Catching Jordan (7 page)

“Good,” Henry replies. “Jordan and I are rebuilding a school bus engine in auto mechanics this semester.”

Dad smiles at me. “How’s that going?”

“Okay so far,” I say, sipping lemonade. “Once we’ve rebuilt it, our class is gonna put it in an old broken-down bus we’re refurbishing.”

“What are you gonna do with the bus?” Dad asks.

Henry sets his fork down and wipes his mouth. “Jordan suggested we donate it to the Haskel Youth Center. You know, the orphanage? The kids like coming to watch our games, but they don’t have an easy way to get to them.”

Dad says, “I think it’s a great idea. When do you think it’l be ready?”

“Definitely by the end of the semester, so we’l give it to them for next year,” Henry replies.

I add, “We’re missing a few parts, but we’l take a look through Murphy’s Junkyard next week.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Dad says before drinking more Gatorade. “Some guys on my team might want to donate money for parts. Hel , I bet they’d buy them a bus.”

“Thanks, Mr. Woods,” Henry says. “If we screw it up, we’l definitely take you up on the offer.”

“But we won’t screw up,” I say. Henry and I grin at one another.

For a few seconds, I only hear forks and knives clinking against plates, but then, as usual, Dad speaks up—silence makes him uncomfortable or something.

“You look nice today, Jordan.”

How lame. He wants to fil the lul by discussing my fashion choices? We’d have a lot more to talk about if he’d just discuss bal with me.
Like
that’ll ever happen.

So I ignore Dad and crunch on my salad. Sipping my lemonade, I look up and see that Jake’s staring at my chest.

“Yeah—you look nice,” Jake says. Beneath the table, I kick him in the knee. Hard. His eyes clench shut and he coughs. I grin.

“I think we al agree that you look nice,” Dad says, taking another bite of lasagna. “I’m glad you’re starting to act like a lady.”

I drop my fork onto my plate. “Just out of clean Tshirts, Dad,” I say. “Mom? May I be excused? I ate too much at Joe’s today.”

Mom nods and reaches out for me, so I walk over and bend down so she can kiss my cheek.

After taking my plate to the kitchen sink, I run up to my room. I’ve gotta get rid of this stress, or I’l be a wreck at tomorrow night’s game, so I pul on workout clothes and trainers.

Outside, I run up and down the little country roads near my house. The streets haven’t been paved in forever, so it takes a lot of concentration to make sure I don’t trip on bumps or fal in holes and hurt myself. As I run, I let daydreams of playing for Alabama total y absorb the part of my brain that isn’t focused on running.

I pretend I’m carrying the bal for a touchdown. I dart left, then right, dodging an imaginary cornerback, and run even faster.

Then I hear footsteps behind me, so I peek over my shoulder and see Henry trying to catch up to me. His curls are bouncing al over the place.

“Woods,” he cal s out. “Your dad was al trying to talk about col ege with me, and I told him to shove it!”

Laughing, I speed up. Soon I’m sprinting as fast as I can go, but Henry catches up anyway. He’s so damned fast. He might as wel be Forrest Gump. Passing by me, Henry runs to the end of the block, where he turns around and does this stupid victory dance. It looks like he’s roping a bul at a rodeo.

I’m stil running at ful speed, so I crash into him, catapulting him into a ditch. “Show off!”

“Shit!” he shouts, laughing as he picks himself up. He wipes grass and dirt off his shirt and dusts his hands.

“How did Dad react when you told him to shove it?”

“He laughed in my face.”

“That sucks.”

“I don’t care,” he says, looking into my eyes.

“Why’d you say that anyway?”

“If he’s not going to support you, then there’s no way in hel I’d ever let him support me.”

I smile at Henry. My best friend believes in me. What else does a girl need?

Stil , I should be happy for him, because Dad’s comments about footbal must mean a whole hel of a lot to Henry, whose own dad is never home and never talks to him about his future. Henry’s father probably expects him to become some kind of a bum, working in a factory, or hel , driving a truck too.

“I can’t believe you destroyed Jake at arm-wrestling,” I say.

Henry grins. “Yeah, I’l never forget that.”

I take a deep breath. “I was thinking. Maybe you should talk to Dad about Michigan. Maybe you could ask him to come watch you at one of our games. He might be able to help.”

Henry’s eyes find mine, but he stays quiet.

“Want to race back?” he asks final y.

“Does the winner get the necklace?” I put my hand on the plastic footbal charm hanging from a cheap silver chain that Henry always wears.

