by Trent Reedy
“I’d vote for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’re smart, you actually research your opinions, and …” I trailed off when I noticed her watching me with her deep brown eyes.
She tilted her chin down a little. “And what?”
I could feel my heart beating heavier in my chest. “And … you’re really … cool.”
“Thanks,” she said without taking her eyes off me. “You’re sweet.”
I didn’t know what would happen between Isma and me, but more and more, I had the feeling that this good thing we had would take its course.
The bell rang, startling me from my thoughts. It just wouldn’t take its course right now.
* * *
When Friday morning rolled around, I felt pretty good, dressed in my Roughriders jersey for our home football game against the Lone Tree Lumberjacks. (Yeah, that was their real mascot.) I had the plays figured out and hoped to get more playing time than last week.
“A monk wears robes. Sports worshippers wear football jerseys.” Isma elbowed me in the hall on the way to sixth-hour English.
I laughed. “You coming to the game tonight?”
She slowed down. “We’ve been over this. I’m forced to go to the home games because of band, remember? The band must play music to praise the sports gods that the school worships.”
“Okay, okay.” I held my hands up to surrender. “I don’t want to argue.”
“That’s smart of you.” Then her joking mood became serious. “Plus, you know, after the last home game” — she twirled a strand of hair around her finger — “it was kind of nice having someone to walk home with. I was thinking, since it’s on your way and all, maybe we could walk together again tonight?”
“Sure. Meet you at the same place after the game?”
For something so simple, Isma sure looked happy. “Great, see you then.” She went into the classroom.
Clint cut between us, blocking my way to the door. “ ‘Great, see you then,’ ” he said in a high-pitched mocking voice. “Getting desperate, huh, Wilson?”
I wanted to punch him, but I remembered Dad’s advice about trying to avoid fights, and Ms. Burke came out in the hall just then. “Gentlemen, let’s hurry up. We have a lot to cover today.”
I followed Clint into the room, wishing he could be on the opposing team tonight. The guy deserved some wicked hard hits.
The Lumberjacks scored only a few plays after they received the kickoff. Coach Carter called the offense into a quick huddle on the field while the officials set up the Lone Tree kickoff. Rhodes threw his helmet down and stepped away, kicking the ground. Coach grabbed his arm and pulled him back, shouting in his face so loud I could hear him from where I stood on the sidelines, even if I couldn’t make out the words.
“Nick’s got to calm down,” Laura said to Kelsey behind me.
“When he gets like this, he starts messing up,” Kelsey agreed.
We had a decent kick return, bringing the ball up to our thirty-five. But when Karn dropped back to pass on our first down, he threw a ten-yarder right to Rhodes, who dropped it. On the next play, Sullivan swept right and the play looked good, but Rhodes didn’t hold his block and the linebacker knocked Tony back almost to the line of scrimmage.
As the guys ran back to the huddle after the play, Rhodes straight-armed a Lone Tree player in the shoulder and shouted something at him. The ref threw the flag and sent us back to our own twenty-yard line.
“Wilson!” Coach Carter yelled. “Get in there for Rhodes!”
I sprinted for the huddle. “Rhodes! Rhodes!” I called.
“What?” Nick shouted.
“What do you mean, ‘What?’ ” Sullivan said. “He’s subbing in for you. Get off the field!”
Rhodes swore as he jogged off toward the sidelines. The play was called in and we were about to break the huddle.
“Whoa, wait a sec, guys.” Sullivan held his hands out in front of him, and we all leaned in to focus. “We’re off to a rocky start, but they’re only up by six and we got a whole game. Throwing a fit won’t help us. Throwing a hard hit will. This is the best football team Riverside’s had in years, because you guys are the best players we’ve had in years. Don’t get mad. Just do what you know how to do.”
Dozer punched the side of his own helmet. “Yeah! It’s go time!”
McKay shouted, “Let’s do it!”
