6
The start of the season
“Excuse me.”
A burly, bearded Renegades fan tucks himself into his seat and lets us pass by his knees.
“Thank you so much,” I say to him.
He nods and shouts, “Go Renegades!”
I pump a fist, and Holly and Trent behind me do the same thing.
The pre-game excitement hum is in the air, coursing throughout the stadium. The three of us make our way down the row and find our seats on the fifty-yard line next to Cooper’s mom and her boyfriend, Dan. Cooper’s mom gives me a big hug. She waves a foam finger and hollers, “Number Sixteen!”
A vendor tromps down the concrete steps, offering beer and pretzels. Another one from the next section over shouts out that he has sushi and wine.
That’s San Francisco for you, and our beautiful new stadium has a little bit of everything, including gorgeous September weather.
No jackets required today.
I opt for a pretzel and Holly grabs beers for my brother and her.
Trent raises his cup. “Here’s to pulling out a W.”
I tap my pretzel against my brother’s beer cup. “I’ll nosh to that.”
Cooper’s mom joins in the toast with her blue foam finger. “Go Coop! You can do it.”
The game hasn’t even begun, and we’re all a little overly enthusiastic today.
“Last week was only jitters,” she adds, as she should know. She knows her son as well as anyone, and she’s attended nearly every single game he’s ever played.
“It was absolutely only jitters,” I say, smoothing a hand over my Number Sixteen jersey. “He’ll be great today. He’s a star.”
The announcer’s voice booms throughout the stadium, like he’s using two hundred megaphones and each word has ten syllables. “Welcome to the Renegades stadium for the first home game of the year.”
“He’s going to be amazing,” Trent says, pumping a fist.
“He’ll be great,” Dan says, chiming in.
“Bring it, Coop,” Holly shouts.
Okay fine, we’re a tad more than overly enthused. We might be bordering on nervous. After all, last week’s game bordered on abysmal, and Cooper played terribly. There’s no way to sugarcoat his performance.
But it can’t be easy replacing a legend.
Images of the players flash on the jumbotron as the announcer shares the lineup. The visiting team is properly and soundly booed, and all the home team guys are cheered, including the last few guys announced.
Harlan Taylor, the star running back. Jones Beckett, the fantastic wide receiver. And at last, the guy I’m here for.
The announcer’s voice thunders across the stadium like an echo from Zeus. “And your new starting quarterback in his first home game . . . Cooper Armstrong.”
Everyone stands and cheers as the handsome new quarterback runs onto the field.
“That interception last week was a fluke,” Trent says with a confident nod. “Today will be different.”
“Today will be amazing.”
I hold my breath. I don’t think I will ever be able to let it out again. I’m making promises to the universe. Promises I have no right to make. I tell myself it’s just a game. It’s just football.
We’re only behind by fourteen and he can do this, he can pull out a win. But as Cooper goes into the pocket at the end of the second quarter, scanning right, scanning left as Jones runs downfield, he overthrows.
My heart craters when the ball lands squarely in the open arms of the opponent.
The crowd groans collectively.
My heart breaks a little bit when the fans boo him.
“Bring back Grant.”
“You suck.”
“Go back to the bench, bench boy.”
My jaw clenches, and I want to go personally reprimand every single naysayer in this stadium. “Mark my words,” I’ll tell them.
“Just you wait,” I’ll say.
But frustration wends through me, and I can also feel it from Trent, Holly, Cooper’s mom, and Dan. We’re all rooting for this guy so badly. We want him to succeed as fans, but mostly for him.
“Shake it off,” says Trent, talking under his breath.
Cooper’s mom waves that finger again. “You can do it.”
When the third quarter begins and Cooper starts it with another interception, my heart sags once more. Even though he delivers two touchdowns after that, it’s not enough and the Renegades finish with their second loss of the season.
Silence blankets the stadium as we leave, that clawing sense of potential doom hovering over us. I have to wonder what Cooper feels like. If he thinks he’s letting everyone down, from the team to the coach to the fans.
I want to reassure him that he’s not. That he’s got this. And I know what to do. I know how to lift him up.
Later that night I send him a text message.
Violet: Why did the football go to the bank?
Cooper: I’ve been wondering that very thing.
Violet: To get his quarterback.
Cooper: :) Thank you. I needed that.
Violet: Hey, if you have any free time this week, can you meet me at the high school field?
He writes back, telling me he’ll be there Thursday night.