“Same,” Nigel said and handed me a champagne flute full of water.
I shook my head. Always with the glassware on the field. It was probably a hazard. But the coach across the field looked very perplexed by it. I had a feeling that Nigel was secretly just very good at psychological warfare.
“We need to blitz,” Nigel said. “And huddle. Probably a safety or two. Oh, what about a squib kick?”
I laughed. Yes, Nigel was good at psyching out the opposing team’s coach, but he still did not understand American football. “Good thinking, Nigel.” I looked at the clock and let it tick down to three seconds. And then I blew my whistle for a time out.
“We’re doing the squib kick?! Yes!”
No, we weren’t going to kick the ball away in a weird way when we were about to score. But we were going to kick it. “Sure.” I slapped his back.
“I knew it!” he yelled.
Kennedy laughed.
Everyone ran off the field toward us.
“We could run it,” Kennedy said. “They’ll be expecting a throw.”
“We could do that…” my voice trailed off as the quarterback, Smith reached us.
“I can do it,” Smith said. “And if no one’s open, I’ll just run it in.”
I shook my head.
“But, Coach…”
“We’re kicking it.” I looked over at Jefferson who was still sitting on the bench.
He hadn’t even joined the huddle. It looked like he was about to shit himself.
“Jefferson’s got this. Right?” I asked him.
“Oh. Um. I…” His cheeks puffed up like he was going to vomit. He was gripping the sides of the bench so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
I expected Smith to argue. Or throw his helmet. What I didn’t expect was for him to nod his head.
This was his last game at Empire High. It could be the last game he ever played anywhere. I knew he wanted the glory.
“You’re right, Coach,” Smith said. “Jefferson’s got this.”
“I do?” Jefferson asked.
“Of course you do,” Kennedy said. She grabbed him by his elbow and pulled him to his feet.
Jefferson looked uneasily up at me.
I put my hands on his shoulders. “Just remember everything Coach Alcaraz has taught you.”
He slowly nodded.
I’d set out to help him fit in. He’d made most of the field goals and extra points the second half of the season. He’d been practicing late most days. He’d improved so much since the beginning of the season when he kept setting off car alarms.
And I knew he was scared. But I also knew that no matter how scared you were of something, it was always worth it to take your shot. No matter how insurmountable the thing felt. Or how hard it would be. I looked over my shoulder at Brooklyn in the stands. Yeah, it was always worth it.
The ref blew his whistle, signaling the end of our time out.
“Go Eagles on three,” I said and put my hand out.
