by Fred Bowen
Chapter 4
The team crowded around Coach Butler after the second-half kickoff. “Come on, guys, we’re down 14–0!” he shouted. “We’ve got to put some points on the board, quick.”
Huddled with his teammates, Jesse thought back on the first half. The Panthers offense had struggled. Jesse had caught only one short pass. Most of Henry’s pass attempts were either too high or too low. And without a passing attack, Griffin Puvel, the Panthers’ top running back, had found it hard to gain many yards on the ground.
The Panthers’ kicking game was even worse. Two short punts had given the South Shore Sailors good field position, and they had roared down the field for easy scores.
Now, Coach Butler held a clipboard above his head.
He smacked the tip of the marker against the diagrammed play as he explained it. “We’re starting with Fake 24, Deep Post. Henry fakes to Griffin to hold the linebackers. Then Jesse runs a deep post over the middle. We may catch the defense napping. Run it right.”
The Panthers offense jogged onto the field. Henry knelt down in the huddle and repeated Coach Butler’s orders. “Fake 24, Deep Post on two!” he barked. “Run it right.”
Jesse flanked out to the left. He rested his hands on his hip pads and dug his right foot into the turf. He was ready to take off.
“Ready … set … hut one … hut two!”
Jesse flew off the line, counting in his head. At three, he pushed off his left foot and angled to the goalposts at the far end of the field. Jesse’s speed caught the Sailors defensive backs by surprise. He broke into the clear with nothing in front of him but green grass. As Jesse looked back for the pass, he was thinking touchdown!
But Henry’s throw was too long, even for Jesse at top speed. The ball flew over his head and landed ten yards downfield. Jesse slowed to a disappointed jog. His chance for a touchdown was gone.
A run into the line gained only one yard. It was third down, nine yards to go for a first down. The Panthers needed someone to make a play.
“Middle Cross,” Henry said.
The pass is coming to me, Jesse thought. The diagram of the play appeared in his mind. After the snap he sprinted 12 yards straight downfield and cut sharply into the middle of the field.
Just get the ball to me, Henry, and I’ll take care of the rest.
Jesse broke into the clear for the briefest moment, but the pass was too late … and too high. He reached up and back, hoping he could somehow snag the ball out of the air. The football skimmed off the tips of his outstretched fingers.
Wham! A Sailors defensive back cracked into Jesse’s chest with his shoulder pads.
Whomp! Jesse’s body snapped back and he fell hard.
Jesse lay in the dirt, out of breath from the solid hit. He slowly lifted himself to his elbows as the Sailors defense celebrated around him.
“Good defense!”
“Big hit!”
“Let’s go, Sailors!”
Jesse struggled to his feet and headed toward the sideline. Coach Vittone met him before he was off the field. “Look at me,” he ordered, resting his hands on Jesse’s shoulders and staring straight into his eyes.
“What quarter is it?” he asked Jesse.
“Third.”
“What’s the score?”
“We’re behind 14–0. I’m okay, Coach.”
“Who’s the other team?”
“The South Shore Sailors. Really, I’m fine.”
Coach Vittone patted him on the shoulder. “Just wanted to be sure,” he said. “You took a pretty hard lick.” He turned and shouted to Coach Butler. “Jesse’s okay! But let’s sit him for at least the next set of downs.”
Coach Butler nodded and turned his attention back to the game. Another short punt had put South Shore in good field position.
Jesse took off his helmet and sat on the Panthers’ bench.
Quinn plopped down beside him. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Henry’s gonna get you killed if he keeps throwing the ball high like that over the middle.”
Jesse leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
Quinn smiled. “Good thing you bought that cup, or you’d really be in trouble.”
Jesse hurt too much to laugh.
The Sailors drove downfield for another touchdown. Jesse checked the scoreboard.
The worst part of it was the zero below Panthers. The offense hadn’t done a thing.
Jesse got up and walked gingerly back and forth along the sidelines, testing his aching muscles. He kept his eyes on the field. The Panthers had the ball and were trying desperately to score. Henry faded back to pass. Just as he released the ball, a Panther lineman stumbled and fell back into the quarterback, hitting him square between his knee and ankle.
“Aaaargh!” Henry crumpled to the ground and grabbed his right ankle.
The sidelines fell quiet as the coaches and the trainer ran out onto the field. The Panthers huddled near the edge of the field. After a couple of minutes, Coach Vittone and Quinn helped Henry limp to the sidelines.
“Kurt Fuller, get in there!” Coach Butler shouted. The Panthers’ backup quarterback pulled on his helmet and trotted onto the field.
“Fuller’s going in,” Langston said in a low voice to Jesse as he snapped his chin strap tight. “Man, we’re in the deep stuff now. He can’t play a lick.” Langston raced back to the huddle.
“Yeah,” Jesse said to himself. “At least Henry looked like a quarterback.”
Sure enough, the Panthers offense went nowhere with Kurt at quarterback. Four plays later, Quinn and Langston were standing on the sidelines with Jesse.
“Man, 20–0,” Quinn breathed, shaking his head. “I don’t think Savannah will be real impressed with us.”
