Perfect by Design

17: Grayson James

We're five minutes from halftime, and Miami is practically having its way with us. It's getting increasingly frustrating to sit on the bench watching us get destroyed in games we could be winning.

Our defense is tired because our offense is so stale it's nauseating. If this is the way Coach wants to go down, I guess I'll just get comfy in my front row seat.

I turn behind me to steal a glance at Tatyana. She, along with her mother and older brothers, are always on the first row behind our side of the field.

She gives me a sympathetic smile, and honestly, I don't even care why I'm getting the smile—I'm just happy it's directed at me.

I turn back around just in time to come face to face with my coach.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You're up, eleven."

"Uh, what?"

"Did I stutter? Get your ass up, Grayson, and get out there!"

I grab my helmet from beside me on the bench and throw it on before running out to the field.

It's actually happening. After two and a half excruciatingly long games, we are finally entering the Grayson era.

Except, now all I can think about is Indy. This is her first time watching me play. I somehow have to overcome a 28 pt deficit just to tie the game.

My family is in the stands somewhere, including Trevor, but the only pair of eyes that matter to me right now are a pair of champagne brown ones.

I glance over at the sideline getting the play call from coach. Jamison catches my eye, comfortably on the bench with his hand wrapped. Sucks.

My first play results in a 48-yard completion after my tight end slipped past the defense. Just like that, we're in striking distance.

I back up to pass again, but everybody is covered. So, I take off down the field, picking up 15 more yards.

It's the third play of this drive and my third ever play as a Seminole. My receiver breaks free and is wide open in the endzone. I float the pass downfield, and it is caught. Just like that, 28-0 is now 28-7, and there are still 2.5 minutes left in the half.

Defense returns to the field, revitalized, and it shows. Our D-line gets their first sack of the game, forcing a fumble that we recover. I didn't have much of a break, but I don't care.

I quickly take my spot back on the field, hoping to add more points on the board before the half. I release a quick pass, my receiver running out of bounds after picking up 12 yards.

I take a nasty hit after I release the ball, but there's no flag, and boos erupt in the stadium. Not going to lie; that shit hurt.

My teammates help me back to my feet, and I shake off the aches.

"Protect the damn quarterback!" I hear someone yell, and I almost swear it's my girl. I turn toward the stands, and I spot her leaning over the railing, chewing on her bottom lip.

Her long black hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she's wearing an FSU crop top, if you want to call it a top, with a black leather skirt. She couldn't look cuter if she tried.

"Eleven... what's the play."

Right, the game. I was momentarily distracted.

I call out the play, which is just a pitch to the running back. He breaks two tackles earning himself a clear lane to the end zone. We kick the extra point with double zeroes on the clock, and the crowd goes crazy as our 28 pt deficit is now just a two-score game.