Page 17 of The Backup

“Yep. Not trying to make it to the NFL likesomeof us.”

“Damn straight. And I love that for you.”

I love that for you.

Classic code for:I’m better than you.

Whatever. I don’t care. Football is just a fun side hobby for me—I’m going into business.

“Good luck today,” I say. “Hope the scouting report I made was helpful.”

“When did you send that to me?”

“I put it in your locker Wednesday morning.”

“Oh.” He rummages through his locker, finally pulling out the spiral notebook I’d made. “Got it.”

“You didn’t read it?”

He shrugs. “I’ll glance at it. It’s fine.”

“Ah, okay.”

I love that for you.So good he doesn’t need to do any research.

A few hours later, we’re in the first quarter, and we’re already down two touchdowns.

I have to admit, it’s fun being out here on the field. Fifty-thousand fans screaming their heads off, the energy electric. Even though I’m just holding a clipboard, there’s a sense of pride in being part of the team.

Joe, though? He’s a mess. He throws his second interception of the game, and it’s painfully clear he’s off today.

Not surprising, considering he was probably blackout drunk last night and didn’t bother reading the meticulous scouting report I handed him. That kind of slacking catches up to you eventually.

“Knox,” Coach barks, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What the hell is going on with their defense? Didn’t you scout them?”

“They’re falling back into a cover two zone,” I reply, pointing to the field. “It was all in the report. We need to hit quick outs first to soften them up, then establish the run game before we can go long. That’s the issue.”

He nods, arms crossed, gum snapping between his teeth. “Roger that.”

Coach Connelly stalks over to Joe, saying something that makes him nod stiffly.

My phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket, and I slide it onto my clipboard, glancing at the screen.

It’s from a number I don’t recognize.

Unknown number: You look good in glasses out there.

Attached is a zoomed-in photo of me on the sidelines, clipboard in hand, looking every bit the backup quarterback.

I smirk and text back:

Me: Mom?

Unknown number: lol. Does she really come to the games?

Me: No, but she does watch on TV. Who is this?

Unknown number: Just one of your hoes.

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