First and Ten (3 page)

Sure enough, the quarterback located an open man right off the first snap. Brown ran a ten-yard out pattern to the right side, and James delivered the ball perfectly. Brown torched the defensive back trying to cover him and scampered the ten remaining yards into the end zone. One play was all it took and the White team had scored a touchdown.

By halftime, the Whites had scored two more times and led 21–7. The only time the Maroon team had managed to penetrate the White side of the field was on a long touchdown pass from quarterback Ricky Jackson to Reggie Evans, one of the twins, who also sometimes doubled as a slot back.

Until then, Matt had only been in the game for one play—the kickoff following his team's third touchdown. And on that sequence he hadn't managed to get near the Maroon ball carrier. The sweat he had worked up during pre-game warm-ups had dried as he sat in the locker room, waiting for the halftime talk from Coach Stone.

“Hill!” the coach yelled. Matt looked up. “You're going in for Brown on offense to start the third quarter.”

Matt was happy for the chance to play, but nervous about filling in for Brown, who had scored two of the team's three touchdowns in the first half. Matt nodded to the coach. He was so focused on the fact he was getting a chance to play that he had trouble concentrating on the halftime instructions.

As the players trotted back onto the field, Matt knew that this was his time to make an impression. If he wanted to play football at South Side, he would have to get something done in this half. Otherwise, why would the coaches keep an eighth-grader, when they could put a seventh-grader in the lineup and have him around for an extra year? It wasn't like Matt was huge or had outstanding speed. He was a good athlete but rather unremarkable, he thought, when it came to his football skills. Worst of all, he had no experience at the game. Many of the other kids out here had been playing community football since their grade-school days.

The White team would be receiving the ball to start the second half, and Matt took Brown's spot on the return team too. He was one of two players lined up deep to receive the kickoff, the other being beefy fullback Pete Cowan, a short ninth-grader with huge shoulders and no neck.

The whistle sounded and Ricky Jackson swung his foot through the football, booting it on a high arc toward the goal line. It was to Cowan's side of the field, so Matt ran ahead of his teammate, looking to throw a block for him. Cowan caught the football on the dead run and headed left, straight toward Matt. As Matt turned, he saw Phil streaking downfield. Phil launched himself at Cowan, but Matt stepped in front, using his shoulder to block his path. The block sprung Pete free. He headed upfield for twenty yards before he was finally brought down.

“Great run, Pete!” Coach Stone shouted from the sidelines. “And nice block, Hill. Way to spring him.”

Matt's ears were burning. The praise was nice, but he also felt badly for Phil, who had missed the tackle, another strike against him in this intra-squad game.

The White team went into a huddle, a few yards behind the football, which was positioned at their own thirty-five-yard line. Kyle James called the first play, a run up the middle for Cowan. All of the receivers had routes to run on this play too. Matt knew his was a down-and-out, ten yards going right.

Matt remembered Coach Reynolds' words at that first practice three weeks earlier.
Run every
route like you're getting the ball.
He went into his three-point stance on the right side, waited for the snap count, and then he exploded off the line. Reggie Evans picked him up in the backfield and shadowed him to the right side. Meanwhile, the ball had been handed off to Cowan, who burst through the area just vacated by Matt for a ten-yard run. Although he hadn't caught the ball himself, Matt suddenly realized how important it was to convince his defender that he was expecting the pass. Had Reggie Evans suspected that Matt wasn't looking for the football, he could have cheated and helped stop Cowan much sooner.

The White team continued to move the ball steadily downfield. They were clearly superior to the Maroon defense, even though Coach Reynolds had tried to make the teams relatively even. With a first down on the Maroon thirty-yard line, the Whites went into their huddle. Kyle James turned to face Matt. “Hill, this is yours. Twenty-yard fly. Straight up the middle. You ready?”

