The Wasps have possession of the ball on their own twenty yard line, and take a final time out.
The Wasps’ quarterback is the second stringer, but he seems to be listening to the coaches for a minute before calling the play.
The Wasps’ offensive linemen take the I-formation, and I can see Stinger and Thumper lined up behind the quarterback.
The ball is snapped, and the quarterback falls away to try to pass the ball.
He gets hit, and goes down hard.
Stinger and Thumper didn’t even have a chance to get possession, the attack came so fast.
The Wasps regroup, as the clock ticks down.
They lost six yards on the play.
Second down, and the ball is snapped, and again, the quarterback is tackled, by the same linebacker running a blitz.
“Who is that guy?” asks Frank.
He’s got a serious look on his face, as Mom holds his arm.
“That’s ‘Rusty’ Torneau, the ‘Frenchman’,” a man says to Frank.
“He’s a real bastard, he is. He’s on record as having put four quarterbacks out of the game, in the past two seasons. One permanently. He’s the one hit Twinky Niles,” the man adds.
“It’s Twink,” I correct him.
“Whatever,” he replies.
I take a good look at the man.
He’s wearing a three-piece suit, which is kind of odd at a college game.
And, he’s got a briefcase next to him.
“Excuse me, sir?” I ask.
“Yes, can I help you, Miss?” he says.
“Is that your son, that ‘Frenchman’?” I ask, ready to punch him in the face.
The man laughs.
“Oh, no, honey!” he says.
For a moment, I think he’s calling me by my nickname.
Then, I realize he’s just being a condescending asshole.
I stew for a moment, and then brazenly go on.
“So, just who are you then, Mister Man?” I say, trying to get the correct tone into my own voice.
He reaches out his hand, to shake.
“My name is Jim Norton, of Norton, Forester and Lund, honey,” he tells me.
I am momentarily stunned, and my anger fades as I realize just who this guy really is.
“You’re an agent for the NFL, right?” I ask.
“Yep! That’s right, Missy, and I got to tell you, those two boys out there on the Wasps’ offensive line are something else!” he says.
“Who?” I ask.
“Mr. Keith-David Sullivan and Mr. David-Keith Sullivan,” he says, with a huge, shark-like grin.
“Your stepbrothers, Miss Sullivan,” he adds.
“I’m looking real hard at those two boys, for the upcoming draft,” he says.
Frank and Mom have overheard Mr. Norton, and are speechless, and we almost miss the final play.
“Hey, let’s all watch the end of this!” exclaims Mr. Norton.
He fingers his briefcase, humming some obscure tune.
I don’t like the way the man looks.
He’s like some kind of weird lizard, that eats babies or something.
I shiver, unexpectedly, and turn my gaze to the field.
It’s not looking good at all…
—————
CHAPTER TEN
THUMPER
Shit!
Twink is out of the game, and his replacement, Parnell Smith, is this big bruiser of a man.
He’s a good dude, but he’s definitely out of his depth right now.
Stinger and I look at the other players, and we see the same thing on everyone’s face.
You don’t have to be a telepathic twin to know what we are all thinking.
We’re fucked.
—————
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STINGER
“P-dog, what you gonna do here, bruh?” I ask the quarterback.
Parnell Johnston is a decent guy, and he’s been fighting like hell to get onto the first string, but he’s also a bit headstrong, and not as quick as Twink.
He’s not good at tactical, and he tends to not give the ball away soon enough.
So, he gets tackled a lot.
I rub my face with my hand, the sweat dripping from my chin in a stream.
It’s pretty hot, all of a sudden.
“Stinger, what would YOU do, here? Imma askin’ , cuz I ain’t no fool,” Parnell replies.
The man has a shit ton of pressure on him, and he’s nervous as a possum in a room full of hunting dogs.
I look at him and shrug.
“What’s the dope from the admins?” I ask.
“Coach wants to do a Hail Mary play, and honestly, I can’t come up with anythin’ better, bro,” says Parnell.
“You wanna try a six-flip threehole, here?” I suggest.
I am not all that keen on this idea, seeing as how it’s one of our weaker plays.
