CHAPTER 1
While the Wildcats played against the Buccaneers in front of him, Noah Hart sat on the bench.
His sports magazine was folded open on his left thigh. Under his helmet, on the bench next to him, was his big book of stats.
Noah’s eyes stayed on the magazine. He scanned quickly through the article on a college running back.
The writer thought a college player, Jack Tyler, was going to be a great NFL player. Lots of pro teams wanted to draft him as soon as he graduated, since he was so amazing.
Noah wasn’t convinced.
“Look at this,” Noah said to the player next to him, Adam Glick. He didn’t look up from the article. While he talked, he picked up the pen on his notebook and scribbled down some figures.
“This article says Jack Tyler is going to be the next big running back,” Noah went on. “But look at these stats from late last season.”
Noah tapped the paper of his notebook, and Adam looked down at the page. “What about them?” Adam asked.
“Don’t you see?” Noah said. He finally looked up from his article and gazed at Adam. “In late-season games against strong defense, he falls apart,” Noah explained. “He’ll never make it in the pros. There’s no way.”
Adam frowned. “You think you know better than this writer does?” he asked. “And all those pro scouts?”
“You can quote me,” Noah replied. Then he went back to reading his article.
A few moments later, a shadow fell over the magazine. Noah frowned.
He was about to shout, “Hey, get out of my light!” when Eric Floyd, the first-string running back, came tumbling into him. Eric was followed by three linemen from the other team.
Noah’s magazine and stats notebook went flying. He fell backward off the bench and tumbled into the first row of the bleachers. His head slammed into the muddy ground with a thud.
“Ugh,” Noah said. He struggled to get up, but slipped in the mud and fell right on his face.
The crowds above him in the bleachers, all the cheerleaders, and everyone on his team roared with laughter. Noah rolled onto his back and looked up at them.
He was covered from head to toe in mud. Even the guys who had been in the game weren’t as muddy as he was.
“Get up, Noah!” Coach French shouted. He came stomping over.
“Oh, man,” Noah muttered.
“Where is your head?” the coach snapped. “When that play came close to the sideline, everyone else on the bench got out of the way.”
“They did?” Noah said. He got to his feet and wiped the mud off his face.
The coach handed him a towel. “Even Adam got out of the way,” Coach French said. “And he was right next to you!”
“Sorry, Coach,” Noah said. He wiped his face and hands with the towel.
Adam strolled over, smiling. “I tried to warn you, Noah,” Adam said. “I guess you didn’t hear me shouting at you.”
“I guess not,” Noah admitted.
“And you probably don’t remember me tugging at your sleeve?” Adam said with a smirk.
“No,” Noah said, gritting his teeth, “I don’t remember that either.”
The coach shook his head slowly. He was obviously disappointed in Noah, and Adam wasn’t helping the situation at all.
“Just go hit the showers,” the coach said. “It looks like you won’t be getting any game time today. We’ll talk after the game.”