Page 35 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

Ball. Ball. Ball.

My head snaps up when Coach starts to clap, and we all get to our feet and pool into the center of the room. Fists raised, we wait for our center, Artemis, to fire us up for the field.

“Do I have your attention?” he shouts.

“Yes, sir!”

“Do I have your attention?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Let’s get it, then. Three, two, one . . .”

We all bellow, “Knights!”

The rush back out to the field through the tunnel is special. Only a handful of these left for me here, maybe ever. Unless I change my narrative. No more bubble. I’m putting people on notice. Right now.

We break through a cloud of smoke. Flanked by stacked cheerleaders on either side, we sprint onto the field, helmets raised as we chase the two guys running ahead with the T and U flags. We form a half circle and line up for one final stretch.

This part? It isn’t for us. This is for the fans. Somehow we still sell out. Hockey does but that’s because they’re nationally ranked. Our fans are just loyal. Or maybe it’s the beer. Whatever it is, they deserve this show. And they deserve the win as much as we do.

“Hey,” Jax says over his shoulder as he holds an arm across his chest.

I nod.

“Kill it today.”

I chew at my mouthpiece and nod again, a little vigor in my confidence. I don’t let go of it through the national anthem, and I let it power me through the coin flip, which we win for the first time in maybe fourteen flips. A good sign.

We opt to kick first, saving that second half momentum in case we need it. But it means I have to sit on my boiling energy while our defense goes out and gets it done.

Every time I look over my shoulder, I find her. The stands are definitely full now, students packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Frat boys have their shirts off with blue and gold letters painted on their chests. It’s a sea of twenty-something-year-olds’ bodies. Yet through it all, I find her. My eyes go right to her. Always.

It’s actually her lighting up I see first before I realize our defense just forced a turnover. Pushing my helmet down as I jerk around, I charge onto the field, slapping defenders’ backs for a job well done before huddling up, my legs buzzing with the need to run.

“Seven draw thirty-four,” Dante barks.

That means Jax is going out for a fake pass and I get the ball. I’m so fired up I growl my response.

“Hell, yeah. Let’s go!” I rush to the line and follow the count, breaking right on the edge and juking the defense, making them think I’m there to block. I pivot and rush behind Dante for the quick handoff and my legs take over.

Five yards.

Ten.

Fifteen.

I get brought down by the last guy on St. Mary’s team who could catch me, and I roll the ball off my fingertips to the ref when I get up. I pound my chest and jump into Jax, shoulder to shoulder.

It’s a hurry-up play next, catching St. Mary’s off-guard. We jump to the line and Dante gets the ball out before they know we’re coming, this time a short dump pass to Jax.

Thirty seconds have gone by and we’re already in the red zone. My gaze finds her, above the helmets in the huddle. The blue hat and strawberry hair. Dante looks over to Coach for the call, pulling us in tight and repeating our first play. Putting it on my shoulders. I can carry it.

We break and I make my way to the line, my teeth biting into my mouth guard with so much force I swear I’m going to bust through the plastic. My focus zeroes in on the hard count and I fake like I’m going to rush the line then reverse, sweeping behind Dante, the ball heavy in my gut. I cradle it. This time, St. Mary’s is expecting me, so I dart through bodies and hurdle thanks to a block. I’m mid-air, and if I break this I’m free. I’m in. I can see it.

The pull on my leg is swift. I’m not sure what part of my body hits the ground first, but my upper leg goes one way while the calf goes the other, and the pain is fucking excruciating. I roll on the ground and instantly push my helmet off, teeth gritting as I growl so I don’t cry.

“Don’t move, man. Don’t move!” Jax is over me first, our trainer, Terry, not far behind. The hush in the stadium feels surreal, and I’m not sure whether people are freaked out or if I’m in shock. Perhaps both.

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