“Jacob Everett is the real star on the field— and it’s not just his playing ability. He manages to turn a group of guys into a real team, and that, Bob, is a type of leadership you can’t learn. It’s innate.”
“You’re definitely right,” someone—Bob, I guessed—replied. “You can tell that his teammates really trust and rely on him, not to carry their weight or anything, but to make them strong. He’s a senior this year, and you’ve got to wonder what will happen after he graduates.”
“Well, there’s always Stewart Adams, the junior quarterback that some say could be even better than Jacob Everett once he’s given the opportunity, but I just don’t know.”
“Surprising the NFL haven’t come knocking already for Everett, isn’t it?”
“It is! But you know, the NFL is bigger and badder than college football, and those teams don’t require quite the leadership that these boys at Harton do— so maybe what we’re seeing as star power, they’re seeing as just another good player.”
I was surprised to find myself insulted on Jacob’s behalf. Clearly he was more than just another good player if he had a shot at the NFL…I reminded myself that actually I knew nothing about football, cared nothing about football, and needed to forget about Jacob Everett once and for all.
The Rams won soundly— so far ahead of their opponents that there was really no doubt of their victory. I could hear the cheers from the stadium from inside the apartment, they were so loud. There was confetti raining from canons on either side of the field, people were rushing out, coaches looking on proudly…
It was an infectious sort of happiness, and I grinned, but it was still hard to understand the school’s obsession with the sport. Some guys ran around on the field and gave each other concussions for a few hours. What was the big deal?
The announcers’ voices suddenly grew louder in my ears. “Now we’re going to go to Jessie, who is with none other than Harton’s hero, Jacob Everett!”
“That’s right, Bob,” a pretty petite redhead said. The camera panned out and I inhaled— there he was, filling up my television screen: Jacob Everett.
Same steely beautiful eyes, though he was now dripping in sweat and his uniform was speckled with grass. There was something so absurdly masculine about it all, especially with him standing there next to such a small, feminine creature. That man— he was hardly a boy, not at that height— had offered me tickets to see him play. He’d sought me out, both the other night at the party, and then again this morning. I shifted on the couch, letting my textbook slide to the floor.
“Jacob, you ran some amazing plays today, the least of which was that incredible pass in the third quarter. Anything you’d have done differently, despite the win?” the reporter asked.
Jacob smiled at her, and I could tell the woman was melting a little— an effect I understood entirely. “You know, I always come out here and try to do my best, but it’s also always a challenge not to be critical of my choices. There’s always something to improve on, no matter if we win or lose.”
“You sure about that? Because that was a pretty incredible game!” She batted her eyelashes at him.
I was certain of it.
“Absolutely sure,” he grinned. “The fact that my teammates and I never stop improving is why we’re able to be so successful on the field. We hold each other accountable every day, all day, whether there’s a game or not.”
“That’s great to hear, and you know, that’s really what college ball is all about. We heard a rumor you invited some special friends to watch you play today— do you think you play better, knowing your friends are watching?”
I tensed— did the reporter mean me? Did Jacob invite multiple people? Maybe that was the real joke he was playing— making me think I was special, when I was just one of many. Well, I thought, I showed him. I straightened my new dress smugly.
“You know, I was sad to learn the person I invited couldn’t make it,” Jacob said, though he was still wearing a wry smile. He looked directly at the camera. “I’ll just cross my fingers that she was watching from home.”
My body practically went numb as his words hit my eardrums.
“Oh no! I hate to hear that,” the reporter said.
“Me too,” Jacob said, still looking at the camera. I couldn’t cast aside the certainty that he was looking directly at me, just as directly as he’d been the night before. He went on, “But I’m sure I’ll convince her to come to another game. No one can turn down watching me play, right? People pay two hundred bucks apiece for the tickets.”
“Right!” the reporter said, laughing alongside him. “Anyhow, back to you, Bob.”