Chase

Anderson Clark looks like he might piss his pants before the game even starts. Our new starting wide receiver is a sophomore who didn’t expect to fill this role on the varsity team this season.

“You good?” I ask him, patting his shoulder pad.

He nods, but his eyes are wide with terror.

“You got this,” I tell him. “Don’t let any one play reset your mood, okay? Good or bad. You catch the ball, you drop the ball, we score, we don’t—keep your head in the same place no matter what goes down.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Yep. I don’t think about what I’ve done right or wrong till the game’s in the books. Keep your mind in the present at all times.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

There won’t be any more easy wins for our team this year, but I’ve never been prouder to be the captain. After an outcry from some parents, Jack was suspended from the team pending the outcome of his court case, and since the case won’t close out until the season is over, he’s done. When he was booted, Sam Stockwell quit in protest. He tried to come back to the team a few days later, but Coach Carter told him he couldn’t. The tide has turned on the Sweet Sixteen—no one wants to condone that shit anymore.

Without two of our key players in place, we’ve had to buckle down hard to win the last three games. I respect my coach for not letting Sam back on even though he’s one of our best players and his coaching job is in jeopardy.

It’s Roper, after all—the buzz about replacing him started after we lost one game.

I’m not planning on losing any more, though. Tonight’s game will be extra sweet because my dad’s pissed as fuck right now in the stands.

I left the locker room a few minutes ago to track him down and deliver some news right on the old Roper home field he won so many games on.

“What’s up?” he asked as I approached.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know I called the Penn State coach today and committed. He wants to have a photo op of me signing with them, and I told him it’ll be me, Mom, Cassie, and Alyssa.”

He reared back as though I’d hit him. “You little shit. This is the thanks I get for all these years of busting my ass to make you into the player you are?”

“I’m nothing like you. You’re a mean, washed-up drunk who beats on your wife ’cause you’re not man enough to take on someone who hits back.”

I’d left him standing there in stunned silence, his surrounding buddies looking equally shocked.

Fuck him. It was conversations with Gin that made me realize Penn State is right for me. I like the coach there best because he’s tough but respected. He was able to tell me exactly how he sees me fitting into his program. And I think, given the recent sexual abuse there, that I can offer insight into more than just football. Maybe help some guys learn from my mistakes.

When I lead the team onto the field, I glance up into the stands and see my mom standing there in her well-worn “Roper Football Mom” sweatshirt, her expression bright and happy.

I hope she’s proud of me for making my own choice about college, though I know she’ll be too scared to say so if she is.

Right after kickoff, I’m totally engrossed in a play when I notice players looking over at the visiting team’s bleachers. I glance over and don’t see anything, but then I realize it’s not about what they’re doing, but what they’re saying.

Roper Rapists. They’re chanting it.

The sound of them making something so painful for our town, and especially for Gin, into a football game chant makes me see red. I suddenly don’t just want to win this game; I want to crush it.

Anderson’s more ready than he thought. He catches every good pass I throw to him, and most of them are very good. My offensive line does its job, I do mine, and Anderson does his. We win the game 35-14.

As soon as I walk out of the shower in the locker room, towel around my waist, Coach Carter approaches me.

“Just heard the news. Penn State’s lucky to get you.”

“Thanks.”

“Boys!” he calls out. “Everyone congratulate our quarterback, who’s gonna be signing with Penn State next week.”

Most of the guys congratulate me. Clay Houser doesn’t say a damn word. He actually looks pissed, which is bullshit. We’ve been playing football together since we were little kids.

“What, you don’t like Penn State?” I ask him as we’re both getting dressed.

His jaw tenses. “I just don’t know how you managed to stay the golden boy. You were first with more of those girls than any of us. Always the MVP. And because you’ve got a hard-on for Gin Fielding, you’re out and you come out looking like a hero. The rest of us are the bad guys.”

I shake my head and run a hand through my damp hair. “No one thinks I’m any different from the rest of you in what we did. And I do feel a lot of guilt for being the one to pass out those roses. For being the first one.”

“Not too guilty to take a full ride and end up getting drafted.” He slams his locker door shut.

“This isn’t about the Sweet Sixteen, man. You’re pissed Penn State still wants me, and no place wants you.”

He turns and glares at me. “Watch it, Matthews.”

“Quit being a dick, then.”

He steps toward me, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’m pissed about it. You’ll move on and keep being the golden boy, while the rest of us stay here to be known as the Roper Fucking Rapists for the rest of our lives.”

“No one’s making you stay,” I say with a shrug.

“You ruined my senior year. You were supposed to be my brother, and you blew up this team.”

Others are listening to us now, but I don’t care. I’ve thought about this a lot since Gin set things in motion, and I know he’s right. I’m more responsible than the rest of the guys. It’s more my fault than anyone’s that we dropped that game to Mercer. I owe apologies to a lot of people, but not the ones Clay thinks.

“It needed blowing up, man,” I say, ending the conversation.

There’s a party after the game at a freshman’s house, with music, bowls of snacks, and rows of canned soda. Kid’s trying too hard, but the effort’s nice.

Coach was adamant with us that we’ll be kicked off the team for even being at a party with booze or sex, whether we’re taking part or not. Our team has a shattered reputation to rebuild.

Ben Hart, the junior in a boot due to his foot injury, walks up to me as soon as I come into the kitchen to get a drink.

“Hey, man, congrats on Penn State,” he says with a nervous smile.

“Thanks.”

“Someday I’ll be able to watch you playing on TV and say I knew you when.”

I scoff at that. “I’ve got a long way to go.”

“You’re gonna make it. I know you will.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate that. And if you want to come hang out with me next year, catch a game, you’re always welcome.”

He grins. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Cool.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Cool, thanks.”

“When you getting that boot off?”

He looks down at it. “Hopefully in three weeks.”

“So you won’t miss the whole season?”

“No, I’ll be back to warming the bench soon.” He laughs awkwardly.

“Never know when you’ll get your shot,” I tell him. “Someone else could get injured and open up a starting spot for you.”

I think of Gin, who went to New York with her mom today to get her hair done and get a dress for the play. Her mom was so happy about her starring role that she insisted on a day off school to go to New York, make a quick stop by her publishing house, and get Gin ready for tomorrow.

A girl comes up to us, and I duck out, giving Ben an opening. There’s only one girl I want to talk to anyway. I find a quiet spot in the backyard and text her.

Me: Are you back? We won. This gorgeous girl once suggested I celebrate winning with pizza, want to meet me somewhere?

Gin: We just got in half an hour ago. I’d love to, but I’ve been up since 4 am and I’m exhausted.

Gin: And gorgeous, you say? Will you still think she’s gorgeous if her hair is the color of an orange tabby cat?

Me: I will. Seriously, you changed your hair color?

Gin: Mr. Douglas wanted me to have my natural color.

Me: Send me a pic.

Gin: Ugh, not yet. I need more time to accept how closely I resemble The Little Mermaid now.

Me: You want to watch our show and cook tomorrow?

Gin: I do, but I’m running lines with the rest of the cast all day to help me get ready.

Me: Are you still as nervous as you were yesterday?

Gin: Worse. I threw up on the plane ride home.

Me: You’ll be great.

Gin: You’re still coming, right?

Me: Are you kidding? I’ll be in the front row.

Gin: Congrats on winning tonight. I’m still mad at you, though.

Me: That’s okay, you’re cute when you’re mad.

Gin: Goodnight, Chase.

Me: Night. See you tomorrow.