“Yes, sir.” I nod.
“There’s a lot more expectation this year than last year. People expect us to win. They expect you to win. You’ve put yourself at a disadvantage starting your senior year by not having committed to a school. You’ll have to be on top of your game all season.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll always give 100 percent.”
“I hope that’s true, but I haven’t seen that from you the past couple of weeks. You’re slacking, your throws have been weak, and you’re missing your mark more than I’ve ever seen.”
It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to show any emotion on my face. Where is this coming from? The offensive Coach, Coach Richland, hasn’t said anything to me. At the end of practice, he tells me things look good, and my stats are great. I don’t slack at practice. It’s the one place I can put the world on hold and concentrate on doing something I love.
“Coach Richland’s never said any—”
“I’m telling you now.” Coach Anderson pounds his fist against his desk.
The noise startles me, and I sit up straighter in my chair. Have I been slacking in practice? I rub a hand against my neck, trying to think back over the past two weeks. No, I haven’t. If anything, I’ve worked harder.
“Coach Richland says you’ve been having girl troubles.” Well, he didn’t waste any time zeroing in on whathe thinksthe problem is. Coach Richland knows about Hannah, but all I’ve ever said are good things about her. I can’t even confide in my girlfriend about my problems. I’m not going to confide in a coach, no matter how much I like or trust him. That’s not who I am.
Coach Anderson cocks an eyebrow, waiting for me to answer, but he didn’t ask me a question. “I have a girlfriend.”
Coach purses his lips. ”This girlfriend of yours is causing you to lose focus. You need to examine what your priorities are, Crawford. Do you want another undefeated year and a state championship?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Good. I expect to see 100 percent out of you for the rest of the season. You need to leave your problems off the field. You’re our quarterback. Our victories rest on your shoulders. Don’t let me down. Don’t let your team down, and don’t let yourself down.”
I nod, acknowledge the head coach, and stand up. I refuse to agree with what he’s just said. Jack’s right. He has a lot of pressure on him from alums, the school, and probably the district to win another state championship this year. But I didn’t deserve to be called out when I’m doing the best I can.
I leave Coach Anderson’s office contemplating sluffing the entire day. But if I do that, I can’t play in tonight’s game, and that’s not a way to start my season, especially if I want to play college ball. And I do—more than anything. I don’t want to rely on my parents for college. My maternal grandparents have a trust fund, which I get access to when I turn 21 or get married. Whichever happens first, but I don’t see myself getting married that young.
“Hey,” Jack and T. are waiting for me when I walk out of Coach Anderson’s office.
“What did the big boss want?” Tyler asks.
“I got a lecture. He told me I’m responsible for the team’s success and that winning football games is my responsibility. Nothing like a little pressure.”
“It’s not solely your responsibility, Ford. It takes a team to win or lose a game. It’s as much Ty’s and my responsibility. We’re all captains. That pisses me off.”
The five-minute warning bell rings.
“Don’t sweat it, Ford. We’ve got your back. I’ll catch you guys between classes.” Ty pats my back and heads to class.
“I know you’re going to internalize this, but you need to let it go. It will just eat you up inside. I’ll see you next period.”
7. Make This Moment Matter
Tonight’s the first football game of the season. I’m super excited, but really nervous, and I don’t know why. I cheered and danced at the pep rally on Wednesday, but a game makes me feel official. I’m also nervous for Ford. He has a lot riding on this season.
All the cheerleaders are supposed to do their hair the same. I’m supposed to have two small French braids down either side of my head and a Dutch or pull-through braid in the center that makes a faux mohawk. What happened to big bows and high fluffy ponytails? Leah sent me pictures and a tutorial last night, but I didn’t practice, and now I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just making my hair into a rat’s nest. Beth could do it for me, but I don’t have time. My dad calls my name, telling me I need to hurry or I’m going to be late, so I give up on my hair. I’ll worry about it later. I grab my backpack and rush downstairs. Jack’s gone, and the little boys have already left for the bus. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and run for the door, but my mom steps in front of it, blocking my exit. “Hi.”
I tilt my head, trying to figure out what she’s doing. “Hi.”
“You got home late last night.”
“Um—yeah—cheer practice went over.”
Beth lifts her left eyebrow, waiting for my actual answer. Ugh—ever since I decided to go all in with the mom thing, she’s stepped up her game. It’s annoying, but I know she’s doing it because she loves me.
“After practice, I met up with Ford to talk.”
