I flipped to the next page in the playbook, half-focusing on the plays that I'd memorized one hundred times over, trying to tune out the ruckus happening around me.
As summer was winding down, most of the days post-practice were spent in my backyard. Sometimes a few guys from the team would show up to toss a football around or go for a swim in the lake. Right now, Wesley and Luke were tossing the football, shouting their conversation about this week's college football lineup.
The roar of Jake's Jeep pulled me out of my concentration, and I shot an angry look to Nathan, who was hanging out of the passenger window.
"Sam!" Nathan shouted out.
Ignoring him, my gaze falls back to the book in my lap. Jagged Zebra, one of my favorite plays.
I step back. Luke swings around the left, running for ten yards before making a sharp cut left, just inside of the boundary line. And if Luke Peterson actually catches the fucking ball, he's easily over for the first down.
And then there was a shadow casting over me.
"Don't tell me you're still obsessing over that playbook," Jake said, with a playful smile. "You've had the same one for four years. I think you're good."
Jacob Anderson, my best friend since Kindergarten. We were in the same class, and one of the kids started making fun of Jake for his hand-me-down backpack. So I shoved the kid to the floor. We'd been inseparable since.
Jake was the reason I'd started in peewee football, my mom feeling more comfortable with Jake by my side. He was tall for his age, easily sliding into the O-Line as I stood in for Quarterback. And twelve years later, nothing had changed.
"Why are you here, Jake?" I asked, as he began to push my hammock back and forth. "I'm busy."
"You're always busy with that stupid playbook," Jake said. "We want to go down to the Pizza Shack. Come with?"
Wesley had stopped tossing the football, now chatting with Nathan. And Luke had taken to pacing the length of the yard.
He was going to lose it if we didn't at least try to keep him occupied.
"Take Luke," I said, with a dismissive wave. "He's coming down off of nicotine, could use the distraction."
Jake's head whipped around toward him. "Luke! You dropped the vape?"
A frown tugged against his lips. "How about we don't talk about it?"
"See? Take him."
And then the playbook was gone from my hands.
"Give it back!" I demanded, as Jake held the book up above his head.
My 5'5, 135 pound frame had nothing on Jake's 6'2, 220 pound one. And his smirk told me he already knew this.
And then Jake's smirk softened, his shoulders sagging. "Sam, you've got to leave this house."
"I just went to football practice this morning."
"You know what I mean."
Unfortunately so. I glanced toward the back porch, where my mom had retreated back inside, her book still sitting on the table.
"You'll have your phone," Jake said. "And we can always ditch, I have my Jeep. But you haven't left this house for anything but football in nearly a month, Sam."
I hate it when Jake gets serious on me.
"Can't we just order pizza here?" We do it just about every week, why does today have to be different?
"Because I'm worried about you."
Nathan's voice cut across the backyard. "Are we going or what? I'm starving."
Jake raised an eyebrow at me in question.
"Go without me," I said. I held out my hand. "And give me my book back."
Jake reached into his back pocket, hold up his keys toward Nathan. "Go without me."
"What?" Wesley called out.
Nathan came across the field, frowning in my direction before taking the keys from Jake's outstretched hand. "What time do you have to be at work?"
"Four," Jake said. "If you come scoop me, you can keep the Jeep."
Nathan let out a loud whoop before turning back toward Luke and Wesley. "Who's down for Carly's tonight?"
Carly Jenkins, head of the cheerleading team. Notorious for her annual Back-To-School Party.
Was that tonight already?
"What time do you want me to scoop you, Sam?" Nathan asked, with a lopsided grin.
"I'll text you if I decide to go."
His grin lessened as he glanced toward Jake one last time before heading back over to Luke and Wesley, the three of them piling into Jake's Jeep and heading out.
When Jake looked back over at me, I could see the exhaustion lines etched in his face.
How long has it been since he had a good night's sleep?
"Are you working late?" I asked.
He shrugged in response. "However long they need me, I'll be there."
"Are you sleeping at your house?"
He didn't respond, instead turning toward mine. "Let's go inside. It's hot as Satan's ballsack out here. And I'm on Warehouse tonight."
I snagged my playbook from his back pocket as I stood up. "Don't touch my book."
"Yes, ma'am."
We went inside through the back, sliding glass door, my mom standing in the kitchen. "What are we thinking for dinner?" she asked. "Jake? I think it's your night to vote."
"Jake's working tonight," I said.
She didn't look too pleased with that answer. "Jake, you've worked every night this week."
Jake was growing fidgety, which was never a good sign.
My mom reached across the counter, russling his hair. "Come here after? I'll keep a plate warm for you in the microwave."
"It'll be late," Jake said.
"You have a key. I'll leave the alarm off, set it once you've locked up." She didn't wait for an answer. "Do you two want some watermelon? Freshly cut."
I took the Tupperware of watermelon over to the couch, Jake and I plopping down.
"What was your vote, Jake?" my mom called out. "I need to run to the store."
