The Freshman (College Years 1)

“You know the plays?”

If I’m not working on classwork, I’m going over the Bulldog playbook. “Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go!”

They all roar, with the exception of me. I get into position. Swear to God, I hear Bennett and Caleb yelling for me from the sidelines, and I try to tune them out.

I tune everything out, but the QB and the plays he’s calling.

This is it. We launch forward, me running to the right, on the outer edge. I glance over my shoulder as I keep running, see the ball sailing toward me.

It’s also headed straight for the opposing player trying to block me.

I jag to the left, and turn, facing Davis. I see his face beneath the helmet, his eyes wide, his expression grim as the ball falls…

Right into my hands.

I grip that fucker and start running, a grunt escaping me when I’m tackled to the ground.

“And the Bulldogs get a first down thanks to freshman Anthony Sorrento!” the announcer says.

The crowd goes wild.

I rise to my feet, glaring at the asshole who took me down. He glares back.

“Lucky catch.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter as I rejoin my team, my smile barely contained.

“Nice play, Sorrento,” Davis says to me as we get back into position.

His compliment makes me feel good, it’s like I’m floating on the field for the rest of the game. I make a couple of mistakes, but nothing awful. We score a touchdown. Our defense holds the other team when they have the ball. It goes like this, back and forth, right into the fourth quarter, until there are only a few more minutes on the clock and we’re leading by a touchdown and a field goal.

The other team scores. Everyone on the sideline groans. The defensive line coach looks ready to choke someone out. It’s nonstop drama out here, and for once, I’m totally enjoying it. Because I’m actually living it, versus sitting on a bench and watching it.

Once we have the ball back, I make a few completions and gain some yards, but never get the chance to run it into the end zone. But we do score again, and we cement the win. Normally I’m sitting on the bench throughout the game, so it’s a totally different feeling, being on the field. We all crowd in a circle, chanting and yelling. People from the stands spill out onto the field as well, including a lot of local sports reporters, and I watch in awe as we’re swarmed, treated like gods.

I remember this feeling from high school, but it’s amplified out here. In this giant stadium instead of our little field, surrounded by thousands of onlookers in the stands. It’s kind of insane, how many people are here tonight in support of us.

It’s also pretty fucking awesome. I can’t stop smiling.

Ash approaches me with a grin, clapping me on the shoulder. “Didn’t think you had it in you, but good job tonight,” he says before he walks away.

“Thanks,” I tell him but he’s already gone.

It feels like with tonight’s game performance, I totally redeemed myself.

The offensive line coach joins me as we all start to walk off the field.

“You did good, son,” he says. “Would like to focus on your technique this week during practice. You could still use a little work.”

“Sounds good,” I say, in a daze over all the congrats and compliments. Grateful as hell that he wants to work with me.

“You know you’re playing for the rest of the season, right?” He squints at me.

I squint back. “Seriously?”

“Johnson’s out with that ankle break. It’s severe—in two places.” Coach’s expression is grim. “And Phillips is done for the year. His knee surgery took him out completely.”