Catching Jordan

Catching Jordan - Section 4

Five minutes before the game is to start, the sky has opened up and rain is drenching me. But I barely feel it—I can only concentrate on the game and the Alabama recruiter. I ignore the dozens of reporters taking pictures of me from behind the fence.

I’m desperate for air. I try to suck in as much oxygen as possible through my face mask, but it’s not working. I pick up a football and twirl and f  lip it over and over again.

A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I turn and find Mike. His blond hair is plastered to his face, and his polo shirt and jeans are soaked. My bro is about the only person Coach allows on the sidelines during a game.

“Hey, sis.” He leans in close and whispers, “So where’s Ty?”

“Shut up,” I say. “I’m trying to concentrate. And you need an umbrella—you’ll get sick before your game tomorrow.”

He shrugs, then rubs my arm. “You need to loosen up, or you’re gonna be stiff as Grandpa Woods.”

I f  lash him a withering look. Doesn’t he know how important this game is?

“Yes, I know how important this game is,” Mike says.

“Yo, Woods.”

I see JJ walking up. “Yeah?” I say.

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your brother,” JJ replies, shaking Mike’s hand. “Nice to see you, man.”

“You too, JJ. So where’s this hot new quarterback, Ty?” Mike asks. JJ glances at me. I’m glad I’m wearing my helmet, ’cause I can feel my face heating up again.

“Number fifteen,” JJ mutters.

“Thanks,” Mike says, slapping JJ on the back and wandering away.

“What was that all about?” JJ asks.

“I dunno. I told him how good Ty is. He’s interested.”

“Well, Ty better not try to take the spotlight away from you, or I’ll kick his ass. I can’t believe he fucking tried to come in here and take your position,” JJ growls.

“Take it out on Lynchburg, okay?” I say, laughing.

I watch as Mike goes up to Ty, shakes his hand, and claps him on the back. Ty yanks off his helmet and smiles at Mike, and they begin to talk animatedly. Mike points at the field, probably describing how crappy Lynchburg’s field is, pointing out all the divots in the ground.

I feel fingers poke me in my sides, and I whirl around to find Henry carrying an umbrella under his arm. He whips it out and opens it up, holding it above me.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “You’re making me look like a pansy.”

“Fine,” Henry replies. I can see him smiling behind his face mask. He takes two giant steps away from me, but keeps the umbrella out and stands under it alone. Henry jerks his head toward Mike and Ty. “So what’s going on down there?”

I sigh. All my guy friends are way too protective and nosy. “He wanted to meet Ty. I told him how good he is.”

“How good he is, eh?”

“Shut up, Henry. I’m trying to get in the zone.”

“Dude, we’re playing Lynchburg! We might as well be playing a Pop Warner team.” Henry moves closer to me again and hands the umbrella to a freshman. Squeezing my hand, he says, “You’re gonna rock tonight.”

“You too,” I reply as Mike and Ty walk up.

Henry sees Mike leaning in close to me and quickly moves over to listen. Mike whispers, “The Alabama coach is here.”