Double Reverse (6 page)

Jesse’s cleats clattered against the hard floor when he stepped out the Franklin High School locker room door. He studied the freshman team schedule on the Big Board. The scores of the team’s games had been neatly filled in.

The Panthers had added three more wins after the Glen Forest comeback. Jesse had played well at quarterback. He had surprised everyone except maybe Coach Vittone with his scrambling, play-calling, and knack for finding open receivers while still on the run.

Quinn stepped up behind Jesse. “Four wins, three losses,” he mused. “That’s better than I thought we’d be at this point. One more win and we’ll have a winning season. And you”—he nudged his shoulder against Jesse’s back—“turned out to be a pretty good quarterback.”

“You’ve been a pretty good tight end,” Jesse said, poking Quinn in the ribs with his elbow.

“What about me?” Langston protested. “I’ve scored four touchdowns. That’s as many as Griffin.” He posed and flexed his right bicep. “Not bad for a little guy.”

“And you’re forgetting about me?” Savannah had just emerged from the girls’ locker room in full practice gear. “Where would you guys be without your kicker?”

The four friends jogged out to the practice field. Jesse stopped short when he saw something he hadn’t seen in weeks—Henry Robinson warming up along the sidelines.

“What’s Henry doing here?” he asked. “I thought he was out for the season with his ankle.”

“I saw him running down at Hobbs Park last weekend,” Savannah said. “He looked okay.”

“What do you think Coach will do?” Langston asked. “Are you going to lose your job?”

“I don’t know.”

Quinn hooked his thumb back toward the gym. “No way. Coach has seen the Big Board. We’ve been winning and scoring points big-time with Jesse at quarterback.”

Jesse wasn’t so sure. “Coach may not want Henry to lose his starting position just because he got hurt. I mean … that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Hey, Jesse!” Coach Butler called, waving his clipboard over his head. “Hustle over here.”

“Looks like I’m about to find out,” Jesse said.

“Tell him to keep you at quarterback,” Langston called. “I’m getting to like playing wide receiver.”

Jesse joined the coaches. Henry didn’t look over at him.

Coach Butler got right down to business. “We’re going to split the practice reps between you two at quarterback today,” he explained. “I want to see how Henry’s coming along. I’ll play the guy who looks like he’ll give us the best chance to beat Eastport.”

The two quarterbacks nodded in silence. Jesse stood up as straight as he could. He felt small next to Henry. The same way he felt when he stood next to his brother.

“Okay, let’s go,” Coach Butler said. “Henry, you take the first reps.”

Jesse started to turn away, but then realized he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. Was he a quarterback? A wide receiver? Or something else?

“Hey, Tark!” Coach Vittone called.

The older coach came over and rested his hands on Jesse’s shoulder pads. “Listen, you’ve done a great job all season at quarterback,” he said, looking Jesse in the eye. “Coach Butler just wants to give Henry a chance … you know, after his injury. Do you understand?”

“Sure, I get it. But I mean … am I still, you know, a quarterback?”

“Of course you’re still a quarterback, Jesse.” Coach Vittone smiled. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing—scrambling, passing, calling the plays, leading the team.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “My guess is that you’ll be the starting quarterback against Eastport.”

Jesse stood on the sidelines with his helmet off and watched as Henry ran through some plays with the Panthers’ starting offense. Jesse hated to admit it to himself, but he secretly hoped Henry wouldn’t do well.

Sure enough, Henry was rusty after more than a month on the sidelines. Most of his passes were either too high or too low.

Jesse just watched, trying not to smile.

“Okay, Jesse. Switch up with Henry,” Coach Butler ordered.

Jesse stepped in, feeling at home under center after six games. The offense ran some crisp running plays. Then Jesse faked a handoff, faded back, and hit Langston on a square-in pattern. On another fake, Jesse rolled out and slipped a quick pass to Quinn right in the numbers. Finally Jesse dropped back and lofted a long pass to Langston sprinting in full stride on a deep post pattern.

“Great pass, Tark!” Coach Vittone shouted, making an encouraging fist.

After the day’s practice, Coach Butler called Jesse and Henry over. The coach pulled up the hood of his Franklin High sweatshirt to guard against the late autumn chill. It was nearly dark and Jesse could hardly see his coach’s face, but he could hear his voice.

“Good practice,” Coach Butler started. He paused, looking for the right words.

Jesse knew exactly what
he
wanted him to say.

“I think we’ll stick with Jesse at quarterback,” Coach declared. “But we’ll keep working with you, Henry, giving you some reps,” he added. “Right now I think Jesse gives us the best chance to beat Eastport.”

Henry nodded. Jesse could see the disappointment on his face. Jesse knew he would have felt the same way if their coach had made the other choice.

Coach Butler clapped the two boys on their shoulder pads. “It’s not the worst thing in the world to have two guys who can play quarterback.”