We broke the huddle and set up quickly to avoid a delay-of-game penalty. Sullivan would be running right between Dozer and me, with the defensive end lined up right over me. I didn’t know whether to block him to the inside or try to push him out.
Dozer slapped my elbow to get my attention. He jerked his head toward the D-end. “This guy’s mine.”
Wait. The defense wasn’t lined up the way they were in the playbook I’d studied. Should I go for the linebacker way inside or shoot out to the cornerback? How was I supposed to know who to block?
Karn called out the cadence and McKay snapped the ball. I rushed forward with Dozer and we crushed the end from both sides. He groaned as he fell. The cornerback came down fast, so I ran to collide with him, risking a look toward the middle to see Tony on his way upfield. I cut back fast and launched myself at a safety. “Go! Go! Go!” I yelled at Sullivan.
The safety sloughed me off quick enough, but not before Sullivan whizzed by him. He passed midfield to the Lone Tree forty-five before the other safety tripped him up and brought him down.
Back in our huddle, the intensity had returned. Dozer head-butted me, screaming something I couldn’t understand. Sullivan brought his fists crashing down on top of my shoulder pads. “That’s how we do it, Roughriders! Nice blocks, Wilson!”
I barely had time to process what had just happened before we set up another play. This one called for a pass, only I couldn’t remember exactly what route I was supposed to run, and I had no time to ask. At the snap, I ran out ten yards and then cut inside for a cross pattern, hoping I had it right.
I didn’t. The left-side wide receiver, Chris Moore, ran straight toward me. I’d entered his sector, doubling up the coverage on us. I kicked back outside as fast as I could, trying to get open.
A defensive lineman cut through our line on our left side. Karn fled to his right and launched the ball straight toward me. I caught it and took a few steps upfield before two Lumberjacks collided with me on either side and dropped me on the spot. Dull pain seared through my arms and chest, but I forgot about it when the ref whistled the play dead and moved the chains for another first down.
On the next play, Drew Hamilton had a gain of seven on a quick run up the middle.
“Yeeee-ah, boys! Inside the twenty now!” Karn shouted in the huddle. He called out a pass play. “Now you run the cross pattern, Wilson.”
“Got it,” I said.
Dozer slapped me on the helmet.
“Let’s punch it in,” said Cody.
After the snap, I ran my route but the back was all over me. Karn threw the ball to Clint, who caught it and went down on the Lone Tree eight-yard line. On the next play, Sullivan swept out to the left and put the ball into the end zone in the left corner. Our point-after-touchdown kick made the score seven to six.
Coach put Rhodes in when the defense took over, so I found myself on the sidelines again.
“Water, Mike?”
I turned around and accepted a water bottle from Laura. It was the first time I’d really seen the crowd that had come out to watch us. A sea of people flooded the stands, with more high school, junior high, and elementary groups sitting or standing in clusters on the hill. The only high school people in the bleachers were in the band, with Isma sitting near the front, holding her clarinet. I watched her for a while, hoping she’d see me or even wave. But that was stupid, and I needed to focus on the game.
Just as I turned to face the field again, I did see someone else I knew. About a dozen feet over from the band, halfway up in the stands, Derek Harris waved in my direction
and clapped. One second later, everyone in the stands rushed to their feet, shouting and applauding. Lone Tree had fumbled, and we’d recovered the ball on their forty.
“Wilson! Stop screwing around!” Coach Carter shouted, and motioned me out onto the field. I’d thought Rhodes would go back in, but I ran to join my celebrating teammates.
“Let’s go. Let’s go.” Karn clapped his hands in the huddle. “Two minutes in the quarter. See if we can score.”
He called out the play and we went to the line. This time I had to run a corner pattern. I’d never run a route this deep in a game. I let out a breath.
McKay snapped the ball. I burst ahead as fast as I could and then angled out. When I checked to see if Karn would be passing to me, the ball was already coming, and the cornerback and safety were closing in on me. I kept running, snagged the ball, then slowed a few steps and spun outside the cornerback.
