Page 6 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“She’s lovely,” Mom continues, completely unfazed. “Our publishing company hosted a writing competition over the summer and she won. I’ve been mentoring her since then, and we’ve been emailing back and forth. She’s smart. Thoughtful. And she happens to be in her senior year at Willow Creek. Just like you.”

“Small world,” I mutter, already feeling boxed in.

“I think you two have a lot in common,” she presses. “Lucy’s majoring in English, and you’re minoring in it.”

“Lots of people major in English,” I counter. “That doesn’t mean I have anything in common with them.”

“Please.” The teasing disappears from her voice. “I’d go meet her myself, but I’m stuck in Dallas.”

“You could fly out here,” I offer half-heartedly. “Meet her yourself.”

“I’d rather you meet her,” Mom says gently. “And tell me what she’s like in person.”

I huff out a breath. “You know, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“If it helps,” she adds quickly, “it took a month of emails before she agreed to meet you.”

It doesn’t.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promises.

I let the silence stretch while I stare at the ceiling.

Mom has always believed she can nudge people toward the lives she thinks they should have. Usually, I’m better at refusing to move.

“Fine,” I say finally. “But I’m only showing up to tell her I’m not interested.”

“So dramatic.” Mom laughs. “It’s just coffee, Dyl. Not a marriage proposal.”

“Text me the details,” I say as a loud knock rattles my bedroom door. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Love you, son.”

The line goes dead just as the door swings open and Darnell barrels in, phone held aloft like it’s sacred. “We made the top story, baby!”

“Seriously?” I grab the phone from him and sit up, squinting at the screen.

Willow Creek Dominates Rock Island, Extending Winning Streak to Six.

A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

This is why I protect my routine. One bad decision can undo months of work.

Football is the plan.

Coffee at three is not.

Outside my bedroom, the apartment is already coming back to life. A cabinet slams. Grease crackles in a skillet. Someone has turned the game replay on, and the commentator’s voice rises over the noise as Willow Creek’s defense lines up for another third down. I know the play before it happens. I remember the cadence, the shift in the offensive line, the instant I realized the ball was coming through my gap.

Whoever Mom set me up with, I’ll give her ten minutes, explain the misunderstanding, and leave. Mom gets her favor. I get my afternoon back.

Darnell slaps me on the back hard enough to rattle my ribs. “We gotta celebrate, man!”

I hand his phone back and follow him down the hall. Marcus and Derek are already in the kitchen, filling the apartment with the smell of burned toast and bacon grease. They’re cooking breakfast for two girls still wearing last night’s Willow Creek jerseys. I wrinkle my nose—at the jerseys, not the girls.

“You guys are up early,” I say, stifling another yawn.

“Who says we went to sleep?” Marcus wiggles his eyebrows as one of the girls giggles and runs a hand down his arm. “We’ve been partying since you crapped out and went to bed.”