Most aspects of football provided us with an elite level of special treatment - popularity, admiration, and envy from students, teacher favoritism, the principal's blind eye, and pride that brought the Salinas community together on a Friday night.
And then there were pep rallies.
I hated them.
Everyone hated them.
Except the cheerleaders, dance team, and faculty. And our cheerleaders took them way too seriously.
Please let this be over soon. My eyes almost rolled into the back of my skull and I groaned as Ava tugged me through the school gym along a line of cheerleader escorts. "You're captain, so you get the first pick." Her eyes scanned over every girl with more scrutiny than I put into my AP Bio lab this morning.
"Fine," I answered in a flat, bored voice. "You escort Josh."
"Duh!" She yanked me again. "I meant yours."
"Then you escort me," I teased.
She gasped, then shook her head so much that her ponytail whipped the sides of her face. "I think you should walk with Kendall or Harper." Her chin lifted as she studied my face.
That's a no from me. My stomach churned at being seen in any capacity with Kendall. I spent the last four days dodging Harper's giggles more than tackles in practice. Every day, they got louder and shrill. Before school, after, between classes, at lunch, fuck at practice, she was my new shadow. One annoying, giggling shadow.
A sharp elbow poked my ribs. "They're both perfect for your height. Harper's got a crush on you and would be good for you."
Height? A certain brunette who came up to my armpit and hated my existence was a better option. I bet she sat through a similar suffering experience, for her brother's sake.
Fuck, I hated that guy. Our socials spammed with anti-Salesian messages from a hundred bot accounts last night were no random incident. I needed to get in touch with Ellie, who blocked Josh's number. I tried it once to avoid any explanations to the blonde who glared at me with pursed lips. After tomorrow, I'd either be in Ellie's good graces or buried six feet under. The unknown sent a rush through me, but I wasn't sure if it was-
"Logan?" Ava nudged me again. "I've got like eight more guys to pair up here."
I blinked at Harper. How could Ava think that the girl who stared at me as if she hadn't eaten in weeks and I was an all-you-can-eat-buffet was 'good for me'?
"Ava." I groaned. "Is there anyone on the squad who maybe hates me?"
"I'd love to hate you," the girl behind Ava raised her hand, which Ava lowered with a grab of her wrist.
The smile I flashed the girl faded as soon as she released a loud, shrilled, hyena cackle. Ava scanned her clipboard like Coach's starter decision. "Ava, this is ridiculous," I muttered and snatched her board. "I'll walk out alone."
Her eyes rounded and she sucked in a sharp breath. With a squeak, she snatched the board and raised it like she considered hitting me with it. "You can't do that!"
Fueled by equal parts stubbornness and impatience, I marched to the front of the line. "Watch me."
"But then we're off-balance with the number of girls," she whined and tugged on my arm.
I shook her off me, scanned over the eighteen sets of eyes that stared at me, and recognized the timid one who decorated my locker. She gave me a glitter-shitfest of the first week. Mom still fought to get it out of the dryer. "Olivia, right?" I asked. She nodded, eyes wide and jaw almost on the gym floor. "Do you feel like being the topic of stupid school gossip for the next week?"
The pale color of her face and the earthquake her lower lip became suggested no, but she nodded again. "Umm, okay."
"Perfect." I grabbed her elbow and ignored Ava's annoyed expression. Josh could deal with her pouty duck face later. "Let's get this shitshow started."
Olivia's arm shook in my grip, so I dropped it. "Tonight's game should be enough," I grumbled over my shoulder to Josh. The school was ready, going off the supportive shouts, high fives, fist bumps, and back pats I received. Kids lined up along the fence to watch our practices, including Jackson, Sebastian, and Christian's laps of shame.
After our pageantry parade, the team and coaching staff were introduced to the student body. Olivia beamed during the whole experience. She clutched my arm and twitched all over the place. "Thanks for coming." I cleared my throat at the end of my half-politician propaganda, half-amp-up speech. "I promise to every person here, that we Mustangs will do everything in our strength and abilities, whatever it takes, to bring that championship home to Salesian!"
Thunderous applause.
More of a smattering, but I didn't give a fuck.
I meant what I said. Even if there was a finite number of ways to say we were going to destroy another school. As I turned, I caught Assistant Principal Lopez clapping. My smile widened when he gave me a thumbs up, no idea how much of a solid he did me this morning.
Direct, guaranteed outside-of-school access to Ellie.
But first... the annoying part.
Snake hissing, 'Olivia?' whispers started during the rally since gossip was better than any speech I gave or skit Ava and Kendall came up with. These hisses pushed open the fucking revolving door of rumors about who dated who. Another surge followed after each rally, one new couple at a time.
Of course, no one asked me to my face if I dated Olivia. I would've obliged with a "Nope."
"Maybe I'll wear a sign," I complained to Josh as we exited under the curious gazes and removed our jerseys. He, of course, had nothing to worry about. Ava blew an invisible tranquilizer into his neck from her top spot on the pyramid.