I ran as fast as I could, willing my legs to speed up. But the safety would have me in a moment. If he didn’t, the other safety was angling to take me down before the end zone.
Then, just like in my first game, Sullivan came out of nowhere from behind me. “Keep running!” he shouted. He threw out an arm to knock away the first safety and then stayed with me. “All the way, Wilson! I got ya! I got this guy up here. Just go!”
Sullivan bumped the last defender off course, and I ran into the end zone. The whistle blew and the ref threw his hands straight up in the touchdown sign. The crowd in the stands went crazy, stomping the bleachers and screaming. The band struck up the school fight song.
“Touchdown, Roughriders!” the announcer said over the loudspeaker. “Number forty-two, Mike Wilson, with a forty-yard touchdown completion.”
Sullivan ran up and clamped me in a bear hug. “Yeah, buddy! Touchdown, kid! That’s how we do it!”
“Thanks for the block,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet! We’re just getting started!”
Sullivan spoke the truth. The momentum had changed. We went for the two-point conversion, making the score fifteen to six. We didn’t look back. Hamilton picked up on a long run. Sullivan scored a touchdown after the team fought for a series of short gains. By halftime we were up thirty to six.
We jogged toward the locker room as a group, passing the marching band on its way to the field. I caught Isma’s eye, and she smiled at me. I wanted to jump up in the air and scream like Dozer or Cody.
Then Rhodes shoved me into the doorframe as he pushed by to enter the locker room. I rushed ahead to hit him back, but Ethan grabbed my arm. “Not now. Not here. You know why he’s mad,” he said. “Let’s focus on winning this game. Let him make himself look like an idiot if he wants.”
What he said made a lot of sense, but my whole body coursed with anger as I entered the locker room. We all drank water and Coach went over some defensive adjustments. “We have a strong lead,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean this game is over. That doesn’t mean we can relax.”
Rhodes raised his hand. “Coach?”
Carter ignored him. “Wilson, you’re in at tight end until I tell you otherwise. Keep up the good work out there.” Rhodes glared at me. I tried to hold back my grin. Coach looked around at all of us. “Now let’s get out there and give those Lumberjacks another heavy-hitting half of hard-core football!”
On the way to the field, Rhodes elbowed me in the ribs, but didn’t get a very good shot. I took Ethan’s advice and let it go.
Dozer didn’t. “Knock it off, Rhodes, or I’ll do the same to you!”
Sullivan jogged out beside me. “You having fun out there?”
“Yeah. A couple times I didn’t know who I was supposed to block or which route to run, though.”
“That don’t matter as long as you just hit somebody hard.” McKay slapped his big beefy arm on my back.
Seniors had never talked to me like this before. Now they were … Well, they seemed to actually want me on the team.
“Wipe that stupid grin off your face already,” Sullivan said. “We got a game to finish.” He slammed his fist down on my shoulder pad and ran on ahead.
The second half went a lot like the first. Lone Tree stopped our offensive drive at the top of the half and scored after a series of short drives. We scored twice more, making the final count forty-four to fourteen.
The celebration in the locker room after the game surpassed the one at Kalona. Coach gave us a quick talk, then we cranked up the music as the guys whooped and shouted and recounted the best parts of the game.
Cody Arnath sat in front of his locker in just his jeans, with an ice pack on his shoulder. He elbowed Dozer. “You know that guy who kept trying to cut block me? When he came in low like that, I finally just grabbed him by the back of the helmet and yanked him forward to the ground.” He laughed. “You should have seen the big clump of mud and grass that came up in his face mask.”
“I saw you put that guy down,” said Hamilton. “Took him out good. That was my touchdown run.”
I knew Isma was probably waiting for me out front, so I showered and dressed quickly, groaning against the pain in my ribs and arms as I squeezed into my T-shirt and jacket. I wanted to celebrate too, but no matter how well I’d played tonight, I still didn’t know these people well enough to feel comfortable joining in.
