Chapter 15 #3
“Mase. You froze. It has never happened before. What went down in that head of yours?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Got lost in my mind for a minute. All good now.”
“You sure? This sounds like a bullshit excuse to me.”
I clapped his shoulder. “Told you earlier. All is fine.”
Weaving through the other students, we made it back to our last class of the day.
The score was tied with thirteen seconds left on the clock.
The ecstatic crowd, most people on their feet with their hands joined in prayer, was chanting our names.
We had the home advantage tonight, a sea of navy blue and gold coloring the bleachers.
I called the play, and my teammates dispersed and positioned themselves on the field.
The tension was palpable and electric as Cowley High players lined up in front of my guys.
The hair stood on end on my arms, the undeniable sign the crowd’s frenzy was getting to me.
I took a deep breath in, slowly letting it go.
With a rotation of my right shoulder, I loosened my joint, studying the field and picturing how the play would unfold in my mind.
Visualization had become a valuable strength of mine.
Like I could predict almost to the dot, each movement of my teammates as I put the ball into motion.
Jayden Clarke’s eyes searched mine, and he mouthed what I assumed to be threats.
As usual, the guy was out for my blood. Our rivalry had started in grade nine when we both attended football camp and I disagreed with his intimidating tactics and called him out in front of everybody. He’d been hating my guts since.
With another full breath in, I blocked all the sounds around me and Clarke’s murderous gaze. I hated that guy with a capital H. Jayden was a great player, one of the best, but we always butted heads on the field. Maybe our egos were to blame. We both knew we had what it took to make it big one day.
Only the harsh sounds of my breaths and the pounding of my heart were audible in my ears. Now in the zone, a bomb could explode mere feet from me, and I wouldn’t react.
I adjusted my grip on the ball, stepped back, and spotted my brother streaking down the sideline, creating separation from his defender.
My heart leaped in my chest. Deep down, I prayed Craig would be in sync with me as he usually was.
With a quick pump fake to freeze the safety, I scanned the field once again, my tunnel vision latching onto my brother and blocking out everyone else.
My palm and the pigskin became one, and with as much precision and timing as I could muster, I launched the perfect spiral that cut through the air toward the end zone.
The clock winded down for the final seconds.
I kept my eyes trained on the ball, holding my breath. Everyone in the bleachers seemed to do the same. Time slowed. This play was the last of the night, and whether or not it reached my brother, its landing would decide the fate of the game.
Craig extended his arms, not slowing down his run, stretching his body out as the football sailed through the air toward him with impeccable accuracy. My heart swelled in my chest. My brother secured the flying pigskin and cradled it to his chest as he crossed the goal line.
Touchdown.
The crowd erupted in a roar of cheers as the clock hit zero, signaling the end of the game.
Helmets flew in the air, and Chase jumped into my arms, his scream loud enough to deafen me.
“We did it. We kicked Cowley Dickwad High’s asses.
Big time. Mase, have you seen their faces?
Clarke. Copperman. Ritsy. Jesus, they look like their dog just died.
I love seeing these losers eat dirt—our dirt.
” He returned to his feet, running around the field like a headless chicken, hugging everyone.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think we just won State.
Once some of the madness died down, we lined up for the postgame handshakes, exchanging “Good game” praises with CH players.
When I faced Clarke, his hand strangled mine, and his eyes were weapons aimed at me.
“I think it’s about time you get over it,” I whispered with a wink, referencing the face-off we had a few years ago. “I’m the best. What can I say?”
He grunted something in response that sounded a lot like “You’re fucking dead, Pierce. Watch out next time” before moving on.
David Copperman neared me, and he fixated me with a gaze I couldn’t decode. Did he hear about my hooking up with Lydia, or was it about tonight’s loss?
I straightened my back and upped my chin, projecting as much nonchalance and cockiness as I could. “Don’t worry, Cop, your turn will come.”
His hand didn’t meet my proffered one. Instead, he spit at my feet. Perhaps I deserved his hatred. I cringed inside, schooling my features to let nothing show.
“Don’t come near my girl ever again, Pierce, or my guys and I will rearrange your pretty face.”
My humor died down, and I nodded. “I won’t. You have my word.”
He nodded back.
We were good—at least on this front.
Our fans filled the field, with girlfriends, supporters, and family circling us.
Hugs, kisses, and congratulations surrounded me, but I felt like a spectator in the whole scene.
I perused the space around me and noticed Paige and a group of girls fawning over Craig, Rusty, and Sheldon, but no trace of Melinda.
Tanya and the cheer squad hugged me, but I barely registered a word they said.
I forced a smile on my lips, pretending I’d heard their praises.
When I cocked my head to the side, I spotted her, walking away, her back to me as she climbed up the steps toward the parking lot. No congratulations, no winning hug, no eye rolls. She ignored me and chose to leave.
Even though it might not have been personal, it still felt as if someone had stabbed my heart and left it to bleed.