Chase

It’s game day. Before I’ve even turned off the alarm on my phone, I know from the smell of cooking bacon. The churn in my stomach isn’t from hunger but from knowing I’ll lead my team onto the field in twelve hours.

I’m not nervous—that’s never been my thing. But I’m also not complacent. Winning requires the constant awareness that nothing is a given. Being the quarterback of a team that hasn’t lost a game in more than a decade comes with its own set of mental challenges.

When I walk into the hallway and see that the bathroom door is closed, I knock on it to let my sister Cassie know I need in. It’s always her hogging it, never Alyssa. Cassie’s a sophomore, and she’s got the hots for one of my teammates, who knows better than even to look in her direction.

“What?” Cassie demands.

“You know what. Hurry up.” My voice is deep and gravelly from sleep.

“I have to finish my hair. I need ten minutes.”

I shake my head in frustration. “I only need five. Can I get in there real quick?”

“Go eat breakfast, and I’ll be done after that.”

“I have to shower first, Cass.” I glare at the closed door. “I’ll just wait. Hurry up.”

Sharing a bathroom as a family of five wasn’t much of an issue before my sisters were teenagers. Monday through Thursday, Dad leaves for work at the steel mill before sunrise, so he’s in and out before we’re even up. Mom’s not much for primping. She gets in and out, like Alyssa and me.

Leaning my back against the wall, I run through highlights from film of our opponent tonight. I’ve watched more film than usual this week because the Jefferson City quarterback switches up his plays often. With some guys, I know what to anticipate. But I remember the Jefferson City quarterback from last year. They scored on us. I have to be ready for him.

I get lost in thoughts of the game, and it seems as though hardly any time passes before Cassie opens the bathroom door and walks out, her fruity, powdery scent making me cringe. It lingers in the bathroom too, so I make quick work of showering, still running through film in my head and remembering Coach’s comments as we watched it.

Football isn’t just about beating the opponent for me. When you play for Roper, you have to be aware that your greatest opponent is yourself. I want to lead my teammates to a win that is smarter than our last one. The more decisive, the better.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Alyssa is standing in the hallway waiting for her turn, her acne face wash in hand. She’s at the awkward thirteen-year-old stage, and no matter how many times I tell her it’ll get better, she doesn’t seem to believe me. She just rolls her eyes and tells me I wouldn’t know the first thing about being awkward.

Not on the outside, maybe, but I do know what it’s like to feel different. I’m lucky I can keep that to myself, though, unlike Alyssa.

I head downstairs, and as soon as I walk into the kitchen, Mom gives me a big smile.

“Hope you’re hungry,” she says.

“Always.”

I take in the spread on the table—bacon, eggs, oatmeal, and whole wheat toast with peanut butter. Breakfast is always my biggest meal on game days.

Before I’ve had a chance to sit down, Mom is loading up my plate with three heaping spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, several pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast. I reach out to take it from her.

“That’s great, Mom, thanks.”

“I’ll get you a bowl of oatmeal too.”

“Just a small one.”

She smiles as she heads for the stove. “I’ll cut up a banana and put it in your oatmeal.”

“I can do that.”

She lowers her brows as she spoons oatmeal into a bowl. “Just let me do it, Chase. This is the last year I get to.”

The sadness in her tone hits me right in the gut. For the past thirteen years, life in our house has revolved around me playing football. It’s not just during summer training and the fall season, either. In my off-season, I play seven-on-seven. Once I started high school, my dad started taking me to recruiting camps.

Next year, I’ll be playing college football. And though we’ve never talked about it, I know my family won’t be coming to watch those games. Any school I end up accepting a scholarship to will be far away from Roper, Missouri, and they won’t be able to afford the travel.

My parents don’t have to tell me they’re behind on bills—I can tell. Mom’s car has been sitting idle in our driveway with the transmission out for almost three months now. She drives Dad to work every morning and picks him up every afternoon. Cassie and Alyssa had to buy their own school clothes this year with babysitting money.

The one thing they’ve never cut back on is my football. It’s expensive to play at this level—trying to land a spot at the best colleges to get drafted from—especially for a family with just one blue-collar income. The camps, travel, and equipment cost a mint. I can’t contribute by working much, because my focus is on football year-round.

It’ll all pay off when I make it. Not in the way my dad thinks, though. He doesn’t take me to camps and watch my practices because he’s proud of me. He didn’t coach my teams when I was playing Pee Wee football because he wanted us to do something fun together.

My dad wants to see me succeed where he failed. At least, that’s how he sees it. Eighteen and a half years ago, this was his life. He’d led the Roper football team to a state championship and had his choice of scholarships to the best colleges when he got his girlfriend—my mother—pregnant.

From the moment I was born a boy, he’s seen me as his chance for redemption. He’s in for a hell of a surprise, though. I’ll make it, all right. And before the ink on my first pro contract is dry, I plan to get my mom and sisters away from him. He’s a mean asshole. It’s another one of the things we all know but never say out loud.

“This is really good, Mom.”

