The Rivalry

“Polls don’t mean shit,” I announced, echoing Jay’s statement, and then froze.

Oops.

Thankfully, Noah’s eyes sparkled as he laughed. “He mentioned you were a firecracker, and you certainly don’t disappoint.”

-24-

KAYLA

Our seats for the game had a decent view. They must have cost Jay’s parents a lot, but I got the impression Noah and Diane Harris could afford it. Jay said they owned a contracting company and built McMansions in the affluent suburbs of Indianapolis.

My parents were able to afford season tickets for OSU through the alumni association and my dad’s coaching experience. If it weren’t for that, they might have struggled. My mother was a nurse and when he wasn’t coaching, my father taught physical education and driver’s ed.

Down on the field, Michigan’s marching band finished performing the National Anthem and ended their pregame show while I stood in the stands, treating everything around me like it was toxic and on fire.

Diane leaned over so I could see her past her husband. “If Jay hasn’t told you yet, he’s really glad you came.” She held her hand up, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight. “I don’t know how you kids find time to see each other. We barely hear from him during the season.”

“His schedule’s pretty brutal,” I agreed.

Beside me, Noah closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead like he knew where the conversation was heading.

She forced herself to sound casual, and failed. “Maybe you could suggest he give his mother a call every once and awhile.”

My mom was on my case about that too, only she was more direct when asking. Time was so short for us student-athletes, and I couldn’t blame Diane for wanting to hear more from Jay, knowing what I did now. I nodded slowly. “I’ll mention it.”

“Good. I get the feeling my son would do anything you asked.”

My breath hitched, but I feigned eagerness. “Transfer to Ohio State?”

She smiled knowingly. “Well, almost anything.”

I tried not to think about what she’d just said, because it made me feel both warm and fuzzy, and uncomfortable. I could handle feeling uneasy. I was literally surrounded by the enemy. The opening strains of The Victors began, and I steeled myself. My gaze drifted down to where the Michigan players burst onto the field, and I zeroed in on number eighty-eight.

Great. Right back to the warm and fuzzy feeling I didn’t want.

“Who are you cheering for today?” Noah asked. “I’m guessing you aren’t rooting for Michigan.”

“Ideally, I’d like both teams to lose.”

He chuckled like he thought I was joking.

Staying quiet during the game was torture. Purdue tried to hold back Michigan’s offense, but they marched down the field, moving the chains easily. Every U-M first down made it harder to bite my tongue.

Three quarters I stayed silent, and as I watched the game slip further away from the Boilermakers, tension coiled in my body. Being in the stands, surrounded by Michigan fans, was like floating in the middle of an ocean with nothing to cling to. It was stifling, and when the Go Blue chant roared from all around me, it was claustrophobic.

Jesus, was I the only person in the stadium not screaming the chant?

It was second down for Michigan, and they were only fifteen yards from the end zone. Jay lined up on the outside. Surely they weren’t going to pass, were they? The ball snapped. Radcliff didn’t drop back, instead he turned to hand the ball off—

No one was there. Holy shit, a busted play!

My pulse picked up as the quarterback scrambled and surveyed his men downfield, looking to make something happen. I flicked my gaze to Jay, but he was covered. I turned my attention back to Radcliff, who pump-faked, stalling to try to give his receivers time to get open. He ducked out of one potential sack, and I clamped my teeth together.

Don’t you dare, I shouted in my head. I was going to be so pissed if he escaped and made a play.

But the line collapsed around him, and two enormous guys from Purdue tackled Radcliff at the same moment, driving him down hard into the turf. I cheered internally and reveled in the beauty of a Michigan QB getting sacked.

That was, until the two Purdue players got up . . . and Evan Radcliff didn’t.

“Oh no!” Diane gasped, pressing her fingertips to her lips.

The quarterback lay crumpled on the field, not moving. I felt like I swallowed a stone, and breath halted in my lungs. The trainers bolted out onto the field, running like they couldn’t get to Radcliff fast enough.

Helmets came off and players went down on a knee, both teams watching with concern.

But Radcliff moved. He sat up slowly, shooing the trainers’ hands away. As he rose to his feet, the one hundred thousand Michigan fans breathed a collective sigh of relief.

He seemed fine, arguing with the trainers about coming out of the game, and whatever he said did the trick, because he sauntered toward his teammates, urging them to get in the huddle. What the hell? He must have just gotten the wind knocked out of him.