Page 60 of Home Field Advantage

“With all due respect, sir, we both know how this really works. There’s only one real question here, and it’s how badly you care about winning tonight.”

We stand in a fiery face-off until the inevitable happens: Kennedy scores, and whether that’s because our team is intentionally blowing it or they just suck is irrelevant. We’re losing, and if I’m right, we’re not getting back up.

“What’s your plan?” he finally grunts.

I lay it out, my brain calculating and recalculating with each move how to make this work if Burke, Santiago, and I run every play that matters. To his credit, Coach listens, but he cuts me off when I say we can get away with Open Sesame one more time.

“It won’t work twice,” he says bluntly. “Not just because the other team won’t fall for it again, but because you and Santiago will run yourselves out. Use Barnes.”

“Barnes? Barnes has been riding the bench the entire season. You’re gonna put him in?”

“Your turn to trust me,” Coach says.

So I do.

By the end of the first quarter, we’re down 14–6, but there’s nothing I can do to control the defense. What’s more important is that Coach was right about Barnes, and I saw exactly why—he’s the most passable of the second-string, but he never gets a shot because our fearless captain rarely sits. Tonight, though, it was easy to bench Devlin when he intentionally flubbed a catch and handed Kennedy an interception, and there’s no way in hell Sam Barnes was missing his chance to finally show what he can do.

At the half, though, Santiago, Burke, and Barnes are bruised and exhausted, and I know we’ve probably hit the end of the line. I expect us to take a massive beating in the third quarter while they rest up and get refreshed, but Kennedy’s QB1 rolls his ankle, and our second string takes a cue from Barnes and uses a rare opportunity to show off. Not that they can score for shit, but defensedoesmanage to keep the Cougars to a single field goal. By the time we line up for the last quarter, 24–12 on the board, I know the odds of us winning are in the toilet, but they haven’t been completely flushed.

Then again, I’m not sure it matters. Either way, I’ve lookedfucking awesome, and there’s no way this crowd, including Terry Lawrence, is missing it.

No way my family’s missing it.

No way Amber’s missing it.

If one thing’s clear, it’s that I’m the star of this team, and everyone else throwing the game just makes them look like they can’t touch me—which they can’t. But obviously it’s triggered something, because when I call the play for the Downtown Dance, Matt snaps. “Fuck that,” he declares, back on the field now that Sam needs a break. “Gator Grab. Let’s go.”

“You’re not Coach. Coach makes the calls.”

“And I’m the captain. Don’t you fucking forget that, you little bitch,” he mutters, his voice so low, Coach can’t hear it from where he stands. But that doesn’t stop the rest of the team from picking it up and snickering, declaring “Gator Grab” to each other in stage whispers.

It’s the stupidest of all possible power moves, again requiring a split-second decision. If I let him have his call, will they actually play it through and get a first down? Because defense has been riding our asses all game and Downtown Dance was getting us, like, three yards at best. But if they fuck it up, I’ve let him take control for nothing.

Whatever—let him whip his dick out and wave it in the wind.

“Green, forty-two! Green, forty-two! Hike!” Devlin can’t catch for shit tonight, but he’s way too proud of his running to fuck that up. While I run back and let the ball fly in the mostperfect spiral I’ve thrown all night, he manages to get halfway down the field, where defense has left a hole. His hands would have to go numb to miss this catch, but he’s so stunned I actually followed his move that he almost drops it anyway, rolling out of bounds the instant it’s in his mitts.

First down. Okay. Let’s go.

Either Devlin knows making me look bad is now a lost cause or he’s just feeling the high of doing something right for once, but there’s no bullshit on the next play—just another solid pass that gains us six yards, and then it’s back to the Walsh-and-Santiago show for another first down.

The crowd isroaringnow, and you can actually feel the mood on the field change, feel who was going reluctantly along with the shitty plan but doesn’t want to go back to losing. Even Devlin is clearly getting desperate to look good, or at least he knows Coach will bench him if he fucks up one more time. Finally,finally, we start playing like an actual team, and when we finish the play with a touchdown, even Mathison is feeling the spirit enough to score the extra point. (Just barely, but who’s measuring?)

Blessedly, defense stays on a streak of not sucking, and we hold Kennedy to twenty-four. However many eyes there are in the bleachers, it feels like a thousand times that number are lasering holes into my uniform. The pressure is daunting,no question, but it’s also… kind of awesome? That it’s even a question we could turn this around, that all these Atherton people believeIcould turn this around.… I mean. It’sveryfucking awesome.

Deep breath. Line up.Behind me, I swear I see Devlin make the sign of the cross, and I’m surprised it doesn’t send him bursting into flames. Then I block everything out of my brain and focus on nothing but Sawyer’s hands, the ball hitting my gloves, the fake to Burke followed by the real thing to Sanchez. He’s sacked so hard and fast the ball flies off his fingertips, but honestly, it’s almost worth it just to watch him get knocked on his ass.

Second down, we run a play that has me passing to Santiago, and I really hope Malcolm is in the stands somewhere watching his boyfriend have the game of his life, because he’s truly crushing it. It isn’t a first down, but it’s close enough that on the next play, I run us there.

We’re still down by five, which means nothing but a touchdown is gonna do it. Burke gives me a nod, and I return it, grateful that even with Sanchez continuing to be useless and Devlin suspect at best, the win remains possible. We line up again, and at the snap Burke takes off like a shot, hands at the ready, and I let the ball soar. He nabs it from the air and cradles it to his body like he’s protecting a baby from an explosion, which isn’t all that far off given the hit he takes. But it’s a first down, again, and suddenly, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are going to win this game.

And after another completion—reluctant credit to Devlin for that one—and another play that brings us so close, I can practically lick the end zone, I run it in.

And we win.

We win this impossible fucking game and I can finally breathe.

Holy shit.

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