Catching Jordan

I sprint off, passing a tractor chugging down the road. I yel , “You’re on!”



The sun starts to set, and we race into the pinklemonade sky. pep



I understand the importance of pep rallies.



The cheerleaders can show off, doing tricks



and the guys can strut around acting all big and badass. For me, the important thing is that I get out of class for an hour this afternoon.



Coach introduces all the players, starting with me. The school goes wild when I wave.



But the applause I get



is totally lame compared to what Henry gets.



He does some of his stupid dances



and all the girls swoon and say, “Aww” and “He’s so cute.”



But the applause Henry gets



is totally lame compared to what Ty gets.



He does his signature smirk



and all the girls swoon and say, “He’s so hot.”



So I’m even happier when Ty jogs over to me



knocks his fist into mine and pats my shoulder. I’m never washing my jersey again.



game #1



the count? 18 days until alabama



Five minutes before the game is to start, the sky has opened up and rain is drenching me. But I barely feel it



—I can only concentrate on the game and the Alabama recruiter. I ignore the dozens of reporters taking pictures of me from behind the fence.



I’m desperate for air. I try to suck in as much oxygen as possible through my face mask, but it’s not working. I pick up a footbal and twirl and flip it over and over again.



A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I turn and find Mike. His blond hair is plastered to his face, and his polo shirt and jeans are soaked. My bro is about the only person Coach al ows on the sidelines during a game.



“Hey, sis.” He leans in close and whispers, “So where’s Ty?”



“Shut up,” I say. “I’m trying to concentrate. And you need an umbrel a—you’l get sick before your game tomorrow.”



He shrugs, then rubs my arm. “You need to loosen up, or you’re gonna be stiff as Grandpa Woods.”



I flash him a withering look. Doesn’t he know how important this game is?



“Yes, I know how important this game is,” Mike says.



“Yo, Woods.”



I see JJ walking up. “Yeah?” I say.



“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your bro,” JJ



replies, shaking Mike’s hand. “Nice to see you, man.”



“You too, JJ. So where’s this hot new quarterback, Ty?” Mike asks. JJ glances at me. I’m glad I’m wearing my helmet, ’cause I can feel my face heating up again.



“Number fifteen,” JJ mutters.



“Thanks,” Mike says, slapping JJ on the back and wandering away.



“What was that al about?” JJ asks.



“I dunno. I told him how good Ty is. He’s interested.”



“Well , Ty better not try to take the spotlight away from you, or I’l kick his ass. I can’t believe he fucking tried to come in here and take your position,” JJ growls.



“Take it out on Lynchburg, okay?” I say, laughing. I watch as Mike goes up to Ty, shakes his hand, and claps him on the back. Ty yanks off his helmet and smiles at Mike, and they begin to talk animatedly. Mike points at the field, probably describing how crappy Lynchburg’s field is, pointing out al the divots in the ground.



I feel fingers poke me in my sides, and I whirl around to find Henry carrying an umbrel a under his arm. He whips it out and opens it up, holding it above me.



“Stop it,” I hiss. “You’re making me look like a pansy.”



“Fine,” Henry replies. I can see him smiling behind his face mask. He takes two giant steps away from me, but keeps the umbrel a out and stands under it alone. Henry jerks his head toward Mike and Ty. “So what’s going on down there?”



I sigh. Al my guy friends are way too protective and nosy. “He wanted to meet Ty. I told him how good he is.”



“How good he is, eh?”



“Shut up, Henry. I’m trying to get in the zone.”



“Dude, we’re playing Lynchburg! We might as wel be playing a Pop Warner team.” Henry moves closer to me again and hands the umbrel a to a freshman. Squeezing my hand, he says, “You’re gonna rock tonight.”



“You too,” I reply as Mike and Ty walk up.



Henry sees Mike leaning in close to me and quickly moves over to listen. Mike whispers, “The Alabama coach is here.”



coach is here.”



Henry and I twirl around to face the fence where boosters and alumni usual y stand and take notes. Sure enough, a man wearing a red Alabama Rol Tide windbreaker is there.



Mike continues, “Recruiters from Ohio State are here too.”



“They must be here for Carter.” I feel awful that recruiters from Michigan aren’t here. Henry’s wanted to go to school there for as long as I can remember.



“Knock ’em dead, Woods,” Henry says. He slaps my back as the referee motions for captains to take the field for the coin toss. I jog toward the fifty-yard line with JJ and Carter and soon I’m standing in the center of the field with Carter on my right and JJ on my left. The ref tel s me to cal it.



“Heads,” I say. The ref flips the quarter up into the air, and it hits the ground and lands on tails. The Lynchburg captain says they’l kick off. Looking at the field, I say we want to defend the less muddy side. I don’t want our defense slipping and fal ing al over the place. I’d rather run through the mud on the other side. JJ, Carter, and I jog back over to the sidelines, where I knock fists with Henry before he heads out to return the punt.



