POWER BACK

Chapter 4: September

Jack, September

Our first scrimmage against Westbury tonight did not go well. Cash Carson couldn't complete a pass to save his life. No surprise there, but that left me as the main workhorse on offense. I powered down the middle, gaining yards like a snail. We burned clock, but scoring inch by inch doesn't win games. The highlight of the night came when Darius Little fielded the kickoff and returned it for a touchdown. Darius wasn't slated to play special teams, but they put him in Peyton's spot when her secret came out. She was right about the bench. She didn't play a single snap. They have her way down on the depth chart now.

Still, she didn't quit, despite their pathetic attempts. The day after she came clean to the coaches, they started the campaign to oust her. After the infamous three-mile run, a text went out from the team captain saying that the coaches wanted us to convene early the next morning. Everyone but Peyton was on the thread. Nobody invited her to the team chat. But that was by design. The secret early meeting was about her—they wanted to hatch a plan.

"Alright boys," Coach Carson said as we huddled around him, "here's the deal. We can't ignore this problem. Principal Harvey made it clear that, thanks to Title IX, our new team member ain't going away, so we'll have to use other methods. Any ideas?"

Lucas McCallister raised his hand. "How about we make her do a milk mile?"

All the guys murmured their support of that plan. Morons.

"What's a milk mile?" Coach Murphy asked.

"It's when you drink a whole gallon of milk while running a mile," Lucas's twin brother Matthew chimed in.

"And puke your guts out," Lucas said. "It's hilarious."

Coach Carson looked up at the sky, shaking his head.

"Look!" Murphy barked, "I realize all y'all share one brain. So which one of you is in possession of that brain? That's the guy we need to hear from."

The players glanced around at each other, but nobody had an answer.

"It's Marshall," I said. "He's the one with the brain."

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me, hard.

"Alright, Payne. Let's hear it," Coach Carson said.

He shook his head. Said nothing.

"Alright, alright," Murphy said. "We're running out of time. She'll be here any minute."

Cash cleared his throat. "This is what we're gonna do. We'll play it dirty. Hits after whistle. No rules. No mercy."

All the morons nodded their heads, setting the plan in motion.

"Officially, I cannot grant permission for y'all to take these measures. Not officially." Coach Carson winked at us.

I glanced over at Murphy who seemed uncomfortable with the whole deal.

I tried to warn her. I even offered to step in and stop it, but Peyton wouldn't hear of it.

"Look," she told me, "I've gotta defend myself or none of these asshats is going to respect me, got it? I appreciate your concern, but I'll be okay."

And she was right. She was tougher than they bargained, and just kept coming back, day after day, despite the bruises, head-to-head targeting, and dirty hits.

And, strange as it is, she was also right about earning the respect of a lot of guys on the team. But the coaches still don't seem to want to take a gamble on her.