Reaching out, I touch the backlit Dragon logo on the wall and inhale a deep breath. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. Or more nervous. From the other side of me, Carrie squeezes my hand, and I swivel my head to face her.
“First pro game ever,” she mouths. Or maybe she says it out loud and I just can’t hear her over the increasingly loud music.
“Let’s kick some ass,” I reply, the sound eaten up by all the noise.
The music intensifies, and I can hear the roar of the crowd from the stadium. An actualroar. I had a dream last night that only twenty people showed up to the game, and they were all family members of the team. But that sounds like a whole hell of a lot more people than fifty out there.
When the beat drops, it’s our signal, and the Dragons football team pours from the mouth of the giant purple dragon that’s been constructed around the outside of the tunnel. There are fog machinesthat make it look like the dragon is breathing smoke, so I can’t see anything for a few seconds. The sound of the crowd is temporarily drowned out when the bellow of the dragon booms around the stadium.
This has to be the coolest field entrance ever.
Then I burst from the fog andholy crap!I have to force my feet to keep running instead of stalling and taking it all in. The stadium is almost at capacity, the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and the pressure of this day—my very first game in the WNFL—presses down on my shoulders.
Be fierce, Jordie. Block, run your routes, catch the fucking ball, and for Pete’s sake, fight for every yard you can get.
My internal pep talk eases my tension, and I sink into this momentous juncture in my life. This is what I’ve been preparing for since I was in high school.
I. Am. Ready.
Carrie yells my name, and I turn to her. My eyes catch on hers behind her face mask, and we run at each other, leaping at the last second for a mid-air chest bump. The audience seems to like that because the roar grows louder.
As we reach our sideline, my eyes go to the crowd, instantly finding my family about two rows up on the fifty-yard line. Dad, Pops, Xander, Bubba, Holly, Juliette, and Reno, along with my four nieces and nephews, take up almost an entire row, and I wave happily. They hold up signs and large cutouts of my head, and their mouths are all open as they cheer. I blow kisses at them before casting my gaze up and slightly to the left.
I’d purposefully gotten Mom and Willie’s seats behind the rest of my family and in an entirely different section so they wouldn’t be spotted. But the two seats on the end of their row are empty, and I deflate a little.
They’re probably in the bathroom or grabbing a snack or whatever. When I talked to Mom yesterday, she assured me they were coming.
I hear Coach’s loud voice and shake off my disappointment that my mother missed the big entrance. Then I huddle up around Coach Berry with my team. To my utter delight, Adeline Berry, my collegecoach, was named as the head coach for the Dragons. She still has her fierce, take-no-shit demeanor, but now that she’s a professional football coach, her intensity has increased tenfold.
After a brief speech to pump us up, we break the huddle and go through all the pregame activities. Then it’s time for kickoff.
Because I have good hands, I’m on the kickoff return team, but the ball goes to Heather, one of the other receivers, and the Dragons get the ball on our own thirty-three yard line.
Our quarterback, Zena, smacks me on the ass as the offense takes the field. “You want balls, McNamara?”
“You know I love balls, Garcia.”
She grins. Zena loves teasing me with ball innuendos. “I’m gonna smack you right in the chest with my balls.”
I laugh. “As long as it’s not in the face.”
The first play from scrimmage is a designed run. Sabrina skirts around the left side and picks up eight yards, much to the delight of the crowd. The next play is a pass, and I run a wheel route to the right sideline, leaving my defender in the dust. As promised, Zena puts the pass right in my chest, and I catch it easily before being shoved out of bounds, directly in front of my family.
As I stand up, I see them going nuts. My nieces are waving black and purple pom-poms, while the guys cheer. Juliette is gnawing her thumbnail, and I give her a thumbs up to let her know I’m okay before tossing the ball to the ref. My sister has always been supportive of me, but I know it stresses her out every time I hit the ground. Before turning back to the field, my eyes snag on the seat where my mom is supposed to be, and I feel my heart sink. Still not there.
Fuck it, I think. I’ve got a game to concentrate on.
Our offense moves the ball effectively through a combination of pass and run plays. Zena is dead-on accurate today, spreading the passes between me and Heather, and we find ourselves on the twelve yard line.
Zena gets the call from the sideline and smirks at the ten other women in the huddle. “Flea flicker, bitches.”
Hell yes. I love a good trick play. The offense lines up in the I-formation, and after taking the snap, Zena pitchesto Sabrina, who tucks the ball and runs to the right, drawing the defense in that direction. Before she crosses the line of scrimmage, she turns and throws the ball back to Zena. When the New York defense realizes what’s happening, there are shouts of “flea flicker” from the defense, but it’s too late.
I’m already wide open in the end zone, and Zena drills a perfect spiral right to me. Touchdown Dragons.
My team surrounds me, and I can’t stop smiling. Liz Weston, our center and the woman I met at that initial WNFL meeting a couple years ago, wraps her thick arms around my thighs and lifts me.
“Nice job, McNamara,” she says gruffly, looking up at me.
