The Beautiful Truth

// 115

It was eight o'clock when I got back to Berkeley. The sky had just started to turn that gold color that was unmistakably Californian—this time of day in Oklahoma, the light turned a silvery, dusty blue, but as day slowly turned into night here on the west coast, everything was soaked in gold, and you could feel it—feel the sunshine, hanging in the air.

I let myself in the front door, expecting to find my roommates had already left for the night, despite being back on two-a-days by now. Instead, I found Travis sprawled on the living room couch; while Chase paced the floor, chin in hand.

"What, no welcome home surprise party?" I asked sarcastically, apprehensive at the atmosphere. I frowned, and sat my bag down in the foyer.

"Hey, SF, how was Country Coachella?" Chase asked, continuing his slow pace, his face still mired in concentration.

"It was fine, we'll talk about that later, what's up with you two?" I replied in one breath, shifting my weight to one leg while standing just out of Chase's path.

"Stress," Travis said simply. His posture made him seem as though he was melting into the couch.

"Oh weird," I shot back. "Here I was thinking you both looked completely zenned out."

Travis scoffed, albeit appreciatively. "New play book."

"Jesus," I groaned. "Why?"

Travis shrugged. "Coach's trying something new?"

I wrinkled my nose. That didn't make any sense—you don't change your offense unless maybe you change your...

"Oh. Shit, you've got a new QB?" I exclaimed with some difficulty.

"He's red-shirting this season," Chase grumbled defensively.

"But Coach wants to switch over the offense this season, so they're used to it when Wallace starts next season," Travis explained. "There are only, what? Seven seniors on the team anymore? And most of them are on the D-side."

"What offense does he want to run?"

Travis looked up at me blankly, and Chase turned on his heels, finally stopping his laps.

I rolled my eyes. "What offense does he want to run?" I repeated impatiently. "You run the Pro now, what does Tedford want to run for Matt Wallace?"

Travis and Chase exchanged a look of disbelief.

"Uh, Air Raid?" Chase finally answered, as Travis still had his mouth agape.

"Ugh, that's right. He's from Texas," I complained, almost laughing in glee. Texas high schools were obsessed with the AR offense—that's why Jason Mandrino had no trouble fitting in when he transferred to Pontiac his junior year.

Chase was dumbfounded. Travis had finally closed his mouth and stopped melting into the couch. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees now.

I sighed. "Four receivers and a running back. Piece of cake."

"What the—"

"My high school ran the Air Raid offense," I explained, trying to make the implication without being explicit. "I know those plays in my sleep."

"Parrish ran the—"

"Yes," I quickly interrupted Chase. "And I helped him learn the playbook," I interrupted. "I can help you."

My head was spinning, remembering all the X's and O's and slots and shotguns inside a blue and gold binder from a lifetime ago.

Travis and Chase were murmuring words of incredulity and renewed hopefulness to each other.