I drink some Gatorade as I watch our kicker make the extra point, after which our defense runs out onto the field, led by Carter. Not al owing Woodbridge to get a first down is tougher than usual for us, but Carter manages to sack their QB once. But they stil make it into field goal range. On fourth down, they go for a field goal from the twenty-five-yard line and score. We’re up 7–3 when I run back onto the field.
Huddling with the guys, I say, “This time, Woodbridge is gonna be al over Henry. We’ve gotta throw them off a bit.”
“What do you want to do?” Henry asks. He puts his hands on his hips.
I’m so nervous, I’m sweating, so I wipe my hands on my towel. “Red Rabbit to Bates?”
“Let’s do it,” Henry says with a clap.
JJ hikes the bal , I make a short ten-yard pass to Henry, he catches it and as the defense moves in to clobber him, he pitches it to Bates, who runs it up the left side of the field. He goes another ten yards before getting tackled.
“Hot!” I yel as we move up to the line. I give Henry a high five, then squeeze Bates’ forearm. Our victory doesn’t last long, because the defense steps up their doesn’t last long, because the defense steps up their game. I’m not able to get another first down.
When’s the last time that happened? Last year’s state championship.
On the sidelines, I sip my Gatorade and try to relax. I turn and look at my family, and Mike and Jake raise their fists at me. When I look at Dad, he gives me a thumbs up. Whoa.
By halftime, the score is stil 7–3 Hundred Oaks, but the guys are pumped and we haven’t lost our spirit. As we’re running for the locker room, I see Dad and Mike waving Ty over to the bleachers. Ty jogs over and shakes hands with the Tennessee head coach.
I feel jealous because I know the Tennessee coach is taking Ty seriously. He’s treating Ty like a real player, not some meal ticket, some beauty queen, some poster girl. But I’m the one who’s holding her own against Woodbridge; stil , none of these col ege coaches think of me as a real player. No one has made an offer except for Alabama. Every time a recruiter comes to a game, it’s Henry and Carter and Ty they’re looking at. Not me. Which I don’t get, because girl or not, I’m an amazing footbal player. That’s what it should come down to, right? That I can throw an awesome perfect spiral.
I don’t even know what Dad was talking about when he said I should consider al options. Are there other options?
The third quarter starts, and I hear Coach through the speaker in my helmet. “Woods, run the bal for the first play. See how far Bates can get. As soon as we’re within thirty yards of the end zone, bomb it to Henry. He can run faster than any of these Woodbridge players.”
I do as Coach says. We run the bal until we’re almost at the thirty-yard line. There, I yel , “Blue fortytwo! Blue forty-two! Red seventeen!”
JJ hikes the bal to me and I take five steps back as Henry darts down the field. The defense is blitzing. Oh hel . The entire defense is coming at me. My offensive line is being pummeled. JJ can’t hold off both the safety and the linebacker who are trying to get at me. JJ chooses to block the safety. Henry’s nearing the end zone, and I only have about a second before the linebacker wil crash into me. I’ve gotta get rid of the bal . Now. Just as I hurl it, the linebacker hits me low and hard, and I’m crushed to the ground. Then I hear our stands erupt.
“Touchdown!”
JJ yel s, “Suck it, fools!”
And for a second, I’m celebrating, but then the pain hits me. Something is very, very wrong with my knee. I scream.
He Stopped To Get Flowers?
Grasping at my left knee, I’m crying, but not because of the pain, but because I am terrified. What the hel did I do to my knee? Did I hear a crack? Did something rip?
A tendon? My ACL? Oh God…my future…
Both Henry and Ty fal down next to me, Ty on my right, Henry on my left. Everyone’s yel ing.
“Just stay stil , okay?” Henry says, careful y pul ing off my helmet. He runs a hand over my hair.
“Jordan, are you okay? Talk to me, Jordan,” Ty begs.
“Oh God, please be okay…”
“Man, stop crying,” JJ says, pul ing Ty off me and dragging him away. Thank God.
Henry takes my hand. “Where does it hurt?”
“Knee,” I say, panting.
“Okay, I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” Henry says as al the guys huddle around me. “Carter!” he cal s out, “Get these fools away from us!” Tears are pooling in my eyes, but I’m trying to show a brave face for my team, for Henry, who’s caressing my hand. I’m stil staring up at Henry’s face when Coach kneels down next to me, but I don’t hear what he’s saying because al I can concentrate on is the pain and Henry’s fingers. But one voice knocks me out of this Henry trance: Donovan Woods’s.
“Nobody touch her!” Dad says, kneeling down next to us. “Talk to me, Henry.”
“It’s her left knee.”
“Oh hel —that’s the leg she plants to throw.” Wait, Dad cares about if my knee wil be in good enough shape to throw passes in the future? “Has she tried to move it?”
“No. And I didn’t let anyone else touch her.”
“Good man,” Dad replies, pul ing a cel phone from his pocket. I listen as he cal s the Titans’ team doctor and tel s him to meet us at Vanderbilt Hospital. Then he cal s for an ambulance. “I don’t want to risk further hurting your knee, so we’re going to do this right.”
A referee says, “Coach Mil er, let’s get her off the field so we can keep playing.”