She’s standing silently over the stove, her head bowed. After a few seconds, I realize something is wrong.

“Mom?”

“I’m fine, honey.” She waves a hand at me, but I can hear the tears in her voice.

I set my fork down, my mood darkening with anger. “Did something happen?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No, I’m fine, Chase.”

But still, she won’t look at me.

“Did Dad say something to you? Or do something? Did he hurt you again?”

She turns and looks at me, her eyes wide with alarm.

“No,” she says in a hushed tone. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“I’ve never seen you cry for any other reason.” My jaw tenses as I remember an incident last week.

She sighs heavily. “Let’s not talk about that, Chase.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

Tears well in her eyes again as she meets my gaze across the table, her standing on one side and me sitting on the other.

“I’m just proud of you. And not because of football. You’ll be turning eighteen in two months, and I know you’ll be a good man. You have a good head on your shoulders and a good heart.”

“I got those things from you.”

Her smile fades. “Your father wasn’t always like he is now. You remind me so much of him sometimes.”

“I look like him, but I’m not like him.”

“You have his confidence.”

I shake my head, my appetite gone now. “I have my own confidence, Mom. I’ll never be like him.”

“He’s not all bad.”

My tone is low and serious as I say, “Don’t make excuses for him.”

She’s about to say something else, probably in his defense, when I hear Sam pulling his truck into our driveway.

“Gotta go,” I say, picking up my backpack from the floor. “See you tonight.”

“We’ll be there.” She tucks her blond hair behind her ear. “Have fun out there tonight.”

I smile and nod, though we both know this season isn’t about having fun for me. I had fun freshman year. My sophomore year, everything changed when I became the starting quarterback. That role goes with me everywhere. I’m the face of our team, and I try to be a deserving one.

“Hey,” Sam says when I open the passenger door of his truck and get in.

“Hey.”

“Ready to kick some Jefferson City ass tonight?”

“You know it.”

He turns up the country music he loves on the drive to school. I hate it, but it’s his truck, so I never say anything. Sam and I have been friends for so long that we don’t have to talk just to fill the silence anyway. I run through my playbook in my head, remembering what Coach told me to watch for in the Jefferson City defense tonight.

It’s only a five-minute drive to school, and when we park and walk through the main doors, a couple of freshmen players are there waiting for us, both wearing their red Roper jerseys since it’s game day.

“Hi,” one of them says to me, his voice cracking.

He licks his lips nervously and passes me a long bundle of tissue paper. I arch my brows with amusement as I take it.

“How much paper did you wrap it in?” I ask him.

“Two packages…sir.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Jimmy, sir.”

Poor kid looks like he’s about to puke. His friend is shuffling his feet nervously, apparently afraid even to look at me.

“Jimmy,” I say, “you don’t need to call me sir. I know the sophomores like to scare you guys, but don’t fall for their bullshit. It’s just Chase, okay?”

He nods. “Yes, s—Chase.”

I unroll the layers of tissue and take out the single red rose that was being so carefully shielded.

“Good job, Jimmy.” I hand him the wadded-up tissue paper.

“Who is it?” His words come out in a rush, his voice breaking again.

Damn. I did not sound that bad when my voice changed.

“You’ll have to find out with everyone else,” I tell him.

Several other varsity players join Sam and me, and we all head for the wing where the upper-class lockers are located. Everyone will be hanging around there, waiting to see who’s getting this rose.

It was a unanimous vote by the team last night. This is only the second game of our season, but because we played some scrimmage games before the season started, it’s our fourth rose.

This may be my favorite part of being team captain. All eyes are on me as I walk down the hall. Every girl I make eye contact with gives me a hopeful grin. And the grins fade when I walk past them.

“The cheerleaders stepped up their game on the posters,” Sam mumbles next to me.

He’s right. The posters hanging in the hallways this morning are the best I’ve ever seen. They’re colorful and neatly lettered.

When I slow my walk, then stop and turn to a group of three juniors pretending to talk casually in front of some lockers, everyone goes quiet. This Friday morning football season ritual will be the talk of the school today.

Who’s getting this rose? That’s what everyone is dying to know.

“Taryn,” I say to a hazel-eyed brunette.

Her eyes brighten, and she swallows hard.

“Chase.” She clutches the books in her arms so hard the color drains from her knuckles.

“This is for you.” I hand her the rose, and she breaks out into a huge smile as she takes it.

“Thank you.”

“See you tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

I wink at her and lead the team back down the hallway, hearing her friends squeal happily as soon as our backs are facing them.

Sam elbows me and gives me a wicked grin. “Solid choice, man.”

“What, did you forget who we picked or something?”

“Nah, I just forgot what a great body she’s got. Volleyball players have the best asses.”

I shove his shoulder. “First things first, brother. We’ve got a game to win tonight.”

He laughs. “It’s your job to worry about that.”

He’s right. And it’s not just winning I have to be concerned about, but my own performance too. I have to bring my A game tonight, because there’ll be at least one scout in the stands.

There are only thirteen games left in my high school career. And I have to make every one of them count.