"What the hell are you doing," Gilly shouted from the sidelines. The other coaches paced anxiously as the older man stalked toward us. For the last hour, we'd been running the same three plays. They were the money plays, according to Coach. That is if we could nail them down. They were simple enough.
Fiji was a running play. Instead of lining up for the pass, the quarterback will fall back out of the pocket and shift opposite of the receiver of his choosing. That put more distance between them and the player in scoring position. Corey believes it will work like our last fake out against St. Peter's. While the entire field moves to the closest receiver, the QB can line up the long shot across the field.
Ohio was a standard handoff. The two running backs crossed simultaneously around the QB. Essentially forming an "x" as one goes in front of the QB for the fake and the other goes behind to receive the actual hand off. The hope is that the confusion might be enough to sneak the ball through the line. All we would need was a gap. Joseph seemed to be doing fine at making that happen.
The play we were having a problem with was the running one; Canada. Shane wasn't quick like Blaine was. She wasn't as confident as he was. Especially since she knew this was for the biggest game most of us would ever get to be a part of. She'd been a wreck at practice all week. The chances of her playing during the game was slim. Coach didn't want to put the pressure on her. Not yet. If Shane didn't learn to pick up his feet though, that time will come sooner than any of us wanted.
"Russel. When I say be quick, I mean quick." My friend's head dropped forward, the weight of the helmet making it drop lower. My arms were crossed loosely over my chest and pads. The line men on both sides of the line of scrimmage were panting. Hands on their knees or on top of their helmets. Any way for them to catch as much breath as they could before Coach went back to drilling us.
"You stuck in concrete or something?" He was still shouting as he spun around to eye us all in turn. "Sloths could smoke all of your asses."
My gaze darted to Luke as he pulled off his helmet and shook out his nasty, sweat drenched hair. Blaine glared at the back of his head while putting her hands on her padded hips. He was getting ready to say something when a shrill chirp echoed behind all of us.
Coach Corey was waving his hand in the air, calling us all to attention. None of us moved until Coach Gilly took the first step. Fear and exhaustion keeping us in place. I had never seen Coach this worked up. He was always the one on the sidelines that silently glared at us. The other coaches were the ones who would lay into us for screwing up.
"We've got two more practices until we head north. Do you think we can get it together before then," Gilly growled, his back to us as he asked.
"Yes, Coach," we shouted in return.
"I don't think you can. None of you have proven to me, or this staff, that you are ready for this." He spun around ready to put the fear of god into us. Jabbing a finger in the direction we'd be traveling in, he narrowed his eyes on each of us. "Going to state isn't about privilege. There isn't some pansy ass invitation. It is earned. And from what I've seen these last few days, you haven't earned shit. There are no participation trophies at the end of this road. It's all or nothing. So, I'm going to ask you one last time. Can we get our shit together and prove it to them that we earned that spot? Can we prove it to them that this wasn't a fluke? Prove it to the world that we are in this for that final win of the season?"
The confirmation came ten times louder and carried every ounce of aggression we could muster. That seemed to please Gilly enough that he stepped back. His arms were on his hips as he looked over us once more. The lethal look in his eyes a minute ago had faded. Admiration and hope flitted through them as they studied each of us.
Most of the guys didn't know Coach Gilly off the field. It had been his life mission to keep his outside life to himself. He was Coach on the field and at school, but beyond the invisible boundary line, he was just another face. One more local who enjoyed Dillion's on a saturday morning as much as his team did. Although, I believe they are for different reasons.
There was a day, about a year ago, when I had ran into him. No crowd. No staff. Just a kid and a man from town. We made awkward eye contact for a few seconds. When the waitress asked where I wanted to sit, Coach waved me over. He kicked out the stool beside him while flipping to the next page in the newspaper. The glasses he wore during games were perched on the tip of his nose as he scanned the latest scores. Over a pot of coffee, a stack of pancakes and corned beef, I learned more about my mentor than I had in three years.
Coach Adam Gilly had spent eight years in the Army before going to college to get his teaching certificate. There were a lot of people who gave him a hard time because of his age. The military had given him a tough enough skin that they had no effect. He had been married for thirty years to his high school sweetheart. They had two boys. One followed in his father's footsteps and enlisted. The other is an accountant, or something with money, up in the city. When his wife passed away from skin cancer, he thought he'd lost his world. Then he slowly lost touch with his sons.
