While Kaia had never explicitly told me that her and Jackson broke up - only through implications and Taylor Swift songs - seeing them dodge each other in the hallways like two polarizing ends of a magnet said enough. The only thing I'd been left wondering was who actually did the breaking up. I was also left wondering why I cared in the first place, but the way Kaia's words lingered when she told me it was her fault got the better of me, and it almost quelled something between us. We'd made it through October without battling it out too much, save for one admittedly predictable disagreement in our AP Lit class about Wuthering Heights.

The air continued to get colder, the sky continued to get darker earlier, and I continued to win football games. I'd gotten a pretty hefty packet in the mail from Middlebury College in Vermont practically begging me to come for a visit and that it would be worth my while. I threw it out. Any Clemson orange was still noticeably absent from any of my games, and the clock was ticking. Before I knew it, there was no green left in the trees, and the headache-inducing stench of every girl carrying around their pumpkin spiced lattes filled the hallways every morning. October was gone, save for one last night, and one last game.

I wasn't sure if whatever higher ups that made the football schedules purposely scheduled our divisional rivalry game with Calgary Prep on Mischief Night, but if their intention was savagery disguised as entertainment, they were gonna get it. I'd make sure of it.

I waited until the morning crowd dissipated in the hallways to make my way to Anthony's locker, where I knew he lingered after the first bell since he was never on time for his Computer Science class.

He slammed his locker shut as he saw me coming. "Dude, no."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Are you kidding me?"

Anthony kept his head down as he rifled through his backpack. "Obviously not."

He sounded bored, and his nonchalantness tripped a panic switch in me. I yanked the book out of his hands and snapped it shut.

"I just need one," I said in a low voice. "It's for the game. You wanna win, right?"

Anthony sighed and readjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder. He brought his darkened gaze to mine, and without breaking eye contact lifted his book out of my hands. "I gave you a bottle of 10 three weeks ago."

"I'm in pain," I blurted out, which made Anthony recoil only the slightest bit. He chuckled and shook his head.

"In the existential meaning of the word, we're all in pain." He clapped his hand down on my shoulder, and it sent a shockwave of pain down my body. I worked my jaw, desperate to keep myself from buckling to the floor.

"Don't be an ass." I grit my teeth.

"Don't be this stupid," Anthony insisted, and for just a moment, an uncharacteristic level of concern flashed through his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came, and he took a step back from me. "I'm keeping my hands clean of this. From here on out."

And back in true Anthony fashion, he had to have the last word, turning and walking away from me down a now empty hallway.

I finally made it to my Calculus class, but the longer I sat still in a sticky plastic chair, the more jittery I got. I picked at a hangnail on my thumb while Mrs. Horner droned on about derivatives, and I drew a thousand circles on my worksheet. I found myself hyperfocusing on the back of Kaia's head just so I had something to focus on. She smelled like vanilla and clean laundry, and I liked it.

After class, I lingered outside the door of the classroom for Kaia and fell into step with her the moment she walked out into the hallway.

"So did you decide?" I asked.

Kaia gave me a dramatic eye roll. "On the ways I'm going to engineer your untimely end if you don't stop bugging me? Not yet, I'm between eaten by bears and boiled in oil."

"Very funny." I offered her a deadpan laugh.

She slipped on a coy smirk. "I have my moments."

"But seriously, are you coming to my halloween party tomorrow night?" We stopped at her locker, and with nothing more than a glance I shooed away the person at the locker beside her. The cool of the metal was a shock through the material of my shirt as I leaned up against it.

"I told you I'd think about it the first time you asked me." Kaia dumped off her Calculus textbook and calculator in her locker. Her books were perfectly stacked at the bottom, and she had a collection of scrunchies hanging from a hook attached to the inside door. She pulled one off and tied her hair back effortlessly.

I scoffed. "Yeah and that was two weeks ago, which means you've had two weeks to think about it."

Kaia tugged at her backpack with a groan, yanking at a thin wayward strap that had gotten stuck in the locker below hers.

"Look, I have an away game tomorrow afternoon," she said between fruitless tugs. "I'll see how I feel afterwards."

"You don't even have to wear a costume, you can just come as a pretentious field hockey player."

Kaia huffed, although I wasn't sure if it was directed at me or her still stuck backpack strap.

"Why do you even want me to come so badly?"

"It's not me, I just think you need to get out and have a little fun." I gently nudged her aside and gave her backpack one hard tug, liberating it from it's locker jam. I dropped it into her hand. "Loosen up, that's all."

Kaia scowled. "You don't know what I need. Just because you were the first person to find out about what happened with me and Jackson doesn't make you obligated to be like this. Everyone knows by now, so just...let it go."

"I'm not being like anything." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Maybe this is just how I am, and you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"So you're nice sometimes," she said through a pinched smile. "Good for you."

She finally slammed her locker shut and slipped her backpack on.

"So are you coming or not?"

Kaia brushed past me, but the little glint of a smirk on her lips wasn't lost on me. "I'll think about it!" she called over her shoulder.

