And it was the most raw, vulnerable thing I’d ever written.
I walked across the lot toward the football field, watching the Tempests’ distant figures on the grass as they stretched.
The paper had just been distributed, and I knew they wouldn’t get a chance to read it until practice was over.
Instead of sitting in my usual spot at the edge of the field, I went up one row into the edge of the stands. Up here, I felt even more like an observer. This was how the fans truly felt, perched up watching the boys do what they did best.
Andrew was doing something that I’d learned was called a deflection drill.
In the deflection drill, his teammate Jacob was holding up two pieces of hard foam, trying to come at Andrew from any angle and see how quickly Andrew could raise up his arms, pushing off the attack.
In the morning sunlight, Andrew moved his shoulders and arms like he was a well-oiled machine.
He is a machine, I thought with pride, watching over him.
He’s incredible.
I watched them jog around the field, stretch for another few minutes, and then Coach Ennick broke off the practice as another guy came onto the side of the field with a stuffed duffel bag.
Andrew hadn’t noticed me up here.
He’d be able to spot me if he looked up and toward his left, but he wasn’t used to me being here, oranyonebeing here during practices.
I felt even more incognito than the times when I’d watched over him early on, when I’d practically gone stalker-mode over him.
I bit the inside of my cheek, watching as they opened up the duffel bag.
The guy pulled out a big stack of copies of the TNU Weekly.
Fuuuuck me.
I no longer felt “incognito” at all.
Suddenly I felt exposed, as all of the football players passed around copies of the Weekly, the pages fluttering a little in the breeze, all of their eyes trained downward. They were still breathing heavy from their practice, but the focus wasallon my article now.
Andrew’s face was the sweetest.
He looked like a kid, waiting to receive news about whether or not he was accepted somewhere.
After a couple of minutes, other guys on the team started smiling, high-fiving and fist bumping each other.
I slowly began to walk down the stands, taking the long way around before making my way down to the grass.
When I approached Andrew, his eyes were wide when he looked up and saw me.
And then I saw the thin sheen of tears in his eyes, too.
“You didn’t do it,” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Ruin us.”
He reached up a knuckle to wipe away a stray tear that had rolled down his cheek.
“Peach,” I said.
The other guys were already going about the rest of their days, grabbing drinks or continuing to stretch. A couple of them came over to givemea slap on the back, thanking me for the article.