But, we are running out of time for the play, and Parnell is waffling.
The pressure is getting to him.
“I got nuthin’, bro, but lemme signal the coaches,” he says.
I swear under my breath!
We don’t have time for this!
Call the play, dude!
Grow a pair, I think to myself.
Parnell breaks the huddle, and makes the signal, and the coaches both throw their headsets on the ground, swearing and smacking their clipboards on their knees.
Parnell shakes his head, waving to the crowd and makes the roundup sign, and we take the field with seconds to go before the penalty for excessive time.
The center grabs the ball, as Parnell shouts out.
“Six! Five! Fourteen! Hut!” he yells, and the center snaps it right into his hands.
It’s a perfect release, and Parnell steps back, rotating around, and hands it to me.
THIS is NOT a six-flip threehole!
But, as shocked as I am at suddenly being the receiver of the ball, I am even more shocked to see nothing ahead of me but Astroturf, the goalposts, and air.
I take off running, but there’s almost ninety yards to cover.
And, there’s only a bit more than a minute left on the clock…
—————
CHAPTER TWELVE
THUMPER
Holy fuck!
Stinger has the ball!
I see the safeties coming across at him, from the sidelines, and targeting the smaller player, I rush in and nail his ass.
He bounces off me, splayed out on his ass, as Stinger and I cross our forty-yard line.
I see the other safety coming right at my twin, but I put my head down and smash head-on into the bastard, knocking him off his feet, and sailing backwards from the force of the impact.
Tumbling on the ground, I see three of our offensive line trying to catch up to a Wildcat player, but they all just miss him by inches, as he picks up speed and targets Stinger.
It’s the fucking Frenchman!
I am trying to get myself oriented when I get tripped up by the second safety, and fall on my ass.
FUCK!
—————
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEA
“Oh my God! Stinger has the ball!” I shout, and jump and yell, trying to get a good look at the entire field.
Thumper knocks over one safety, then another, as I see the Frenchman running after Stinger.
Three Wildcat players try to stop Stinger, and as each one jumps at him, they grab air and miss as he dances around their futile attempts.
The last Wildcat defensive end falls down behind him, and now there’s nothing between Stinger and the goal but open spaces.
Suddenly, I cry out as I notice the blue jersey of a Wildcat hurtling in from the sidelines.
It’s the Frenchman!
And, he is gaining on Stinger.
—————
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STINGER
I’m running as fast as I can.
Sudd
enly, I see a blue blur racing at my right side.
I cut sideways, and try to backpedal.
The goal line is mere yards from me…so close I can taste it.
I run at it, closing the distance.
Sensing something, I try a fake-right, but then I feel the mass of someone smacking into me from behind.
I grab at the ball, but it slides from my fingers, tumbling in the air in front of my face.
As I fall, I roll over on my back, my right leg coming up and kicking out, hitting the Wildcat player in the helmet.
It knocks the helmet off the players head, and the helmet goes flying.
My foot hits him on the rebound, right across his face.
Oops.
The football is right in front of my face, and as we are all falling down, I snatch at it.
Miraculously, the ball sticks to my fingers, and I grab it and pull it onto my chest, as I impact the ground, six inches past the goal line.
“Touchdown!” yells the announcer.
I hear his voice as my head slams onto the Astroturf, and I see stars.
The other player is sitting atop me.
I see his face.
It’s the fucking Frenchman!
There’s blood oozing from his nose, which I think is broken.
The buzzer sounds, and the game is over.
“Wasps win! Wasps win!” yells the announcer, and the crowd goes fucking wild.
The Frenchman and I stare at each other, and a big grin splits his dark face, the blood pooling on his jersey as it drops over his chin.
He looks like some big predator, just finished taking a huge bite from its prey.
He gets off me, and stands up, shaking dirt from his arms.
He looks about to extend his hand to shake it, so I put mine out.
He does one of those moves where he’s suddenly wiping the top of his head.
I stare at him, feeling a bit stupid, and chuckle.
I bring my hand away, look him right in the eyes, and I spike the ball.
It bounces up and rolls away from us, spinning like a top.
