#3 The Option

by Herman Brown

  “That him?” I heard her say.

  Something told me I’d better turn the car on, so I twisted the ignition and dropped the transmission into drive. Shane’s sister was dashing across the lawn toward me. She’d picked up a rock about the size of a potato, and she was reaching back like she was going to throw it—hard.

  “Hannah, don’t!” Shane said.

  I hit the gas and peeled out of there just as the rock slammed into the back window, spider-webbing it.

  A group of guys hanging out at the Conoco station didn’t even look up when they heard the crashing sound. Just another night in the neighborhood.

  I drove a few blocks and then pulled over and checked YouTube on my phone. The video still only had one view, which I knew was me. Nobody else had clicked the link, which meant Principal Donahue hadn’t seen the video. I logged into my account and deleted it.

  14 / FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27—GAME DAY

  The halls were crazy with banners and posters that blared Go Trojans! and Destroy Harvest Valley! and stuff like that. From first period on, the students were pumped up and rowdy, and most of the teachers kind of gave up even trying to get anything done.

  We had a big pep rally during fourth period, with the band playing and teachers performing a funny sketch about life at Troy High. Principal Donahue played Shane in the sketch, and he was pretty funny. He walked around with his chin in the air singing Eminem lyrics, which got a good laugh out of everyone, even Shane. I felt a little relieved—after that display, I was sure Donahue hadn’t seen the video.

  There were some alumni in the gym, too, including my mom and Aunt Janet. When the football team came out on the floor, everyone cheered like crazy, especially the alumni. Mom put her fingers in her mouth and let out a long whistle. My heart sank a little, since I wouldn’t be able to play for her. But oh well. She knew I wasn’t a starter. She hadn’t come down here to see me start. She had come to see me.

  After school, I ran home and took a shower. When I came out, Dad was sitting on the couch.

  “Taking a shower before your game?” he said. It was kind of weird, I admit. But Dad knew why I was doing it—he just wanted me to say it.

  “I’m getting a quick dinner with Mom before I have to head back to school. She’s in town, you know.”

  “I heard that,” he said, staring at the TV. He had another nature show on, something with a guy trying to survive alone in the wild. He wouldn’t look at me.

  “Dad, I—”

  “Have fun,” he said.

  “Do you … do you want to come?”

  “Ha. You know your mom wouldn’t appreciate that.”

  “Well.”

  “It’s OK,” Dad said. “Go on. I mean it.”

  “All right. I’ll see you after the game?”

  He sat there watching TV for a minute, and I stood by the door, waiting. The guy on TV was talking to the camera, which must have been attached to his backpack or something: “You can get water condensation out of leaves if you know how to extract it.”

  “Dad?”

  He looked at me. “I guess I’m going to miss the game, son. I’m really not feeling very well. The meds are acting up tonight.”

  Dad had only ever gotten sick from his meds in the morning, so I was a little surprised. But all I said was, “OK.”

  “Not like I’ll be missing anything anyway,” he said. Because I wasn’t starting, he meant. All I would be doing is holding on extra points and field goals. Not too much fun for a dad who’d spent his life in Troy, worshipping Trojan football.

  “OK,” I said again. “Get some rest, Dad.”

  Mom texted me to let me know she was on her way, so I picked up my football gear and waited for her at the end of the driveway.

  15 / FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27—GAME DAY

  “Your Troy Central High School Trojans!” the announcer called over the loudspeaker. We ran out of the stadium tunnel, new this season, and burst through a banner.

  A few players held their helmets above their heads like weapons. The crowd screamed, the band played, and the lights blazed. Pretty much the whole town was in attendance, and half of Harvest Valley too.

  The Harvest Valley Millers had a good, stout defense, but that wouldn’t be too much of a problem for us. Shane and the guys could play their game against anybody. The bigger weapon they had was a dangerous power running game. Their fullback, Anton LaBelle, was built like a truck. He cleared out holes for their running back, Lance “Lightning” Shroder, who was as strong as a Clydesdale and as fast as one too. And they had an offensive line that could move a house if it was in the way. You could expect a steady dose of Lightning all night long.

  When the Trojans lined up for the kickoff, the crowd got amped up again. You could feel electricity in the air as the ball tumbled end over end toward the Harvest Valley return man. When the Trojan defense laid him out at the twelve-yard line, everyone exploded.

  But then Harvest Valley began to hammer its way up the field. LaBelle and Lightning, right up the middle, time after time. And it was working. Hand off to Lightning. Hand off to Lightning again. Why mess with a good thing?

  The quarterback hardly had to do anything, just hand off. And I started to daydream a little bit. Man, if Harvest Valley had a quarterback with more talent—somebody like me—they’d be unstoppable.

  We would be unstoppable.

  I don’t know why I was torturing myself like that. I’d made up my mind to stay in Troy with my dad. I had friends in town. I’d put in a lot of work on the video yearbook. I was happy, mostly. I’d had my chance to go to Harvest Valley last summer and declined.

  It didn’t look like they needed my help, anyway. Their drive chewed more than seven minutes off the clock and resulted in a touchdown. Just like that, the crackle of energy in the stadium became a soft buzz.

