11. Chunky Quarterback
ELEVEN
Unlike the scheduleapp in his phone firing notifications left and right, the tiny calendar tacked over Cam’s desk reminded him of only a few things. Home games were circled in blue ink, away games in black. Two away games sported an extra mark: a red star for the game against Hayden, and an orange star for the one in Tennessee against Ethan, and possibly the only game his parents would make that year.
He’d drawn a black square around September twenty-ninth, dragging the ballpoint over and over around the date until he almost pushed through the paper: eighty-nine days since Jordan had been active in the QB1 chat, weeks before Cam was invited. He wasn’t sure if Jordan knew he was there, or if he still talked to anyone. Maybe Cory. A few things he said made him wonder.
Every time he took a snap, his old friend was in front of him, pushing back against his pads like he’d buckled them too tight. Cam racked up passing and rushing yards faster than he ever imagined he could, and the pressure in his chest fueled him instead of holding him back.
The calendar on his phone pinged a grim reminder that he was due at the athletics complex for yet another photo shoot, this time in full gear so they could remake Jordan’s poses for a series he did with Will Bennett, their All-American tight end, and Trevon Stevenson, the left tackle he prayed would stay an extra year to keep him on his feet. He poked his hair—dry, no product. In his forced positive mindset, he decided that if the media crew wanted to style his hair, he’d let them do it and call it research for how to look like less of a sloppy jock around a certain girl.
“You have nice hair, Cam.” Shay worked some product through the curls. “Why do you always wear that beat-up hat?”
“You don’t get a luckier hat than that one for a quarterback. Peyton Manning signed that for me when I went to Manning Passing Academy.”
“What’s that?”
“The Manning family does a camp every summer for high school kids. They actually come and teach. Like, here’s Peyton Manning talking to me during stretches about ankle pronation on dropbacks.”
“That’s crazy you got to do that.” Shay leaned back and cast a critical eye over him. “You’re good, hair-wise. That’s all they trust me with yet.”
“What else is there to do? I know how to dress myself. If Shelby thinks she’s coming in the locker room and showing me how to pull up my pants, we’re going to have a talk.”
“Nooo,” Pippa whined when she walked into the green room. “Shay, come on. You think Shelby’s going to be okay with this?”
“With what?” Shay and Cam said together.
“She said full gear,” Cam continued, waving his gold helmet. “I have the official everything. My hair is done, and we’ll do the helmet-off stuff first.”
“Yeah, but your jersey’s too big. And your pants… oh boy.”
He gestured at his navy and gold jersey and white pants. “This is exactly what I wear on home game days. Same size. I have a brand new away jersey in my locker, just in case. It has to be a little loose or I can’t get it on. And what’s wrong with my pants?”
“Ugh, Cam, just hang on.”
Shay shot him a bewildered glance as Pippa trotted across the room to where other members of their crew flipped through photos from the previous shoots. She mumbled something to the only male member of their team and hung back as he strode across the room.
“Cameron, you need to adjust yourself, buddy.” He nodded at Cam’s pants.
“Hold on.” Cam stepped close to him, hulking over him in cleats and pads. “I don’t know your name. I think we should be introduced before you start talking about my?—”
“Cam, Garrett. Garrett, Cam,” Shay said quickly.
Cam offered a hand. Garrett shook it, then jumped back.
“You’re just a little off center.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked down and caught himself before he pointed. “You can’t see anything.”
Pippa cleared her throat.
“I’m wearing the same kind of compression shorts we all wear, all the time. I’ve been on TV in this stuff a hundred times and no one told me I was off center. Or centered. Or anything. You know, no one has ever remarked on the alignment of my dick, ever, in or out of pants.”
“When you’re moving around, it’s different,” Garrett said. “Standing still, it shows more. Especially in the white pants. But good for you, right? You just need to, you know... Just go fix it. We’ll wait.”
“While I appreciate the backhanded compliment, it’s just that the seams from the pants and my shorts can make it look like?—”
“Cam.” Shay’s lips twitched. “There’s a mirror over there, so maybe you could have a look at what Garrett means? And quickly, before Shelby gets here?”
He checked the mirror, and the flush that rose in his face when Garrett started talking drained from his cheeks. The old Cam, QB2, would be speechless and wheezing with laughter at the idea that he was so well-endowed he had to rearrange himself so his pants didn’t look pornographic. He had grown up in locker rooms where everyone had opinions about the relative value of length and girth, and what caused visibility issues. What he had was usually not a problem, and he was mortified to note that Garrett wasn’t entirely wrong about the way things were situated. Pippa was bright red and staring at him, and Shay appeared ready to run.
“Porter, really.”
He whipped around and shot a hand down to cover himself. He’d gladly let Garrett align things himself as long as he didn’t have to talk bulges with Shelby Wentz.
He nearly bit his tongue stopping himself from correcting her about his name. His new positive attitude was going to cost him blood soon.
“Hi, Shelby. I’m all set. What have you got for me?”
She sniffed and started at the top. “Your hair looks nice.”
“That was all Shay,” he said, anxious to give her credit with her boss.
“Why is your jersey so loose?”
