The school is buzzing with excitement as the valedictorian is announced, the gym is prepared for the ceremony, and college acceptance letters pour in. I knew which college I was going to my junior year, the day the head coach of the University of Alabama came to my house with an offer I couldn’t refuse. That day changed everything. If I was star before, I was a god now. I wasn’t kidding when I told Laney football is a religion around here. Bear Bryant is Alabama’s messiah, and the fans are his followers. Roll Tide was the foundation of my football dream. There’s countless t-shirts packed in my drawers. A collection of ambitions: ‘Built by Bama’, ‘Keep Calm, The Tide is Coming’, ‘Heart and Soul Crimson Tide is How I Roll’. Soon, they’ll mean nothing; a vigil to the future that died that day on the football field.
I can’t throw, my accuracy is gone—a neurological side effect of the aneurysm. I’ll have to face the truth when I look into the eyes of the man who offered me everything and tell him my career is over before it even began.
I’m just not ready to do that though. So I’m going to try to distract myself for the next two weeks with senior year festivities, starting with the annual Powder Puff football game this afternoon.
I’m a male cheerleader — the best looking one in the bunch. I’ll be on the sidelines chanting as a group of handpicked girls go head-to-head with our rival school, North. You know them. I kicked their ass in the state championship.
The other ‘cheerleaders’ and I wait on one side of the huge banner by the south end zone. Just like when we play, the girls will burst through the crepe paper and run onto the field. Our team is called the Alabama Slammers. I thought it was catchy.
This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in this stadium since the state final. It all feels the same; overwhelming, awe-inspiring, adrenaline pumping. I miss it every day.
The band starts to play our fight song, signaling the start of the game. The players barrel through the decorated paper that declares GO ALABAMA BLUE. Each girl is dressed in a navy midriff jersey and black shorts. Their hair is done up in ponytails or pigtails with W for Wolverines painted on their faces. I take my place on the sidelines, luckily dressed in jeans and pink t-shirt, instead of a cheerleading skirt like the bozos on the other team. I take an inventory of the starting lineup. That’s when it hits me like a battering ram to the chest. Laney, standing next to Coach McKenzie, is taking direction on plays. Her hair is in two low pigtails and there’s eye black under her eyes. But it’s the number on her chest that has me panting. A huge, white seven is blaring back at me. Is she the QB? I didn’t even know she was playing. I make my way over to her and the head coach of the Wolverine’s, the man who has led seven teams to the state championships in ten years. To say he is respected would be an understatement. We don’t mess around in these parts. If we’re going to play football, whether it be Powder Puff or not, we call in the big guns. I listen as he goes over the running and passing plays. She looks a little nervous, but also intense. Her competitive side is flaring. It’s the same when she plays volleyball. You can see the hunger to win in her eyes. How do I know? I may have stalked a game or two. Sue me, I missed her.
After the coin toss, and right before the players take the field, I pull Laney aside. “When did you decide to play?”
“I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I tossed a football around with Miranda before one of her practices. Coach McKenzie saw me and I didn’t have a choice after that,” she says irked. Miranda is the tiny little blonde wearing the number nineteen. She’s a wide receiver. I know she’ll probably kick ass catching passes. Her boyfriend, Logan, is an all-state tight end. I’m sure he gave her a few point
ers. I would have done the same for Laney if I knew she was QB.
“Our little lesson paid off.” I can’t help but smile proudly.
“Apparently so.” She sounds like she regrets ever picking up a football. It hurts my heart.
“You’re wearing my number. How did that happen?” She glares at me. The sun making her blue irises crystallize.
Laney shrugs. “It’s a quarterback’s number.”
“There are lots of quarterback numbers, why that one?”
She’s reluctant to answer as Coach McKenzie barks at her to get on the field. “It has heart.”
I watch her hustle away and take her place in the huddle. I feel like I’m soaring, dangerously close to believing a chance at reconciliation isn’t dead after all.
We won the coin toss, so the Slammers have the ball. I watch mesmerized as the girls line up. They look so little on that huge field. Laney stands behind the center; I recognize her from the lacrosse team. She’s got some girth. Laney calls hike, and the ball is snapped into her hands. She shuffles, looking for an open receiver when she’s sacked. Hard. Shit. She didn’t even see it coming. It takes her a second to get up. I want run out onto the field and make sure she’s okay. But she makes it to her feet and goes right back in. Fight Laney, you have to fight.
The next play Laney is able to pass, but it’s incomplete, just inches away from Miranda’s fingers. This goes on for two more downs. It’s the second down and the ball hasn’t advanced at all. I hear coach call a running play. A 134 Sweep on the outside. Laney will have to run it. I hear her repeat in the huddle, her little voice already hoarse from yelling. The line takes position and Laney screams hike. The girls block left and right, making a tiny opening for Laney to sneak through. I hold my breath as she gets lost in shoving bodies then remerges with the football tucked in her arm. She books it down the field, with two linemen, excuse me, line women hot on her tail. I find myself screaming, along with everyone else, as Laney is tackled right on the five yard line. Nice breakaway!
We’re in scoring position.
Coach calls another play. We all feel the excitement. Scoring is a rush.
Laney crouches behind the center and calls hike. Miranda makes it into the end zone, and Laney fires it. Touchdown!
Then she’s tackled. For no good reason. “What the fuck!”
“Ellis! Mouth,” Coach McKenzie reprimands me.
“She was just sacked after the TD! Where’s the penalty?”
“It’s going to be up your ass if you don’t zip it and cheer.” He looks back at me and scowls.
I flip him the finger. Inside my head.
Laney takes a seat on the bench, and I bring her some water. “Is it this nerve-wracking watching me play?”