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James
Ialways thought Public High’s field was shit. But it turns out when you’ve been pounding the same dirt and grass for a hundred years, the terrain gets a little rough. I was hoping my feet would get used to the Welles turf with practice, but somehow today—game day—it feels like this ground played host to a tractor rally the night before.
Maybe it’s the lights. Rather, thelackof lights. Who plays football on a Saturday morning besides Pop Warner players?
I’ve been pacing in the locker room all morning. I got here early. A good hour before anyone, including Toby. Especially Toby.
Fuck Toby!
The locker room is overwhelmed with the sound of guys who are not taking this shit seriously, and it’s pissing me off. I need them on my side out there, though, so I keep my mouth shut. My dad drags what looks like a fifty-year-old chalkboard into the center of the locker room and I take a knee on the floor, both to give our linemen room on the open benches and to set a leadership tone. Toby makes it hard to rise above the bullshit when he takes a knee next to me, his pads pushing into mine and knocking me off balance. I smash my molars together and catch my balance with a fist to the floor.
“Ooops,” Toby mumbles at my left.
My mouth tightens into the kind of smile meant to hold in all the not nice things I’ve got to say.
“No problem,” I grit out.
Glancing up, my eyes connect with my dad’s serious glare for a brief second, just long enough for me to get the point—keep my emotions in check. I draw in a long breath and let my focus get fuzzy while I do my best to mentally block out the noise.
This should be an easy win. Augustine isn’t known for their size, and the coach isn’t experienced. He’s only in his third year with the school, and from what my dad could tell from film, it seemed he relied a lot on a weak quarterback with zero running game. My only hope is I get enough time to show my versatility to everyone who matters. Never in a million years did I think I would need to prove my talent to a bunch of CEO’s and hedge fund darlings. I wanted to come here because life at Publicmaybemeant a roster spot at a junior college or a crappy Division II school. And after that, I’d probably be working on the docks or at some sales job that put me behind a desk and on the phone for ten hours a day.
I want more than that for myself. I want to see Papa’s legacy live on through my mother’s talent and dreams. But damn, do I miss the guys at Public right now. I bet my dad does, too.
“They’re slow to the hole, so that’s where we need your power, Theo.Theo?” My dad snaps his fingers as his eyes widen, and I glance over my shoulder to catch Theo’s rock-hard gaze on the back of one of our teammate’s heads. I’m sure he has some issue with the guy—I think his name is Raskin? Theo has issues with a lot of people, which I won’t fault him for. The dude has been through hell—a lot of people here have been through hell. I never met Anika, but I’m learning she was a sort of nucleus for peace. I remind myself to keep my focus on the game—onmygame—and leading this team.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be on it,” Theo answers.
“All right then. Let’s go get our first win. Break it down!” My dad pushes the ancient chalkboard out of the way, the wheels creaking as it struggles to glide over the rough floor.
“Bring it in!” I shout, getting to my feet.
Toby claps loudly at my side and my stomach tightens.
“Let’s do this, guys!” he shouts, his deep voice ringing out, and more of the team responds.
I mentally work to calm the boil in my stomach that’s growing up my chest. I recognize this burn. It’s the pain of insecurity. I growl along with the rest of the team, but before I can count out for us to shout ‘win,’ Toby steps in and does the job.
He is not a threat. I am the quarterback for this team. I can get this done. Show them and they will follow.
We cluster as we jog through the cramped locker room hallway, breaking through the back exit of the field house where the Welles drumline waits to announce us taking the field. The snap of drumsticks against snares cuts through the air like hard rain, and the boom of bass drums being pounded rattles my chest. This is one thing that rings similar to Public. We always had a good crowd at games, even if we were mediocre compared to some of the other schools in our division. Our cheer and drumline were always there for us to run through and amp ourselves up. I let my mind morph the scene in front of me so it feels like home, convincing myself it’s the same people I played in front of for years. It’s just enough to ground me. I forget about Toby being next to me, and I let go of the silent competition happening between us. The only battle ahead is the one that’s two hundred yards down this grassy hill, where a surprising number of people fill the stands.
Toby and I both lead the team through stretching. We clap everyone in for pre-game prayer, which thankfully neither of us has a right to give. That job is done by the school chaplain. I think if it weren’t, there’s a good chance Toby and I would be battling for who gets to say the most amens.
When my dad calls me in to run the first set of downs, I catch Toby’s narrowed eyes staring me down behind his face mask, but I stop my invasive thoughts there, before I fall down the rabbit hole of wondering where Toby’s father is and whose ear he’s bending about my dad playing favorites.
Do your job, James.
I know the plays by heart. It’s the same offense we ran at Public last year—fast, aggressive, and pass heavy. That’s to lean into my strengths, and all I have to do to prove myself is execute.
I call the first two plays in the huddle so we don’t waste time between downs. If I do this right, we’ll march down this field ten yards at a time.
I take the first snap and fall back a few steps until I spot Cameron on the Augustine thirty-five-yard line. I drop a perfect side-armed pass into his hands. He fights for an extra six yards and my chest opens up with relief.
All right. We’re doing this.
Then the fucking whistle chirping hits my ears. I scan to my right in time to see the head referee bending over to pick up his flag.
You have to be kidding me! Fucking holding?