“Hel , no,” he says, fingering the Cracker Jack prize we’ve been fighting over since we were nine. I’l never forget how we were sitting out in Henry’s front yard playing rock, paper, scissors while eating a big box of Cracker Jacks. I pul ed the prize out, and we both desperately wanted it.

Since we were at Henry’s house and they were his Cracker Jacks, he thought he deserved the plastic footbal . But since I’m the one who pul ed the footbal out of the box, I thought it should be mine.

So we rock, paper, scissors-ed for it. I made scissors with my hand. He made rock.

He’s worn the charm around his neck ever since.

“How about we race for an ice cream?” Henry says. “First person back has to make the other a hot fudge sundae.”

I sprint off, passing a tractor chugging down the road. I yel , “You’re on!”

The sun starts to set, and we race into the pink-lemonade sky.

I understand the importance of pep rallies.

The cheerleaders can show off, doing tricks and the guys can strut around acting all big and badass.

For me, the important thing is that I get out of class for an hour this afternoon.

Coach introduces all the players, starting with me.

The school goes wild when I wave.

But the applause I get

is totally lame compared to what Henry gets.

He does some of his stupid dances and all the girls swoon and say, “Aww” and “He’s so cute.”

But the applause Henry gets is totally lame compared to what Ty gets.

He does his signature smirk and all the girls swoon and say, “He’s so hot.”

So I’m even happier when Ty jogs over to me knocks his fist into mine and pats my shoulder.

I’m never washing my jersey again.

the count? 18 days until alabama
Five minutes before the game is to start, the sky has opened up and rain is drenching me. But I barely feel it—I can only concentrate on the game and the Alabama recruiter. I ignore the dozens of reporters taking pictures of me from behind the fence.

I’m desperate for air. I try to suck in as much oxygen as possible through my face mask, but it’s not working. I pick up a footbal and twirl and flip it over and over again.

A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I turn and find Mike. His blond hair is plastered to his face, and his polo shirt and jeans are soaked. My bro is about the only person Coach al ows on the sidelines during a game.

“Hey, sis.” He leans in close and whispers, “So where’s Ty?”

“Shut up,” I say. “I’m trying to concentrate. And you need an umbrel a—you’l get sick before your game tomorrow.”

He shrugs, then rubs my arm. “You need to loosen up, or you’re gonna be stiff as Grandpa Woods.”

I flash him a withering look. Doesn’t he know how important this game is?

“Yes, I know how important this game is,” Mike says.

“Yo, Woods.”

I see JJ walking up. “Yeah?” I say.

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your bro,” JJ replies, shaking Mike’s hand. “Nice to see you, man.”

“You too, JJ. So where’s this hot new quarterback, Ty?” Mike asks. JJ glances at me. I’m glad I’m wearing my helmet, ’cause I can feel my face heating up again.

“Number fifteen,” JJ mutters.

“Thanks,” Mike says, slapping JJ on the back and wandering away.

“What was that al about?” JJ asks.

“I dunno. I told him how good Ty is. He’s interested.”

“Wel , Ty better not try to take the spotlight away from you, or I’l kick his ass. I can’t believe he fucking tried to come in here and take your position,” JJ growls.

“Take it out on Lynchburg, okay?” I say, laughing.

I watch as Mike goes up to Ty, shakes his hand, and claps him on the back. Ty yanks off his helmet and smiles at Mike, and they begin to talk animatedly. Mike points at the field, probably describing how crappy Lynchburg’s field is, pointing out al the divots in the ground.

I feel fingers poke me in my sides, and I whirl around to find Henry carrying an umbrel a under his arm. He whips it out and opens it up, holding it above me.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “You’re making me look like a pansy.”

“Fine,” Henry replies. I can see him smiling behind his face mask. He takes two giant steps away from me, but keeps the umbrel a out and stands under it alone. Henry jerks his head toward Mike and Ty. “So what’s going on down there?”

I sigh. Al my guy friends are way too protective and nosy. “He wanted to meet Ty. I told him how good he is.”

“How good he is, eh?”

“Shut up, Henry. I’m trying to get in the zone.”

“Dude, we’re playing Lynchburg! We might as wel be playing a Pop Warner team.” Henry moves closer to me again and hands the umbrel a to a freshman. Squeezing my hand, he says, “You’re gonna rock tonight.”

“You too,” I reply as Mike and Ty walk up.

Henry sees Mike leaning in close to me and quickly moves over to listen. Mike whispers, “The Alabama coach is here.”