"Yeah?" He ran a hand through his messy hair and grinned. "What would it say? Taken by Ellie Harrison?"
"Fuck, no. And shut up." I scowled. "I'm not interested in her like that."
"You seem pretty invested for 'not interested like that.'" His grin widened and his fingers air hooked for emphasis. His low growl impression of me was terrible.
My eyes darted around for eavesdroppers but stopped where Jackson flirted with Kendall. Her disgusted face was priceless. "It's for Harrison," I reminded Josh. He was the only one who knew my plan, and I intended it to stay that way. "And, you know, human decency."
"Logan?" Ava's eyes sparkled as she pressed into Josh's side and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Who is this mystery crush you're hiding? I want to meet her."
"Fuck." I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. My head shook so many times, dizziness filled my brain. "It's not... No. This is a different kind of personal."
Her blue eyes blinked. "What other kind is there?"
I ticked my jaw with a hard clench. "Revenge personal."
One by one, my teammates stepped off the bus. We carried the excitement of a new season, expectations not to meet our past success but triumph further, and the electric anticipation in our veins...
... to an empty parking lot.
"Ehh, better to be too early." Coach Williams shrugged. At our collective unamused expressions, he shrugged. "What? You wanna stay out there and wash the bus for warmups? Get inside."
"We beat the groundskeepers and concessions workers," Josh muttered as he stepped in line with me.
My scalp warmed under the early evening sun. I dipped my head and tracked the sidewalk cracks under my feet. The forty-nine of us, two wide, resembled a giant caterpillar that marched en route to the locker room.
The dominant smell of bleach cleaners greeted us under the flickering buzz of yellow bulbs. Every guy slipped back into his pregame prep mode, unique for every jersey number.
"Not surprised," Josh's eyes took in my number ten as I hung it on the corner of a locker door.
I shrugged. "It was the only one that fit."
He hung his number twelve in a similar position and plopped on the wood bench. His rock music muffled through his speakers as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
My fingers fiddled with my earbuds, a deterrent against conversations. As I cycled through tonight's game plan, play-by-play mapped out in Coach's X's and O's, I eyed his staff huddle. Every single season brought change, but the Knights were 2-8 last year. I pushed down my ego with a single focus: We were not going to be that two this year, not with me and not with their weak-ass right guards.
"Hightower!" Coach called out with a flick of his fingers.
I walked past the snickers and smirks and met his expectant eyes. Crinkle lines edged them, identical to the ones that framed his mouth. "No funny shit tonight. Run first – Landon and Javal, not you, and short, sharp passes. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. Grind down their line and secondaries in the fourth quarter, then you can have your fun."
"Got it," I replied with a stiff nod, appreciative he didn't mention Brent. Four days of pushing mentoring shit on me were enough.
The pregame prep vibe was relaxed and loose, both in slumped postures and casual smiles. We waited with the excitement level of a joint dentist appointment, but with less comfortable seating.
Most guys thumbed through their phones. I yanked Bryce's away, deleted yet another game spreadsheet, and deleted his google account. That should buy me another two weeks.
"Broski!" he whispered with a low groan.
I pointed the corner of his phone at his nose and gave him my best, 'try me' look. "Broski me again and I'll make sure your ass watches the rest of the season from the bench, or put you on washing uniforms."
"Fun sucker," he muttered and set the phone next to him.
"Decently satisfy your girls all you want, but have some respect."
The soft buzz in the room died as all eyes turned to me. I shrugged and dropped my cleats between my feet. "All of you should."
Josh snorted. "So progressive."
Before I answered him with a faceful of my stinky leather glove, my phone buzzed with a message.
Mom: GOOD LUCK!!!!!!!!!! ❤️👏🏈❤️ 😺
Mom: Knuckles Deep 4 Salinas! 👏🏈🎉📺 🎳 😀 🥳 🤸
"That's embarrassing," I muttered and shook my head, silencing my phone. Mom's in-person reactions were worse than her emoji explosions.
"Can't say she's not excited." My eyes lifted to Josh's peering at my screen. "Knuckles Deep? And what's with the cat?"
"It's my Mom's bowling team." After I sent a quick good text to Brody, I muted my phone with a grunt. "No idea about the cat."
His arms crossed over his chest and he closed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted. His knees bounced an earthquake, making soft clicks echo across the floor. "I can't wait, bro."
"Forty-five minutes left." Looked like I was putting on my socks one toe at a time.
"No." He pulled out his chest guard and pulled it overhead with a snap of plastic. His head bent as he snapped under each armpit, then turned for me to tighten the back. His words, "I can't wait for you to be completely pussy-whipped," earned him an extra yank that straightened his spine.
"You're lucky I don't give you a wedgie for that shit-talk," I warned him.
"You need me too much," he said. "Besides, I know your secret."
