball of tangles. Those memories have no place in the now.
Champions don’t dwell on past mistakes.
Champions don’t dwell on things they can’t control.
Champions only look forward, they never look back.
I could go on all day with the pearls of wisdom Danielle stole from some book and then sprinkled throughout my sweat-stained childhood.
“Liv!”
My head whirls around to the sound of Grey’s voice. He’s walking as fast as possible, the medic behind him, yelling after him not to break into a run.
ButIcan run to him. I get to my feet and sprint his way before stopping on a dime—not wanting to crash into him and do more damage.
“You came back,” I say, thrilled.
“As soon as they’d let me.” Grey wraps an arm around my shoulders as the crowd thunders in the background, cheering on our guys as they sprint the kickoff back down the field.
The whistle blows. The ball down at our forty. A sixty-yard march in less than sixty seconds, coming up.
“You’ve got this, Liv,” he says, squeezing me into his body.
I’m programmed to nod, so I do. He doesn’t buy it.
“No, look at me.” My eyes fly up from the middle distance to his. “You’ve got this. You will find a way to win. You will make it happen. Because you’re Liv Rodinsky and you’re absolute magic.”
I just kiss him. Quick and hard.
In goes the mouth guard. On goes the helmet.
I start yelling the second I’m on the field, not wanting to waste any time with a huddle.
