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The football dropped fast out of the night sky, and for one sharp instant, Nolan felt as if he were back on the practice field for the first time.
He took two running steps, jumped, and lifted both hands high.
The sticky palms of his gloves locked the ball between them.
At the same time, his teammates surged upfield. The kickoff return looked almost like a cavalry charge: black and orange bodies crashing forward to carve a lane, each block trying to push the starting field position closer to Hawthorne territory.
If everything broke perfectly, it could even become a touchdown.
"Beautiful!" Katherine shot up from her seat, both arms raised as Nolan, number 88, came down with the ball.
At the edge of the field, Sarah Gellar stood at the center of the front cheer line in black, white, and orange. Her pom-poms moved, but with noticeably less enthusiasm than everyone else’s.
She enjoyed the crowd cheering in her direction.
Cheer itself was getting boring.
She was already searching for an excuse to leave: cramps, sore leg, headache, anything.
Then she saw a player sprinting with the ball in one hand.
"Number 88," one of the cheerleaders said. "New starter."
"He’s built."
"Not bad at all."
Quiet laughter rippled through the line. Sarah was not the only one coasting. These girls were too proud to spend an entire game smiling on command without getting distracted, and the sudden appearance of a new player gave them something better to discuss.
From the sideline, the cheer squad had one of the best views on campus. They saw details most people missed. Players’ builds, confidence, movement, who looked good in uniform and who absolutely did not.
The Normans’ starters had disappointed them often enough.
This new guy, though, looked different.
Sarah turned her head. With the helmet on, she could not see his face, but number 88 moved well.
Then a deep crack sounded behind Nolan, like two trains colliding.
Some teammate had just taken a hit meant to clear the lane.
Ahead of Nolan, several players surrounded him and kept driving forward. It was the sideline return Thomas had drilled the day before, with the blockers forming a moving wall around the returner.
Hawthorne’s coverage team was not soft. As Nolan crossed midfield, Normans began falling away one by one. Just past the line, a huge force hit him from his blind side.
Nolan flew sideways.
At the last second, he locked both arms around the football.
The stands gasped.
"Bullshit! That’s a flag!" Katherine exploded from the bleachers.
A yellow flag landed near the spot of the hit. The call was unnecessary roughness.
Hawthorne was penalized fifteen yards.
The Normans began first-and-ten on Hawthorne’s twenty-five.
Adam took a three-step drop and threw to Flea on the strong side. The cornerback covering him grabbed cloth, drove into him, and knocked him off balance. Flea hit the ground. Incomplete.
Against a heavy-handed corner like that, Flea’s quickness was being smothered instead of freed.
On second down, Adam handed off to the running back. The back had nowhere to go and managed five yards.
Before third down, Adam flashed a V-shaped signal.
Nolan looked at Flea. They nodded at the same time.
The play began. The running back accelerated to pull attention inside. Nolan and Flea released together. Nolan fought through contact while Flea was pinned hard enough that the crossing concept broke down. Nolan adjusted on the fly, changed direction, and broke forward.
Unfortunately, Adam’s throw sailed high.
The ball skimmed past Nolan’s fingertips.
Incomplete again.
On fourth down, Coach Thomas sent out the field-goal unit.
"Your season ends tonight," said number 35, the cornerback assigned to Nolan. His nameplate read Johnny. "We’re sending you home. Go cry to your mama."
With helmets and facemasks on, Nolan could not see his expression, but the taunt came through clearly.
Trash talk was part of the game.
"Ask your mom," Nolan said. "She knows where I’ll be."
As he left the field, he gave Johnny the finger.
The whistle chirped. Nolan casually hooked that same finger against his facemask as if he were only adjusting it.
The official hesitated, then let it go.
Johnny and several Hawthorne players swarmed him to complain. It did not matter. Nolan got away with it.
The offense came off. The special teams unit went on.
Special teams sounded like a separate group, but in high school, plenty of the same players served across units. The core of that group, though, was the kicker.
The Normans’ kicker was Mark, a quiet kid who rarely spoke.
Nolan watched from the sideline as Mark lined up and drove his foot through the ball.
The kick spun toward the uprights.
Bang.
It hit the post.
"Shit. That’s brutal," Rice complained from nearby.
Then Hawthorne took over on offense.
From the sideline, Nolan could feel the game changing. Hawthorne played rough, and the officials were letting plenty of contact go. The bad blood thickened by the minute. Monte even buried a Hawthorne receiver into the turf.
Hawthorne’s offense met real resistance, but they kept pushing the line forward.
Five minutes later, their running back broke through for a touchdown.
The extra point was no good.
The Normans trailed 6-0.
The rest of the first quarter and most of the second became a grind. Hawthorne added another touchdown after a short field, but their try failed again. Adam answered with a scoring drive of his own, only for Mark to miss the extra point.
Hawthorne led 12-6.
Only three minutes remained in the first half when Nolan’s offense returned to the field.
When Katherine saw him jog back on, she stood again.
At that moment, a dark-haired woman in strappy heels and a deep V evening dress arrived at the stands.
Her entrance drew eyes, especially from the fathers nearby.
She sat beside Mia and Katherine.
"Sorry," she said. "I just came from an ATA industry event. How much time is left?"
"Three minutes in the half," Mia said. "ATA as in the talent agents?"
"That’s right. I’m a partner at ICM." The woman smiled. "Do you work in Hollywood too?"
"Not exactly. I’m trying to write scripts."
The woman nodded, then let the subject drift. Soon, the two mothers had turned naturally to their sons.
The moment Nolan came up, Mia smiled so hard she nearly glowed.
"How did you know my son only became a starter after one week? He never even trained before. His talent is unbelievable. The future is wide open."
Nolan had made her proud tonight, and she was enjoying it.
The beautiful middle-aged woman looked a little awkward and quickly corrected the assumption.
"Actually, I’m not his guardian anymore. His father and I divorced years ago. His father had something tonight, so I came instead."
She took out a slim cigarette case from her handbag.
"I heard he’s the backup quarterback. Maybe next season he takes over as the starter."
The Normans took the ball around the Hawthorne forty. Nolan released off the line, and Johnny pressed him hard.
This time, when Nolan pumped his arms, he let the back swing go a little wider. His elbow caught Johnny in the stomach, where there were no pads.
The motion was hidden inside the route.
Johnny stalled for half a step.
Nolan broke free, caught the pass, and sprinted all the way to the ten before he was finally stopped.
Only ten yards from the end zone, with three downs to work with, the Normans suddenly had life.
Hawthorne’s sideline exploded over Nolan’s hidden shot. Coaches and players surrounded the officials, demanding a call.
There was no live broadcast angle. No replay. No proof.
Hawthorne had to swallow the no-call.
The game resumed.
Adam took the snap and dropped back. He released the ball a split second before two Hawthorne linemen surged through the protection almost together, one from each side, and hit him brutally.
Adam’s body twisted.
He fell on his back and screamed.
The officials blew the play dead at once.
Roughing the passer. A serious foul.
It was obvious retaliation for what Nolan had done.
This time, Adam did not get up.
The injury swallowed what remained of the half.
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