Crash Into Me

Jack November

Bree still hasn't been back to school. She texted that the flu culture was negative, but the Monospot was positive. I guess she'll have to finish the semester online because she's still contagious and hella tired all the time. Ma said I need to get tested too.

"Did y'all kiss?" she asked me when I told her.

I nodded. I don't love talking about this shit with my mother.

"Okay, well you know there's a reason Mono is called the kissing disease, right? Are you tired? Sore throat? Body aches?" She put her hand to my forehead to check for fever.

I shrugged. "I feel fine."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she took a deep breath and looked at me the way only a mom can. "If you have it, and you play football, your spleen could rupture. Hard to survive that. First swollen gland and we're going straight to the clinic."

It's weird, but knowing that she actually is sick makes me feel so much better, mostly because it explains her strange behavior over the past couple of weeks. And, to be honest, it's kind of a relief that she won't be around for a while. We have a lot of history, from the time we were kids until recently. I don't know why, but I feel responsible for her somehow. Like her highs and lows are tied to mine, and it's only gotten worse since the night we were together. I carry some guilt about that night. Because in my mind, it wasn't her I was with. The way it happened, that it happened at all, really bothers me.

*****

It's our last game of the season. Peyton has been back on the team for a couple of weeks. Even so, she's mentally checked out. I guess after everything she's been through, I don't blame her. After we run through the banner, she keeps looking up at the stands searching for something. Or somebody.

I jog up beside her. "Looking for someone?" I ask her.

She swallows and glances over at me. "My family is supposed to be here tonight. First game of the season."

That's strange. My parents and occasionally Jess or John have been to every game. Sometimes I wish they wouldn't come—it's embarrassing getting your ass handed to you week after week in front of your family. I put my arm around her and look up at the stands, not really knowing what I'm looking for because I've never met her parents.

I'd really like to meet her parents, to see who is responsible for this marvel of a girl.

"I don't see them." I can hear the heartbreak in her voice.

Then she peels away from me and jogs over to Murph who's calling us together for the pre-game pep-talk.

"Boys! Y'all got one last chance to prove what you got. Ozen ain't the hardest team to beat, but let's be honest...neither are we. You wanna end on a win, then you gotta leave everything out there on that field."

"Yessir!" we shout in unison.

"Tonight, I want Thomas to break the huddle. Okay, Thomas? Brothers on three."

She looks up at him with surprise in her eyes. Her mouth tightens a little, like she's trying to contain some emotion she doesn't want anyone to see. We put our hands in the middle, and she places hers on top.

"One, two, three, brothers!" she shouts.

We all bark "brothers!" in response.

I don't know why, but it chokes me up a little.

We're on defense first. The Panthers ram it up the gut, gaining four or five yards at a time. Our D-line is outsized, not enough power to hold them.

They score on short runs up the middle, and Coach Murphy's about to come unglued. We jog back to the sideline, and he starts tearing into the D-line. "Goddammit, would one of you McCallisters get your ass in their backfield! This is embarrassing! Plug up the middle, linemen! Number twenty-two is getting through that damn three hole every damn play! Shuck 'em and stick 'em. Goddammit!"

I'm standing next to Peyton, her electric energy pulsing into mine. Then they call offense, so I pat her on top of the helmet run out to the field. My first play is a run up the middle. But our linemen are not as strong as theirs, so after three downs, we're out.

Peyton and the rest of the defense take the field.

"Thomas!" Murphy grunts from the sideline. "Move up. They aint gonna throw it!"

She shuffles up toward the line of scrimmage, watching the linebackers. If Marshall blitzes, they'll need her to cover. Marshall tackles the running back right as he's taken the ball, forcing a fumble. Lucas McCallister sees the loose ball and pounces on it. Turnover on their thirty-yard line.

We have the ball. So, I run back on the field.

This time, we try an option play. Beto goes out on a slant while I go for a screen. Darius can either run it on a sweep to the right, throw to me, or target Beto in the middle. Little takes off running, and sees them come at him for the bait, but I'm uncovered. I make the catch and plow the cornerback on my way to the endzone.

"And that's a big ol' TD for the Warriors number thirty-two, Jack Chaplin!" The guy on the PA announces. Feels good.

We hold them for a while. Then, with a minute left in the first quarter, they score on a reverse play. But in the second quarter, we outscore them three touchdowns to two, thanks to Darius. It's a shame he didn't play QB all year. He's got an arm. And legs. The score is twenty-eight to twenty-seven.

The third quarter gets a little dodgy. A major defensive battle ensues.

At the start of the fourth quarter, Ozen is ahead thirty-four to twenty-eight.

We get the ball on offense, but they've changed strategy, putting their biggest guy on me. I'm getting nowhere. Three and out. Again.

Peyton's on the field again, playing shallow. The QB drops back to pass, and the receiver she's covering goes on a slant. QB tosses it high, to clear the defensive line, and Peyton pulls a Houdini, showing up at the precise moment. She leaps in front of the receiver's waiting hands and robs him like a ninja pirate.

"Interception, baby!" I shout.

Three giants pile on top of her, but the ball is ours on our forty-yard line with two minutes left in the game.

We signal a time out. Murph is arguing with Coach Carson about what play to run, and then they call Peyton over to our offensive huddle.

"Hey Thomas," says Murph. "You remember that play y'all ran that day when we swapped?"

"Yessir. The fake?"

"Yeah, you think you could do that now?"

"Yessir."

"Okay," Coach Carson barks. "We're gonna do the 'thirty-four fake.' Little, try for the screen again. If that ain't open, go slant. This is it, boys. All we need is one score to win it."

She lines up in the backfield and pretends to take the handoff. She doubles over like she has the ball, and he throws a screen pass to the me. The corners take the bait, which leaves me free to get to the first down marker.

On the next play, she fakes a sweep, running around to the left sideline. Their corner takes falls for it, which leaves Beto open on the pass.

It's another first down.

The next play is another fake to Peyton down the middle. Darius keeps it on that play and runs it out left through the three-hole. We get another first down. We're at their twenty-yard line with thirty seconds left on the clock.

Little calls a jet sweep to Peyton. No fakes. She's getting the ball this time.

"Thomas, I got you." I nod at her. "If I'm not running fast enough, just crash into me. Follow my back, and I'll get you through."

She lines up on Little's left, in a pass block formation. I'm on the right like I'm going out on a slant. Little takes the snap, and as Peyton runs along the line of scrimmage, he tosses the ball to her. I clear path for her around the edge, and she sticks close until she's able to shoot the gap.

Then she keeps running around the edge like a slingshot, streaking down the right sideline. He meets her at the five-yard line, but she doesn't get distracted. She leaps through the air and flies into the endzone.

"And that's a touchdown for the big bruiser, number thirty-four, Peyton Thomas!" reverberates through the stadium.

I run to her, pull her off the ground, and spin her in circles.

I hope her parents did come. I really do.

All I want to do is peel off her helmet and kiss her right there in front of everyone.

But I don't.

Instead, I just bask in the glow of her pure joy.