“I have a QB-1.” My tone is even.
I don’t like being told how to run my team, and the minute I start letting parents call the shots, it’s all over.
George’s eyes narrow, but he smiles. “Not trying to tell you how to do your job, Coach. Just proud of my boy.”
I don’t answer, and my expression is neutral. A crowd ofonlookers watches us from the stands, and I’m not about to open those floodgates.
“See y’all tomorrow.”
Having two great quarterbacks is stressful, but in this last week of camp, it’s a good problem. On my mind today are the kids who won’t make the cut, and I dread this time of year as much as I look forward to it.
Newhope is a 7A school, which means we’re one of the biggest in the state. We draw a lot of boys from all over the county, and for many of them, it’s their one shot at getting into college.
It’s on my mind every day of camp, and I relate to it on a personal level. After our parents died, it was my family’s situation as well.
But I’m expected to win games, and I can’t field a team of charity cases. It doesn’t matter how good of a coach I am or how strong the rest of the players are. They all have to be good for us to win games, especially against the other big, local schools.
Then, if we advance to the state championships, we’ll face teams from Birmingham, Montgomery, and Huntsville. I’ve got some hard conversations coming up, and I don’t relish the thought.
At least I have my brothers with me.
“Kimmie’s upstairs in the bathtub.”My little sister meets me at the house. “Allie had her at the library most of the day, and she had a Thomas burger for dinner.”
“Thanks, Dee.” I open the refrigerator, taking out a beer. “I appreciate it.”
Dylan has helped me with Kimmie since we moved back to Newhope when my little girl was only a year old. For a few years, Austin helped in the summers, when he was in middle school and not old enough for the team.
It’s when we got to know each other, and I saw how interested he was in learning the game. I’d be tired from camp, but I’d walk out with him to throw a few passes before he went home.
He’d never played tackle, but he had a good arm and could throw a straight spiral. We started playing on the weekends and in the summers, and he soaked up my instruction like a sponge.
These thoughts press against my temples when I turn to see my little sister with her arms crossed, studying me.
“I know that look.” Her voice is gentle. “What’s worrying you, big brother?”
I twist the top off my beer with a wince. “Levi Powell is a strong player.”
Her full lips tighten, and she nods. “I had a feeling he might be. You’re worried about Austin?”
“He’s worked hard. He earned his place as starting quarterback.” Leaning my elbow against the side of the appliance, I rub my fingers over my eyes.
“And you’ve taken a personal interest in Austin. Something you never do.” My sister’s voice is measured. “Does Levi have more natural talent?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But he’s quicker. His instincts are good, and it’s clear he’s had more experience in the position than Austin has.”
She leans against the counter watching me. “What can you do about that?”
“Not much. Austin’s only been playing three years. He’s only played in Newhope against the other teams in the county. Levi plays like he’s been doing it all his life.”
I think about my early conversations with Allie, how she told me he played some flag football in elementary school, but she didn’t let him play peewee tackle. She protected him, and I don’t blame her. Knowing what we do now about brain trauma and early childhood development, I think she made the right call.
Levi, on the other hand…
Dylan’s brow furrows. “Can’t you have two starting quarterbacks?”
“Yeah.” I nod, thinking how in the past it was pretty common with high school teams. “But a good coach would figure out how to make best use of both players. Austin’s a good running back. Hell, he’s a good team player. Whatever I tell him to do, he gives 110 percent.”
And it fucking breaks my heart, because I know his dreams.
