Page 18 of Escape Velocity
He swallows hard, not knowing why his eyes are stinging suddenly. It was just a look from the guy who left him in the dust in his freshman year in high school.
It isn’t a big deal anymore.
Mason feels that his presence at the game might become some kind of bad luck charm. Now that Callum knows Mason is watching, maybe his performance might be different.
Mason and Callum have a way of getting into each other’s heads.
Callum stuffs his helmet back on his head, patting the top of ittwice.
Probably his pre-game routine. Mason read that football players are superstitious. He never flagged Callum as someone superstitious, though.
The players line up in the middle of the green field, and the Hornets start the kick-off, kicking the ball high into the air. The ball lands in some player’s hands and the game is on.
Mason watches, trying to understand by the crowd’s reactions of what a good and a bad play is.
At one point, Callum gets the ball thrown back to him, his stature straightens, and he pelts into a sprint, effortlessly dodging the other team jumping at him.
He isfast.
Just like Mason remembers.
Callum, still in his sprint, manages to cross one of the thicker lines and throws the ball on the ground aggressively, throwing his hands in the air above him in triumph, and the crowd goes ballistic. Everyone jumps up, blowing air horns and waving their flags.
“Touchdown by number four, your quarterback Callum Broooown!” the commentator booms.
Mason’s chest soars with sudden excitement and cheers along with the crowd, clapping his hands and even throwing in a holler with his hands cupped around his mouth.
Callum in his football jersey appears on the Jumbotron in a pre-recorded video. He smirks and winks at the camera before putting an arm out, and pulling the other one back, pretending to shoot an invisible arrow at the screen.
It feels odd to be cheering for someone he hates, but Mason can’t deny Callum’s talent. Throughout all of high school, Mason never saw just how good Callum was, but now, under the fluorescent lights, the cheering crowd,and the excitement lifting him from his seat, it’s undeniable.
Callum is a star in the making.
He feels this dull sense of pride in his chest, like Callum is someone he’s proud of.
Mason coughs, as if it’ll dislodge the peculiar feeling. It’s foreign in his body, and he needs to replace it with something else.
The players go back into a defensive formation, and the crowd sits back down, murmuring amongst each other.
“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone faster than this kid. He’s like lightning,” a guy next to him says to his friend.
Lightning. Mason writes that down in his notebook, trying to think of ways he could describe Callum’s plays.
The game continues on, and it becomes evident what kind of game the Hornets play.
The Hornets are unbeatable. They’re completely dominating the opposing team.
The more he sees Callum run, the more words flow into Mason’s notebook.
Weightless. Swift. Agile. Calculating.
By the end of the last quarter, Mason’s pretty much written an entire page of words, his eyes darting back and forth from the game to his paper, the words pouring out of him like he’s in some kind of race of his own to get a touchdown.
He watches the last minute of the game, knowing that the Hornets have won by a landslide. He looks at the scoreboard and chuckles as it reads seventy to eight, favoring the Hornets.
The final horn sounds, signifying the end of the game and the benched players running onto the field, cheering and jumping onto each other in triumph.Everyone’s focused on player four; they’re all patting him on the back and shaking his shoulders playfully.
Mason smiles and goes back to scribbling in his notebook. After a few minutes, the players walk back to the locker rooms, passing by the bleachers.