I turn to the crowd, and make twin ‘V’s’ from my fingers, and raise my arms in victory.
The crowd goes apeshit, again.
The Frenchman watches this, and then spits.
It comes out red, and stains the Astroturf.
He wipes at his nose, the blood staining his forearm.
He looks around, and finds his helmet.
As he bends over to scoop it up, he spits blood on the goal line.
The bright red contrasts with the white chalk.
“See you at the bowl, Stinger,” the Frenchman says, cocking his hand into a gun.
“Kapow!” he whispers.
Then, as he walks away, I am surrounded by my teammates.
I feel myself pounded on the chest and back, and we walk off the field, to the locker rooms.
And the party at Niles’ Dad’s place…
—————
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THUMPER
Holy shit!
He did it!
Stinger made a touchdown!
We won the game!
I pick myself up, jumping up and down and pumping my fist in the air, when I notice the Frenchman walking off the field, bleeding from his nose.
He gives me a look, and then cocks his hand at me like a gun.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, over the roaring of the crowd.
The other members of the Wildcat team are jumping around, yelling and screaming, and they are running to the other end of the field, to congratulate Stinger.
I take off my helmet, the hot sweat blinding me, and wipe my eyes with my forearm.
I see the crowd is going crazy, and standing in the A-section is the girl I love…
Honeybee.
—————
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BEA
“Oh my God! He did it! We won!” I yell.
I scream at Frank and Mom and anyone within the next two states over.
I am ecstatic, and excited, and can barely contain my joy!
Stinger came through and beat the Wildcats!
And, Thumper saved him to make a ninety-yard run for a touchdown!
I replay the image of Stinger and Thumper in my head, running together toward me, as they carried the game.
My heart was in my mouth when I saw the Frenchman hit Stinger, and I am sure I cried out.
I can’t believe that play!
Ninety yards!
Wow!
My heart is beating so hard it feels like my chest is going to explode!
But, it’s not all because of the game’s excitement.
There’s something else.
Something that goes far deeper.
Another kind of game, and one with higher stakes.
I think I’m in love with Stinger and Thumper.
Both of them!
—————
“Great game, eh, Honey?” says Mr. Norton.
I can hear him capitalize the H, but I’m so happy we won I choose to ignore his slight.
Frank and Mom hug me, and I hug them back.
Mom has a tear in her eyes, she’s so proud!
Frank is smiling, and seems genuinely happy.
“That’s some real good playing from your boys there, Mister Sullivan,” says Mr. Norton.
“Sir, you have me at a disadvantage?” says Frank, warily.
“As I mentioned to the nice young lady here, my name is Jim Norton. I’m with Norton, Forester and Lund, PA. We’re a scouting concern, with the National Football League. Your boys have what it takes, seems to me, Mr. Sullivan,” he says.
“Well, Mr. Norton, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” says Frank.
“The boys still have the remainder of the season to play, and their studies,” he adds.
“But, I am sure they’ll be glad to hear you came by the game,” he says, with finality.
“Maggie, Bee, let’s get going. A real pleasure, Mr. Norton,” Frank says, and shakes hands one more time.
But, I notice Frank only pumps the man’s hand once.
That seems odd, to me.
Oh well!
We won!
My parents and I walk away, happy for our boys!
All the way to our car, I can’t escape the wonderful feelings bouncing around inside of me.
The way the twins played the game, with their muscled bodies hammering and getting hammered by the other team!
All that testosterone on display really got my juices flowing.
I can barely stand up straight!
And, the most interesting and frightening emotions of all are coursing through me, pushing through all the layers of resistance I have put up in front of me, a wall through which I dared not let me true feelings surface – an obstacle that prevented me realizing the true depth of the love I had for them.
My twins!
My stepbrothers!
—————
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BEA
We wait outside the locker rooms, as the twins get interviewed, and prodded and jostled by their team mates.
There’s a bunch of coeds and other fans, wanting to get an autograph or a picture.
“Why don’t we get a pop or something, Mom?” says Frank.
“Bea here can wait for the boys, can’t you, sweetheart?” he asks.
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