Big Shot | ✓

37 | rivalry week

"Say rivalry week five times fast."

I shot Mara a deadpanned look. "I'm not falling for that."

She snickered before turning her attention back to her camera. "So that means everyone's playing a rivalry school this weekend?"

"Basically," I shrugged. "Some play their conference rival, like Ohio State and Michigan, and some play their in-state rival. USC's not in our division, but they call this game the Palmetto Bowl for a reason. Winner gets to say they're the best team in the state of South Carolina. UNC plays NC State, Florida plays Florida State, so on and so forth."

"Guess they couldn't have come up with something easier to call it than rivalry week." Mara had to say the last part slowly to avoid getting her tongue twisted up.

"Where's the fun in that?" I sighed, and my breath materialized in front of me in a cloud of white smoke.

It was almost winter now, which meant that the sun went down earlier, and the chills came when it got dark. That didn't stop the 82,000 people in the stands, who'd packed out Death Valley for Clemson's last home game of the season. College Gameday's presence on campus only seemed to amplify the energy that zipped through everyone.

I hadn't spoken to Reid much throughout the day. Between our respective preparations for College Gameday and the game itself, we seemed to miss each other at every opportunity. But when the game started, we found each other's eyes through the crowd of personnel and players on the field and the sideline, if not by gravity then by some sort of divine intervention. He looked up and smiled just enough for me to know it was meant for me.

Whatever pretty and fluttery feelings we were having ended up being short-lived. Reid's first half was terrible, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. He fumbled twice (luckily one he recovered), sent passes sailing 10 feet over JJ's head, and when he came off the field before halftime after going three and out (again), he slammed his helmet on the bench as Coach Riley gave him an earful.

No matter how much film he studied on this team and no matter how many times he watched that final game from two seasons ago, the mental roadblock of playing in the game that damaged him so severely couldn't be so easily moved.

In the small allotted section for the USC fans and their icky garnet red, someone was holding up a huge sign with a picture of that one fish from Spongebob who always yelled my leg! Self-explanatory, and super tasteless.

"What do you think is gonna happen?" Mara asked me as we sat on the sideline at halftime.

"I don't know," I shook my head as I wrapped my arms around my torso to keep the warmth in. "If they lose this game they go to two losses on the season, and their playoff odds plummet. They all know that, and if Reid's struggling, some other guys better step the fuck up. It's a team sport."

Mara snickered. "You're so defensive of Reid, it's cute."

"It's just the truth," I grumbled.

Clemson had deferred the coin toss, so they were the first to receive the ball to start the second half. Reid and the offense went three and out again, and on the last play of the drive he got pummeled into the turf by two USC defenders. All of a sudden that little section of USC got rowdy, raining boo's down on the field while all our loyal fans were dead silent. We were playing in a graveyard.

"Oh my god, he's not getting up." Mara groaned.

"Reid always gets up." It came out softer than I intended it to, and I wasn't sure if it was because I was really only telling myself.