Matt nodded. He didn't feel ready, though. His legs were weak as he lined up. This was the first pass play ever called for him. He heard the snap count and again fired off the line, heading straight up the field just as the play required. But Reggie Evans was right on his tail, as if he smelled the call by James. Matt turned to look for the ball. There it was, on a perfect line, heading for him. He reached up, it was in his fingers. And then it wasn't. Matt watched in disgust as the ball slipped from his grasp and bounced to the turf. He wasn't sure whether it was hearing Evans behind him or just the fact his hands were shaking. Whatever it was, he had dropped the ball. What a loser!

Matt heard the crowd in the bleachers groan. He trotted back to the huddle and looked sheepishly at Kyle James. “Hill, same thing,” the senior quarterback said, matter-of-factly. “On two.” Matt was stunned. After he had dropped a great pass, James was going right back to him? Why?

He didn't have time to argue. Once again, Matt lined up and burst off the snap. This time, however, Reggie Evans wasn't following him nearly as closely. It was clear that the linebacker didn't think the ball was going to Matt for a second straight play. He was wrong. Matt looked back as he reached the twenty-yard mark and saw the ball, again heading toward him in a tight spiral. He didn't have to jump or even stretch much. All he had to do was catch the ball. This time he did just that, grabbing the football with his fingertips and pulling it into his body. He didn't break stride, and Evans was left behind as Matt headed into the end zone untouched. The fans in the bleachers cheered. This is just how he had imagined it!

Matt was elated. In his first Maroon-and-White game, he had scored a touchdown. But the feeling was short-lived as he reached the sideline. “Nice catch,” Coach Stone said. “Have a seat. Vickers is in for you next series.”

That was it for Matt in this game. Despite his catch, this was an intra-squad contest and it was designed so that the coaches could get a good look at all the players. Matt had to hope that the one catch would be enough to land him a spot on the South Side team.

As the half continued, Matt's replacement, Keith Vickers, also played well in the wide receiver spot. He made a couple of tough catches, one a diving reception off a poorly thrown ball. Vickers was small, but he was quicker than Matt and he was only in the seventh grade. Matt had already figured out that to make the South Side team, he would probably have to beat Vickers out for the spot. He didn't know if he'd done that in this game or not.

Meanwhile, Phil was continuing to struggle on the Maroon side. He caught only one of four balls thrown his way, and although he hustled on every special-teams' play and was in on a couple of tackles, Matt knew his friend would be on the bubble to make the Stingers too.

After the final whistle had blown on a 42–21 win for the Whites, Coach Reynolds called both squads to midfield. It was seven o'clock and already beginning to get dark with a slight chill creeping into the air. The players each took one knee in a circle around the head coach.

“Nice job today, kids,” Coach Reynolds said, his voice softer than Matt remembered from tryouts. “You guys made some pretty good football plays today. I think we're going to have another successful season at South Side.

“I know practice has been tough on you for the last three weeks. Now comes the tough part for me and the other coaches. We'll be doing cuts this weekend. Check the gym bulletin board for the final roster on Monday morning. And remember, if your name's not up there, it doesn't mean you can't be part of the program in some way.

“Now have a good weekend. We'll start preparing Monday afternoon for our first real game.”

Matt was tired. It had been a long, pressure-filled afternoon. Nevertheless, he knew he'd have trouble sleeping this weekend. There was some big news coming Monday and right now he wasn't sure whether it was going to be good or bad.

chapter four

Matt hurried home, eager to tell his mom about the game. He was walking alone because Phil's parents had picked him up from school to visit his cousins downtown. As he waved good-bye, Matt could tell that Phil was worried about his chances of making the team.

All in all, Matt felt pretty good about how he himself had performed. Sure, he had messed up on a couple of plays, particularly on the first deep route that Kyle James had called for him. But the fact that James had called his number again, the very next play no less, had given Matt a boost of confidence. Why would he do that unless he thought Matt was capable of catching the football?

A block from home, Matt noticed an unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway, parked behind his mom's shiny green Toyota Camry. It was a sleek black Ford suv, with oversized tires. It must belong to one of Mom's real estate clients, Matt thought. She had been showing a house today. Maybe they were already writing up a deal. Matt certainly hoped that was the case. It had been a slow summer for Mom selling houses, and she was stressing about work more than usual.