Seeing him on the field, or in the weight room, no one would ever know the life he lived. Hell, he told me it all himself and I still didn't believe it. He survived bootcamp, two tours, a long marriage and raising two boys. Now here he was, shaping more boys. And a girl that he never had, or got to see grow up. The least we could do was win him the damn Illinois High School Association Football State Championship title.
We were dismissed after a few more reminders and lectures. I found my way to my girl, but slowed when I saw she had her fingers curled around her facemask. The helmet was being shoved toward her brother, colliding with his chest. She was growling something at him as he stared down at her. The tight knit in his brow and I knew to stay back. Whatever they were arguing about, it was safer to wait and watch then intervene.
"What do you think is going on this time," Shane asked dryly. I glanced at him after pulling my helmet off and saw Joe standing beside him.
"I'm playing the not-my-business card followed by the I-don't-want-to-know card," I answered with a sigh.
"Sounds like someone is too chicken shit to ask," Jose teased. When I met his eyes, he winked at me. There was no stopping the smile as I remembered the first time Blaine accused me being a coward. Then the second time. There was no telling if it would ever die. As long as it was coming from her I didn't care. Joe, though, could shut his mouth.
Blaine spun around on her heels and stalked toward the gate at the far end of the field. My friend's head was dropped back, eyes shut, while his fingers curled then relaxed at his side. Shane approached first, poking Lucas' shoulder. Joe and I followed at a safe distance. There was no sign that he'd snap out of his little moment swinging. We all knew him well enough that it was always a possibility.
"What," he barked, daggers fixed on Shane.
"Just checking that you're alive."
"Obviously," he growled stalking off the same way his sister did. He stopped at the thirty yard line and repeated the defeated stance.
Shane and Joe stuck out their hands, prepared for a game of rock-paper-scissors, to see who would have to ask the big question. Only because it involved Blaine, I brushed past their waiting hands and walked over to my friend. I smacked his back, summoning him once more from whatever that strange trance thing he kept doing.
"You've got Shane and Joe wigging out." We both looked over our shoulders to find the pair now rough housing behind us. "What was that with Blaine? Something with your folks again?"
"Not exactly." He studied his cleats for a few seconds before drawing in a deep breath. The next sentence was rushed and I had to ask him to repeat himself. "Zoey and I are going out Friday."
"Zoey? How did you score an A-Lister like her?" His face twisted as he tried to tell me what I already knew he meant. I moved to stand in front of him. "I've got a few rules for you. One. Don't be Shane. She deserves better. Two. Keep the handsy PDA to a minimum."
"Are you fucking kidding -" I raised a hand to cut him off. I wasn't done rubbing his nose in it.
"Three. She's my cousin. If anything happens to her, you're dead."
"That's a little extreme, don't you think?"
"Four, and final rule," I leaned closer to him, a wild grin taking up my entire face. "No sleepovers. You got me?"
"You're a dick, you know that? Does Blaine know that?"
"She's fully aware. She also knows that I could be like you, or," I cringed as Shane slung his arms across our shoulders, "Him."
"Are your panties out of that bunch?"
"Fuck off," Luke grumbled, shoving the heavy arm of his pads. "You reek."
Shane made a show of sniffing his pits before shrugging and moving past us. Joe shook his head as he followed our fearless leader. Sharing one more look with Luke, we fell in line behind them.
"Is that why Blaine was arguing with you? She found out about you and Zoe?"
"Nah. She knew about it. There was a ticking clock on how long I had before she told you, instead of me. Something about being honorable." His eyes shifted to me and I knew it was meant to be a dig.
"I don't know how many times or ways I can apologize for that." The sigh that was forced out sounded like Heather's when she didn't get her way. "There is no undoing or redoing it. Honestly, I don't think I would do it differently. We had a few weeks that were just us. Time that we got to know each other beyond friends, or classmates. That wouldn't have happened if you were hovering. I don't think I would have fallen so hard for her either."
"How hard did you fall?"
"All the way, man." I took another shaky breath as we reached the gym doors. "There's no one like her, Luke."