The barista calls our order. We grab it and head out the door.
“Let’s blow off the trip to the pub with the boys, eat ice cream for dinner, and watch some trashy TV, what do you say?”
I throw my arm around her, and hers falls over my shoulder. “I say it sounds like a solid plan.”
“Fuck yeah, it does.”
So, that’s exactly what we do.
“So these little FaceTime calls” —Noah grins into the screen, whispering— “you might not want to tease me like before.”
“Oh yeah, and why is that?”
Noah holds in a laugh and his eyes lift over his screen. In the next second, a very familiar voice shouts from somewhere, “That better be my sister you’re smiling at, dick.”
I drop back on my bed with a laugh and a dramatic eye roll. “Of course, he’s your roommate.”
“He’s playing most of the first quarter tomorrow, so I wanted to try and run over some more things with him without everyone else around.”
I fly up, my mouth agape. “He’s starting?”
Noah grins. “Yeah. We’ve got a game plan we think will trip them up, so we’re running with it.”
“My brother is starting in a college game tomorrow?!” I jump to my feet, running for Cameron’s room and stubbing my toe on the way.
“Owe, shit!” I laugh, pounding on her door, barging in a second later.
She tears her headphones off her head, her eyes wide in panic.
“Mason’s starting tomorrow!”
“What!” She jumps up, fumbling and falling to the floor, but pops up instantly.
“I know!”
We squeal, hugging.
“Ah shit, you told her, didn’t you?” Mason’s voice fills the line, and I quickly look back to my screen in time to see his head pop up beside Noah’s.
“Holy shit!” I smile, stomping my feet.
“I know.” A proud chuckle slips from him.
Tears find my eyes and a playful glare blankets his face. “Knock it off.”
We laugh, and I inhale deeply.
“Oh my god, Mase. You’re going to rock it.”
“Love you, girls.” He beams.
“Love you.”
Mase disappears and I squeal at Noah, whose soft eyes are glued on mine.
“I’ll let you go to sleep now,” he says quietly.
“After this news? Yeah, right! I’m going to try and reach my parents. I think it’s daytime in Germany, but I failed history twice, so I could be wrong.”
Noah chuckles, letting me know, “I might not be reachable tomorrow.”
“Game face, I know the drill by now.” I bite my lips. “Kill it out there, Romeo.”
“For you I will.”
My smile is slow. “Nineties R and B, I like.”
Noah’s grin is downright lethal, and I want to jump through the screen. “Bye, beautiful.”
With a quick wave to the screen, I hang up.
Tomorrow, my brother will reach yet another goal he set out to accomplish, and I couldn’t be prouder.
I know he’s earned it; I know he’s more than good enough, but I can’t help but think Noah helped present him with the opportunity to get to start, and Mason made it his bitch.
“Okay, wings are out of the oven. Chips are poured in the bowl and the door” —Cameron skips from the kitchen, turning the deadbolt— “is locked.”
“Beers are popped open and volume” —I grab the remote— “is up.”
I move to help carry everything to the coffee table and then it’s kick-off time.
On the sideline, we see Mason slip his helmet on, pulling at his collar as he jumps up and down on both feet to keep his blood flowing strong.
Our guy goes down at the twenty, and the offense jogs onto the field, led by my brother.
We clap and cheer, standing too close to the screen as he fills his men in on the play. They break, take their positions, and not five seconds later, Mason calls hike.
The ball is snapped, grasped tightly in his palms, and he spins, fake tossing it to the running back, before stepping back and firing it for a quick first down.
“Woohoo!” We clap.
They get set again, and this time, Mason breaks through a gap, running for eleven more yards before sliding onto his hip to avoid the tackle.
“Yes! Two snaps, two first downs!”
“Oh my god, this shit is looking so good to these coaches right now!” Cameron smiles, downing half her beer.
I pick mine up, watching as Mason glances at the sideline. He gives a curt nod and turns back, pointing to his right before lifting and setting his left foot down. The ball is snapped, and he drops back, looking downfield, but the other team blitzes, breaking through his line.
Mason is sacked from his right rear and front left. His torso twists opposite of his hips, his back bending. His helmet flies off on impact, and Mason hits the turf.
Cam and I stand frozen for several seconds before we snap out of it.
“Holy shit.”
“Son of bitch.”
Panic sets in, and we jerk closer to the TV.
“No, no, no.”
“Ari, he’s not getting up.”