43 | Henry
“SO, WHAT EXACTLY are you needing us to do?” Danny asks, his attention turned towards me completely – even though Jujitsu Kaisha is blaring on the living room TV.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna watch, dude?” I’d asked him earlier, not wanting to distract him from what is undoubtedly his favorite television show in the world.
“Nah, it’s a rerun.”
He’d insisted, but I knew it wasn’t. Danny’s just that good of a friend.
Make a mental note, Henry: you’ll need to repay him for this later.
It’s just us two gathered in the living room – Georgia promised she’d come by the moment the new episode of Jujitsu Kaisha ends – and I’m trying my hardest to begin the planning process for what Eleanor and Georgia have affectionately named the “Fuck Coach Bryer Project.”
What exactly do I need them to do? Perform a series of miracles.
“Well,” I sigh, scratching my neck in uncertainty. “Honestly, dude? A little bit of everything.”
“I’m listening.”
I break out the overflowing manila folder filled with research papers, notes, and phone numbers that Georgia and I had compiled a few nights earlier. Danny’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer amount of information before him, letting out an exaggerated gulp.
“I know,” I chuckle, rubbing a calloused hand over my chin. “Georgia’s a bit… neurotic. In a sweet way.”
“Uh huh,” he replies, one eyebrow raised skeptically as he lifts a paper from the coffee table.
“So, essentially, they want to sell lanterns at my mom’s garden?” Danny asks as he tentatively sorts through the pages of information in front of us.
“Not just lanterns,” I explain. "Huge, biodegradable, glowing ones. People purchase tickets to release them into the sky, dedicating them to certain people or making wishes on them. Apparently the Parks Department did something similar a few years ago and it was a huge hit.”
He nods his head as a smile slowly forms across his lips.
“Got it – that’s a good idea. I bet a lot of the jersey chasers would kill to have a football player release a lantern with them. Perfect photo-op.”
“Dude, you’re a fucking genius!”
“I am?”
He looks at me, a confused expression contorting his features.
“Yes! We can pass out flyers for the FCBP at the next game–”
“The FCBP?”
“The Fuck Coach Bryer Project.”
He breaks out laughing, and I shoot him an indifferent shrug.
“Whose tryna fuck Coach Bryer? The dude’s built like an old, leather suitcase.”
Jonah’s disgusted voice cuts through the living room as he saunters through the front door, a dirty gym bag slung over his shoulder.
“Nobody,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s the working name of the fundraiser we’re throwing to help the Tribune.”
“Could Jonah go up to the jersey chasers at the games and tell them that, if they go to the FCBP, a player will be waiting there for them?” Danny asks, a glimmer of excitement flashing through his eyes as he speaks. “But they have to bring a friend – that’s the catch.”
“Talk to the jersey chasers? Count me in. I’ll be the player waiting for all of them.”
Jonah smirks as he sits down beside Danny on the couch, instantly causing a shockwave of movement from his weight.
“That’s perfect,” I respond, ignoring Jonah. “So we’ll have all the jersey chasers – and a friend each. How else can we get the word out?”
“Could they write a Tribune article?” Jonah asks, leaning towards me as his interest piques.
“Nah, Bryer shut down all operations before they even found out it was over. It’s so fucked.”
The room falls silent, each of us leaning back into our chairs as we attempt to come up with a new idea.
“What if,” Jonah starts, his tone hopeful, “instead of just the jersey chasers, we pass out flyers to every single fan as they enter Mason Field? We could get all the guys to help.”
“You think Coach would allow that?” Danny asks with uncertainty.
“No,” I mutter, matching my gaze with each of theirs. “But that’s why we won’t tell him.”
“I can definitely get Dr. Randie to print out flyers, no problem,” Eleanor says, a gleaming smile across her face as the guys and I explain our plan.
“We’d need a few thousand,” I remind her tentatively, bracing myself for the inevitable realization that it’s impossible.
“We’d print thousands of Tribune copies every week,” Eleanor insists. “It’s no biggie. I can do multiple flyers to a single page… would 10,000 work?”
“Hell yes!” Jonah shouts, his cheeks blushing immediately out of embarrassment from his outburst.
As the planning goes on, Danny and Jonah are increasingly more excited – not only for the event itself, but for the opportunity to stick it to Coach after all these years of punishment drills.
“Isn’t this the last game before the Championships?” Georgia asks as she fiddles with the hem of her oversized Texas University t-shirt.
God, she looks so beautiful.
“Yes ma’am,” I reply, shooting her a quick wink from across the room.
“I can’t believe how fast the semester has gone by. We’re getting old,” Eleanor comments, her face cinching in disgust at the realization.
“Maybe you are,” Danny says, “I’m in my prime.”
Eleanor balls up a paper filled with crossed out phone numbers and hurls it, knocking him square in the forehead. Danny laughs heartily and, in that moment, I swear I can see a soft glint in his eye from across the room.
Now what the hell is that about?