Jackson hadn’t arrived yet. I was pretty certain that if he’d been in the locker room, whoever did what they did to my locker wouldn’t have dared. But Jackson was running late and there it was, taped by one corner: a pink-and-white baby diaper.
I wanted to cry, really, but knew if I did that, it would be the end for sure. I wasn’t upset that someone was suggesting I was a baby girl. It was the lack of respect that hurt me. How could someone—a teammate—insult their own starting quarterback on the day of a big game? It cut me to the core.
Instead of tearing up, I bit the inside of my cheek and marched right up to my locker. I tore the diaper down and chucked it in the trash before dumping my bag on the bench and going about my business as if nothing had happened. As I pulled the shoulder pads over my head, Jackson arrived, wild-eyed, snorting steam, and ready for action. I stole a look at Bryan Markham. He sat polishing his helmet and grinning at Jason Simpkin, who was dressed in street clothes, since he still couldn’t play because of his injury. Neither of them looked my way, so I couldn’t be totally certain it had been them who’d hung the diaper, but that would have been my best bet. I knew Estevan was upset about not starting, but we were friends. Plus, he just wasn’t that kind of kid.
My limbs felt like they’d been frozen and had yet to thaw. My hands trembled as I buckled up my chin strap, putting my helmet on before everyone else, knowing that I was giving in to the urge to hide but unable to stop myself.
“Let’s do this thing, baby!” Jackson smacked my shoulder pads with both fists and my head swam. “Wahoo! Big dog’s gonna eat today! Touchdown Daddy! Dancin’ in the end zone!”
I shuffled off, ignoring my friend as best I could, struck by the term “baby” even though I knew he had no idea about the diaper. He was caught up in his own craze and I just couldn’t seem to find my rudder. I was drifting and floating and lucky I could even get myself out onto the field, where a handful of teammates and coaches from both teams hung around on the grass, sizing each other up from the corners of their eyes. In the stands, hundreds of people were already waiting for kickoff. This is Texas and Ben Sauer Middle School feeds into Highland High School, one of the top programs in the land, so there was a huge audience.
“Ryan!” Coach Hubbard shouted, pointing at me. “Come here!”
I jogged his way and tried to listen as he licked his lips and ran through the plays, bug-eyed with nervousness. He actually made me feel somewhat normal. He wasn’t as shaken as me, but he was a close second. Coach Vickerson, on the other hand, joked and laughed with the Carthage Middle School coaches like they were old buddies.
Coach Hubbard peered past me nervously. “So, how you feeling?”
I cleared my throat to keep from squeaking. “Good, Coach.”
He looked at me with obvious disbelief. “Yeah. Good. This spread . . . I like it. If we get the run game going, it’ll be tough to stop.”
I nodded and spilled out what I knew like the nervous ninny I was. “That’s what the spread does. You take what they give you. They always give you something. Every defense. If we can run the ball with one back—and you know we can after what Jackson did in practice—then they’ll have to choose. Either they line up more guys in the box to stop Jackson or they play enough guys to cover everyone who goes out for a pass and keep a free safety in the middle. You have to pick one, unless they sneak a twelfth man onto the field.”
Coach Hubbard gave me a twisted smile. “That’d be a penalty.”
I studied his red face. “Yeah. I know.”
“Of course you know. I was kidding,” he said. “Anyway, I want you to know that I’m going out on a limb here for you with this spread. There’s a group of dads—actually they were your coaches in youth league—who are urging me pretty hard to stay with Estevan and our regular offense.”
“Yeah, but that’s youth league.” I wanted to draw a bright line between Bryan Markham’s and Jason Simpkin’s dads and Coach Hubbard. “They’re not real coaches, like you . . . like Coach Cowan.”
I struck the nerve I was aiming for. Coach Hubbard tucked in his shirt, stood a bit straighter, then sucked in his gut a bit. “Well, I like to get along, Ryan. It’s a good way to be.”
“Coach Cowan believes in this system, Coach. He believes in you.”
“You think so, huh?” Coach Hubbard looked worried, but interested. He gripped his college ring with its deep-blue stone and cranked it around on his finger.
“I know it. Look at all those texts he sent you.” I pointed at the phone in his pocket. “I mean, I’m not saying it’ll happen, but sometimes high school coaches get their shot in the pros. Skip right over college. It happens.”
“Look, Ryan.” Coach Hubbard put a hand on my shoulder pad and gave me a super serious look. “Stop with the Coach Cowan thing. Do I want to move up in the coaching world? Of course I do, but I’m not taking advice from Coach Cowan because I think he’ll give me a job. I’m doing this because I believe it just might be the ticket to winning this game. Jackson at running back? Who’d have thought of that? We could beat this team today. We could beat Eiland.”
Just the name of my half brother’s team made my stomach heave. I wanted to focus on today first. I looked over at the Carthage Middle School squad, which was beginning to fill up their side of the field as players streamed from the visitors’ locker room. I told myself that they didn’t look so terrifying. Then I saw Jackson, marching out onto the turf, hands balled into fists, a spring in his step. I could practically feel the intensity oozing from him. My heart gave a little leap.
“We’re gonna smash these guys, Coach,” I said. “Trust me. If it doesn’t work, you can always use Mr. Markham’s plan, but I am not gonna disappoint you.”
“I don’t think you are, Ryan.” Coach Hubbard twirled his whistle and smiled.
Jackson barged into our midst. “You ready, my man? You ready? ’Cause the big dog’s gonna eat!”
“I’m ready,” I lied. This time, I was the one to slap Jackson’s pads with my fists. He howled. Coach Hubbard blasted his whistle and we all fell into our places like the pieces of a clock. The gears began to turn and I was the mainspring, suddenly giddy. Suddenly fluid. Suddenly ready to be right where I was, in the center of it all. This was football. This was what I dreamed of.
I got sent out to the center of the field as a captain along with Jackson and Bryan Markham. Markham shook with rage and wouldn’t even look at me. I ignored him, wondering what Jackson would do if he knew about the pink diaper. I wanted to unleash Jackson on him, but we had a game to play.
The ref looked at me and I called heads.
I won the toss and chose to receive the ball.
We’d start on offense, running the spread.