Chapter 54 Intermission {The Game}
Chris’s point of view
Running back isn't about glory.
It's about impact.
By the second quarter, my legs feel like they're packed with wet sand. Westbrook's front seven hits hard, aims low, drives through, tries to punish every carry like it's personal.
Maybe it is.
I line up behind Alex, hands on my thighs, breathing slow. He glances back, gives me a quick nod. That's our thing. No words. Just go.
The snap comes. I take the handoff and lower my shoulder, crashing into a wall of bodies. Two yards. Maybe three.
It doesn't sound like much, but it matters.
When the Titans start doubling Demi on the outside, my job is to make them pay for it. I grind out carries, feel helmets bounce off my pads, hear the crowd groan every time I refuse to go down.
Between plays, I watch Alex's face. He's locked in, almost too locked in if you ask me. Like he's holding something back.
And Demi?
Every time he takes a hit, I tense. Not just because he's our best receiver, but because the hits feel wrong. Late, Mean.
At one point, Demi jogs back to the huddle, breathing hard, and I mutter, "You good?"
He grins like an idiot. "Always."
But when I slam into the line again on the next play, I run a little harder.
For him.
.
.
.
Kyle’s point of view
Cornerback is lonely.
You spend the whole game staring at one guy, waiting for him to mess up before you do.
Westbrook's receiver talks nonstop, chirping, trash-talking, trying to get in my head.
"Eagles ain't all that," he says after a play. "Your QB's overrated."
I don't answer. Talking is how you lose focus.
Still, I notice things.
I notice how Alex's eyes always track Demi before the snap. Not in a weird way, just, constant. Like a habit he doesn't realize he has.
I notice how Demi shakes hits off faster than he should.
And I notice how Westbrook's defense keeps pushing the line, daring the refs to stop them.
Late in the second quarter, after Demi gets blasted on a catch with no flag, I jog over to Alex during the break in play.
"They're hunting him out" I say quietly.
Alex nods, jaw tight, his eyes dark as he glared at the opposing team. "I know"
That's all he says, but it's enough. You don't lead like Alex by yelling. You lead by deciding.
When Demi scores before halftime, I'm the first one there, slapping his helmet, shouting like a maniac. Not just because it's points.
Because it's defiance.
.
.
.
Noah's point of view
Tight end means doing everything and getting credit for nothing.
Blocking. Chipping. Short routes over the middle where linebackers are just waiting to rearrange your spine.
By the time halftime hits, my arms are bruised, and my fingers are numb from catching balls in traffic.
But I see the game differently from the middle.
I see how Westbrook shifts coverage every time Demi lines up. How scared they are of him, even while trying to break him.
I see Alex's composure start to crack just a little when Demi stays down too long after a hit.
Once, after a brutal play, Alex calls the huddle and his voice wavers, just barely.
That's when I step closer and say, "We're good. Just keep cooking alright guys."
He looks at me, surprised, then nods.
In the locker room at halftime, the air is thick. Coach talks. Players tape up. Nobody jokes.
Demi sits quietly while the trainer works on his ribs. Alex pretends not to watch, but he's watching and I notice.
But I don't say anything.
Some things aren't meant to be said out loud.
But then again, what do I know.
.
.
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Chris’s point of view
Third quarter.
Momentum shifts.
We're moving faster now, sharper. Every first down feels like a punch to Westbrook's chest.
On one drive, Alex hands the ball off to me three plays in a row. By the third carry, their linebacker groans when he sees me line up again.
Good.
When Demi gets blasted from behind on that long catch and the safety gets ejected, I'm already halfway across the field.
"You alright?" I ask as he gets up for what feels like the millionth time.
He nods, teeth clenched. "Yeah."
I don't believe him. But I choose to believe in him.
When he scores again, I throw my arms up so hard my shoulder twinges.
Worth it.
.
.
.
Kyle’s point of view
Fourth quarter.
The noise is unreal. My legs feel rubbery, but my head is clear.
Westbrook ties it up, and their sideline loses their minds. I look toward our bench, expecting panic.
Instead, Alex just tightens his chin strap.
That's when I know.
On defense, I stick to my man like glue. On fourth and long, I watch their quarterback stare me down, then panic and throw high.
Interception.
Game.
As the clock runs out, I laugh, loud and unfiltered, and tackle Chris in celebration.
Across the field, I see Alex and Demi standing a little too close, saying nothing.
I squint.
Then shake my head.
Probably nothing.
.
.
.
Noah's point of view
After the whistle, I sit on the turf for a second, helmet off, breathing in the moment.
We won.
I watch Demi limp just slightly as he walks, watch Alex slow his steps to match without realizing he's doing it.
High school football doesn't last forever. Neither do these nights.
But this one?
This one sticks.
Whatever's going on between those two, whatever it is, it made them better tonight.
And that made all of us better too.
It’s always good news when these two come together and act like they share one body, one mind.
I guess that’s what happens when you’re best friends.