GRADUATION IS TWO weeks away.
The school is buzzing with excitement as the valedictorian is announced, the gym is prepared for the ceremony, and college acceptance letters pour in. I knew which college I was going to my junior year, the day the head coach of the University of Alabama came to my house with an offer I couldn’t refuse. That day changed everything. If I was star before, I was a god now. I wasn’t kidding when I told Laney football is a religion around here. Bear Bryant is Alabama’s messiah, and the fans are his followers. Roll Tide was the foundation of my football dream. There’s countless t-shirts packed in my drawers. A collection of ambitions: ‘Built by Bama’, ‘Keep Calm, The Tide is Coming’, ‘Heart and Soul Crimson Tide is How I Roll’. But soon, they’ll mean nothing; a vigil to the future that died that day on the football field.
I can’t throw, my accuracy is gone—a neurological side effect of the aneurysm. I’ll have to face the truth when I look into the eyes of the man who offered me everything and tell him my career is over before it even began.
I’m just not ready to do that though. So I’m going to try to distract myself for the next two weeks with senior year festivities, starting with the annual Powder Puff football game this afternoon.
I’m a male cheerleader—the best looking one in the bunch, too. I’ll be on the sidelines chanting as a group of handpicked girls go head-to-head with our rival school, North. You know them. I kicked their ass in the state championship.
The other ‘cheerleaders’ and I wait on one side of the huge banner by the south end zone. Just like when we play, the girls will burst through the crepe paper and run onto the field. Our team is called the Alabama Slammers. I thought it was catchy.
This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in this stadium since the state final. It all feels the same—overwhelming, awe-inspiring, adrenaline pumping. I miss it every single day.
The band starts to play our fight song, signaling the start of the game. The players barrel through the decorated paper that declares GO ALABAMA BLUE. Each girl is dressed in a navy midriff jersey and black shorts. Their hair is done up in ponytails or pigtails with W for Wolverines painted on their faces. I take my place on the sidelines, luckily dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt, instead of a cheerleading skirt like the bozos on the other team. I take an inventory of the starting lineup. That’s when it hits me like a battering ram to the chest. Laney, standing next to Coach McKenzie, is taking direction on plays. Her dark hair is in two, low pigtails and there’s a swipe of eye black under each of her eyes. But it’s the number on her chest that has me panting. A huge, white seven is blaring back at me. Is she the QB? I didn’t even know she was playing. I make my way over to her and the head coach of the Wolverine’s, the man who has led seven teams to the state championships in ten years. To say he is respected would be an understatement. We don’t mess around in these parts. If we’re going to play football, whether it be Powder Puff or not, we call in the big guns. I eavesdrop as he goes over the running and passing plays. She looks a little nervous, but also intense. Her competitive side is flaring. It’s the same when she plays volleyball. You can see the hunger to win in her eyes. How do I know? I may have stalked a game or two. Sue me, I missed her.
After the coin toss, and right before the players take the field, I pull Laney aside. “When did you decide to play?”
“I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I tossed a football around with Miranda before one of her practices. Coach McKenzie saw me and I didn’t have a choice after that,” she explains, irked. Miranda is the tiny bubbly blonde wearing the number nineteen. She’s a wide receiver. I know she’ll probably kick ass catching passes. Her boyfriend, Logan, is an all-state tight end. I’m sure he gave her a few pointers. I would have done the same for Laney if I knew she was QB.
“Our little lesson paid off.” I can’t help but smile proudly.
“Apparently so.” She sounds like she regrets ever picking up a football. It hurts my heart.
“You’re wearing my number. How did that happen?” She glares at me. The sun making her blue irises crystallize.
Laney shrugs. “It’s a quarterback’s number.”
“There are lots of quarterback numbers, why that one?”
She’s reluctant to answer as Coach McKenzie barks at her to get on the field. “It has heart.”
I watch her hustle away and take her place in the huddle. I feel like I’m soaring, dangerously close to believing a chance at reconciliation isn’t dead after all.
We won the coin toss, so the Slammers have the ball. I watch mesmerized as the girls line up. They look so little on that huge field. Laney stands behind the center whom I recognize from the lacrosse team. She’s got some girth. Laney calls hike, and the ball is snapped into her hands. She shuffles, looking for an open receiver when she’s sacked. Hard. Shit. She didn’t even see it coming. It takes her a second to get up. I want to run out onto the field and make sure she’s okay. But she makes it to her feet and goes right back in. Fight, Laney, you have to fight.
