Page 12 of Campus Heat

Her words were comforting, but they weren’t enough to suppress my nerves. So I stood there a little longer and prayed for the courage I’d need to get through this. But the team was already busy with their warmups, and I couldn’t hide forever, so I took a deep breath and stepped out.

The first thing I did was adjust my drop. The penalty arch sat exactly where my back foot should land, so I shortened my step and luckily my throw came out clean. The problem was that not everyone had taken in their environment and adjusted their play.

Lucas wasn’t ready for anything, so even though my throw was good, the ball hit his chest and bounced off. We had won the toss, but it wasn’t like anyone cared. Three people clapped politely, but not because they saw it. It was the announcer who got their attention.

“Home team will receive,” he said, sounding like he was attending a funeral.

No one else seemed to have noticed. They just went on with the game. Cam planted for the opening kickoff, but he slipped on the bright soccer stripe. The ball sailed lower than it should’ve, and wobbled so it was returned to midfield.

The Cardinals exploded with energy. Their helmets collided with their celebration. But our side clapped once and reset. It was the most humiliating thing that had happened in my entire career. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.

On our first offensive snap, I pulled the huddle tight and said, “Watch the edge rush. They’re stacked right, we’re sliding left. All I need is two seconds.”

The guys nodded, but I had no idea if they actually understood what I wanted them to do. The snap came clean, and I dropped back. But the right tackle stepped inside instead of outside, and the rusher came free, untouched.

I barely completed my second step before I was driven into the turf. I hissed in a breath as the paint scraped against my elbow through the fabric of my sleeve. But I couldn’t let anyone know what happened. They were struggling with morale as it was, and didn’t need distractions. So I just got back up without looking at anyone.

For the second down, I called a quick slant. We had to ball out fast. There was no time to think, and there definitely wasn’t time for the line to fail me. I took the snap and didn’t even hitch. The throw left my hand in rhythm, my shoulder high. It was exactly where it was supposed to be before the linebacker could undercut it.

Lucas hesitated, but it didn’t cost him too much time. Just about half a step. Enough to turn three yards into four. Just enough to drift behind the window instead of into it. The ball sliced through empty space and thudded into the turf.

“Goddammit,” I cursed under my breath.

For the third down, I stepped on the line and scanned the field. There were two high safeties. Nickel was creeping inside and the edge rusher tilted forward on his hand, far too eager for his own good. So I changed my protection.

“Slide left! Slide left!” I shouted, tapping my hip.

But then I saw the leverage on the slot corner, and changed the route too.

“Option! Option!”

The slot nodded, or maybe he just blinked. I couldn’t be sure because it happened so fast. The snap came. I dropped. The protection hit correctly this time, but the timing in my head was off. I hit my back foot and looked inside. The outside receiver had broken in, and so had the slot. There were two of them within three yards of one another with a defender between them. He grinned in a way that made my soul shiver.

I double clutched. The pressure closed, and I threw the ball away. It flew low and out, where no one could reach it. Incomplete. The punt team ran on while I stood on the sideline, staring at the field. The punter measured his steps like it was still normal. But nothing about the game was normal.

Four plays later, the Cardinals scored. And the worst part about it was they didn’t even have to put in any effort. They didn’t hurry. They didn’t even need trick plays. They just stuck to clean blocks, clean reads, and clean angles. The score stood at 7-0.

Their quarterback jogged off while laughing at something the receiver said. The sound carried across the field as if mocking us, making me feel even worse. The stadium was so quiet that it was all we could hear, and it stung.

And when I thought this was the lowest point of the game, the second drive collapsed even faster. During the first down, the run stuffed at the line, and the defensive tackle split a double team like it wasn’t there. The second down didn’t go much better.

There was some play-action, but I turned my back for a split second, came up ready to throw, and saw that the pocket was already disintegrating. The right side caved inward while a hand brushed my throwing elbow. I escaped left. It wasn’t pretty, but my body was acting on instinct.

I ducked under one arm, spun past another, and suddenly there was green in front of me. There was real space, and the sticks were only five yards away. For a second, something flared in my chest. I didn’t know if it was hope or stubbornness, but I was gonna go with it. I lowered my shoulder and pushed forward. A flag lazily arced into my view. Holding… I saw it before I heard it.

But I didn’t slow down. I finished the run anyway, then I handed the ball to the official and jogged back. It wasn’t a point, but I was still proud of myself. It was the most we had gotten out of this team since we’d started. And I wasn’t the only one who was excited.

“Yeah!” Harris shouted from the sideline. “That’s effort! That’s energy!”

I laughed. He was clapping like momentum could be cheered into existence. But then I glanced at the scoreboard and my heart sank. 14-0.

The next defensive series fell in less than a minute. We missed a tackle in the flat, then our safety took a bad angle, and before we knew it they had a touchdown. 21-0. We’d officially entered the realm of a good old thrashing.

But then one of the Cardinals’ receivers lined up at the edge of the end zone. He measured out the steps like a striker, and pretended to drive a soccer penalty into the corner. His teammates collapsed with laughter, and their sideline howled. But the bleachers remained quiet. There weren’t even enough people there to drown out their laughter.

Halftime came like a mercy. But still, the air in the locker room was thick. The only sounds were those of the pads falling to the floor, and none of us had the courage to look at each other. Coach Harris was quiet as he quickly drew arrows on the board. At least his strokes were confident, which was more than could be said for the rest of us.

“Guys, we need to contain the edge and communicate with each other. Trust the system,” he said, the words sounding like a plea.