Page 39 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout
Sighing, Beau put his hands on his hips. “You shouldn’t idolize me. Or anyone. I’m just another dude in the game. I’ve been around long enough that I can give you pointers. But if you’re going to hold back on me, you won’t do yourself any favors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Beau. My name’s Beau. You can call me Beau.”
Damien released a heavy breath. “Alright. Yes, Beau.”
“Your mom tells me you’re pretty fast. See that court over there?” Beau pointed. “Feel like racing?”
Damien blinked. “Raceyou?”
“Yeah. All out, okay? Don’t hold back. I won’t.” Beau took off sprinting. He might have had a two-and-a-half-second lead on Damien, but by the time Beau crossed from the grass to the pavement, Damien was on his heels.
Beau slowed to a jog, folding his hands behind his head.
“Good,” he panted. “You didn’t hold back.”
Damien raised his head to the sky. “By that much.”
Beau laughed through his heart palpitations as he slowed in the center of the court. A lone ball sat along the fence lining the court. Jogging over, Beau bounced it before passing it to Damien.
“I don’t play basketball. I mean, with my friends but not likeplay play.” He fingered the ball before dribbling.
“Good.” Beau smiled. “Me either.” Quickly, he reached out, stealing the ball and cutting around Damien, going in for a layup he missed. Passing the ball back to Damien, he readied himself for defense. “Think of me as your friend while we warm up, yeah? Then we’ll go back to the field.”
Twenty minutes later, after Damien not only beat Beau at basketball but also knocked him on his ass twice, they returned to the field. Damien was looser, more comfortable, and Beau could see he had a natural speed, quick feet, but slow cuts.
“We can keep working on that,” Beau told him as Damien collected cones, dropping them into the bag. “You good for same time, same place next week?”
“For real?”
Beau laughed. “For real, man. But don’t get your hopes up. I’ll be working on my jump shot. Don’t think you’ll beat me twice.”
the flying receiver
Dear Mom,
You might be happy to know something. I joined the school newspaper as a photo editor, and they asked me to cover football. I don’t mind going to games anymore, so long as I don’t have to do the coin toss.
This week, Brookwood was down by three, and it was fourth down andlong. Too long for a field goal. Dad knew this. It had been a brutal, toe to toe game. The boys were tired, some even bloody. I was behind the bench, standing on a cooler and trying to take some shots of the huddle Dad had going on.
“Long star. Only way. You put a hell of an arc on that.” Dad grabbed the quarterback by the neck of his jersey before reaching for Beau. “And I promise you, he’ll catch it. Right, Beau?”
Beau put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Give it air. I’ll catch the damn ball.”
“The rest of you,” Dad said before sighing. “Well, just block for your life.”
I snapped a few more shots and said a silent prayer, Mom. Because I understood a “long star” for Dad really meant a Hail Mary. Sometimes, football comes down to a prayer, or in this case, a shooting wideout.
I started running down the sideline before they snapped the ball. Like everyone else, I knew where this was going. But sometimes, it’s not just about a prayer or a shooting star or wishes. Sometimes you just need to be at the right place at the right time.
Beau is parallel to the turf in the photo, one arm outstretched, the ball landing in his fingers as heflew—and I mean, flew—into the end zone.
People called it a Sportscenter moment. The local news usedmyphoto when they covered the story over the weekend—“Walker the Flying Receiver” was how they captioned it. And I can’t stop smiling, thinking about how it was a joint effort between the two of us.
“Maybe football isn’t so bad after all,” I told Beau a few nights later on the roof as I admired a copy of my photo. Glancing at him, I noticed the weak pout on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate football.”
