Authors: Kiki Hamilton
The Last Dance (3 page)
I LIFTED MY right arm like I was throwing a pass as I adjusted my shoulder pads. I was ready to blow the socks off any scouts who might be watching. This was my night to shine—I could feel it.
“Kellen.” My best friend, Ollie Walker, came up. He was naked, walking around with that strut of his like he was the cock in the hen house. He bumped shoulders with me. “Tonight’s your night, bro. Keep your eye on the target, man, and we’ll protect you.” At 6’2” and two hundred and sixty pounds, Ollie was the biggest offensive lineman that Griffin High ever had. “We got your back, baby.”
I grinned at him. I was taller than Ollie but about seventy pounds lighter. And the seventy pounds he had on me? All muscle. If he ever wanted to take me down my only hope was if I could outrun him. I shook his hand and bumped his shoulder back. “I’m countin’ on you, bro.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Is Jazzy going to Laurel’s before the dance?”
Something flickered across his face. “Nah, her mom let Jazzy off work to watch the game, but she has to go back in for an hour and help close up the beauty shop. We’ll meet you at the dance.” Ollie moved on to bump shoulders with CJ and I reached into my locker for my socks.
I knew Ollie’s girlfriend, Jasmine, didn’t really like Laurel. She’d even tried to get me to break up with her a few times with the old ‘you’re-too-good-for-her’ routine. I gave a mental shrug. Laurel wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. She’d been sweet and shy when we’d first started dating, but since she’d become a cheerleader she’d changed. She was really into the whole social thing now. But damn, she was fine to look at and better yet, she liked to make out.
OUR BREATH CAME OUT in smoky clouds as we jogged toward the field. The game had an early start—five o’clock—so we could have the dance right afterward. The gym was booked for some other event on Saturday so those budget-minded wizards at the school admin office had decided to have the Homecoming game and the dance on the same night.
I glanced up at the bright lights of the stadium as I waited to bust through the large piece of paper where the cheerleaders had painted an eagle flying with a bobcat in its talons. The scoreboard read Home with a big zero under it and Visitor with another big zero. I wondered what the board would read at the end of the game. I imagined an outrageous final score: Home – 42, Visitors – 14 and my lips stretched in a confident grin.
I swear the ground shook from the stomping in the stands when we ran onto the field. We broke into our warm-up formation and I threw some passes to CJ. My arm was loose, my legs felt strong—I was ready.
The air was cool, the lights were bright and the band was loud and proud. Right then, they stopped so the crowd could shout ‘
tequila!
’. It was a picture-perfect night for football. I couldn’t wait.
THE GAME STARTED and we quickly scored twice to Bellevue’s one touchdown in the first half. Our nickel defense was holding tough against the Bellevue quarterback’s strong passing arm and we held them going into halftime.
Bellevue came out with new intensity in the second half and quickly tied the game up. We were halfway through the fourth quarter when Coach made the decision to use the West Coast offense, which was a series of short passes to any of the five eligible receivers. You had to move fast and think quickly when playing the West Coast. My throwing arm was one of my strengths, so this would give me a chance to show off a bit in front of any college scouts who might be watching.
We broke huddle and I dropped back, my fingers tight on the leather of the ball. I scanned the field. Dillon was in motion and CJ had double coverage. I could see a guy coming toward me out of the corner of my right eye. Decision time. I pumped once toward CJ then let it rip to Dillon. The defender coming on my right was blocked by one of our offensive line. Dillon cut hard right and pulled the ball out of the air. A roar went up in the crowd and a familiar surge of adrenaline shot through me. We were driving the ball down field and the goal line was in our sights. We could do this.
“Kellen, we got your back, baby,” Ollie said to me when we were all in the huddle. The positive energy was palpable. My offensive line loved it when they had a shot at receiving a pass. I rattled off the play. We broke and hustled to the line.
I called the snap and dropped back to hand-off to one of our running backs. He gained a few yards up the middle. My next pass was incomplete when a Bellevue defender interfered with CJ. We happily took the fifteen yard penalty. That put us on the thirty-five yard line and first down. Time to pull back into the lead.
