American Honey

“Yes,” she takes a big gulp. “Especially when you don’t get up after you’re tackled.”

I frown. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“We’re not worried anymore. And it’s all part of the game, right?”

“I’m learning it’s all part of life. Take a hit, get right back up.”

“I’ll remember that next time number sixty-seven steamrolls me.” Laney rolls her shoulder and stretches her neck.

“They’re a little aggressive, huh?”

“They’re out for blood. One of the girls said she overheard the defense talking about retribution for state. And they’re all gunning for me.”

“Shit,” I spit out.

“Summers!” Coach calls. Offense has the ball.

“Any last minute pointers before I go back out there?” she asks.

“Yeah, avoid getting tackled at all costs.”

“Oh, that’s a big help.” She tosses the paper cup at me and runs onto the field. I won’t lie, I like looking at her ass in those tight shorts. We finally have a common interest in the sport.

For the next two quarters I proceed to watch Laney get her ass handed to her. Literally. North is playing dirty as hell. I’ve made sure to voice my opinion on the matter, repeatedly.

By the fourth quarter, Laney looks wiped. Her pigtails are a mess, she’s covered in grass stains, and I think she hurt her left elbow. She won’t admit it though, no matter how much I badger her about it. She’s a warrior, I’ll give her that. Watching this game has solidified my feelings for her. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s the girl I have to be with.

There’s two minutes left on the clock, and we’re down by seven. This game has been full-on war. North’s team is on steroids or something; they hit harder than the guys.

It’s third down on the five yard line, and we have an opportunity to score. Laney tries for a pass, but it’s incomplete.

“Run! She has to run it!” I boisterously tell Coach McKenzie. I’ve secured a position on the sideline right next to him. So much for cheerleading. I wasn’t that into it anyway. Too much testosterone.

“Can it, Ellis,” Coach smirks. “I’m going to run it.”

He calls out the play. It’s short and sweet. Nothing like the paragraphs I needed to memorize on a weekly basis: 35 liberty west right flanker out pop eighty hot yellow yellow void java java right flat.

Laney gets 138 Blast, straight up the middle.

The line sets up, and Laney yells hike. She barrels through the wall of bodies only to get shut down on the two yard line. Fuck! This is anxiety at its best. I know she can do this! Coach tries to call another running play, but I interrupt him. “A draw. Run a draw!” They both look at me like I’m nuts.

“She’s on the two yard line with ninety seconds left on the clock,” he argues with me. We have no timeouts left, so I have to make my argument quick.

“Exactly. They’ll never expect it. What do we have to lose?”

“The game, genius!”

“Lemon, run the play!” I yell to her from the sideline. Coach throws up his hands. She nods.

“I suppose you want to take over coaching next year, too?” he says exasperated.

“Nah, I’ll be in college by then. Gotta have a little fun before I die.”

“With or without college, Ellis, I don’t think you’ll have any shortage on fun.”

I shush him playfully. “Gotta watch my girl score a touchdown.”

“I didn’t realize you were dating.” Coach arches an eyebrow.