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The last time we played Calgary Prep, a fight broke out after one of their defensive linemen tackled me so hard my helmet came off, then proceeded to kick my helmet into my face and didn't get a penalty flag called against him. Our senior offensive captain at the time - a guard named Brett Lachance who went on to play at Iowa State - retaliated accordingly. He got the penalty flag thrown against him, and it cleared the benches on both sidelines.

Needless to say, when Chris, Anthony and I walked to the logo at the center of the field to take the captains' coin toss, the chilly night air was thick with the tense prospect of absolution. When I exhaled, my breath materialized in front of me. Scary hours were upon us.

The three captains from Calgary joined us at midfield. Even with his helmet on, I recognized cornerback Gordy Gibson from the angry, jagged scar that ran along his jaw. It was no secret in the elite circles of Connecticut private schools that Gordy regularly engaged in underground fighting, and his high-profile attorney father made sure he stayed out of any entanglements with law enforcement. Gordy played football the same way he fought - dirty, and with vengeance. He'd fit right in at the University of Miami next year.

Gordy fiercely eyed me up and down. "Just save yourself the trouble and throw the ball right to me, pretty boy."

"Aw, you really think I'm pretty?" I cooed at him.

"Yeah, laugh it up now," he goaded. "When I pop that shoulder of yours back out of place, you can laugh from the bench in a sling."

"I'll remember that when I run past you, mud slug," I spat back.

The referees finally joined our circle, severing the tension and the trash talk. The head ref pointed to me.

"Home team calls it."

My nerves began to boil underneath the heat of the lights, but I didn't falter. I couldn't falter. If you weren't confident in the coin toss, how could you be confident in the rest of the game? "Heads."

He flipped the coin, then flipped it again onto the back of his hand. "Heads it is."

"We'll defer."

The ref nodded and turned his pocket mic on. "New Livingston Lions have won the toss, and they've elected to defer. They'll receive the ball to start the second half."

As we walked back to the sideline, Anthony grabbed my elbow. "Is your head on backwards or something? You never defer."

There was a serious possibility that my head was definitely on backwards, but he didn't need to know that. I swallowed down the knot in my throat before answering him.

"It's Mischief Night," I shrugged. "Let's be a little mischievous."

So Anthony led our defense onto the field first, and Calgary and their Division I gunslinger Devon Wingman outmaneuvered and outplayed us on almost every play. After Calgary drove down the field and scored (including an unnecessary two-point conversion just to be those assholes), Anthony returned to the sideline more out of breath than I'd seen him all season.

"What the hell happened out there?" I grabbed him by the shoulder pads.

"They're fast, they're big," he heaved and took another breath. "Not to mention, they're fast."

"Yeah, you said that already."

"Oh..." he shook his head. "Well you better hope their defense is slower than their offense, or you're in for a world of hurt."

I almost wanted to laugh. I had already transcended a world of hurt. I was in pain purgatory.

Coach Knox pulled me aside. "You know what to do. Give 'em hell."

I nodded and pulled my helmet on. A tense anxiety began to flood me as I made my way out onto the field to join the offensive huddle. Playing football was meant to center me, but right now, I couldn't have felt more off balance if I was upside down on my head. Whatever was rattling my insides, I had to swallow it down before it swallowed me.

Then the rain started, pattering against my helmet and soaking my jersey. I rested my hand on Chris's shoulder in the huddle to steady myself. Any hope of running deep pass plays was suddenly swept up in the rain. I glanced back at Coach Knox, who just gave me another affirmative nod.

"You know what? Fuck it," I spat out. "I don't care that it's raining. I'm gonna throw the god damn ball. We're gonna run an air raid, we're gonna overload their left side and force Gordy to cover Chris one-on-one."

I paused and clutched Chris's shoulder again. "Catch the damn ball."

Running pass plays in the rain was generally not the move for all the obvious reasons, but maybe that was what we needed tonight.

I lowered my head into the huddle. "Alright, let's give these clowns something to really be scared of."

We broke the huddle, and the rain seemed to come down harder. Out of the corner of my eye, Gordy Gibson slid his finger across his throat - the universal sign of you're a dead man.

I called the play and was immediately rushed by several defenders. I managed to dump off a quick screen pass to Chris before getting drilled into the cold, wet turf with a sickening thump. When I got myself back to my feet, all I saw was red.

Red, and Gordy Gibson with his hands to his throat. Choke.

I called for a deep pass the next play, and as soon as I caught sight of Chris juking Gordy out of his cleats, I launched it downfield before getting knocked to the ground again. Clumps of turf stuck in every crevice of my helmet, and I felt something warm and sticky run down my chin. As I was lifted to my feet by two of my offensive linemen, the crowd erupted with cheers. Chris had scored.

I ripped my helmet off as I ambled over to the sidelines while we kicked an extra point. We were still down by one thanks to Calgary's ballsy two-point conversion, but I tasted blood - literally - and I craved more.