  As special teams lined up to take the kickoff, Shane walked over to me. He didn’t usually talk to people during games. And he hadn’t talked to me at all for a week.

  “You bring your A game tonight?” he said, looking out at the field.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be an all-pro holder.”

  “I know about the video you took of me. Coach Z said you wanted to show it to Donahue.”

  “Well, I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “I know. If you did, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “I guess.”

  We were still both only looking at the field. It’s hard for guys like us to look at each other when saying something nice. Terry caught the kickoff and dodged a tackler. He was crossing the thirty with momentum.

  “I bet it was a hard decision,” Shane said. “The way I’ve been acting, I bet you were dying to cut me down.”

  After Terry got tackled at the thirty-six, Shane finally looked at me. “I hope you brought all your skills tonight, brother.”

  He hit me on the back and ran out onto the field with the rest of the offense.

  Troy’s first offensive play was a pitch to Devon, who galloped around the right side. Ernie sealed off the end, and Devon burst upfield for eight yards.

  Coach loves to call a post or deep slant on second and short, and that’s what he did. Shane lined up behind center and shouted out the count. He took the snap, stepped back, and faked a handoff to Devon. Devon quickly picked up a block on my cousin, Daniel, who had gotten behind the line.

  Shane looked downfield. He had Orlando open, but instead of hitting him for an easy big gain, he tucked the ball and ran around the end—on Ernie’s side again. Ernie did his job and blocked the cornerback who was on the spot. Shane flew past them. The strong safety was closing in fast.

  Normally, Shane would juke that guy out of his shoes and leave him diving toward the ground, reaching at Shane’s vapor trail. Instead, he let up a bit, opened his chest, and took the hit.

  Oof.

  He went down, and hard. The Troy cheering section groaned in unison. The Harvest Valley fans let out their inner hater and cheered. An
injured Trojan—hurray! Not only that, it was Shane Hunter, legendary quarterback.

  The key to the Troy offense.

  Coach and Gus, the trainer, ran onto the field fast. Shane moved his legs around, but he wasn’t getting up.

  Coach Z and Gus hovered around Shane for a few minutes, until he began to rise. The crowd cheered, the way you do when you want to let a hurt player know you’re glad he’s OK. Shane wobbled dramatically as he came off the field.

  I watched him closely. As he reached the sideline, helmet off, he looked dazed. I heard one of the coaches say “concussion symptoms.” But when Shane caught my eye, I swear to God he winked.

  There was no time to figure out what had just happened, because I was in the game. I grabbed a ball and started throwing with one of our cornerbacks. Then everyone gathered around Coach.

  “No change to the game plan!” he was yelling. “Jayo can do everything on this play sheet. Let’s go out there, now, and show them whose house they’re in!”

  Orlando grabbed the collar of my jersey and got in close to my face.

  “Don’t screw this up, backup,” he whispered.

  “Let’s go!” Coach yelled.

  We ran out onto the field. The whole stadium was swimming around me. I had to get a hold of my thoughts.

  I tried to remember the game plan, but everything was blank. I stood in the huddle, and the guys looked at me.

  “What’s the play, Gary?” It was Ernie.

  What was the play? Coach Z had just told me, and I’d forgotten. I looked out at the sideline, and he was standing there watching us. Shane, sitting on the bench, nodded. Across the field, the Harvest Valley defense stood waiting.

  It was third and two. First things first. We needed to get a first down.

  I called a quick slant to Orlando.

  We lined up, and I took the snap. Three-step drop, fire.

  The cornerback had Orlando covered pretty tight, but I thought I could wedge the football in there. I was wrong. My cousin knocked the ball to the ground.

  “What was that?” Coach yelled at me when we came off. The punting unit took the field, getting ready to do its thing.

  “Sorry, Coach. I blanked on the play. I thought they’d expect a cold QB to come in and hand it off, so I tried something different.”

  “Don’t try something different,” Coach said.

  “Yes, Coach. I got this. Don’t worry.”

  “A little late for don’t worry, Jayo.”

  Harvest Valley put together another nice long drive, but they stalled on the nine and settled for a field goal. It was ten–zero, and the first quarter was about over.

  After the kickoff, we started out across the thirty again. Devon gained us nine yards during a couple of run plays. On third-and-one, I fired a quick out to Ernie for a first down.

  All right. I was settling in.

  Next play was another hand off to Devon, but this time, he was stuffed at the line—by Daniel. My cousin was having a heck of a game already. On second-and-ten, we ran the same play, and the Millers stuffed Devon again for a loss of two.

  I threw to Terry on third-and-twelve, but a defender tipped my pass. The ball wobbled out into the flat and the Harvest Valley CB intercepted it. Terry wrapped him up right away, but our defense did not look happy to be coming out on the field again.

  “Gary!” Shane called me over. “The LBs and safeties are cheating in, man.” The Millers’ defense was selling out to defend the run because they didn’t expect me to do anything through the air. “You gotta make them pay for that,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “But Coach is calling runs. He doesn’t trust me.”

  “So change the plays. You’re the QB. Do what you and I both know you can do.”

  “You seem OK to me,” I said. “Maybe you should come back in.”