The next play Laney is able to pass, but it’s incomplete, just inches away from Miranda’s fingers. This goes on for two more downs. It’s the third down and the ball hasn’t advanced at all. I hear coach call a running play. A 134 Sweep on the outside. Laney will have to run it. I hear her repeat in the huddle, her little voice already hoarse from yelling. The line takes position and Laney screams hike. The girls block left and right, making a tiny opening for Laney to sneak through. I hold my breath as she gets lost in shoving bodies then reemerges with the football tucked in her arm. She books it down the field, with two linemen—excuse me, line women—hot on her tail. I find myself screaming, along with everyone else, as Laney is tackled right on the five-yard line. Nice breakaway!
We’re in scoring position.
Coach calls another play. We all feel the excitement. Scoring is a rush.
Laney crouches behind the center and calls hike. Miranda makes it into the end zone, and Laney fires it. Touchdown!
Then she’s tackled. For no good reason. “What the fuck! Unnecessary roughness!”
“Ellis! Mouth,” Coach McKenzie reprimands me.
“She was just sacked after the TD! Where’s the penalty?”
“It’s going to be up your ass if you don’t zip it and cheer.” He looks back at me and scowls.
I flip him the finger. Inside my head.
Laney takes a seat on the bench, and I bring her some water. “Is it this nerve-wracking watching me play?”
“Yes,” she takes a big gulp. “Especially when you don’t get up after you’re tackled.”
I frown. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”
“We’re not worried anymore. And it’s all part of the game, right?” She huffs, out of breath.
“I’m learning it’s all part of life. Take a hit, get right back up.”
“I’ll remember that next time number sixty-seven steamrolls me.” Laney rolls her shoulder and stretches her neck.
“They’re a little aggressive, huh?”
“They’re out for blood. One of the girls said she overheard the defense talking about retribution for state. And they’re all gunning for me.”
“Shit,” I spit.
“Summers!” Coach calls. Offense has the ball.
“Any last minute pointers before I go back out there?” she asks.
“Yeah, avoid getting tackled at all costs.”
“Oh, that’s a big help.” She chucks the paper cup at me and runs onto the field. I won’t lie, I like looking at her ass in those tight shorts. We finally have a common interest in the sport.
For the next two quarters I proceed to watch Laney get her ass handed to her. Literally. North is playing dirty as hell. I’ve made sure to voice my opinion on the matter, repeatedly.
By the fourth quarter, Laney looks wiped. Her pigtails are a mess, she’s covered in grass stains, and I think she hurt her left elbow. She won’t admit it though, no matter how much I badger her about it. She’s a warrior, I’ll give her that. Watching this game has solidified my feelings for her. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s the girl I have to be with.
There’s two minutes left on the clock, and we’re down by six. This game has been full-on war. North’s team is on steroids or something; they hit harder than the guys.
It’s third down on the five-yard line, and we have an opportunity to score. Laney tries for a pass, but it’s incomplete.
“Run! She has to run it!” I boisterously tell Coach McKenzie. I’ve secured a position on the sideline right next to him. So much for cheerleading. I wasn’t that into it anyway. Too much testosterone.
“Can it, Ellis,” Coach smirks. “I’m going to run it.”
He calls out the play. It’s short and sweet. Nothing like the paragraphs I needed to memorize on a weekly basis: 35 liberty west right flanker out pop eighty hot yellow yellow void java java right flat.
Laney gets 138 Blast, straight up the middle.
The line sets up, and Laney yells hike. She barrels through the wall of bodies only to get shut down on the two-yard line. Fuck! This is anxiety at its best. I know she can do this! Coach tries to call another running play, but I interrupt him. “A draw. Run a draw!” They both look at me like I’m nuts.
“She’s on the two-yard line with ninety seconds left on the clock,” he argues with me. We have no timeouts left, so I have to make my argument quick.
“Exactly. They’ll never expect it. What do we have to lose?”
“The game, genius!”
“Lemon, run the play!” I yell to her from the sideline and Coach throws up his hands. She nods.
“I suppose you want to take over coaching next year, too?” he asks exasperated.
“Nah, I’ll be in college by then. Gotta have a little fun before I die.” I wink at him.
“With or without college, Ellis, I don’t think you’ll have any shortage on fun.”
I shush him playfully. “Gotta watch my girl score a touchdown.”
“I didn’t realize you were dating.” Coach arches an eyebrow.
“She doesn’t realize it either, but I’m changing that tonight.” I vow.
Coach scoffs. “Good luck with that. It looked like she wanted to scratch your eyes out before.”
“She did.” I smile. “City girl—thinks she’s tough.”
