Mia Hill. College bound with an athletic scholarship. A go-getter with big dreams and a fully thought out plan to make sure they come true.
But with her father's release from prison looming and the inevitable stresses of adulting, everything she wa...
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The sun is blasting down on the field, merging heat with adrenaline. Sweat with ambition. Searing energy with motivation and spirit. And I don't even care how lame that just sounded. I was born to play this game and today is a very special day. A very special practice.
A practice when I'm not just running random plays as a new member of the team, but a practice where the play involves a second wide receiver. And that second wide receiver happens to be me. As in, if it goes well, I might see some actual, real live field time on Saturday. As in, what's about to happen has the potential to be magic.
If only the other guy could remember the fucking play.
The ball is hitched to Rhodes. He's about to pass it to Trey Mitchell.
I'm running full fucking speed, ready to take the ball from Mitchell and trek my ass to the goal, my first real chance to show off my skills and speed. Only, Mitchell never sends me the ball. Because he can't remember the play. He's booking it to the endzone, leaving me in the dust. Looking like a fool, even though I did everything I was supposed to do.
"Mitch!" Coach Long calls a time out, running up on Mitchell within a half second. "What the fuck was that? It's a hook and lateral. First you hook," he shoves his shoulder before doing an enthusiastic sidelong passing motion in my direction. "Then you lateral. It's easy. Why can you never remember the fucking play?"
My hands hit my knees as I take in one deep breath after another, fucking beat. I was giving that run my everything and now I'm left trying to catch my breath for nothing. A perfectly good play, wasted.
As Coach drills into Mitchell, Wilkinson rolls up beside me, scrubbing a lazy hand down his chest as he snort laughs. "There's always one guy that never remembers the play," he shakes his head, giving me a good natured smack on the back. "Just be happy you're not that guy. Even if you just wasted a few perfect yards for nothing."
I give him a nod. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."
Yeah right. More like, I'll let it make me bitter. Because there's no way Coach will want to run that play any time soon if he can't rely on Mitchell for the biggest part of the task. But I don't mention that to Wilkinson.
He's a senior linebacker who doesn't give a shit what happens to me. He's just one of the guys riding out his last year, having already proven himself, and getting all the field time he deserves. The fact that he's even taking the time out to hit me with some encouragement right now should be motivation enough to shake it off and get over it.
The only logical thing for me to do is get over it actually. And I guess I can do that. I can do anything.
Except rely on Trey Mitchell to pass me the ball.
The team is rotated as Coach Long works on specialized tasks with the starting line. And I'm officially one of the guys on the side again, waiting for another chance. But instead of stewing about it, I decide to take advantage of the rare free time we have, chug down a supersized bottle of water, and think about how to improve my game.
