The Junior (College Years 3)

“This game is pivotal for the season and you can’t deny it,” Diego points out.

“Oh yeah.” Tony instantly sobers up. “You’re right.”

We’ve been inconsistent this seas

on. We show moments of glory, only to fall completely apart. The defensive line is getting stronger, and the offensive line does a solid job of protecting our quarterback.

But our quarterback is also a little inconsistent. His emotions grab hold of him and send him into a downward spiral. He’s contributed to a few losses, thanks to throwing too many interceptions, and those were games we should’ve won. Which means we must win this one in order to remain in the playoffs.

We have to.

And those fucking Rebels? Their team this season? They’re good.

I’d even go so far as to say they’re fucking excellent.

The assholes.

They’re not really assholes, that’s just my jealous streak talking. I want to go out with a bang. I want our team to be on top this season, and even fucking better next year. Our senior year. I want to be the best.

I know my friends feel the same way.

As we run onto the field, I take in the crowd. Thousands upon thousands of people are here, and not just hometown fans either. I see plenty of Bulldogs gear and the cheers for us are pretty damn loud.

My stomach cramps and I try to force the feeling away. For some reason I’ve got a raging case of nerves, and I don’t get it. What’s so different about this game versus any other I’ve played for the last twelve years of my life? Okay yeah, the youth football league is not nearly as stressful but still. I’ve done this a long ass time.

I need to chill and get myself together.

Once we’re on the sidelines, my mind fills with images of Gracie. She instills calm in me, though the last few days I’ve been stressed the fuck out over our relationship. Talking to her last night helped. I got my feelings out—somewhat. And she was receptive. Seeing her face helped too.

I miss her. A lot. I wish she could’ve come to this game. It would feel good, knowing she was sitting up there, watching me. Sending out all of those positive vibes just for me to catch and absorb. Sounds like a bunch of nonsense, but it’s true. Knowing someone has faith in you makes you feel like you can conquer anything.

I try to channel that. Faith in myself. I focus on what our coaches are telling us. I watch Eli, who’s grim, determined expression tells me his head is in the game. He’s not acting stressed out or yelling at everyone, which is a positive sign.

Maybe it helped, having Ava around, even for a short period of time. He needs that girl more than anything else. It’s like she recharges him.

We win the coin toss before the game starts and choose to kick. Meaning, we kick off and will be on defense. This also means I go out first, along with the rest of the defensive line.

Shi-it.

I run out onto the field and get into position, ready to block some weenie-ass Rebels. Once the ball is in the air, I’m running like a motherfucker, alternating between two dudes trying to block them. They curse at me as I turn, the ball spiraling straight toward us.

Holy shit, straight toward me.

The QB threw it too short, and the ball somehow lands in my hands. For a split second I don’t move. It’s as if I’m frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Until I hear one of my teammates scream, “RUN!”

I launch into gear, sprinting across the field, the ball tucked against my body. I’m running, my feet pounding on the ground, the announcers sounding excited as they call my number. My name. People are cheering me on. They’re actually chanting my last name.

“Go Burke, go! Go Burke, go!”

I pick up my stride, chancing a glance over my shoulder. Two Rebels are charging after me and I face forward once more, gaining yardage, the end zone drawing closer and closer.

Until I’m crossing it. The nearby referee throws up his arms in the universal sign.

“Touchdown Bulldogs!”

Everyone comes running toward me, Eli leading the pack. He slaps the back of my helmet and pulls me in for a quick hug, screaming, “Fucking showoff!”