“From what I saw today, she is.” He stands stoically on the sideline, arms crossed.
That makes me smile even more.
Laney yells hike, and I watch, with all the air subdued in my lungs, as she drops back like she’s going to pass, then fakes and hands the ball to the running back behind her. The tall blonde finds a hole in the line and runs seamlessly into the end zone.
TOUCHDOWN!
Everyone on the sidelines and in the stands goes berserk.
“Alright, alright! No celebration yet, we’re still down by one!” Coach McKenzie screams. He sends in the kicker. This is in the bag. I’ve seen Sherry punt, she’s a soccer player who can launch the ball seventy-five yards.
The line quickly reforms. My heart is beating out of my chest. North looks burned up. They came for retribution, and all they got was another ass kicking. When will they learn?
The center snaps the ball, and Laney positions it laces out. Sherry kicks and all eyes follow as it soars perfectly between the goal posts.
Wolverines twenty-eight; North twenty-seven. Losers.
The Slammers run off the field animated and victorious. Laney jumps into my arms as soon as she reaches me. I’m not sure what sparked it, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“You kicked butt, QB.”
“I had a stellar offensive coach.” Laney tries to slide down my body, but I stop her. I’m not letting her go. Ever again.
“Kam, put me down.”
“No.”
“Come on.” She kicks her legs, but I still refuse her.
“We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Besides, I need ice for my elbow.”
“You did hurt it.” I stare her down. I would have iced it a quarter and a half ago. “Fine, we’ll get ice, and we’ll talk.” I march straight off the field, down the throughway and into the locker room.
“Kam! This is the boys’ locker room, I can’t be in here!”
“Of course, you can. No one’s here. Besides, this stadium has the best rehab room in the state.” I plant Laney on the bench in front of my old locker. She looks around as I retrieve an ice pack, a thin towel, and some wrap. “Put your arm out,” I instruct. She does, and I carefully place the wrapped ice pack against her elbow and wind the bandage around it. “Better?”
She looks at her arm. “It’s good. Thanks.”
“Welcome. Now, let’s talk.” I straddle the bench so we are sitting face to face.
“About what?”
“Us.”
Laney huffs. “There is no us.”
“Well, there should be.” I debate.
“I can’t be with someone I can’t trust.”
“Damn it, Laney, you can trust me.” I slam the locker beside me with my fist. She jumps. “Have you seen me with one other girl since we broke up? And don’t say Darla, because that doesn’t count. Nothing happened.”
“No,” she answers.
“And why do you think that is?”
“No fresh meat?” She digs.
I groan. “Are all city girls as frustrating as you?”
“Yes, it’s part of our charm.”
That causes me to crack a smile. “Do you want to know why I messed around with all those girls?”
“Do I want to know?” She curls her lip.
“Yes. Maybe it will give you some perspective. You know who my ex is, right?”
“Of course, everyone knows who Cheyenne is. Head cheerleader, prom queen, student body president.”
“Yup, that’s her. She’s also self-centered, egotistical, and a mega bitch. I spent three years of my life with a girl who didn’t give two shits about me. All she cared about was her social status and what I could do for it. I finally had enough when she showed up to my grandfather’s funeral two hours late and didn’t even kiss me hello or offer her condolences to my father. Who wants to date a person like that? So, I dumped her, vowing I was going to spend my senior year having fun and not be tied down.”
“Well, it sort of worked out that way,” Laney comments.
“Yeah, everything was going fine until a smart-mouthed, city girl with blue eyes and crazy streaked hair strolled into first period and sat next to me. I was attracted to you the first second I saw you, and you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“You shouldn’t have called me sugar right off the bat.” She shrugs.
“I call everyone sugar. It’s habit.”
“Exactly. I didn’t want to be part of your bad habit. I didn’t want to be another girl on your roster.”
“You had to know you weren’t just another girl.”
“For a second, I thought I was different.”
“You are.” I grab her hand. It feels so good in mine. “And I’m collecting on our bet. I’m not letting you get away again.”
“Bet?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah, the one we made in chem the morning of the state championships. If I recall, we won and covered the spread.”
“You’re devious.” She leers.
“Yup, and I want you.”
“That bet was just my body. No strings attached.” She reminds me.
“We can start there, Lemon. You got a taste of what I can do to your body.” Laney’s eyes flash. “And that was just the tip of the iceberg.” I lean in and brush my lips against hers. She stiffens, fighting me. “What do you say? Will you give me one night to prove myself?”
Laney looks up at me with confliction in her eyes. “One night, Kam,” she sighs, giving in.
“That’s all I need.”