Mom told me because it was Sunday afternoon to make sure I apologized for calling him on the phone, and I did. Coach Hubbard said it was no problem, but told me that he was at a barbecue with his wife’s family and suggested that instead we meet before school started in his office the next morning.
I hung up, panicked, because this thing was more important to me than it was to my coach. I wondered if it was because he thought Simpkin would return. That would ruin everything, and I began to fret.
“Relax,” my mom said. “Just do everything you can do. He said he’d meet you early tomorrow. That’s good, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Better than nothing.”
I decided there was nothing I could do about Simpkin. I had to carry on as if that just wasn’t going to happen. I worked all night, reviewing and memorizing plays, and the next morning my mom dropped me off early as planned.
Coach Hubbard and I got after it. No messing around. We hit the grease board, diagramming Eiland’s defenses and drawing up our own plays against them, proving to each other like math formulas how they could work. We looked for weaknesses in their strategy, as well as ours, making little adjustments even beyond what Coach Cowan had suggested that could be the difference between winning and losing.
“If they move Dillon up to the line on the outside,” Coach Hubbard said, circling the X on the board that represented my half brother and drawing an arrow that moved him to the line, “you’ll have to check to the toss going the other way.”
“I can run the boot right at him, Coach.” My face felt hot with excitement. “I can juke him out or throw it right over his stupid head.”
Coach Hubbard’s shoulders slumped. He turned and looked at me. “Ryan, don’t let your pride get in the way. Dillon is the best player we’re gonna see this whole season. He’s big and fast as a cat. You see him, you run Jackson the other way. No questions, okay?”
I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
“Hey,” he said, “am I letting Coach Cowan help me with this plan? Yes, I am. Now, if I put my pride in front of my good sense, I’d tell him to leave me alone. But I want to win, and when you want to win, you put yourself second. Understand?”
I nodded but didn’t understand completely, to be honest.
I didn’t have time to think too much about it, though, because Coach Hubbard shut down the lights and played some Eiland game tape for me, pointing out the keys to their defense and rewinding plays over and over so I could get a feel for what they were doing and how it would look. It was impossible not to notice Dillon. He stuck out like a swollen thumb on a hand, big and bold and in your face. He flew around, smashing people and popping up from the ground to lord over his victims. Just watching him made me furious, but also that much more determined to defeat him.
After my session with Coach Hubbard, I marched around the hallways with my head high. When I saw Izzy, I acted like nothing was wrong even though I couldn’t stop being a little mad about her friending Dillon. At lunch everyone was talking about the big game. If we won, the student council was definitely going to have a bonfire that evening. Jackson made fun of Griffin when he learned that he’d asked Mya to be his date to the bonfire. Mya’s face turned red and she stared at the table.
“We’re really, really good friends.” Griffin looked defiant.
Jackson had a mouthful of milk and he snorted so hard it shot out his nose. “Really, really good? Dude, you sound like you’re talking about a piece of candy. Saturday is the biggest game of the season, maybe the biggest game of your life. You gotta be in the right frame of mind.”
I couldn’t help snickering, but I hid it behind my sandwich because of the furious look on Izzy’s face. I suspected the “really, really good friends” thing was code for boyfriend or girlfriend.
“Leave him alone, Jackson. The bonfire isn’t until after the game.” Izzy scolded him with a finger. “It’s nice, Griffin. I admire you for asking Mya. Who wouldn’t want to take Mya to the bonfire?”
I looked down and studied my shoelaces. I retied them three times before I got them just right and by that time Estevan and Jackson were entertaining everyone in the cafeteria by having a contest to see who could hold his breath longer. Both were turning different shades of red. Thankfully the bell rang before either of them passed out and I scrambled for my next class, glad to have escaped.
In gym class, I ignored the talk I overheard between two teammates about Jason Simpkin being cleared by the doctor to play again. I felt just a quick pang of worry before I shucked it off. I couldn’t waste my time thinking about Simpkin. I had Eiland to think about. I trusted that between Coach Cowan’s help and my extra work that Coach Hubbard was fully on my side.
Jason was small potatoes, right? I was in the big leagues now. In my mind, I was getting ready to play for all the marbles: not just owning the Dallas Cowboys, but my own football career, too. It was like if I dominated this game and we won, all my dreams would come true. I felt like I had it under control. Coach Hubbard’s upbeat excitement that morning had given me a turbo boost. I could tell I had nothing to worry about when it came to Coach Hubbard.
All was well until I walked out onto the practice field.
When I saw who was standing there having an intense conversation with Coach Hubbard, my knees buckled.