RUN FOR YOUR LIFE

Here’s what we’re going to do,” Miller said as soon as we were huddled up for the next play. “Tug, you’re going to take the snap. Then you’re going to hand off to Khatchadorian. After that, the rest of us are going to make like a road crew and give him an open lane.”

Michael Alvarez looked as confused as I was. For one thing, Miller wasn’t playing quarterback. But I guess he was playing head mouth in charge.

“But Coach said—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Miller said. “So listen up. Khatchadorian couldn’t catch a cold if someone threw it at him—”

“Um, thanks?” I said.

“But he can run. Can’t you, Khatchadorian?” Miller asked me.

“Sure,” I said, because that was the only right answer.

“So do that,” Miller said. “You get handed the ball, and you run like your life depends on it, because it does. I want to win this thing. Anyone got a problem with that?”

I guess nobody did, because a second later, we were lining up the play.

Quinn snapped Tug the ball. Tug dropped back. I cut around and took the hand-off from him, just like Miller said. Then, while everyone else was blocking like crazy, I started running like crazy.

“GO!” Miller said.

So I went. It was like I was on fire, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was good, since it got me running downfield as fast as I’ve ever run. I just kept thinking about Miller coming after me with that Rafe-eating look in his eye, and that pretty much did the trick. The next thing I knew, I was running for my life right into the end zone.

Touchdown! Falcons score!

Khatchadorian lives to see another day!

People were yelling, and the team was all over me again, and I could hear my mom screaming louder than anybody else in the stands.