Jesse leaned over the study hall table. His pencil scratched busily across a sheet of paper, spilling out complicated patterns of Xs and Os and lines. Jesse was concentrating so hard, he didn’t notice when Quinn and Langston sat down.

“What’s up?” Quinn asked. “You doing math problems?”

Caught by surprise, Jesse covered the paper with his elbow. “No. I’m just … you know … making up some … aah … football plays.”

“Let’s see.” Langston reached for the paper.

Jesse hesitated.

“Come on,” Quinn said. “What’s the big secret?”

Jesse slowly spun the paper around to show his friends.

“I was just thinking,” Jesse started to explain, “that Eastport’s defense is supposed to be really—”

“Yeah,” Quinn interrupted, “I heard they’re awesome. They shut out Roosevelt, Glen Forest, and South Shore. They even stomped Auburn.”

“Right, so I’ve been trying to draw up some plays to fake out their defensive players. I just came up with this. I figure we can fake it to Griffin going left,” Jesse said, pointing to the diagram. “I’ll keep it and run right. It’s the old naked bootleg play.”

Langston laughed. “You’re gonna be naked?”

“Yeah, right.” Jesse gave Langston a look. “No. It’s just a play to get the Eastport defense going one way so we can run it the other way.”

“What do you call it?” Langston asked.

“Fake Left, Bootleg Right.”

“Cool.” Quinn studied the play. “You know, maybe I could start blocking left from the tight-end position, then cut back and run a quick flare-out to the right.” He grabbed the pencil out of Jesse’s hand and scribbled a couple of lines. “You can hit me if I’m open. We can call it something like Fake Left, Bootleg Right, Tight-end Delay.”

Langston looked at the papers spread out over the study hall table. “Have you got anything else?” he asked. “Like a play for
me
?”

Jesse picked up a piece of paper from a different pile and showed it to Langston.

Quinn leaned in for closer inspection. “What’s this one?”

“It’s a wide-receiver reverse.” Jesse grabbed the pencil back from Quinn and used it as a pointer. “It’s the same idea as the quarterback bootleg play. Get the Eastport defense chasing one way and hand it off to Langston going the other way.”

Holding an imaginary football under his left arm and stretching out his right, Langston struck a Heisman Trophy pose. “And I run around left end for the touchdown.”

“Are you going to show these plays to Coach Butler?” Quinn asked after the boys
stopped laughing. “The Eastport game’s coming up fast.”

“I think I’ll show two or three of the plays to Coach Vittone. See what he thinks first.”

“Which ones?” Langston picked up some more plays.

“Probably the bootleg and the reverse.”

Quinn held up the play he had drawn. “Don’t forget to tell him about the tight-end delay pass,” he insisted.

“Okay, okay.” Jesse leaned back and held up his hands in surrender. “Why don’t you guys make up your own plays?”

“Hey,
you’re
the quarterback,” Quinn said.

“Yeah, Coach Butler didn’t think about putting Henry back at quarterback for long,” Langston said.

Quinn nudged Jesse. “I think Vittone gave Butler the word. Coach Vittone loves his Tark.”

Savannah slipped in beside the boys. “Hey, guys. You studying for Ms. Jackson’s math test?”

Quinn held up some of Jesse’s plays to
show Savannah. “Nope. Jesse here’s not satisfied with just being the quarterback,” he said in a teasing voice. “My man Jesse wants to be the head coach now. He’s making up plays.”

“Cool.” Savannah’s eyes skimmed over the plays—the quarterback bootleg, tight-end delay pass, and wide-receiver reverse. She tossed the papers back onto the table. “You’ve got plays for everybody but me.”

“You’re a kicker,” Quinn said. “Kickers just kick. They don’t really play football. Why would
you
need a play?”

Langston wasn’t going to let Quinn dis Savannah. “Wait a second, she’s a pretty good kicker. She’s made …” Langston looked at Savannah for help. “How many points after touchdown have you kicked?”

“Nine in a row.”

“Okay, okay, so she’s a good kicker,” Quinn said. “But who’s ever heard of a play for a placekicker?”

The bell rang for the end of study hall. Quinn and Langston turned to leave.

“Wait, I think I’ve got one.” Jesse quickly
drew eleven small circles in a placekicking formation. He added a row of eleven Xs all lined across the defensive front. Quinn, Langston, and Savannah hovered over him. Jesse added a few extra arrows and leaned back in satisfaction. His teammates smiled.

“Whoa, that’s a very cool play.”

“That’s the best one yet.”

“Super football fake-out.”

Savannah put her hands in the air and shouted, “Touchdown!”

They all traded fist bumps.

Savannah looked at Jesse. “It’s a great play, all right,” she said. “But there’s only one problem.”

“What?”

“There’s no way Coach Butler will ever let us use it in a real game.”