We broke huddle and I called the snap. I was in the zone—everything was moving in slow motion. I fell back out of the pocket, my fingers tight on the pebbly leather of the football. I stutter-stepped, looking for a receiver. My offensive linemen were in motion and I spotted several easy targets.
I pumped the ball, my arm coiled with power. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that CJ, with his blinding speed, had moved past the fifteen yard line down on the far side of the field. He broke hard left and was open. I turned toward him and rifled a perfect spiral.
I watched to see whether I would hit CJ in the numbers, totally focused. Then the world exploded. A defender hit me square in the back. His helmet was like a sledgehammer as he slammed into my ribs. My head snapped back as I was propelled forward.
The ground screamed up at me like some freaky fast-forward movie. My helmet slammed into the turf. For a fleeting second I smelled the grass and tasted dirt.
Then everything went black.
I
t was a crisp fall night and the stadium was already packed when we got there. The huge lights that lined the field made it brighter than high noon and the band was playing a rousing song about tequila. It seemed everyone in the stands knew that one lyric and felt compelled to shout it at the top of their voices. Whatever.
In the good news department, Lily and Shelby had saved us seats in the middle of the senior section, although ‘seats’ was a misnomer because nobody actually ever sat during a football game. All that wild enthusiasm over watching people ram their heads together like modern-day Neanderthals was apparently too exciting to take sitting down.
In the four years I’d gone to Griffin High, this was actually only the second football game I’d attended, the first being more of a learning experience when I was a freshman. I quickly learned that once was enough with football for me. Mira got me here tonight only because we were all going to the dance later—and basically she begged.
I WINCED DURING every play for the first half when the player’s helmets collided with a jarring
crunch,
the sound echoing across the field. Didn’t that hurt?
At the end of the first quarter, I convinced Lily and Shelby to go walk around a little bit, just to break up the monotony and see who was there, but Mira wouldn’t budge—she wanted to watch Kellen Peterson in action.
WHEN WE RETURNED twenty minutes later, Mira was still glued to the game. She was wearing a blue and white Griffin Eagles letterman’s jacket that looked like it was forty years old, but was actually kind of cute—in a vintage sort of way. She held two sad little stick pom-poms in her hands that she’d wave every time Kellen did something. Even if he fell down. It was pathetic, really. I decided an intervention was called for.
As I nudged Mira I noticed that Tank Bergstrom was standing on the other side of her. Interesting. He seemed to be around a lot lately. I wondered if Mira had noticed.
“See that cheerleader down there?” I pointed to the row of six very attractive girls who stood in front of our section waving blue and white pom-poms. They were wearing identical tight white sweaters that looked like they’d shrunk in the wash, with a blue eagle centered across their chests. Super-short skirts that didn’t cover any part of their legs completed the ensemble on this 45 degree night. It made perfect sense. “The blond in the middle with the long legs?”
“You mean the one who’s so proud of her eagle?”
I nodded at Mira. “That’s Laurel Simmons. In real life?
Still
Q’s girlfriend.”
Mira scowled at me. “Things happen, Ivy. People change.
Anything
is possible.”
“If you’re delusional,” I muttered.
In response, Mira waved her pom-poms and yelled “Go Eagles!” She kept a play-by-play monologue going in my ear, talking into one of her pom-poms like it was a microphone even though I didn’t understand half of the football terms she used.
“And Peterson drops back from the huddle, looking—no receivers in sight. He’s running right under pressure, he pitches a lateral to the tight end Tuiasosopo,”
her voice rose with excitement,
“and Tuiasosopo breaks over the line of scrimmage and he’s down. Five yard gain on the play. And it’s second and five.”
On the next play she continued. “
Peterson drops deep—looks—pumps once, throws the ball to Jackson and
—”
Q was tackled from behind and smashed to the ground, face-first. Mira gasped and gripped my arm until I could feel her fingernails through my jacket. “Oh, shizzle!”
I
think I might have been unconscious for a few seconds, but there were three guys piled on my back so I had a few moments to get it together. Steve Largent Lesson Number One: Never show weakness.
