I toss my mouthguard in and smirk at Marcus. “Ready to embarrass yourself on national TV?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t overthrow the damn ball trying to impress your goth wife.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter as I jog to the huddle.
The whistle blows, and the line spreads wide. I clap once, loud enough for the whole damn field to hear, and yell out, “Let’s go, Mustangs! Daddy’s home!”
Groans and laughter ripple through the huddle.
“Jesus Christ,” Davis mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he crouches into formation.
“Can we revoke his mic privileges?” Marcus adds, stretching his neck.
“Y’all are just mad because the camera loves me,” I fire back with a grin, adjusting my helmet and scanning the bleachers. “And my face card never declines.”
JP jogs up next to me. “Yo, you ever think about how rocks are, like, alive?”
I blink at him. “Rocks?”
“Yeah, man. Like, they’ve been around forever. They’ve seen everything. They’re basically time travelers.”
Pierce groans from the other side of the huddle. “Bro,it’s literally day one and you’re already talking about your damn rocks again?”
JP shrugs. “I’m just saying, last week I bought this geode?—”
“Oh my God,” I cut in, laughing. “You need a girlfriend, JP.”
He points at me, dead serious. “Um, no. I need a bigger shelf. That geode is the size of a football.”
I stare at him, shaking my head. “You’re telling me you spent NFL money on a football-sized rock?”
“It’s not just a rock, Hayes. It’s art. It sparkles.”
“You sparkle when you sweat, wanna pay me two grand to sit on your shelf?” Pierce adds.
The whole huddle cracks up as JP flips him off and looks back at me. “You don’t get it, man. Rocks are forever. They’ll outlive all of us.”
I can’t stop laughing, helmet bobbing in my hand. “Jesus Christ. First day of practice and our wideout’s already lost his damn mind. Mic’s picking this up, by the way.”
JP grins, unfazed. “Good, maybe I’ll start a geology podcast.”
Coach yells the next play, “Trips Right, 90 Laser Z Out!”
We break the huddle.
“Let’s give the people a show,” I smirk, slapping JP on the helmet as we line up.
He snorts. “Try not to pull a hammy showing off, Grandpa.”
I fake stretch my hamstring and call out, “RAZOR LASER! ON ONE!”
The crowd cheers.
I take three quick steps back, feel the pressure on my right side, and roll left, dodging a defensive lineman withjust enough juice to make it pretty. I spin with full dramatic flair, set my feet, and send the ball spiraling thirty yards with a perfect flick of my wrist.
Marcus grabs it midair, jukes the safety, and sprints straight into the end zone.
“Touchdown, baby!” I shout, arms in the air, jogging down the field. “Who’s your quarterback?!”