Henry and I twirl around to face the fence where boosters and alumni usual y stand and take notes. Sure enough, a man wearing a red Alabama Rol Tide windbreaker is there.

Mike continues, “Recruiters from Ohio State are here too.”

“They must be here for Carter.” I feel awful that recruiters from Michigan aren’t here. Henry’s wanted to go to school there for as long as I can remember.

“Knock ’em dead, Woods,” Henry says. He slaps my back as the referee motions for captains to take the field for the coin toss. I jog toward the fifty-yard line with JJ and Carter and soon I’m standing in the center of the field with Carter on my right and JJ on my left. The ref tel s me to cal it.

“Heads,” I say. The ref flips the quarter up into the air, and it hits the ground and lands on tails. The Lynchburg captain says they’l kick off. Looking at the field, I say we want to defend the less muddy side. I don’t want our defense slipping and fal ing al over the place. I’d rather run through the mud on the other side. JJ, Carter, and I jog back over to the sidelines, where I knock fists with Henry before he heads out to return the punt.

“That’s cool that Ohio State’s here,” I say to Carter. He shrugs, which surprises me. I figured he’d be ecstatic. Joe Carter Sr. was a starting linebacker for Ohio State, not to mention the Miami Dolphins and the Titans!

As the other team kicks off, Ty joins me. Together, we watch as Henry catches the bal and takes off down the field. He’s at our twenty, then our thirty…he zigs and zags past a couple cornerbacks, who trip and fal into the mud. Then Henry drives straight down, and he’s past the other team’s twenty, then the ten. And touchdown!

Our cheerleaders cheer like crazy; our marching band plays a fight song. We are awesome.

“Damn,” Ty says. “He made that look easy.”

Screaming, I jump up and down. I shove a freshman, who stumbles and fal s onto the bench. I shove JJ, who doesn’t budge of course, but it’s the principle of the shove that matters. I knock fists and give high-fives to other guys on the sidelines, including Ty. When our hands high-five each other, I feel this, like, bolt of electricity between us.

Henry spikes the bal and starts to do a dance, but then stops. I guess he realizes a dance isn’t worth a penalty in this weather. After our kicker makes the extra point, our defense hustles out and doesn’t al ow Lynchburg even one first down.

Showtime.

Jogging out onto the field, I take my position behind JJ.

Lynchburg’s nose tackle says, “Hey, dyke. Your ass looks better than it did last year.”

“Shut your mouth, asshole,” JJ says, slapping the tackle’s face mask.

“It’s okay,” I say to JJ, loud enough for the tackle to hear me, “The only girlfriend he’l ever have is his right hand.”

Coach talks to me through the speaker in my helmet. “Only carries tonight, Woods. No flashy passes.”

“Red fifty!” I yel . “Red fifty! Blue twenty-five!” The cue is blue twenty-five, meaning JJ hikes the bal to me, I hand it off to our starting running back, Drew Bates, and he drives it up the middle. We get the first down easily.

JJ slammed the hel out of the nose tackle, who’s now lying on the ground, clutching his stomach. “Nice,” I say with a laugh.

The weather is causing Lynchburg to play even worse than usual, which is pretty damned bad, so we keep driving down the field.

After I hand the bal off for the second touchdown, I hear Mom screaming for me from the bleachers. She’s sitting with Carter’s mom, Henry’s mom, and JJ’s parents.

I didn’t figure Dad would come, but my head droops when I see he’s not here.

Sopping wet with rain, Mom grins as she screams my name. I can’t wait to tel her how much I love her.

By halftime, the score is 28–0. I’m embarrassed for Lynchburg, but I’m playing an amazing game even if I’m only handing the bal off and not throwing any long passes. I did run for a touchdown, though, just because I need to show off for the Alabama guy. Normal y I don’t do things like that, but if I can’t throw any long bombs in this weather, I’ve gotta do something to make myself stand out.

Now we’re in the guys’ locker room, and since we’re winning, Coach doesn’t have to yel at us about what we’re doing wrong, so I drink some Gatorade and dry off. My hands are so soaked they look like raisins. Henry squeezes in on one side of me on the bench, and Ty squeezes in on the other. Because we’re slaughtering Lynchburg, I feel like I can relax a bit, so I leave the footbal zone and start thinking of Ty again. His elbow is touching mine. Breathe, Jordan, breathe. Don’t think about his bicep. Don’t think about that swatch of tan skin, peeking out from under his uniform, right above his hip. Wouldn’t it be great if we were the only two people in here right now? We could rip our uniforms off and— “Woods!” Coach says.