The Fumble Of A Quarterback

Chapter 12: You Owe A Dollar

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Happy Wednesday!!!!

"So, the big opening game is two days away. Are you ready for it, Shelly?" the professor asks in class.

Shelly smiles as he looks around the room, making sure people are watching. I wish they weren't. "Yeah, and Nora and coach have been doing great at prepping us."

Instantly my cheeks turn hot as I shrink in my seat. He just keeps making this worse. I don't understand why he always wants to wrap me into any conversation about football. It is a constant reminder for the class to not forget who I am.

All eyes fall on me, making my stomach tie into knots. My hands sweat. I shrink deeper into my chair, wanting to be anywhere but here. I should have dropped this class the day I found out Shelly was in it. Too bad that would postpone my graduation date. So here I am, still sitting beside him.

"So, if it doesn't go well, we can blame her, right?" the professor asks with a smirk.

Please no.

I feel sick.

I wish he never brought it up. Best not to give the class any ideas. The last thing I need is getting death threats if the team lost. Trust me, they will come. Dad gets them and I might too now.

"Nah, it wouldn't be her fault. If anything, it would be our problem for not listening to her," Shelly says.

When I signed up for this course, I thought it would be my favorite, but with Shelly, it drains all the fun from it. In fact, it is the class I dread.

"You heard it here then, class. Ok, so let's get started. Who did the assigned reading?"

I raise my hand along with half of the class. The words from the article float around my mind forming thoughts, arguments, and anything I can use in the discussion. I am just glad I could squeeze the reading in the night before while I sat in dad's office waiting for him.

The professor looks at me through his round glasses. "Managed to read even while helping the team? Look at Nora, use her as an example. Go on Nora, want to share some insights?"

My mouth turns dry as my thoughts vanish from my mind. Suddenly, I wish I hadn't raised my hand. Not only did Shelly remind the class of who I am, but the professor did a fine job at that too. I don't want to be used as an example.

With a deep breath, I quickly form a few sentences together, crudely explaining the reading. It is nothing I am proud of, but the professor takes it and moves on.

As the class continues, my mind shifts to football and the past few practices. We are so close to the opening game, but Dad seems more stressed than ever. For someone that is so cheerful normally, I can see the pressure he feels.

The team is still doing a poor job working together, because of that, the plays are rough and unorganized. As much as I tried helping, I feel like I failed them and Dad. The only friendships the team has built are around their cliques.

I still blame Everett for the poor teamwork. It doesn't matter what happened to him last semester. Everett is the starting quarterback; it is his job to lead but he isn't doing that. Leaders lead by doing but his refusal to do any team building is maddening. And it's not like I can get anything more from him when he hasn't talked to me since our walk. He probably is still mad at me. Scratch that, he probably hates me. Does it bother me, it kind of does. But I don't know how to fix it.

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Before long, I find myself standing on the field right beside Dad as he talks to the team about the upcoming match. Time is running out and the sense of urgency consumes the field like a coming storm cloud.