Chapter 4

“ You used to play tight end,” I say.

“Yes, I did,” he says with a grin. “Can’t believe you know that. I only played pro for two seasons before I screwed up my back.”

“You played at UCC,” I say. “My dad played against you at Branford. He knew who you were. I remember him pointing you out when you played.”

“I’d love to talk to your dad. Where is he?”

This moment is never easy. I know it always makes people uncomfortable. When I tell Mr. Henry my dad is gone, he looks me in the eye and says, “I’m sorry—I hadn’t heard.”

After an awkward pause, he takes a silver case from his pocket and pulls out two business cards.

“I work for UCC as a recruiter now,” he says. He smiles at me and adds, “I know, I know, Branford’s biggest rival, but we’re not that bad.”

I smile too. When my dad and I would watch the Branford Bears play the UCC Titans, he never booed the Titans. He respected them as a team, even though he cheered like crazy for the Bears to beat them.

“So what’s the deal? Are you recruiting these boys?” Mr. Gibson looks at Mr. Henry. What I’ve learned about Mr. Gibson in this past year is that he likes people to get to the point.

“I was here to watch another player, but these two boys caught my eye,” Mr. Henry turns to Mr. Gibson. “I’ve watched a lot of high school games over the years, but this game had me on my feet. These two young men kept their team in the game. They showed a lot of promise out there. That is something we’re looking for at UCC. Not only talent, but promise.”

I look down at the card in my hand. Black block letters against white. Wallace J. Henry, it says at the top. And then beneath his name are the words University of Coastal California, Division I in crimson.

“Why haven’t we seen you two at camps before?” Mr. Henry asks.

“It’s a long way to the mainland,” Mr. Gibson says. “Those college football camps are expensive and not easy to get to when you live this far away.”

Mr. Henry nods. “I looked up both of your stats,” he says, taking out his phone and reading them off. “Calvin here has had 40 receptions for 476 yards and 16 touchdowns.”

Calvin nods at this. Mr. Henry looks down at his phone and back at me. “You’ve got some pretty impressive numbers too: 310 carries for 2,211 yards and 15 touchdowns.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Plans for next year?” Mr. Henry asks both of us.

Calvin and I look at each other.

“We’d like to play college football for a school like yours,” Calvin says.

“Yes, sir,” I add. “We want a chance to play.”

Mr. Gibson says to Mr. Henry, “A school like UCC would be lucky to have these two. They’re hard workers. I’ve never seen either one of them give up, and on top of all of that, they are smart, good kids.”

“Well, I’d certainly like to be in touch,” says Mr. Henry. He takes out another card, flips it over to the blank white side, and hands it to Calvin and me. “Write down your email addresses, would you?”

While we’re doing that, he keeps talking. “I’d like you both to send me your game tapes and school transcripts.” Mr. Henry points to the card in my hand. “And it might interest you to know that UCC and a couple of other schools in the area are holding a football camp in a few weeks. We like to call it the last-chance camp. It’s an opportunity for seniors to show off their talent to coaches and staff still looking for players. I’d like to extend an invitation to both of you. I’ll be there with the UCC coaches.”

Mr Gibson still looked uncertain.

“Let me see what I can do about getting you two an official visit to our campus around the same time. We could help out with airfare and accommodations too.”

Mr. Gibson nods at this.

“That would be great,” I say.

“Thank you,” Calvin says as he hands back the card we wrote on.

“And your coach, Freddie Kainoa, tell him to give me a call too,” Wallace Henry says. “He was a great college player. I remember him from back in the day. I’d like to talk to him.”

Calvin and I look at each other. We knew Coach played in high school, but he’s never mentioned he played college football.

“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. Henry says.

We watch him head across the parking lot toward Rain Bok and his dad. Rain doesn’t even look up at him. He continues to text on his phone. The kid probably has a dozen recruiters talking to him every day.