“Was she here?” Langston asked. “Did you see her?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “But I think she left at halftime.”
“I don’t blame her.” Jesse watched the South Shore Sailors move steadily downfield for another score. “I wish I could leave too.”
“You know what I wish?” Langston asked.
“What?”
Langston glanced at Jesse. “I wish Jay was your twin brother.”
“Yeah,” Jesse said, staring hopelessly at the field. “Then we’d have a real quarterback.”
Chapter 5
The late Sunday morning sunshine slanted through the window as Jesse’s mother stepped quietly into his bedroom. She leaned over and gently shook his shoulder.
“We have a surprise for you,” she whispered in his ear.
“Wha … what?” Jesse pulled his covers closer to his chin. He was still sleepy.
“Jay’s home. He’s in the kitchen.”
Jesse opened his eyes and tossed the covers back. “All right!” He forgot about sleeping in and ran downstairs barefoot.
Jay was leaning against the kitchen counter in new dark green sweats. “Hey, champ!” he said. “How’s my favorite wide receiver?”
Jesse gave his brother a quick hug. “What are you doing home? I thought you guys were practicing all the time.”
“We were just talking about that,” their father said. He didn’t sound happy.
Jesse looked at Jay. Something was up. His brother was staring at the floor like he’d never seen the kitchen tiles before.
“It looks as though Jay’s taking a little time off,” Jesse’s mother said softly.
“When does the coach want your decision?” their dad asked Jay, his voice still tense.
“He said I could think about it over the weekend,” Jay said. “But I have to be at practice on Tuesday or I’m off the team.”
Jesse’s father pushed away from the kitchen table and began pacing the room. “Well, I don’t think you should quit,” he said, the words tumbling out. “You don’t have to play quarterback. I think you would make a good safety. Seems like the coaches think so too.”
Their mother put her han
d on Jay’s shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Jesse looked from her to his father and then back to his brother, searching for answers. “You aren’t playing quarterback anymore? Are you quitting or something? I mean … what’s going on?”
“The coaches want to make me into a defensive back,” Jay said. “They want me to play safety.”
“Are you kidding?” Jesse shouted. “You’re a great quarterback. The best one Franklin High ever had!”
“They’ve got guys who are better.” Jay shrugged. “A whole bunch of guys.”
“Better than you?” Jesse couldn’t believe that. No way anyone was better than his brother.
Jesse’s question hung in the air for a moment.
Jay paused as if he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Better than me.”
“Teams need lots of players.” Their father had calmed down a little. “Maybe you can help the team by knocking down passes instead of throwing them.”
“You don’t have to decide right now.” Jesse’s mother smiled and elbowed her husband. “Why don’t you get these guys something to eat?”
Their dad made his special scrambled eggs with home fries, and they all sat down for a late breakfast. For a while, everything seemed back to normal, like it had been when Jay was still home and still the quarterback.
Jesse’s mom and dad quizzed Jay about his classes, friends, teammates, and roommates. They even wanted to know about the food at school.
Jay laughed after swallowing a big gulp of orange juice. “I can tell you one thing. I haven’t had a breakfast like this for a long time.”
“You should always start the day with a good breakfast,” their mom said. Jesse and Jay traded a look that said they had heard that one before … a thousand times.
Everyone seemed happy for the moment, but the question of whether Jay would go back and play football hung over the kitchen table like a rain cloud.
The talk finally swung back around to football. But to Jesse’s team, not Jay’s.
“How’d you guys do against South Shore?” Jay asked.
“We lost, 26–0.”
“Ouch. How’d you do?”
“Not so great. I only caught one pass for about five yards. It was the only pass Henry got close to me.” Jesse quickly added, “And I was wide open a bunch of times.”
“Give Henry some time. Maybe he’ll settle down.”
“Doesn’t matter if he does. He sprained his ankle real bad in the second half. He’ll be out for at least a month.”
“Ouch again. Who’s his backup?”
“Kurt Fuller. He’s worse than Henry.”
“Triple ouch.”
The boys cleared the table and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.
“You want to go out and throw the ball around?” Jay asked.
“Sure.”
In five seconds, they were out the door. Jesse had the football tucked under his arm. His quarterback was home.
Chapter 6
The morning was sunny and warm with just a breath of a cooling breeze. Perfect football weather.
“Want to go to Hobbs Park?” Jesse asked, already heading in that direction.
Jay sniffed the air. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the beach. I think it’s low tide.”
The brothers broke into a silent jog. In a few minutes they were stepping onto the cool, hard sand of Preston Beach.
“See? I told you it’d be low tide,” Jay said with a wide smile.
Jesse sat down and pulled off his sneakers and socks. “It doesn’t feel right to wear sneaks on the beach.”
Jay slipped off his shoes too. He gazed at the wide sweep of sand, the blue sky, and the bluer water. “I miss this place,” he said. “There’s nothing like it at school. Just a lot of woods. All those trees feel like they’re closing in on you. The beach feels open.” He held his arms out. “Wide open.”
Without another word, the brothers lined up in their familiar positions: Jay at quarterback, Jesse at wide receiver.
