Cards (and how we play them) - Hartbig

Chapter 6

Okay Hart. 20 seconds on the clock. 40 yards. You can do this.

Blue eyes sting from the sweat dripping from her hairline as Hannah runs up to the last huddle of the game, exhaustion beginning to take over the muscles and bones under her skin. She leans over on her knees, looking up at the group of large, tired teenage boys, awaiting her call for the play.

She can recognize the looks on each of their faces. Some in admiration, some contempt; some of them are so tired they can barely keep their eyes open. The opposing team has been running them ragged all over the field in the second half, but the Sharks had managed to get a leg up with two turnovers and an interception, and were now only one touchdown away from victory. This game didn’t determine much as far as their standings, as it’s the only game of the season. It is, however, their first game against one of the top-rooted teams in the state, in addition to it being Hannah’s first game starting.

Basically, there’s a lot riding on this.

“Okay guys, here’s-“

“Just give me the ball Hart. I’ll take care of the rest.” Greg demands, rolling both of his shoulders and cracking his neck.

“Marks gave me the play, Greg. We’re gonna go with that.” Hannah retorts, trying and failing to glare at the bigger man through the too-big helmet perched just above her eyebrows. She glances down at the plays on her wristband, turning to the rest of the group.

Greg straightens up, stepping in the middle of the huddle with fervor, “I’m the captain, gimme the ball Hart.”

“Greg, I’m going with what Coach wants.” Hannah answers, an edge of desperation to her voice.

“I’m not losing to these bitches ‘cause of you, Hart, gimme the ball!” Greg has stepped to her fully, grabbing a fist full of her jersey in his hand.

Sawyer, standing just to the right of Hannah, reaches and wraps an arm around Greg’s wrist, “Back the hell off man!”

“Guys, focus!” One of the linemen, Brian states from the other side of the circle, the rest of the group voicing their own protests to the scuff.

Greg looks back to Hannah with a menacing look. “They’re gonna kill you.” He offers in a low tone. Hannah’s eyes widen towards him, a feeling settling in the pit of her stomach at his words.

“And I’ll break your arm off if you don’t let go.” Sawyer repeats tightly to him, tightening his grip on Greg’s wrist. Greg looks between the two, settling his eyes on Hannah as he rips his hand out of Sawyer’s grip, stepping back to his spot in the huddle, and ignoring the looks from his fellow teammates and the coaches watching along the sidelines.

“Well. Go ahead, QB. Enlighten us.”

Expression still stressed, Hannah looks over at Sawyer, who softly shakes his head in resignation, gesturing to her wristband.

“Okay, Hail Mary 84 on 2. I’m comin’ to you John.” She looks over at the receiver, who nods sharply at her. She nods to the group, all clapping on break and jogging to their places. Hannah watches as Greg runs to the other end of the line, eyes trained on her the whole time, never once leaving them except to look at the player on the other line, directly across from her.

Crouching down, Hannah takes a deep breath in and out, shaky on its release. She looks over once at John, who gives her the subtlest of nods, over once to Sawyer for reassurance, eyes settling on the field out in front of her. She licks once at her finger, settling down into position.

“Hut!” The ball snaps smoothly into her hands, streams of bodies moving in all directions at once. Her eyes scan the end of the field quickly, noticing that John still has a few yards to outrun his cover. Seeing a fullback coming right for her, the small brunette jukes to the left, spinning around his back to scramble out of his tackle. She wonders in the back of her mind where Greg was, as he was supposed to protect her. Of course he left her to the mercy of the tackle. She runs to the right to get to a good spot to hit John. Her eyes lift briefly to the sidelines, and the few dozen people shouting and gesturing to her, a dull roar to the pounding pulse in her ears. She plants her feet in the ground, scrunching her eyes at the sidelines. Grace isn’t standing there.