Page 43 of The Game Plan

She nods, worrying that bottom lip with her teeth. “I’ll be there.”

The next few days settle into a routine. Wake up, jerk off, go to the weight room. Try desperately not to think about Sam. Have breakfast with her. Walk her to class, usually holding her hand. She lets me hold her hand! Sometimes she kisses me on the cheek when we get to her destination. On Wednesday, there’s another grape Gatorade waiting on my desk. Spend most of class trying not to think about her. Dinner with the guys. Study room, trying not to think about how close she is. Second dinner with her. Walk her home, hand in hand.

I don’t see her at all on Friday. My day feels oddly bereft without her. I don’t like it.

Saturday morning, I get my first ever text from her.

Have a great game today. I’ll be rooting for you!

I don’t know what to say back. I’m not good at texting. The only people I ever talk to are my sisters or my teammates, and that usually consists of sending memes and gifs back and forth. I don’t know how to put my thoughts into words without blurting out my feelings for her.

It’s an away game today, across town in Cambridge. It’s close to where I grew up in Charleston so I have a few aunts and uncles coming to the game along with my parents and sisters.

The game gets off to a rocky start. From the get go, Harvard has our number. I miss my first three tackles. On the fourth, I completely trip over my feet and get a knee to the shoulder for my trouble. It hurts like a bitch.

Harvard scores first, and then they score again. By the end of the first quarter, we’re down 0-21, and it just gets worse from there. Our sophomore quarterback gets sacked twice in a row, despite Coach reconfiguring the line to protect him. Nothing we do is good enough.

At half time, Coach yells. There’s no pep talk, no pumping up. Even Sullivan, who’s usually joking around and goofing off, is unnaturally reserved.

Coach tugs me aside before I can join the rest of the team heading out of the tunnel. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulls out his phone. “Why don’t you tell me what this is about?”

He presses play. It’s a video. I’m clearly in the center of the screen, wailing on O’Rourke. He is very clearly bleeding from his face. I’m very clearly wearing a Newton Football sweatshirt. There’s a banner behind him with posters for Newton Athletics.

“I’m sorry, son, you’re riding the bench the rest of the game. There will be an investigation into the matter beginning on Monday.”

“But he—”

“I don’t want to hear it. You signed the honor code. Fighting goes against that code of conduct,” Coach says. “You have the choice to sit in the locker room for the rest of the game, or you can sit on the field. Either way, you’re sitting out until your case is investigated. Not my call.”

I’m benched. My day is over. Mylifemight be over. He’s right: I agreed to the code of conduct. Fighting isn’t allowed. Fighting with other athletes is really not a good look for the department. Beating on a seemingly defenseless dude for no foreseeable cause really doesn’t look good.

I could lose my scholarship. I could lose football. I could lose everything.

I wish I could say it was worth it. Defending Sam… I’d do that any day. Does that mean I’d sacrifice my education for her? No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I like her. I like her a lot. But I’ve only known her for a few weeks, and we’ve been friends for even less time. I don’t wade into battles that aren’t mine to fight.

“I’ll sit on the field,” I finally say through clenched teeth, and Coach nods.

“Good lad. You’ll get through this,” he tells me, clapping me on the shoulder.

The stands are raucous with energized Crimson fans. The Newton contingent is quiet. By the end of the third quarter, the visitor’s stands are nearly empty. Only a brave few remain.

I wish I could say I blame them. I don’t. I wish I could say I played my best. I didn’t. It’s a shitshow of epic proportions.

Barrett tries to talk to me between plays. I shrug him off. I don’t want to get into it. I don’t want to tell everyone the reason I’m benched. Let them think Coach is unhappy with me.

I like to think I’m an honorable man. I mind my manners. I open doors for people. I don’t lie, cheat, or steal. I stand by my word. I look out for other people and I donate to those less fortunate than me. I try to be kind to everyone I meet. I’m not a violent person.

It rankles that I’ve broken the code of conduct, that not only I did, but I got caught and filmed breaking the rules. That’s not me. I’m not the kind of guy who gets into fights. I’m not the type of person who takes things personally. I don’t use my fists; I use my words.

But O’Rourke had me seeing red. And it pisses me the fuck off that he’s going to get away with spewing his poisonous vitriol at everyone else and get away with it scot clean.

There has to be consequences for what I did. I recognize that I shouldn’t have broken his nose with one punch. I just wish it didn’t mean potentially losing everything that’s important to me.

It’s a miserable game. Every single second of it sucks. Even when we score two touchdowns in four minutes isn’t great, because we’re trailing 14-42 with less than two minutes to go. It’s bitterly cold. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it, because I’m sitting on the sidelines instead of playing out there with my brothers.

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