I thought I could hear Dillon’s breathing, even through the noise. I ducked and he shot over me like a missile. More Eiland defenders were coming though and Dillon pounced from the turf like a panther. In a panic, I heaved the ball back to Jackson.
He caught it and did his thing, rumbling up the gut, breaking a tackle and heading for the thinner defensive population on the far sideline. Players chased, but couldn’t catch him until an Eiland defensive back tangled himself in Jackson’s ankles. It was still a twenty-three-yard gain and now the Ben Sauer fans cheered like maniacs to let Eiland know that Highland football was something to be reckoned with, too.
Jackson went wild. He slapped high fives and shoulder pads and banged his helmet against mine in his joy.
“Easy, Jackson!” I glared at him. “I gotta think.”
Jackson just laughed.
“Okay, let’s huddle up, guys. Come on! I love twenty yards, but we got a long way to go to win this thing. Get in here!” I surprised even myself with how I took control, and the flicker of the father I never knew danced across my brain. Maybe he had been that way?
I called the next play, a run to Jackson, and he took it to the seven-yard line. The third play was a draw play, fake the pass and hand it to Jackson, but I swapped it out with the fourth play, a swing pass I couldn’t miss on. If the defense kept blitzing—and I knew they would—it would be wide open.
I went to the line and got up under the center. Dillon was no more than six feet from me. His eye twirled like pinwheels and he snorted and growled like a junkyard dog. I tried to ignore him, but a shiver jiggled my spine. It was like I knew he was coming for me on a blitz, and of course, he was. I thought maybe I should have stayed with the game plan and not skipped one of the plays Coach Hubbard had given me. It seemed the right thing to do, but now, not so much. The problem was that the play clock was ticking down. I had no time.
I barked out the cadence, took the snap, and started to roll out. My right guard fired out at Dillon’s knees and should have cut him down like a blade of grass, but Dillon leapt right over the guy and before I could even think about making the throw, he had me by the collar with a mighty paw. Even knowing how fast Dillon was, I still couldn’t believe he’d gotten to me as quickly as he did.
My feet left the ground and my body floated for the briefest moment in the air before that wave smashed me to the turf. I felt its shock in my teeth. Stars ignited and burst. I have no idea what happened to the football, but I sensed the action moving away from me in the opposite direction at rapid speed like a fading dream.
I stumbled to my feet just in time to see the referee signal an Eiland touchdown on the other end of the field.
Dillon jumped into the air, celebrating with his teammates and holding my fumbled football high in the air for everyone—fans, cameras, Izzy, my mom, and Mr. Dietrich—to see.
He may as well have ripped out my heart and held that high, too.