“This is the size I have to have to get it over the pads.”
“Jordan’s jerseys were tighter around the middle.”
Garrett raised a handful of safety pins swiped from the supply table. “We pinned Jordan’s for the photos.”
Shelby beckoned to Garrett as she grabbed a handful of Cam’s jersey and pulled it taut against his side. “Pin it back like this. He’s a little chunky for a quarterback, so try and make it look like the pads are?—”
“Excuse me?”
Shelby released his jersey and stood, glaring.
“Could you please repeat to my face what you just said?” Cam demanded.
She crossed her arms. “I said, you’re a little chunky for a quarterback. Go benchmark yourself if you think I’m wrong.”
“I think you’re rude.”
“I’m getting my job done.”
“Unless your job directly concerns my fitness, conditioning, or nutrition, you are way out of your lane. Do you know what a pile of shit I’d be in if I said something like that to you?”
“Why are you so determined to be a pain in my ass? Jordan never complained.”
“You probably called him ‘lean’ and ‘athletic.’ For the record, the college recruiters referred to me as ‘sturdy, yet agile.’”
“Jesus, Porter. The magazine needed these photos weeks ago.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me to do this stupid shoot weeks ago? I’m not any cuter today.”
“Can we just get this done?”
“I don’t know, Susan, can we? I have practice in an hour. Do you want to tell my coaches why I’m late?”
Shelby threw up her hands. “It’s all about winning for you, isn’t it?”
“You know, according to the football program, it really is.”
“Fine. Go on the banners and brochures with your jersey loose.”
“I’m not taking my glasses off, either.”
“How do you even play football with glasses?”
“Better than I play it without them.”
Pippa clapped a hand over her mouth before she laughed.
“Your glasses catch the glare off every light in the room.” Shelby seethed.
“Then you need better photographers. We’ve got an art building full of them. I have selfies without glare.”
“His regular glasses make him look smart,” Pippa said, startling them all. “Skip the bulky on-field ones for the helmet shots. You can’t tell with it on, anyway. We’ve been leaning hard into the student athlete angle to push the university’s academic reputation as an edge on the massive football schools. Let him look like a student.”
Garrett dropped the pins.
“I agree,” said Shay. “It makes him look different. And you don’t want a dumb quarterback.”
“Or a quarterback tripping over his feet,” Garrett added, scooping pins into his hand.
“Fine,” Shelby snapped. “Glasses. Loose jersey. Whatever makes the masses happy, as long as we get it done on—what’s the deal with your pants?”
Ethan
BENCHMARK YOURSELF?!
Cameron
I fall comfortably into the same weight range as some very athletic pro QBs. I’m just about two or three inches shorter than they are.
Marshall
Another brother of the ‘sturdy, yet agile’ crew, checking in. Don’t you love the looks when people find out we can run?
Cameron
We got those killer quads and a mean stiff-arm.
Marshall
Chunky Quarterback. Sounds like a soup.
Cameron
Sounds like money. Let’s sell our names, images, and likenesses to Campbell’s.
Cory
Cam wins Worst P.R. Crew this year. I’m calling it. The season is over.
Cameron
Worst P.R. Person. The rest of them aren’t too bad, it turns out.
Hayden
Two or three inches shorter than the pros? LOL bummer.
Cameron
You laugh, but girth beats length any day. Speaking of that, have any of you heard of VPL?
Cory Thatcher has disabled photo sharing.
Cory Thatcher has enabled auto-destruct on all messages.
Hayden
It’s when girls don’t want lines showing through their leggings or whatever. Good excuse for thongs or nothing at all.
Cameron
Yeah, that’s what I thought once. Gone are the days of innocence.
Cory
I’ve been there, Cam. You’d think for guys who grew up talking locker room trash it would be no big deal, but it’s awkward.
Ethan
It’s the audience, 100%
Marshall
Being told to adjust is bad enough. Then you have to have a whole conversation about it. Is that okay? Is that okay?
No one asks if we’re okay.
Cory
And seams.
Cameron
The seams were my enemy today.
Dale
I double up on the compression shorts when I have photos, and my media team fixes everything with their editing software. I come out looking like a Ken doll.
Cameron
Yeah, Shelby said some shit about shadows and angles. I’m going to put up a Help Wanted sign in the photography studio and schedule my own editor. I don’t trust her.
Dale
If you’re still after the girl, the right shadows and angles are a marketing tool.
Cameron
I don’t need marketing. The master plan is well underway. Today we talked for forty minutes about rocks, and the relative porosity of alabaster and soapstone. She wants me, boys.
Ethan
I’m not over it yet. I can’t move on. BENCHMARK YOURSELF?!
Cameron
How’s this for a benchmark?
“Jordan never complained.” And Jordan wore his jersey so nice and tight. Jordan was always pointing the right way.
Marshall
Jordan was banging her. You know he was.
Cameron
Thanks for the visual, Marsh. Never speak to me again.
Hayden
Pointing the right way?
I have no idea what you guys are talking about.
Marshall
Trust me, it’s a great problem not to have.
Ethan
Is it, though?
Marshall
Point taken. Shadows and angles, it is.
See you Saturday, Hammy.