“Hey, Wilson.” Karn stopped me before I left the locker room. He still wore his football pants and his disgusting lucky game shirt. He leaned forward, and with his smell, I wished he hadn’t. “Good game, man. Couple of real good catches there.”
“You made it easy,” I said. “You threw it right to me. So, thanks.” Karn nodded and went back to the others. I went out of the stifling locker room into the cool gym, unable to hold back my smile.
Isma met me outside the school. She was shivering a little, with her arms wrapped around herself against the autumn chill, but she smiled when she saw me. Suddenly I didn’t want to see anyone else even half as much as I wanted to see her right then.
“I actually watched the whole game this time,” she said. “I guess if you absolutely must play frivolous games, it’s at least good that you were great.”
“I wouldn’t say I was great,” I said. I wouldn’t say it, maybe, but inside I felt it.
We started walking. “Some of the guys in band actually understand what’s going on out there, and they told me you did a touchdown and caught some passes.”
“Yeah, I did, but that’s just playing the game.”
“It’s okay to admit you did a good job, you know.”
Before I could answer, a car pulled up beside us in the parking lot. The window went down and McKay called out, “Hey, Wilson. We’re heading out to Nature Spot for a little celebration. A couple of guys plus most of the cheerleaders are out there already. There’s drinks and burgers and hot dogs and stuff.”
Dozer leaned forward in the passenger seat. “Yeah, man. Get in. It’s gonna be a blast.”
All freshman year I’d told myself that I didn’t want to go out partying. When I saw high school people having fun driving around in their cars, or when on Monday mornings I heard whispers about weekend adventures, I had always reminded myself that I’d never get out of this town, never go to college, unless I studied a lot.
But that night, I wanted to discover firsthand what Dad had been talking about when he mentioned Nature Spot in his letters. More than anything, I wanted to complete the mission from his most recent letter: to go to a party.
Isma shifted her weight next to me. More than almost anything, I wanted to. I couldn’t promise to walk Isma home and then just ditch her. Unless maybe … “Can Isma come too?”
McKay looked confused. “Um, I guess. Sure. Whatever. Just get in. We gotta get out there before everything’s gone.”
Isma took a step toward me. “I can’t go. Mom and Dad are expecting me.”
I sighed, but then remembered my own mother. “Yeah, I’ll have to pass,” I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. “Thanks, though,
man.”
“You’re missing out!” McKay said. They sped off out of the parking lot.
I grabbed Scrappy from the rack and Isma and I started for her house. Neither of us said anything for the first two blocks. The silence made the walk uncomfortable, especially when Isma usually had so much to say.
“Um, was band fun tonight?” I finally said.
“I guess.”
I risked a look at her but she stared straight ahead.
“You have big plans for the weekend?”
“Nope.”
Our last walk had gone much better than this one. “Are you —”
“Mike.” She spoke clearly and calmly, as if giving a speech for a class. “If you want to go party with those guys, don’t let me stop you.”
“What are you talking —”
“Oh, please. You almost scrambled to jump in the stupid car with Dozer and McKay, even if it meant you had to drag along your weirdo girl —” She stopped herself, and I looked at her with wide eyes. Had she been about to say what I think she’d almost said? She went on, “Your weirdo friend.”
This was unfair. “You’re not weird. And I asked if you could come. What’s so bad about that? They said it was cool if you came too.”
“Come on! You heard the way he said it.” She made air quotes with her fingers and spoke in a deep, dumb-sounding voice. “ ‘I guess she can come. Whatever.’ ”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “You want to go to the party? I thought you said —”
“No!” She stopped and faced me. “I don’t want to be with those guys as they act like a bunch of idiots. I don’t care to watch the cheerleaders and other female sports worshippers hang on them while they recount their glories in a stupid game. I don’t want to listen to girls like the Dinsler cousins and Hailey Green faking like they’re nice, saying crap like, ‘Oh, Isma, that’s such a pretty shirt. Did you get that at such and such store in the mall?’ They’re such jerks to people like us all the time, and I don’t understand why you want to impress them so much!”