"Jake's cutting for season, he's going to choose something healthy and gross," I complained.
He popped a piece of watermelon into his mouth. "Taco salad?"
"On it."
Not as bad as I was anticipating. "Less green, more meat. Sign me up."
"More green," Jake corrected. "I'm trying to get back down to 220 before season opener, Sammy."
"O-Line isn't supposed to cut weight."
"This O-Lineman feels good at 220. So that's what we're going with."
Jake had never been the biggest guy on the Offensive Line. But he was the most effective player. And he'd always been my main.
"But for now, I'd like to zone out before work tonight," he said. "So turn on some TV. What episode of Shameless are we on?"
Kicking my feet up in his lap, I tossed him the remote before leaning back. Jake pulled out the couch footrest, laying back as he turned on Netflix.
It was probable Jake would fall asleep. He never slept much at home, and with all the hours he's been working lately, I had a feeling that he may not have been going home at night.
I hated the thought of Jake sleeping in his car instead of just coming here. But his pride always seemed to get in the way.
"Is my spare work uniform still in Brennan's closet?" Jake asked.
I nodded. "My mom washed it for you."
A small smile fluttered across his face. "She's too much."
The one time Jake had fallen asleep on his mom's couch after his shift, still in his work uniform, his stepdad yelled at him for putting shoes on his furniture and locked him out. In the middle of winter. He'd walked six miles to my house, and my mom had run him a hot bath and washed his uniform, hanging it in my brother's room for when Jake needed it.
"You work too much."
"So you like to say."
I knew that he gave the money to his mom for bills. But we never talked about it, mostly because Jake refused to acknowledge it. He'd been working since he was thirteen, paid under the table at a mechanic shop. And now he unloaded trucks worked the warehouse at the local grocery store. During the school year there were restrictions on how much he could work, and he was further limited due to football. But summer meant endless hours. And I hated it.
"Just promise me that you'll come over tonight? Actually eat some dinner and sleep in a bed?"
"Promise, Sam."
~*~
"Sam!"
Who's screaming?
"Sam!"
Why is it so loud?
"Sam!"
Oh shit, I'm screaming.
My arms tightened around my mom as she ran her fingers through my hair. "It's okay, Sam. You're here. With me."
My bedroom door flew open, Jake standing in the dimly lit doorway. He was holding a golf club over his bare shoulder, his sweatpants resting on his hips. His shoulders sagged when he realized it was just me.
"Sorry," Jake whispered.
I buried my face into my mom's chest, my breathing labored as I tried to ground myself.
I'm here.
"Jake, get a glass of water," mom instructed, her voice soft.
My mom brushed back my hair, sticky from the sweat that had built up on my forehead. "I love you so much, Samantha."
"I love you too, mom."
Jake came back with a glass of water, resting it on my nightstand.
"Sit," mom said, patting the bed next to her. "Let's all just take a moment to breathe."
Jake did as he was told, my mom reaching over to squeeze his shoulder.
"We're going to be okay," mom said. "All four of us."
There was nothing I wanted more than to crawl onto Brennan's futon, watching him play video games as I lulled off to sleep. It was a routine I didn't realize we had until he wasn't here. There was so much I'd taken for granted between the two of us.
And I vowed never to again.
"I'm okay," I said, my voice coming out soft and steady. "I don't remember the dream."
Partial truth. It was always about the accident, always about the night that everything changed.
My mom kissed my forehead. "Sleep tight, Star." She stood up, bending over to kiss Jake's forehead as well. "You too, love."
He ducked his head low as she left.
"Will you lay here with me?" I asked, as Jake turned to look at me.
"If you want I can turn on some video games. I'll try to shout as loud as Brennan."
Brennan was the loud player. Jake was always shushing him, reminding Brennan that it was 1 AM and that he's a lunatic.
And then I was crying. Jake didn't say anything else as he laid down next to me, his face angled toward the ceiling. He reached his arm around me, pulling me toward his side. "We're going to be okay, Sammy. As your mom said, all four of us."
"You and me walked away, Jake."
He didn't say anything to that.
"Brennan took the impact. And now Brennan pays the price."
"I know." Jake's voice was strained, and I tried to angle to see him.
In all of our years of friendship, I've seen Jake cry a total of two times.
"I didn't mean to upset you, Jake. I'm sorry."
I'm sorry. It was never enough.
"You're always worried about everyone that isn't you," Jake said. "Close your eyes, Sam. You don't have to play martyr here. You get to be sad. And that's okay."
Everyone deserved a friend like Jacob Anderson.
~*~
Friday night movie night had been a staple in our house for years. Every Friday Brennan, Jake, and I sit around the TV and argue over which movie to watch. And my mom sits back and watches us in amusement, going along with any movie that we end up choosing.
And this Friday was no different. Just a slight adjustment.
Brennan flipped through the new releases on Netflix, Jake leaning back with his feet kicked up on Brennan's hospital bed as the two of them bickered over the rating of last week's movie, Free Guy.
