Well, man up, you drama queen.
Noah turned, and his stunned gaze locked onto mine. Crap! I hadn’t muttered that in my head, I’d blurted it out loud. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “Habit.”
The huddle broke, players moved to the line, and once again Jay lined up on the outside. It was a desperate third and twenty for the Wolverines. As they set, the tension wound in me again. Radcliff called an audible, changing the play and leaving Purdue scrambling to adjust.
They were going to blitz. Even the people in the nosebleed seats could see a pass was coming. The center snapped the ball, and this time as Radcliff stepped back, protection was solid. Hairs on my arm stood on end as I watched it play out. Jay broke away from his defender at the exact moment his quarterback unleashed the ball, targeting his favorite receiver.
The ball spiraled perfectly into Jay’s hands, and he flew toward the end zone with only one man to beat.
“Go, go, go!” Noah shouted, echoed by everyone in the stands.
As the Purdue safety closed in on Jay, he was brought down awkwardly from behind by Michigan number thirty-two, and the Boilermaker’s head twisted sideways.
“Facemask,” I shouted. It was as pointless as screaming into a sub-woofer during a Jay-Z concert. I could barely hear myself. “Ref! Facemask!”
The stadium erupted as Jay crossed into the end zone. It was pandemonium on the field, and players jumped on him in congratulations. My mouth dropped open as the band played Michigan’s obnoxious fight song and the line judge signaled a touchdown.
“Facemask on thirty-two!” I yelled again. “Throw the flag already!” I turned to his parents, who looked elated. I didn’t want to burst their bubble, but . . . “It’s coming back.”
And I hated that for Jay. I didn’t want him to lose his touchdown because of a shitty penalty one of his teammates committed. I shifted my focus back to the referee, waiting for the call. He looked at the other refs, said something, and nodded in agreement.
What?
How could there be no flag coming?
“Come on!” I screamed. “You’re gonna let thirty-two take the guy’s head off and not drop some laundry on the field? Are you blind?”
I balled my hands into fists as the field goal unit lined up for the extra point attempt.
That was bullshit.
-25-
JAY
My mom was on me the minute I walked through my dorm room door. Her hugs were legendary in my family. You felt them for minutes after they were over.
I dropped my bag, hugged my dad, and grinned at the blonde girl sitting on the edge of my bed, her arms crossed over her red OSU shirt. Had she worn that all day? She was crazy, and I tried not to laugh. No doubt her stubbornness had gotten her shit. Not from my parents because, like me, they didn’t care much about the rivalry. But others? Yeah, lots of people cared.
“You were amazing,” my mom said. She picked up my bag off the floor, unzipped it, and began to put my shit away. I let her, because she liked doing it, and I was too amped to see Kayla. Talking to her onscreen for the last two weeks didn’t compare to her in real life.
“Thanks,” I said, distracted. Kayla hadn’t leapt to her feet when I came in. Hell, she hadn’t even looked at me yet. Spending the day in Ann Arbor hadn’t been easy for her, and she looked pissed.
“That was some game,” Dad said. He hitched a thumb toward Kayla. “This one can’t stop talking about it.”
Finally, her attention turned up to me, but her expression was dark. “What’s it cost to buy an NCAA ref?”
I blinked. “What?”
My dad rubbed a hand on his neck, like it’d been a long day. “She thinks a facemask penalty should have been called.”
I flexed my jaw, instantly irritated. “If it’s got her worked up, then I’m sure it was against us.”
“During your touchdown,” she announced.
Was she kidding me? I looked at her plainly. “Blown calls happen all the time.” I turned to my parents. “Did you guys already eat?”
“We did. I got you a burger and fries.” The second my mom pointed to the takeout container on my desk, the delicious smell hit me. Fuck me, I was starving.
“Awesome, thanks.” I threw the container open and dug in. Didn’t care if it was rude. My stomach had growled the whole time during my postgame shower.
“We can’t stay,” my dad said. “With traffic, it’ll be eleven before we get home.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mouth full of burger. “Thanks for coming.”
Cue the waterworks from my mom. She wiped at her glistening eyes. “We’re so proud of you. Keep it up, sweetie.”
“But don’t forget what we talked about,” my dad added.
I slowed my chewing and swallowed the large bite. My father’s meaning was so heavy, it dragged me down into reality. The way he’d lectured me earlier about school made me feel like I was five years old. “I won’t.”