It was still warm enough that only the screen door was closed on the house, so Matt slipped inside without his mom hearing. He could hear voices coming from the living room. Turning the corner from the front hallway, he saw his mom sitting on the sofa, across from a tall angular man with brown wavy hair. He was dressed in a dark sports coat and tan pants. Matt immediately sensed the tension in the room. This was no real estate deal.

“Matt, will you come with me for a minute, please,” his mom said, without even first saying hello or introducing him to the visitor. This was strange. Matt knew something was up, but what? Was he in trouble for something he didn't know about? Had somebody in the family died? Was his mom sick? All sorts of thoughts were racing through his head.

Mom grabbed his hand and led him through the sliding door into the kitchen. She closed the door, and then she turned toward him. “This is really hard…,” she began tentatively.

What was hard? Matt was now starting to panic. His stomach was flopping about even worse than it had been before today's intra-squad game. What was going on here, anyway?

“I'm just going to say it,” Mom finally blurted out. “I'm not sure if you recognize him, Matt. I didn't want it to be like this for you. He just showed up here this afternoon. ...The man in the living room is Tom Jensen. He's your father, Matt.”

Matt felt himself getting light-headed. He sat down on the stool by the kitchen eating bar and tried to comprehend what he had just heard. His father? It had been so long since his father had been in his life that Matt had nearly forgotten he had one, somewhere out there. The visitor had seemed familiar, but the only pictures Matt had ever seen of his dad were by now at least ten years old. It hadn't clicked who this man was until he heard the words from his mother's mouth. Matt didn't know how to react. This was the weirdest feeling he had ever experienced.

“It's up to you, Matt,” Mom continued gently. “If you don't want to talk to him right now, I'm sure he'll understand. I certainly understand. I know it's a shock…”

“What's he doing here, Mom?” Matt said, in a cross between a yell and a whisper. “I mean, why now?”

Matt's dad had been out of their lives for ten years, ever since his parents split up when he was just three. It had always seemed strange and it had always hurt that the man had never kept in contact. Matt had other friends whose parents were divorced, and most of their dads had stayed active in their lives. He had just always assumed his own dad didn't care enough to do that. He began to feel angry at the man sitting in the next room.

“I don't know,” Matt stammered. “I don't know what to do.”

“You know what?” his mom said. “I'm just going to tell him to go. This isn't fair to you. You haven't had a chance to prepare. I'm sorry, Matt.”

His head was whirling. Part of him wanted to go tell the man in the next room to get out of their house, to go away and never come back. Part of him was frightened about facing up to such a big moment in his life. Another part of him was curious. His dad? He had always wondered what his dad was like.

“Wait, Mom,” Matt said softly. “I'll meet him.”

She stretched out her arms and hugged her son, her small hands wrapping around the back of his neck. “Come on, then.”

His mother slowly slid the pocket door open. The visitor was standing by the front window. He turned as he heard the kitchen door slide open.

Matt was caught completely off guard. It was a bizarre feeling, like looking into a mirror. The man was tall, about six-foot-four, and thin—not rakishly thin, but athletically slim. He had brown eyes and wavy brown hair. The only thing radically different between he and Matt, besides age, was that his nose was larger and much more pointed. Matt had the round small nose of his mother.

“Hello, Matt,” the man said, clearly nervous himself. “It's been a long time.”

A long time? Matt felt as though he had never ever met this man. They might look alike but they had nothing in common. Matt couldn't remember having done a single thing with his father. The anger and frustration built up over ten years was welling up inside him again.

The man stretched out a large right hand with long slender fingers. Matt responded, shaking his father's hand. The ritual felt stilted, unnatural.

“Your mom tells me that you're quite an athlete,” the man said. “I loved sports myself when I was a kid.”

Matt nodded. He didn't know what to say. His voice seemed lost in the moment. He wanted to talk to his dad, to ask him questions, especially about why he had never bothered to show up or contact him until now. But he couldn't get anything out.