Colliding Hearts

Chapter 2 | The Life Of Noah Jackson

𝐍 𝐎 𝐀 𝐇 ' 𝐒   𝐏 𝐎 𝐕

"Blue 42...Blue 42...hut hut...hike!"

Catching the ball thrown to me by our center after the snap takes place, the field erupts into chaos. Coach shouts orders at us from the sidelines, and football players cover every inch of the field. The offensive players aiming to get the ball to the end zone prepare, taking their positions on the field, waiting for my next move. While the defense trying to stop us, keep their eyes on every single offensive player to figure out what our next step is.

Even football practices are as chaotic as the games when you're running a play. Although it's a lot easier since you can anticipate the movement of your teammates, whereas it's harder to establish what the other team will do in the game. It's an adrenaline rush, that's for sure. Acting on instinct and spur of the moment is a comment thing in football games if something unexpected from the other team happens. The only thing that is not a spur of the moment is our plays, which take weeks to craft.

Sprinting down the field, weaving in and out of the defensive line. My football boots stomp against the green turf that covers the ground beneath them. My breathing is harsh against my ears, drowning out the noise of coach, and my grip tightens on the ball. My fingers digging into the rough material. My eyes scan the field from one player to the next, over their red and white jerseys with their respective numbers on the back, strategizing on how this will go down.

Bringing my arm back and throwing the ball in a perfect spiral to the wide receiver before I can pass the line of scrimmage, which prevents me from throwing the ball forward after that. He catches it perfectly. The attention of the defensive team is taken off me and onto our wide receiver instead who is bounding down the field dodging the defensive line left, right, and center. Quickly avoiding one of the players by only an inch, he makes it into the end zone and throws the ball down in triumph before starting to dance.

Classic Dylan.

"He's really got to work on his touchdown dance. He's had the same one since freshman year," One of the guys on the team mutters watching Dylan dance like no one is watching when in reality everyone is watching, making me chuckle.

"Defensive team, you've got to work harder than that...you can't even stop your teammates! How are you supposed to stop the other team? Roberts, don't look so smug about the fact you were on offense, you guys could use some work too!" Coach shouts at us as we make our way off the field and to the sidelines. Taking my helmet off, my hand runs through the damp brown strands. I hate wearing these things, it gets too warm in them.

"Damn what crawled up his ass and died?" Dylan mutters taking off his helmet as he walks next to me. "You know what? Maybe he needs to get laid. I heard that's why older people are always so cranky, cause they're too old and wrinkly to have sex, so of course they're not happy. I wouldn't be either if I wasn't getting any."

"I heard that Foster! Ten laps around the field."

"But cooaaachhh."

"NOW!" Coach shouts, making Dylan jump before running off around the field as the rest of the team laughs. Dylan turns around running backwards to flip me off as I wave at him before sitting down on the bench taking a swig of my drink. "Wanna join him, Jackson?"

"Sorry Coach," I apologize, turning my laugh into a cough. Coach rolls his eyes before turning back to what he was doing. Looking over at Dylan, seeing him panting as he runs around the field, I can't help but chuckle and shake my head.

"Twenty dollars says he doesn't make it around the fifth lap," Aiden bets, guzzling down his drink as he sits next to me, resting his helmet down next to him.