A piss and then position group meetings, and then Coach Diggins gathers them around and tells them to keep doing what they’re doing. The old coach was a rah-rah guy, but no good with X’s and O’s. Coach Diggins is more reserved, but he commands the room: he’s earned their respect. Every single one of these kids, Jessup included, would lay their body out on the field for Coach Diggins.
In the same way that Coach Diggins isn’t rah-rah in his halftime speeches, he isn’t rah-rah about Jesus, either. The prayers are supposed to be nondenominational, but a quarter of the kids exit the room or hang out on the edges when the team circles up for the prayer. There are a couple of Jews on the team—Steve Silver is a good player, an anchor on the offensive line—one player who’s a Muslim, two other players who are Indian or Pakistani or something and Jessup doesn’t know what they are, plus a few more who it’s just not their thing. The professors’ kids, not that there are that many who play football, always decline. Jessup knows that in the South it’s full-on praise Jesus and pastors and preachers brought into the locker room, but the Bears usually just stick to “Dear Lord, please protect our players and our opponents, keep us safe in your arms and your heart, amen,” and then twenty or thirty seconds of silent prayer.
Wyatt occasionally gives Jessup a hard time about his absence from church. For the last year or so, Wyatt has been attending regularly, and he means it when he says he worries about Jessup’s soul: come on brother, you don’t want to burn, I love you and Jesus loves you, and Jesus has to be your lord and savior. Wyatt believes in eternal salvation, Jesus’s love, and the Blessed Church of the White America.
Jessup’s mom has never been hit-or-miss on attending church like Wyatt was, but even though she’s not happy about Jessup’s absence, she leaves him be. She still takes Jewel to church, though, every single Sunday, never fail, never miss, the two of them usually eating lunch out at the compound. Once or twice a month, David John’s brother, Earl—Jewel’s uncle, his mom’s brother-in-law—comes to the trailer to join them for dinner on a Saturday night. Jessup tries to be out those nights. Nothing he can point to, no mornings he’s woken up to Earl slinking out of the house, and if anything, the man always keeps too much physical distance between himself and Jessup’s mom. He slips her some money now and then, but there’s something about him that leaves Jessup cold.
In almost every letter David John writes, he encourages Jessup to return to the fold: Church is family, and you don’t walk away from family, Jessup. You can’t turn your back on your family. Family first and always. I worry about your soul, of course. Don’t you believe that Jesus died for your sins? But I worry about your place here on earth, as well. It’s important to spend time surrounded by the people who are like you, with no outside distractions, nothing to dilute the purity of Christ’s love. These are your people. Your tribe.
Just because Jessup doesn’t go to church doesn’t mean he won’t pray, however, and he kneels down between Wyatt and Mike Crean. They all clasp hands, bow their heads, say “amen” to the idea of being kept safe, and then stay quiet.
He doesn’t know what the coaches and the other boys are thinking. Probably praying to win the game, to stay healthy, for God to grant them personal favors. Jessup usually prays for Jewel to be happy, for things to be a little easier for his mother. He prays with fervor; he has not lost faith, even if he doesn’t attend church.
After fifteen minutes inside, the night feels cold. His pants and jersey are soaked, a mix of sweat and hitting the wet, snow-covered turf. Jessup figures there might be three or four inches on the ground by morning if it keeps up. In the stadium, the middle school boys have done their work with shovels and brooms, and the sidelines and yardage markers are clean for now.
Jessup is middle of the pack as the team jogs into the stadium. Some of the boys head straight to the bench, and some go onto the field to warm up again while the scoreboard ticks off the last two minutes until the start of the second half, but some of the boys stop to talk to friends or girlfriends or moms and dads. Jessup peels off and walks to where the chest-high fence meets the bleachers. His mom, Jewel, and David John are waiting for him.