  Shane smiled. “Can’t. I told Coach I’m groggy. He’s not letting me back in.”

  During the next set of downs, our defense shut down the Millers’ running attack, a three-and-out. After the punt, we had the ball on our own thirty-four. Coach called all running plays again. We got one first down, but then we had to kick it.

  When Harvest Valley got the ball back, LaBelle and Lightning started gashing holes through the line. Our D was getting tired—they’d been on the field for most of the first half. The Millers moved easily down the field and scored another touchdown. We were down by seventeen in a home game we should have been in control of.

  Not good.

  The Trojan offense was stunned. The Trojan defense was gasping for air. The crowd was nervous.

  We got the ball back with less than two minutes in the half. Coach wanted another run up the middle on first-and-ten.

  I looked up and saw my mom in the stands cheering. I thought of my dad at home listening on the radio.

  Why not, I thought. I called play-action instead.

  I took the snap. Devon came running toward me, and I faked the handoff. Shane was right—the entire Harvest Valley defense was crowding the line. I looked over their helmets and saw Orlando crossing on that slant. This time, I hit him in stride, and he caught it. Twenty-two yard gain.

  Next I called play-action again and hit Ernie on a curl. Gain of nine. I could almost see the Harvest Valley defense softening up. They had to respect the pass all of the sudden, so we ran a trap, and Devon ripped off a huge gain.

  The Troy crowd was starting to get back into the game. The guys on offense were already looking at me differently in the huddle, like they believed in me.

  A couple plays later, we scored a touchdown on a hitch to Terry. We went into halftime down seventeen–seven, which felt a lot better than seventeen–zero.

  Shouts filled the locker room as Coach tried to get everyone settled down and focused. Guys on defense were yelling that they needed some help—longer offensive drives so they could get a breather between possessions. All the while, Shane was talking in my ear, giving me advice. And suddenly, I realized we were going to win.

  I don’t just mean I had a good feeling. I don’t just mean I felt confident in my abilities. I mean, I knew it.

  We were going to win.

  I’d never really been sure of anything in my life. I’d had second thoughts about staying in Troy. I’d had second thoughts about sticking at QB when I could have gotten snaps at wide receiver, at least a few as the number-three guy. I had all kinds of questions about Dad: How could he cheat on Mom like that? And why did he keep pressuring me to fight for QB1? Why couldn’t he lay off?

  It felt good to be sure of this one thing. We were going to win. I was going to make it happen.

  We got first possession of the second half and ran a nice, balanced drive. I was four out of four passing, and Devon gained yards on the ground like he was angry. Seven minutes later, we had a touchdown, cutting the Millers’ lead to three. Our defense held on the Millers’ next possession, and when we got the ball back, we scored a field goal to tie it up.

  It wasn’t all pretty, though. I threw another interception, and the Millers took back the lead twice more. For a while, it looked like Lighting would have his way with our tired defense. But my feeling had been right.

  I made enough plays to keep it close. Devon ran like an MVP. And our defense rose to the moment. Late in the fourth quarter, our guys on D forced Lighting to cough up a fumble that gave us our chance. We moved quickly, needing a touchdown to win—a field goal would not be enough.

  Finally, with time running out, I threw the winning TD.

  16 / FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27—AFTER THE GAME

  Joe Blatnik threw the big party at his house that night—his parents were out of town. Shane said I should come, but I had a date with my mom.

  “Say hi to her for me,” he said. He used to hang out at our house all the time when we were younger.

  “I will,” I said. “Actually, do you want to come?”

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I can’t let everyone down. The boys can’t have fun without me, you
know.”

  Part of me felt like I should say thanks for taking a dive—for letting me play—but it seemed too weird. Instead, we shook hands and went our separate ways.

  Mom and I went bowling, and she talked about her house and friends up in Harvest Valley. She told me about her job at the women’s clinic and how much fun it was hanging out with Janet and Daniel. She told me how she wished I were there too. When she dropped me at home, she gave me a long hug.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said.

  I went inside and got right in bed. I was drained. It had been a long, crazy, emotional day. But as soon as I turned the light off, Dad stepped in and turned it on again.

  “Good game tonight,” he said.

  “You listened on the radio?”

  “I did. What happened on that second pick? Sounded like you didn’t look off the safety.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess. I’m pretty tired, Dad.”

  “I understand. Better get some rest. It’s going to be an interesting week at practice. Coach Z is going to have a tough decision to make.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Sure he is, son. You played a heck of a game.”

  “I know. But Shane is better. He just is.”

  Dad sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said.

  “I’m not. I’m selling myself exactly right. And it’s OK. I’m happy the way things are.”

  “You had a taste of the glory,” he said. “Didn’t you like it?”

  “I did. I liked it a lot. But a taste is all I need.”

  He looked down at his hands. Thinking again. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said.

  “There’s nothing else to talk about,” I said. I mustered up my courage. “You need to let it go, Dad.”

  He looked like I’d slapped him. “What do you mean let it go?”

  “Let me be my own person.”

  He sat still for a minute. Finally, he said, “Well, good night, then.”

  “I love you, Dad.”