He shrugs, a smile pinching at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm... I don’t… I don’t know about this mending you are talking about,” he mumbles.
“The shower and my bedroom wall are connected!” I deadpan, staring him down.
He rubs his index finger over his mouth trying to hide, with futility, the wicked smile behind it. Dropping his hand from his mouth with a content glint in his eye, he copies down the notes on the board.
Even though Christian isn’t playing, he is still attending every training session and class, working just as hard off the field as if he was on.
“So, I’m going on a date this weekend, like a proper one…not just to some frat party kinda date,” I say to him as I watch Coach take large steps back and forth in front of the whiteboard, drilling into us what he expects.
“Who?” he asks.
Now I look back at him in disbelief and frown. “Rachel.”
He laughs quietly at my reaction. “Man, I was just asking,” he says as he writes.
In normal classes we use our laptops, but when it comes to football with all the Xs and Os, then the lines to who goes where we have to jot down frantically. The good old-fashioned pen and paper is sometimes easier, because in thirty seconds it’s wiped, and Coach starts on the next play. I look closer and see he is copying down the play Coach is currently yelling at us about. Then he adds, “With you I never know what female is going to show up at the door.”
For a split second I consider being a little insulted, but hey, ‘if the jersey fits.’ “Well, I like this one. I want to keep this one,” I say, and even I’m surprised by my words after I said them out loud.
He looks at me in disbelief. Ten years as his best friend and I don’t think he has ever heard me say that sentence, and man, I’ve spoken some shit over the years.
“That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
I point down at his notepad. “Why are you writing down this play? You know this play.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I just want to make sure I know where everyone else is for each specific play. So, when I’m on the sideline I can help direct everyone, not just my position.”
I smile at him, ever the responsible leader. “And that’s why you are going to make a great captain next season.”
He shoots me with a look of unease.
I know he wants the position, mainly because he is the best option. If there was someone better, he would gladly step aside, but there isn’t…he is the prime choice.
“You’re a sure pick…don’t worry, the position is yours.” I feel I could pull some sort of quarterback rank if needed, but he’s got this, even if he has doubts. He’s a born leader, he adjusts, adapts, and finds a way to win while making sure the team remains level-headed. Especially me when we share the turf with the Cyclones, because in those situations…I can’t controlme. So, I’m glad I have Christian to smack my helmet and tell me to ‘get my head in the game’, even if at the time I detest it.
“Just as long as you remember that you might be the captain but I’m still God.”
“So where are you going on your date,God?” he asks as he continues to copy Coach’s board.
“Oh no, I’m not telling you that. I don’t want you to ruin my first date the way I ruined yours. Plus, I mean, I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m sure she will say yes. I was going to text her, but Shelby told me I had to ask her out in person. So, I’m heading over to her building after Coach is done yelling at us.”
Coach’s brash, deep voice booms even louder throughout the room. “Sorry for talking while you two are interrupting,” he says, making heads turn toward us.
“Sorry, Coach,” I react in all my cocky glory.
“You have nineteen hours of the day to talk about girls, Harrison. For these five hours, I need your mind on nothing but football.”
“Sorry, Coach,” I repeat, shuffling to sit higher in my chair, “and it’s just one girl,” I add with conviction and a grin.
“What?” he questions.
“It’s just one girl I want.”
He nods his head, but I know he doesn’t believe me. I’d be surprised if anyone does, because with my past I wouldn’t believe me either. But everyone finds theironesooner or later, and I have found mine, right now.
“This one is different, Coach,” I add on a smile, putting the assurance on extra thick.
“Randy?”