“That’s cool that Ohio State’s here,” I say to Carter. He shrugs, which surprises me. I figured he’d be ecstatic. Joe Carter Sr. was a starting linebacker for Ohio State, not to mention the Miami Dolphins and the Titans!



As the other team kicks off, Ty joins me. Together, we watch as Henry catches the bal and takes off down the field. He’s at our twenty, then our thirty…he zigs and zags past a couple cornerbacks, who trip and fal into the mud. Then Henry drives straight down, and he’s past the other team’s twenty, then the ten. And touchdown!



Our cheerleaders cheer like crazy; our marching band plays a fight song. We are awesome.



“Damn,” Ty says. “He made that look easy.”



Screaming, I jump up and down. I shove a freshman, who stumbles and fal s onto the bench. I shove JJ, who doesn’t budge of course, but it’s the principle of the shove that matters. I knock fists and give high-fives to other guys on the sidelines, including Ty. When our hands high-five each other, I feel this, like, bolt of electricity between us.



Henry spikes the bal and starts to do a dance, but then stops. I guess he realizes a dance isn’t worth a penalty in this weather. After our kicker makes the extra point, our defense hustles out and doesn’t al ow Lynchburg even one first down.



Showtime.



Jogging out onto the field, I take my position behind JJ.



Lynchburg’s nose tackle says, “Hey, dyke. Your ass looks better than it did last year.”



“Shut your mouth, asshole,” JJ says, slapping the tackle’s face mask.



“It’s okay,” I say to JJ, loud enough for the tackle to hear me, “The only girlfriend he’l ever have is his right hand.”



Coach talks to me through the speaker in my helmet.



“Only carries tonight, Woods. No flashy passes.”



“Red fifty!” I yel . “Red fifty! Blue twenty-five!” The cue is blue twenty-five, meaning JJ hikes the bal to me, I hand it off to our starting running back, Drew Bates, and he drives it up the middle. We get the first down easily.



JJ slammed the hel out of the nose tackle, who’s now lying on the ground, clutching his stomach. “Nice,” I say with a laugh.



The weather is causing Lynchburg to play even worse than usual, which is pretty damned bad, so we keep driving down the field.



After I hand the bal off for the second touchdown, I After I hand the bal off for the second touchdown, I hear Mom screaming for me from the bleachers. She’s sitting with Carter’s mom, Henry’s mom, and JJ’s parents.



I didn’t figure Dad would come, but my head droops when I see he’s not here.



Sopping wet with rain, Mom grins as she screams my name. I can’t wait to tel her how much I love her. By halftime, the score is 28–0. I’m embarrassed for Lynchburg, but I’m playing an amazing game even if I’m only handing the bal off and not throwing any long passes. I did run for a touchdown, though, just because I need to show off for the Alabama guy. Normal y I don’t do things like that, but if I can’t throw any long bombs in this weather, I’ve gotta do something to make myself stand out.



Now we’re in the guys’ locker room, and since we’re winning, Coach doesn’t have to yel at us about what we’re doing wrong, so I drink some Gatorade and dry off. My hands are so soaked they look like raisins. Henry squeezes in on one side of me on the bench, and Ty squeezes in on the other. Because we’re slaughtering Lynchburg, I feel like I can relax a bit, so I leave the footbal zone and start thinking of Ty again. His elbow is touching mine. Breathe, Jordan, breathe. Don’t think about his bicep. Don’t think about that swatch of tan skin, peeking out from under his uniform, right above his hip. Wouldn’t it be great if we were the only two people in here right now? We could rip our uniforms off and—



“Woods!” Coach says.



“What’s up?”



“I’m taking you out of the game for the second half.”



JJ, Carter, and Henry jump up. They al start yel ing,



“Are you serious, Coach?” and “She’s rocking this game!” and “An Alabama coach is out there!”



Coach holds up a hand. “Woods has shown she’s perfectly capable of running a footbal field. But the weather is getting worse out there, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”



“You sound like my dad.”



Coach yanks off his hat and rubs his head, frowning at me. “I bet your dad would agree with me. I’m putting Ty in for the second half.”



“Damn it!” I say, standing and marching out of the locker room. When I’m out in the hal way, I take a long, deep breath and run my hands through my wet hair. How could Coach do this to me? Alabama’s here to see me. Me. Jordan Woods.



Not Ty.



It’s like everyone on the freaking planet is out to stop me from playing bal and achieving my dreams. Everyone except the guys on my team.



My team…



No one respects a captain who acts like that, no matter if Coach is just plain idiotic tonight, so I go back into the locker room. “Sorry, Coach,” I say. “Won’t happen again.”



Coach smiles, tossing a bal to me. “Great. Help Ty warm up.”



Thank the Lord that Coach isn’t a meteorologist,



’cause his predictions suck.



The weather’s getting worse, my ass. By the time Ty is warmed up, bright stars fil the clear sky.



I’m yel ing instructions at the defensive players on the field when Mike comes and stands next to me. “You played a hel of a game, sis.”