"No," Brennan said, with a shake of his head. "That movie was trash. And you're not going to convince me otherwise."
"How high are you?" Jake asked. "What kind of morphine are they giving you here? Because that was a great movie."
If I could snag the remote from the end of the bed, I could probably get away with choosing a movie before they...
"Don't even think about it," Brennan said, as I made my move.
Damn. "You're not even looking."
Tonight's genre was a stand-up comedian. And we usually couldn't even agree on that.
"Kevin Hart," Jake said. "Come on."
"I've seen every single one," Brennan said. "I'm not rewatching because you have a life outside of these four walls and don't spend your days binge-watching every new release."
"I would like to watch the Kevin James special," I said.
Both Brennan and Jake made a disgusted face.
"One thing we can agree on is that we're not watching that," Jake said.
We settled on a John Mulaney special before Jake flipped off the lights.
"Want some?" I asked Jake, offering out the bag of white cheddar popcorn.
"Cutting for the season," Jake said. "So no."
Brennan made a gagging noise. "Cutting Jake is no-fun Jake."
I nodded in agreement. "Exactly what I've been saying.
"Yes, well, not all of us have the gift of a fast metabolism," Jake said.
"Drop a leg, twenty-five pounds easy," Brennan said.
Jake sucked in threw his teeth as I shot Brennan a glare. "Not funny."
"Maybe for you. I'll just high-five myself."
We settled into silence as we watched the comedy special, the silence broken by constant bouts of laughter.
"Hey," Brennan whispered, leaning over and elbowing Jake.
Jake hissed, his head ducking low. "Ouch."
I raised an eyebrow in question, exchanging confused glances with Brennan.
"Can you call the nurse?" Brennan asked me. "I could use a dose of pain pills."
I nodded, leaning over the pressing the call button.
"What's with you?" Brennan asked.
"Took a hit at practice," Jake said. "Sorry, caught me off guard."
No he didn't.
Jake avoided my gaze, focusing straight ahead on the TV.
"Am I loser if I fall asleep?" Brennan slurred, his eyes drooping.
"If they gave me a dose of morphine, I'd be out too," Jake said.
Brennan hummed in agreement. "Love you guys. You know that?"
I paused the movie. "Lovey-dovey Brennan means it's time to go."
"But I love youuu!"
Leaning over, I kissed his forehead. "I love you too, bubs."
Jake and I left, heading out to Jake's Jeep.
"Are we going to talk about the lie?" I asked.
Jake raised an eyebrow toward me. "What lie?"
"You didn't take a hit at practice."
He pulled his keys out, his gaze focused straight ahead. "Yeah. I did."
"I was there, Jake. You can't fool me."
"You worry too much."
"I told you, if Roger ever hits you, I'm going over there. And I'm beating his ass."
Jake chuckled in response. "I have no doubt. But as I've already told you, it's not like that."
I didn't believe him. Not for a second. "Pinky promise?"
He began to jog toward the car. "We're not kids anymore, Sam."
"So you're lying."
He headed around to the driver's side of the car, flashing me a smile. "I'm not. I'm just tired. Your mom said she was getting pizza for dinner?"
"I thought you were cutting. For the season."
"Pizza is always an exception." He swung open the car door. "Come on, Sammy. Stop overthinking everything."
Pushing Jake away wasn't going to solve anything. "Fine. But you have to promise me that if things ever get bad... You'll talk to me. Okay?"
His smile faltered. "It's nothing to worry about, okay? I can handled it. One more year and then we can go kick ass in college ball."
"Yeah. We're not talking about that tonight."
"What? You get to analyze me, but I can't say anything back?"
I slid into the passenger seat, Jake hopping into the driver's seat.
"Eleven years of friendship and you haven't figured out how this works yet?" I teased, causing him to laugh.
Jake held out his pinky toward me. "You're my best friend. So for you, I pinky swear that if things get bad at home, if something happens that I can't handle, I'll come to you."
I locked my pinky around his. "And as your best friend, one phone call and I'll beat his ass. No questions asked."
Jake started up the car, throwing his arm around my seat. "Pizza?"
"Take me home, Anderson."
could it be? Rachel uploading a story in 2022? no your eyes do not deceive you. welcome back to League of Her Own! the One of the Boys rewrite that I started during COVID and then ... well that's a story for another time.
it's good to be back and actually writing again. I've missed this more than I can express in words (LOL and I'm a writer) but I took some much needed time off and I feel more inspired to put words on paper than I have in a LONG time!
so what's different in the rewrite, you may ask? as the original was written in 2015/6 era, I would like to consider myself an improved writer since that time. so just touching up some of the overdramatic plot points. we also don't pit women against each other in 2022, #womensupportingwomen. so removing that excess drama and adding in some fresh new fun! I really think you guys are going to like the new & improved plot points, with the same characters you've always loved just in a fresh, new light.
teaser: we meet the cheerleaders! and we see a little inside Sam's mind of where her head is at for her future college options.
updates: this book will update on two Tuesdays a month.