When the last guy got peeled away from me I pushed off the grass and hopped to my feet. Luckily, Ollie grabbed my elbow and held tight when I wobbled.
“You okay, man?” Our helmets were bar to bar and I could see the worry in his eyes. “You got your bell rung good, baby.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I shook my head and immediately regretted it as white hot pain lanced behind my eyes.
“Shit, we should’ve been protectin’ you, man,” Ollie said. “God damn Josh let that guy through. I’m gonna kick his ass after the game.”
“Just go kick some Bobcat ass and that’ll be enough,” I said. I blinked my eyes a few times to try and clear my head before I leaned into the huddle to call the next play. A defender had knocked the pass away from CJ’s hands so we were still on the thirty-five yard line with four minutes left. Should be easy to score.
Bellevue saw it differently however, and they blocked our passing as well as our field goal attempt. Coach came up to me as I jogged off the field.
“You okay there, Kellen?” His watery blue eyes were surrounded by wrinkles and topped by two bushy grey eyebrows that always reminded me of fuzzy caterpillars.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” My head hurt and I kept blinking to clear my vision, but I was okay. Besides, whining didn’t get you anywhere in football.
“Good job out there.” Coach slapped me on the back. “We’re going to have time for one or two more drives when we get the ball back and here’s what I want you to do.” He lifted his clipboard and started sketching out a play. I nodded as my gaze followed the lines and circles that his red pen drew. I knew every play in our playbook by heart—I should’ve known just what he wanted me to do, but for some reason the route lines look unfamiliar.
Our defense held the Bobcats at bay and I snapped my chin strap into place as I jogged back onto the field. It was now or never. I bent over into the huddle and looked at all the eyes staring at me intently. For a second they all looked like strangers. I tried to recall the play that coach wanted us to execute but my mind was blank.
“Didn’t coach say he wanted a stop route on the first play?” CJ asked.
“Yeah.” I pretended that I’d been just about to say that. “CJ and Dillon go down and hook. Get as far as you can—I’m gonna let this one fly. Break.”
The guys fanned on the line of scrimmage. I called the snap and backed up. My offensive line did a good job of buying me time. I watched CJ out of the corner of my eye but his defender was tight on him. I pump faked his direction then let loose with a bomb down to Dillon.
My throw was right on the money and Dillon caught it going away. It truly was a thing of beauty. The pass floated over his left shoulder into this arms and he ran into the end zone. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of celebration. I thrust my arms into the air in jubilation as my teammates ran toward me.
The final score was Home—21, Visitor—14. Not exactly what I’d visualized but good enough for me.
THE LOCKER ROOM was a mad house with guys whooping and yelling. They peeled their jerseys off and threw them into the air. Music blasted from somebody’s ihome and Coach was soaked from the ice bucket that had been dumped on his head.
He was still dripping when he motioned at me. Instead of waiting, he turned and headed to his office, high-fiving the guys as he went.
I was only wearing my pants when I stuck my head around the corner of his open door.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
“Yeah Kellen, come on in for a minute.” He waved me in. “And shut the door so we can hear ourselves think.”
I clicked the door shut and slid into one of the hard black plastic chairs in front of his desk.
“What’s up?”
He pushed his ball cap back, revealing a tan line from his hat across his forehead, his expression serious. Something turned in the pit of my stomach. Then his face split into a wide grin. “I’ve got three Pac-12 scouts who want to talk to you, Kellen. The University of Washington, Washington State University and Arizona State University.” He thumped the desk with his closed fist. “You played a great game tonight, and they all saw your talent.” His eyes gleamed with excitement. “You can write your own ticket from here, son. Just be smart.”
Coach stood up and held out his hand. I jumped to my feet, his words just starting to sink in. College ball. I was going to play college football. It was a dream come true. It was
my
dream come true.
“I’m proud of you, young man. You’re an example to every player on this team about hard work and dedication.” He wrapped his big meaty paw around mine and shook. “Keep it under your hat for now. They’ll be contacting you over the weekend, I’m sure. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”