Some had the decency to look away when I realized they were staring, pretending to re-tie their cleats or stretch or whatever they were doing before I showed up. But others couldn’t be bothered, like Zeke Collins and his girlfriend, Riley Novo, who were both watching me with mirrored expressions of concern. Holden was doing the same, and meanwhile, Kyle Robbins wore a shit-eating grin.
“Well, well,” he said, popping over to throw his arm around my shoulder. “What’s going on there, Big C? You going steady with the skirt now?”
I shrugged him off like I was annoyed, but also planted a sly smile on my face that only made him more eager to pry information out of me. Fortunately, my timing was spot on, and our assistant head coach gave a short blow of his whistle to let us know it was time to make our way out onto the field.
I was last out, letting everyone file past me as I quickly pulled on my practice jersey and cleats. Then, I jogged out with my helmet in hand.
And for the moment, Giana and Maliyah were the absolute last things on my mind.
I didn’t even glance at the cheerleaders already warming up on the sideline as I jogged out with the rest of the team, all of us gathering in the center of the field where Coach Sanders was waiting to give his pre-practice speech. I slipped into the familiar, comfortable zone that only existed on a football field for me. The smell of the turf invaded my senses, the feel of it beneath my cleats like coming home after a long day, and when I took a knee next to one of my fellow defensive backs, focused was all I felt.
Where Coach usually had to blow his whistle to get us all quiet before practice, no one was talking today. We kneeled around him, one hand on our knee and the other on our helmet as we waited.
Coach Sanders was one of the best in the nation. He’d made waves in his short tenure at NBU, turning a team around that had a consistent losing record and hadn’t seen a bowl game in decades, to being a top contender again for the first time since the 90s. The fact that he was in his early thirties only added to how impressive that was, and the truth of the matter was that I didn’t care that he was a dick most of the time, that he was severe and almost never gave out compliments.
I respected him, and I’d follow him into a burning building.
He hung his hands on his hips, brow furrowed as his eyes washed over all of us. “Most of you know the drill for today,” he said, sniffing. “I usually like to wait until after practice to even talk about it, because we have work to do, but I know it’s difficult for any of you to ignore what’s waiting at the end of it.”
He paused, glancing down at the clipboard in his hand before he thumped his fist against it.
“I didn’t take any decisions with this lightly. And I want you all to remember that nothing’s permanent. You might have a number one spot and then get taken out before our season opener next week. You might be slated number three and end up starting. So, no matter where you are, keep working hard, and keep your eye on the prize. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all responded in sync.
He nodded. “I’ll hang it outside my office after practice so you can see it first,” he said. “At five this evening, it’ll be released online for the rest of the nation to see. I expect you all to be ready for media after film meetings tonight.”
My teammates varied in how they reacted to that, some of them shifting uncomfortably, while others sported cocky smiles like they weren’t worried in the least.
Coach scanned all of us once more before his eyes locked on mine, and a subtle tilt of his chin told me it was my time to take over.
I jumped up, pulling on my helmet as I yelled, “Who are we?!”
One by one, my teammates followed, and a chorus sang back to me, “NBU!”
“What do we want?!”
“What all champs do!”
“How do we win?”
“Fight with class!”
“And if all else fails?”
“KICK THEIR ASS!”
I threw my fist out, swallowed up in the next moment by teammate after teammate piling theirs on top.
“Rebels on three. One, two—”
“Rebels!”
I high-fived my brothers as I passed them, knocked helmets, smacked their asses with words of encouragement, and lifted Riley up in a spinning hug before telling her to go give ’em hell.
And though I still didn’t look where those pom poms waved on the sideline, I could feel an all-too-familiar pair of brown eyes watching me as I jogged to the end zone for our first set of drills.
Sweat dripped into my eyes by the end of practice, every muscle screaming for relief as I dragged my ass into the locker room. The heat was brutal, adding to the misery Coach Dawson, our Defensive End Coordinator, had dished out for nearly three hours. I’d run so many sprints and tackling drills I felt woozy, but I held my chin high as I marched side by side with the rest of my team.