Jay called out plays and pass patterns. Jesse ran square-ins, curl-ins, down-and-outs, and deep posts. Jay put pass after pass right in Jesse’s hands. The football never touched the sand.
“All right,” Jay said. “Let’s run a deep-out.”
Jesse took off down the beach. He faked left, dug his bare toes into the sand, and broke to the right. The football spun through the clear salt air right into Jesse’s hands. He tossed it back to his brother.
“Break time.” Jay stared out at the ocean. The sparkling water spilled onto the sand in small, rhythmic waves. “Let’s go check out the water.”
“You’re throwing great,” Jesse enthused as they headed down to the water’s edge. “That last pass was right on the money.”
“Not good enough, I guess,” Jay said.
“Think you’ll go back and play?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve always been the quarterback.” Jay let his feet sink into the soft, wet sand. A wave washed across his ankles. “Whoa! This water’s freezing.”
“You could be a good safety,” Jesse said, ignoring the cold water splashing his shins. “You’re a good athlete. You’re fast enough. And you’ll know what the quarterback is thinking. You’ll probably intercept a million passes.”
Jay peered out at the water as if the answer to his problem lay somewhere beyond the waves. He stepped a little further into the water. The ripples pooled around his ankles.
“What about you guys?” Jay asked. “Losing 26–0, that stinks. What’s going on with your team?”
Jesse didn’t feel like talking about the Panthers. “We’re not that bad,” he said at last. “But it’s tough when you don’t have a decent quarterback.”
Jay reached into the water and pulled up a smooth, flat stone. He leaned over and tossed it along the top of the waves. The stone skipped several times before ducking into the ocean.
“What about you?” Jay asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you play quarterback?”
“I’m not a quarterback,” Jesse blurted out. “I’m not as big as you … and not half as strong.”
Jay skimmed another stone across the water. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re really fast. You’ve got a good arm—”
“Not half as good as yours,” Jesse insisted.
“You know the plays by heart,” Jay said. “I think you could be a pretty good quarterback.”
“No way. I’m a wide receiver, period.”
Jay just stood there, watching the ocean roll in.
Jesse could sense that something had changed between the two of them. He wasn’t sure exactly what or how. But now that Jay was talking about him being a quarterback, Jesse didn’t feel quite so much like the little brother.
His brother skipped another stone along the top of the still surface. This time it bounced off the water eight or nine times before sinking.
“Tell you what,” Jay said finally, turning to Jesse. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you try out for quarterback, I’ll go back and try playing safety.”
Jesse thought about Jay’s proposal. The Panthers needed a quarterback. And Kurt Fuller sure wasn’t the answer.
Maybe Jay was right; maybe Jesse could play the position. After all, his brother should know. He was a quarterback. The best.
The sun was high. The ocean sparkled a deep green-blue. It felt like the last days of summer were holding on before the chill of autumn arrived.
“So what do you say?” Jay asked again. “Deal?”
Jesse turned to Jay and nodded. “Deal.”
Chapter 7
Jesse, Quinn, and Langston marched shoulder to shoulder through the halls of Franklin High School.
“You gonna ask him?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “I mean … I’m not really QB material.”
Langston dismissed Jesse’s second thoughts. “Don’t
put yourself down. You sure looked like a quarterback practicing with us yesterday afternoon.”
“Even your brother said you were looking pretty good,” Quinn added.
“That’s just messing around and running patterns in the park.” Jesse eyed his friends. “I mean, it’s not like Quinn here is a real wide receiver.”
“Hey, what do you mean?” Quinn frowned. “I caught almost every pass you threw me. I think I’d make a good tight end. If the coaches would let me.” He gave Langston a good-humored shove. “And Langston was good too … for a little guy.”
“I don’t know …,” Jesse repeated.
“Come on, you can’t back down now,” Quinn said, pushing open the door of the locker room. “You promised your brother, remember?”
Jesse remembered. He’d promised his brother again early that morning as Jay piled into the family car for the ride back to college.
Jay was keeping his part of the deal. Now it was time for Jesse to keep his.
“You gotta give it a try, man,” Langston said. He lowered his voice so none of the other freshman players could hear him. “You’re way better than Kurt.”
When Jesse stepped out onto the practice field, he saw Coach Butler and Coach Vittone talking together.
“Now’s your chance,” Quinn insisted.
Jesse could feel Quinn’s hand on his back. “Okay, okay. Quit pushing.” Jesse took a deep breath. It was now or never.
“Hey, Coach!” Jesse hoped his greeting didn’t sound too cheery.
Coach Butler looked up from his clipboard. “Hey, Jesse! Ready to work hard today?”
“Yeah, but—” Jesse took a deep breath. “I was kind of wondering, you know, if I could try playing quarterback. You know, now that Henry is hurt and everything?”
Coach Butler looked surprised. “You ever played quarterback?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but I practiced all this weekend with Quinn as my tight end and Langston as wide receiver. My brother Jay said I’ve got a good arm. Not great, but pretty good. And I know the playbook. I used to quiz Jay on it all the time.”
“Your brother was a real good quarterback,” Coach Vittone said. “One of the best high school quarterbacks I’ve ever—”