Page 19 of Colliding with Ten

I adjusted my bag strap and took the final steps towards the bus. “Yeah.”

Watching her, I told myself it was curiosity. I had a hard time switching it off, and I hated it. But I hated something else more: leaving her behind.

7

THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF RIVALS

AYLA

Later that night, I lay in my bed watching television. My knee throbbed with my heartbeat as I moved the cold pack. The doctor said to rest and elevate. But he hadn’t said anything about my heart not slowing or my brain replaying what I should have moved on from by now.

I was thinking about Lennox. I’d met plenty of athletes with swagger and egos, expecting gratitude for their presence. He wasn’t like that. Instead, he sat with me as if he had nowhere else to go. That’s why I still thought about his fingers against my skin, my body betraying me in ways I hadn’t expected. I wondered if he’d felt it too.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillows. The television replayed the game highlights, with him sprinting down the field on third-and-eight.

The commentators were saying, “Monroe is unflappable under pressure.”

The door to my room opened.

“You need anything?” AJ asked.

“I’m fine.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the replay of the hit. On screen, I was in the midst of bodies, having the worst night of my year.

AJ watched it, as any quarterback would, assessing. “You know why that happened, right?”

“Because a large man ran into me at full speed?”

“No. It’s because Monroe plays the sideline.”

He pushed off the doorframe and sat on the bed. “Watch the replay and see what he does when he gets near the boundary.”

The highlight cycled again. Lennox scrambled right, defenders closing in, as he headed to the sideline.

“See how he’s running toward the out-of-bounds line? Most quarterbacks, running that close to the sideline with two defenders that close, you slide or step out. You take the yards you’ve got, stay safe, and you live to play the next down.”

“But he doesn’t?”

“Nope.” AJ pointed at the screen. “Watch his shoulders. Right there. See that? He leans. It’s enough to stay in bounds. The defender sometimes pulls up because he thinks Monroe is going out. Every defender in the league is trained not to hit a player stepping out of bounds. That’s a fifteen-yard penalty if you hit him late, and your coach can bench you for it. So the defender eases off.”

“And Lennox stays in.”

“Yup. Now the defender has a problem. He already slowed down, and Monroe just cut back inside with a full head of steam. The defender has two options. Let him go and give up five extra yards, maybe a first down. Or commit to the hit late and risk the penalty.”

The replay cycled again. This time, I saw it. Lennox’s body dipped toward the sideline as if about to step out, then moved back inward. The defender lunged. The collision happened at full force because the defender committed, knowing what Lennox was doing.

“He’s been doing this to us for four years.”

I cut him off, raising an eyebrow. “Four years?” AJ had only been on the team a few months.

“You know what I mean. It’s my team now.” He shook his head and got back to his point. “Every time we play them, he runs toward the boundary. The defender hesitates, and Monroe exploits it. It’s not illegal. But it puts the defense in an impossible position. Either let him have the yardage, or go after him hard and risk hitting too late because of his games. And when guys go after him hard, hits get reckless. That’s when people end up where they shouldn’t be. Like you on the sideline.”

His voice had stayed measured throughout his speech. But that last part, the “like you,” came out in a tense tone.

“So you’re saying if he’d just stepped out of bounds, the defender wouldn’t have had to hit him, and he wouldn’t have gone flying into me.”

“That’s right.”