I clenched my teeth at yet another jab about Ellie. He was delusional. Maybe I made a mistake in telling him. "Tomorrow," I reminded myself more than him and buried all thoughts about Ellie. And my heart didn't twinge at the idea I saw her tomorrow.
My face must have worn that thought because his hand rested on my shoulder. "For guts and glory?"
Not that. "Seriously, Josh?" I tipped my head back and a groan vibrated my throat. "We're not twelve."
He smirked and directed his gaze toward Coach's huddle. "Do you prefer bedazzled ice dancing?"
"We still have our guts, working on the glory," I muttered and tapped my knuckles against his raised fist. "Now, shut up and get dressed... so we can sit here for thirty more minutes."
After the slowest setup, pads were set, knuckles tapped, cleats pounded into perfect tension, bathroom trip, and black warpaint streaked over our cheeks, Coach stood up and faced the room.
"Alright, ladies! It's that time again." He dragged a hand over his square chin and paced heavy steps. "Let's open up the feelings."
My head dropped. He was so fucking weird.
"My inner therapist would like to remind you that my shoulder is always available for a good cry." He strode back and forth with his whistle swinging across his chest with each step. "A new season is upon us, lots of pressure, so much pressure, the biggest pressure of your lives."
What an endorsement. And he wondered why I didn't have him write recommendation letters for college. My results on film were enough.
"I believe in each one of you," he swept his clipboard in an arc.
With every inch of gear snug in place and my ass numb from the bench, Coach's pregame pushed me deeper into my internal game plan. Matchup for matchup, we had a play. Screens, hooks, posts, wheels.
Coach had his version of tonight's plan, but game 1 was for statements. And I intend to scream mine to the world.
By the time we lined up, the staccato clicks of our cleats were background static. A slow simmer of excitement hummed through me, warming my skin and igniting my veins. Shoulders shifted ahead of me, parting a sliver down the line, and the hum of the home crowd greeted us before light filtered into the tunnel.
The prickle of awareness roamed over my skin, raising goosebumps on my arms. The hairs raised where the base of my helmet rubbed the back of my neck, and sporadic twitches flicked the tips of my fingers. Restlessness took over, as my arms shook and my steps shortened.
A rush of awe and humility hit me with the breeze over my cheeks. The crowd's roars and boos crashed like waves, muted under the blazing white lights. For one second, I mapped the details into memory.
The soft grass under my cleats. A cool breeze in my eyes. The bright Friday night lights. The taste of excitement. The rough leather in my hands. Controlling my side of the game. Cat and mouse. Scanning the defensive placements and moving them under my command so I can beat them.
Making my statement.
Hard beats pounded in my chest and pulsed down to my wrists and ankles. I was shocked to awake, the cells in my body charged. My muscles warmed to loose while I stretched. A coin toss later and our twenty-six-yard kickoff return later, my offensive team took its place.
After a long break for the Knights' opening drive to end in a quarterback sack, I took my place and snapped every head in the huddle to my play call. "S-fourteen." Not a screen, but my blind trust went a long way. Trust in my line to smash the guards, trust in my center to snap the ball to me, trust for my receiver to hit their blocks, and their trust in me that opening with a sneak was the right call.
My left foot stomped the turf. "S-fourteen! S-fourteen! Hut hut hike!"
In a snap, rough leather slapped my palms. Before I secured it in my elbow, my feet shot off. With a stutter, I shifted from staccato steps to long strides. The turf pounded vibrations into the sole of my feet and my breath fueled me forward.
Momentum on my side, I surged past the line for six, seven, and ten strides. Josh's final shove pushed a big enough gap for another burst before a pair of hands shoved me out of bounds. Shrill whistles ended the play, but I stumbled a few steps before I tossed the ball to the lineman.
"Sixteen yards, number ten, Logan Hightower," the announcer's voice buzzed through the air. "First down for Salesian."
Boos followed, and Coach's hands met his hips in a disapproving, 'We have running backs for that play,' gesture. He shook his head and pointed to the field. My teeth gnashed my mouth guard with a grin.
If he liked that, then he'll love this. Without a huddle, I rushed up to the line. "T-six!"
On my left, number twelve's helmet snapped in my direction, but I pointed to the right side to stack Cole with my receivers in a fake run. "T-six! Hut hike!"
One-on-one, Josh sprinted off the line in a long, straight route. I dropped back, grounded my feet, and reared the ball back with a cocked elbow. Three... two... With a crunch of my torso and a loud grunt, my toss was gone on three.
Josh's strides lengthened as he slipped under the ball with ease. In a stretch, he burst into second speed as I became a spectator to the divots of turf he kicked up behind him. Doing what he did best, his legs blurred until his cleats stomped over the endzone.
My hands squeezed in pumped fists before the announcer lamented, "Touchdown, Salesian."
Satisfaction flowed through me as I crash-jumped my chest into Josh's. His roar almost rattled my helmet as our feet touched down. "Fuck yeah!"
Couldn't have scripted a better start myself.