Page 19 of Fair Catch
“Today is a momentous day,” he said, his voice stern. “It will be a day of celebration for many of you, and a day of defeat for others. This chart,” he explained, holding up his clipboard. “Is a reflection of the hard work you’ve put in this past month. While I want you to be proud of yourselves, I also want to reiterate that nothing is permanent. Just because you have a spot now doesn’t mean you won’t still have to fight for it every game, and every practice, for the rest of the season. And likewise, if you’re slotted number two, or even three, I challenge you to work hard for that number one spot.”
Heads bobbed in understanding, and I swallowed, looking around at the guys around me knowing at least twenty of them wouldn’t be here after today, and only half of those who remained would have a starting position.
I told myself I was just scanning the team, assessing everyone’s nerves, but that lie became too loud to ignore when my gaze locked on Riley once I found her.
On the outside, she was picturesque, calm and collected. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, her eyes alert, shoulders square and chin high as she listened intently to Coach. But I saw what no one else would, what only someone who grew up with her would notice — the way her fingers wiggled softly at her side, how tightly her other hand gripped the face mask of her helmet, how her jaw was set so fiercely that she was likely grinding her teeth down to nubs.
She was nervous.
“This chart will be released online this evening,” Coach said. “But I want you all to be the first to see. I’m going to hang it outside my office. If your name isn’t on this chart, you are formally released from the team. Mrs. Pierson will assist you in the next steps,” he added, referencing our team’s guidance counselor. She was also the one who helped us set up our class schedule, ensuring our fall classes had a lighter load than spring or summer, since we’d be wholly focused on football.
Coach sniffed, tapping his clipboard.
“And if you are on this chart, then I want you to understand the responsibility that comes with that reward. Celebrate your achievement, yes,” he said. “But then get back here tomorrow and get ready to work.”
A nod was the last dismissal, and then the other coaches were blowing whistles and hollering at us to hustle to the locker room and get showered and changed. There were also threats of immediate suspension if anyone was caught leaking the chart online before Coach posted it, which had Kyle frowning, like they didn’t know he was planning on doing just that.
We all ran, just like they asked, but no one went to the showers. Most didn’t do anything but hang by their locker and try to look busy until Coach walked in, tacked the depth chart on the small board outside his office, and then ducked inside and shut the door.
It was pure chaos after that.
Guys raced to the chart, shoving each other out of the way playfully as they scanned for their names. Some came away yelling and jumping and thrusting their fists in the air while others hung their heads or threw their helmets in frustration.
Riley sat on the bench in front of her locker, her hands between her knees, foot bouncing slightly.
She was waiting.
I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t shove through that crowd to see her fate. She’d wait until every soul cleared that locker room for lunch so she could view the chart in private. But I couldn’t help it. When I finally made my own way up to the papers, I looked for her name first.
And there she was, the second row under Special Teams.
PK — Riley Novo.
My chest swelled to an almost painful point of pride, and I was thankful to be facing the chart and not the locker room when a shit-eating grin found my lips.
She did it.
I continued scanning the sheet, and a few rows under her name, there it was.
PR — Zeke Collins.
I rolled my lips against another smile, gathering my composure before I turned and made my way out of the small crowd pushing toward the chart. Riley still had her head hung, and I walked right over, sitting down on the bench beside her.
Her leg stopped bouncing just for a second, long enough for her to glance sideways and realize it was me. She furrowed her brows. “Leave me alone.”
“Novo,” I tried, but she held up her hand.
“I said, go away.”
“Would you stop being a bitch for just one second so I can tell you that you made the damn team?”
Her mouth popped open, eyes wide as she finally looked at me. She immediately smacked me across the chest. “Really? A bitch? Even you are above that cliché insult.”
