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I grab the sides of my helmet and turn away from my team to growl on my own. I don’t know who failed at their job, but thanks to the holding call, we’re now moving ten yards the wrong way. Basically, a net loss of twenty-six yards.
I glance to my right to catch my dad on the sidelines, and he rolls his fingers together in a quick sign to run it again and run it fast. I get our team to the line of scrimmage and start my count before the Augustine line knows what to do. I bank on catching them off-guard, this time faking the same pass and rushing for the down myself. I slide when I’ve made up most of the penalty and then some, but before I get to my feet, I see that fucking flag fly to my right again.
“Come on!” I shout, unable to mask my massive frustration.
This time, I see what’s going on. Theo’s going through something. I saw it brewing in the locker room, and the fact he brought his personal shit out on the field pisses me off. Back-to-back holding calls is unacceptable, and I let him know how I feel as we huddle for a new plan now that we need to go thirty yards.
My legs are primed to run, and while the best chance to gain yardage is to throw deep to Cameron, at this point I want to keep the ball in my own damn hands and run the full length of the field to take care of this on my own. I barely make it past the snap, though, before the flag comes out and Theo’s called for offsides.
“Oh, fuck that!” he shouts, waving his hand at the ref. I close my eyes and choke down the angry bile rushing up my throat, knowing what’s coming next.
“That’s it! You’re outta here!”
Thank God Cameron is there to march his ass off the field before we completely ruin any favor with this referee crew. I lock eyes with my dad for a breath, his mouth a hard line and eyebrows low, heavy with rage. My father has little patience for hot tempers. That’s not to say he can’t get worked up. He just has the emotional intelligence to know when it’s safe to let it out and when it’s not.
I do my best to regroup, but without Theo on the field, Cameron gets doubled-up and the only other passing option I have—Devin Williams—is nursing a bad hamstring. He probably shouldn’t be on the field, but we don’t exactly have the biggest roster, and Devin’s as competitive as I am. I wish he was at a hundred percent. I could use his speed right now.
We’re able to get close to the original line of scrimmage after three downs and are forced to punt, giving Augustine decent field position. I come off the field and push my helmet up so it balances on my forehead. My dad barks his version of a pep talk at me as I walk by—“Our defense will get that ball back for you!”—but his words are meaningless. The only thing I see is Toby throwing the ball to stay warm on the other side of the bench. I hate that I have to share the field with him today.
My mini session of self-doubt and irritation is broken up as Theo rushes into that Raskin guy he had issues with in the locker room, smashing the side of his face with a helmet then sending him tumbling backward into the Gatorade table. Orange liquid spills into the grass and tiny white cups roll across the track, some catching in the breeze and traveling all the way to the snack bar at the end of the stands.
The crowd is a strange type of silent, occasionalOhsmouthed in unison as two of my teammates beat the shit out of each other. I rush over with Cameron and my dad, along with a few of the other guys, and we manage to pull Theo and Raskin apart.
My dad has Theo by the waist, his forearm flexed and digging into his gut as my teammate struggles to break free. When his arms and legs finally stop flailing, my dad lets go of his bear hug but spins Theo around so he is forced to look my father in the eyes. My dad orders him to the locker room, and as the seconds pass, Theo’s body relaxes more and more. He’s more willing to obey.
“He was talking shit about my sister,” Theo croaks out. His shoulders heave, his breathing still echoing his emotions.
“I understand, Theo, and I’ll deal with him. But this is not acceptable. This can’t happen on my field, you hear me?” my dad says.
Theo nods and my father unfurls his fist where it clings to his jersey. Before my friend can amp himself up again, I step in to lead in a different way. I throw an arm over his shoulders and urge him to walk with me—away from everyone.
“He was talking shit about Anika . . . and Lily,” Theo says, his voice raw. The hurt shows in his words. This was personal, and while I might not let things interrupt my work on the field, I can’t exactly begrudge Theo for letting in the noise. His circumstances are different . . . elevated.Tragic.
“I know,” I say, continuing our march forward.
“I fucking lost it,” Theo finally relents.
“You did,” I say, breathing out a short laugh. Lost it is an understatement. He went full MMA fighter on Raskin.
When we reach the top of the hill, I pause and let him finish cooling down. We’re not so different. I let my emotions get the best of me in private, and sometimes I say things I regret. I can’t even imagine how it felt for him to hear someone speak badly about his sister, and the fact Raskin did immediately puts him in my off-limits category. I don’t need negative shit like that in my life, and if I have any say about it, his time on the field will be cut dramatically—assuming neither of them are kicked out of school after this.
Theo’s breathing finally slows and he scans the stands, probably looking for Lily or his family. His eyes finally make it back to me and he flattens his palm on top of his head, weaving his fingers through his hair and gripping, tugging.
“Fuck!” he shouts. His body rocks with this new wave of pain. This is regret.
I place a hand on his shoulder and dip my chin so our eyes meet, coaxing him to hold on to my gaze.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Everybody knows he had it comin’. It’s going to be all right, dude. Just breathe.” I try to keep him calm and present. I know grief, too. Maybe my journey wasn’t as public or horrific, but it still hurt.
It still hurts.
His lips vibrate as his emotions shift again. Rage and regret have the ability to quickly turn into helplessness, and I think that’s where Theo is headed. I would never point it out because I sense he would rather I didn’t, but Theo’s eyes are glossy and red. Whether he wants to or not, he’s going to cry.
“Go dress out. Shower, or maybe go for a walk. Put some distance between this and you, for now. I promise, I’ve got your back.” I move my hand to the back of his head, nearly cradling him as our eyes meet once more. He finally nods in agreement, and I pat him on the shoulder before turning to jog back to the field.
While I was playing therapist on top of the hill, we managed to get the ball back and Toby is currently getting his shot at showing what he can do. I wouldn’t worry about his three-yards-at-a-time running game and shit passes if it weren’t for the fact I literally almost led us back into the wrong end zone when I was in. I do my best to live by my own words, though, and I shout encouragement and move along the sidelines as our offense slowly chugs along, still heading the right direction, even if it’s slowly.
I wince when Toby throws an interception, but clap loudly to pump up our defense, telling our guys to pick him up. I pat his back when he comes in and tell him it’s all right as he heads for the water station. But when I’m finally on my own, I slip my helmet on and grin, ear to fucking ear. There is no way I’m not scoring the next time I touch that ball.