I shooed the trainer away after patching up my chin, and before I knew it I was back on the field. Calgary had scored again, but this time missed their two-point conversion. We traded blows like it was a boxing match instead of a football game, and by halftime, it was all tied up 21-21. The rain had finally let up, leaving everyone cold and damp down to our bones, but we had blistering momentum on our side, and I smirked to myself knowing I made the right call to defer.

Anthony lowered himself on the bench next to me as we prepared to receive the kickoff.

"Their secondary is still playing zone until you get past midfield. You should stick with the deep pass, they can't cover Chris one-on-one once he gets downfield."

I huffed, tightening the chin strap on my helmet so it didn't rub against the gash on my jaw. "I know how to read a defense, Ant. I don't need your help."

Anthony scoffed in disbelief. "You're serious right now? Don't be mad at me for looking out for you."

"Since when have you ever looked out for me?" I snapped back through clenched teeth. "Stop being so nice, it's not a good look for you."

"Duly noted," Anthony grumbled before I slipped my helmet back on and jogged out onto the field.

We stuck with the air raid style offense, but worked in a few more running plays just for the sheer intent of misdirection. The turf was still slick with rain, and it was easy to lose your footing, even just for a split second. The entire third quarter was a mess of mismatches and miscues on both sides, but we somehow entered the fourth quarter with a one score lead. 28-21. 12 minutes to go.

Admittedly, I hadn't played many close games in my high school career. I was used to being absolutely dominant from start to finish, and I knew that part of this was all on me. I was aching and soaking wet and bleary eyed, but worst of all, I couldn't keep down whatever was festering inside me, like something ready to burst out of my chest, Alien style. Those 12 minutes were going to be the longest 12 minutes of my life, suspended in that purgatory that I so desperately needed to escape.

We drove down the field and ate up most of the clock, and I could almost taste the red zone like I tasted the blood in my mouth. We called another cross route pass play with the intent to score, but the moment the ball left my hands, I knew something was wrong. It tipped off of Chris's hands, and instead landed right into the waiting arms of Gordy Gibson. Since the ball never touched the ground nor was in solid possession by any receiver, it was an interception, and Gordy ran like he'd never touch a football again. It was easy for him to maneuver through our offensive, which had been spread out from sideline to sideline to cover the play. He threaded himself through a hole in the offensive line, leaving just me standing between him and a touchdown.

"No way motherfucker," I breathed out. "No way. I'm not letting you do this to me."

I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was standing over Gordy Gibson, face down in the turf at the 40 yard line. Despite the nuclear alarm ringing in my ears and the animalistic crowd noise, I heard Gordy groan in pain as he writhed on the ground. He wasn't getting up.

As I took a step away from him, my teammates descended on the scene, jostling and cheering and shaking me so hard I thought I was going to vomit my own heart out onto the turf.

"Dude," Chris grabbed me by the helmet and pressed his against mine. "That was the most insane hit I've ever seen, you absolutely wrecked him."

I pulled myself away from Chris's grip. "Is he okay?"

Two of the Calgary defensive linemen helped lift Gordy off the ground, and when he looked up at me, there was a raging red to his eyes that matched the blood spilling from his nose. The Calgary players held him back as he attempted to launch himself at me, but I felt myself stumbling backwards anyway.

"You're a fucking psycho, Gunther," I heard him call out to me as they walked him to the Calgary sideline.

Despite stopping Gordy from fulfilling a pick-six, the interception was still valid, meaning I'd not only lost us another shot at scoring, but given that shot back to Calgary with 3 minutes remaining.

I ripped my helmet off and slumped onto the bench, resting my throbbing head in my hands.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's a disgusting night, turnovers were bound to happen." Chris put a hand on my shoulder as he stood beside me. "Anthony and the defense will take care of it. We're still winning."

"That's not it." I shrugged my shoulder out of his grip. "I think I just broke Gordy Gibson's nose."

"That's what you're worried about?" Chris knelt down to meet me at eye level. "Gordy's been playing dirty since our 12U divisional championships. You didn't do anything wrong, Dallas. You're just playing the game."

I offered Chris a thin smile, and he gave me my space. At least he was right about one thing - Anthony broke up a pass play on a last-ditch fourth down effort with less than a minute left, effectively securing our win. I looked down at my hands, my knuckles rubbed raw from being slammed and dragged repeatedly on the damp surface of the turf.

Football could be a savage sport, and it brought out the worst in people sometimes. I knew that. Who we are off the field and who we are to survive the game can be two very different people, but that never applied to me. I was touted for my level-headedness, my composure, and my critical thinking. I didn't know who that was that slammed Gordy Gibson into the turf, but I'd just unleashed him from a cage, and I wasn't sure I could get him back in.

but i got smarter,
i got harder in the nick of time
honey i rose up from the dead,
i do it all the time

look what you made me do / taylor swift

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football! dallas!

i truly love writing football content even though it can be very tedious and difficult sometimes, and i hope y'all love it too. i put a lot of effort into it and i definitely pride myself on knowing my shit, which i guess can't really be said for a large majority of 'sports romance writers.' i said what i said.

love me and more importantly love dallas xoxo

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