Double Reverse (2 page)

Jesse sat with his head down, sipping his soda through a plastic straw. Langston checked his phone. “Hurry up, Jesse. You eat slower than my grandmother.”

“Yeah, I thought you needed to go to Mike’s Sporting Goods,” Quinn said.

The three boys sat in the food court at the lower level of Eastport Mall. Above them, shoppers with bulging bags buzzed around the second and third levels.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so crowded,” Jesse said. Then he went back to sipping his soda. Very slowly. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

“Come on,” Quinn said. “It’s a mall. It’s always crowded. You gotta buy one. You’re the guy who lost it.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t want to play football without it.” Langston slid out of the booth.

Jesse took one last noisy slurp of soda and stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”

The three boys headed over toward the escalator.

“Think we’ll be ready for Thursday’s game?” Langston asked.

Jesse shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll score much. Henry hasn’t gotten any better at quarterback. He still doesn’t know the plays and he throws the ball all over the place.”

“Griffin will get us some yards,” Langston said. “He’s a good runner.”

“Yeah, he’s a good running back, but …” Jesse’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t so sure about the Panthers’ chances.

“At least you’ve got a chance to touch the ball,” Quinn grumbled. “When you’re in the line, the only time you touch the ball is if somebody fumbles.”

“So what?” Lanston said, “I’m stuck on the bench … a second-stringer behind this guy.” He seized Jesse playfully by the shoulders.
“Maybe I should push him off this escalator!” Langston yelled out. “So I’d get a chance to play for a change.”

Quinn laughed. “No way. You can’t kill Jesse before the season starts. We may need him.”

As they approached the sports shop, Jesse stopped and grabbed Quinn by the elbow. “Look at this place,” he whined. “It’s packed. Let’s get out of here.”

Quinn shook Jesse loose. “Stop being such a baby.”

“Hey, look. There’s Savannah Harris.” Langston pointed to a tall girl who was looking over a display case filled with soccer goalie gloves.

Jesse could feel the blood rushing to his face. “Man, I definitely don’t want to buy it with her around.”

Langston headed straight for the goalie glove case. “Hi, Savannah,” he said. “Soccer season started yet?”

“Hey, Langston.” Savannah smiled down at him, then slipped her hands into some goalie gloves. “Starts next Saturday.”

Quinn went over to join them. Jesse hung back behind Quinn, hoping Savannah wouldn’t see him.

“Hey, guys,” Savannah said. “What are you all here for?”

“Jesse’s got to buy something for football,” Quinn said, sliding to one side so she could see him.

Jesse could feel the heat in his face again. He wished he had stayed at home.

“Why are you looking at goalie gloves?” Langston asked. “I thought you played defense … in the field.”

Savannah shook her head. “Coach Oliver stuck me in the goal.”

“You like playing goalie?” Langston asked.

“Not really. I like scoring goals more than I like stopping goals. But Coach thought it might be a good spot for me. He’s always said I looked like a goalie. You know, because I’m so tall.”

Quinn laughed. “Sounds familiar,” he said. “Our coaches do the same thing. You know, put you in a position because of how you look.”

Savannah pulled on a white pair of gloves with neon yellow fingers and spun toward Jesse. “How do you like these?” she asked, holding up her hands.

Startled, Jesse stumbled over his words. “Great … great. I’m sure they’ll look … great.” He just wanted to get out of the store.

“Hey, Savannah, what color’s your goalie shirt?” Langston asked.

“Bright yellow. I look like I’m leading the Tour de France.”

“Then those will go
great.
” Langston smiled. “Just like Jesse said.”

“Since when did you two get to be such big fashion experts?” Quinn asked.

Savannah smiled. “I’m all set, then. You guys were a big help. Do you want me to help you to pick out something, Jesse? What are you buying?”

“I … I don’t think so,” he stammered. “I’m cool … no worries.”

Langston and Quinn covered their mouths to keep from laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Savannah asked.

Quinn was almost gasping for breath.
“Jesse’s got to buy a protective cup for football.”

Jesse froze. It was as if his mouth had quit working.

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want to play football without that,” Savannah said.

“You’ve got that right,” Langston said. He and Quinn giggled like a couple of second-graders.

“Come on, let’s buy this thing and get out of here,” Jesse said finally, pulling his two teammates away.

“When’s your first game?” Savannah called out.

“Thursday at 3:30. It’s a home game,” Jesse answered. He was relieved to be talking about anything but what he was there to buy.

“Who are you playing?”

“South Shore. You should drop by,” Langston said.

“Maybe I will.”

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.”

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 hand 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.