Page 33 of Fair Catch
“Fuck off, Zeke.”
I bit back my smile, shrugging. “Just offering to help. The mental side of sports can be harder than the physical.”
“I’m fine. Just need to study.”
She picked up her pencil, and for a moment I thought she was just going to get back to ignoring me, but she paused, tapping it against her laptop.
“I really am sorry, for what it’s worth,” she said, her eyes meeting mine again. “But truthfully, I don’t think my offense is anywhere near yours.”
My stomach bottomed out at her words, at the way she looked at me when she said them.
I struggled past the knot in my throat. “You’re never going to let me live that night down, are you?”
“Why should I?”
It was a valid question, and all I could do was nod, not sure if I had the right answer.
“Riley, that night… I—”
“Awwww shit, what do we have here?!”
Gavin’s voice interrupted me, and both Riley and I snapped our heads in his direction as he wheeled over, his grin growing wider by the second as he looked between us.
“Are my sister and my best friend finally getting along again?” he asked, wheeling up next to Riley and putting his hand on her shoulder as he covered his chest with the other. He really played it up, like a proud parent at a graduation as his eyes looked between us.
“Hardly,” Riley answered quickly, shrugging his hand off. But her eyes slipped to mine, and a small smile replaced the usual frown I was used to. “Took you long enough to get here,” she commented next.
“You texted me like a half hour ago, and I wasn’t expecting to leave my dorm. Excuse me if I needed a shower,” Gavin said. But then his attention was back on us. “I certainly didn’t expect to find you here, too.”
Those words were directed at me, and Riley interjected before I got the chance.
“Trust me — he wasn’t invited.”
“Ah, but he hasn’t been kicked out yet, either, has he?”
Gavin gave his sister a look that she just waved away like he was grasping for straws.
“This is cause for celebration,” he said, ignoring her. “This,” he continued, holding up one finger. “Is cause for pizza.”
“Now that is an assessment I can get behind,” I declared, pointing at him.
We both looked at Riley next, who frowned, looking longingly at her textbook and laptop and the array of study supplies surrounding her.
With a defeated sigh, she smiled and closed her computer.
“Oh, what the hell. Who can say no to pizza?”
Gavin threw a fist in the air with a whoop, already wheeling around and talking a hundred miles an hour to me about a girl in his psychology class as his sister packed up her things.
I listened intently, but my eyes were on Riley.
And my mind was on how one little conversation somehow felt like the biggest win of the season.
Riley
Something was off.
I couldn’t put my finger on it that morning as I dressed and prepared for our game against the Rhode Island Trojans. Warm-ups felt solid, I was just as bendy as ever in stretching, and my kicks soared with ease through the posts every time during pre-game drills.
But there was this low hum buzzing through my veins, an unsettling vibration that muted my hearing and made me feel like I was watching the entire game underwater. Even the roar of the crowd was dulled as they chanted our fight song, rooting us on for another win.
I tried to ignore it as their team kicked the ball downfield to Zeke, who caught it and got pummeled after a short, eight-yard gain. Still, offense found the way to connect, converting on third down multiple times until we made it into the end zone.
Touchdown.
The stands erupted in celebration, and like a robot on an automatic setting, I put my helmet on and jogged out for the extra point kick.
That’s when I knew something was really off.
Where my hands were usually steady, my heartbeat reposed and breath long and slow, I found all the opposite happening as I lined up for the kick. My body trembled, sips of shallow air all I could find, and as I jogged toward the ball, I knew before I made contact that it was all wrong.
I somehow made decent contact at the last second, but it was too late, the kick off-center, and the ball went sailing two feet to the left of the left goal post.
I stood there for what felt like ten years, but I knew was only a split second before I jogged toward the sideline, trying to ignore the disappointed gasp from the crowd. Coach Aarons tapped me on the helmet before I took it off.
“It’s alright,” he said. “You’ve got the next one.”
I nodded, setting my helmet on one of the metal benches before I went straight for the water station.
