9: Explain Yourself-2

Coach's inflicted schedule got old around day ten, but today every cell in me was pumped with frenetic energy. My strides were long with quick, light steps. Football was as natural as breathing to me. The field was my chessboard. Mine. Not these benchwarmers tracking my approach to the field. "Hey," Brent greeted me on the practice field with a crooked grin. I shook his outstretched hand and went in for a bro-hug. A skinny kid with black hair and dark brown skin stood next to him with fucking stars in his eyes. We all wore the same gray warmup clothes. "Davis, Hightower," Brent introduced us. I shook the new kid's hand. His grip was weak, but Davis beamed like he'd won the fucking lottery. "Can't wait to work with you. You're the best." Great, a fan. I hoped my forced smile was polite, but I probably looked irritated and constipated. No offense to my backups' skills, but all ten games were mine. Annoyingly, Coach slotted Brent in my fourth-quarter blowouts. As a junior, next year's team was his, but Coach wanted me to teach him play development. Coach could keep his development goals. I approached this season with a simple, determined goal: Win as many fucking games as we could and slaughter Santa Cruz. At all costs. "Good, you've met." Coaches Williams and Burnell walked up with too much excitement for this hour. "Less chirping early birds, more stretching. We've got a new season to start." The hot, searing sun beat on the skin between my helmet and neck guard. Perspiration beaded on my forehead and upper lip. Hinging over, my breath came out in short, sharp pants. "R six!" My roar pricked my sore throat. I reached down near Connor's ass. My center spun the ball where his palm grounded it. "Hut, hut, hike!" With his snap, rough leather met my hands. I dropped back and stuttered my feet to grunts, shoves, and curses at the line. Fresh grass depressed under my cleats. The muscles in my legs protested, but I grounded my feet. A twist in my torso wrung out my spine. Jamal, my running back, hit a turf spot… and tripped. New strategy time. The cerebral challenge rushed through me. Cole was off his route by two steps, and Josh was open enough to pick his nose if he wanted. His fingers snapped my crisp spiral with a thwock. Twinkle Toes deeked around his defender, a pissed-off Bryce, and sprinted five yards down the sidelines. "That's it!" Burnell blew his whistle with a sharp tweet that stabbed into my brain. "Good hustle, everyone but Cole and Jamal." "Are we done?" Jamal grumbled as we reset our huddle. "I've got blisters between my toes." In his defense, he carried nine out of ten plays today. "Last one," I reminded him, and trotted to Coach Burnell and pulled out my phone. Brent and I spent all summer drafting plays and reorganizing the playbook in a shared folder, which came in handy all week. "Nine," Coach Burnell instructed and wiped the back of his hand over the sweat glistening on his forehead. Rings soaked around his neck and armpits. Day seven's whole team practice started with screens. I had no idea why but it wasn't my call. I scrolled to the ninth page to play R9 –no, we weren't creative– a double reverse. Once I skimmed the setup, I closed the playbook and groaned at the 'Undelivered' message at the top of my inbox. Ellie wrote me off as an asshole with no explanation. She hadn't seen my asshole version, not yet. A week into practice, he was ready to make his introduction. "Back to work, Hightower!" Burnell pointed at the field, where every offensive player palmed their hips. I tucked in my chin. "Yes, sir." A week of grueling workouts, playbook reviews, and countless reminders of this season's importance provided the focus I needed. Only football, winning games, and getting my ass into college mattered. As defending division champs, the road to victory ran through Santa Cruz. Retaliation served with a side of revenge would be the sweetest victory I ever tasted. My plan was simple and sinister. Jake checked his temper on the field. But, off-field? He had one giant trigger – that tiny, cute brunette sister. Given how unhinged he got from my hand on her back, imagine if I broke her heart. How to trigger Jake so my body didn't end up in a dumpster was the million-dollar question. I probably sacrificed a broken nose or maybe a rib, but Harrison would get ejected. His pacing the sidelines as a spectator during a loss was the sweetest revenge I could serve. I had the exact game in mind – six. Our schools being forty-five minutes apart, a blocked number and her ape bouncer brother made charming Ellie damn near impossible, but I was all over the challenge. All I needed was six weeks, seven if I could reach her from here. She melted from a hand touch, for fuck's sake. I squashed the Alex boyfriend theory and Ellie had to be single because of Jake. With no competition, my roadblocks were logistical. I had to see her outside school. While Josh and Bryce shopped to their fake IDs' content at a local liquor store, Ellie's brush-off made me frown at my reflection in a glass door. My skin was darker tan from the sun, my muscles flexed back, and a hard determination burned in my eyes. If she wasn't going to give me insight, then I'd find a way to gather it myself. She hadn't told Jake about me, because Brody would've told me. Me: Hope you're still alive. Brody: 👍 Despite Bryce buying more alcohol than I'd ever seen, at my expense, it was all consumed at our annual bonfire. The coaches turned a blind eye and tucked in early for one night. Surrounded by a black night sky, I focused on the orange and red flame flames crackling through loud conversations, laughs, and cheers. "Not drinking?" A shirtless, sweaty-chested Bryce streaked by. "Your loss, broski!" "No," I muttered and sipped from my water bottle. After what alcohol did to Dad, getting trashed wasn't on my radar. Alcohol and bad decisions were also my former best friends and I intended to keep them in my past. My mistakes with girls when I drank were no coincidence but I wanted my head clear for camp. Bryce drank enough for three people anyway and most here didn't have conditioning workouts at six. I sat back and tracked the orange and yellow flickers. While I enjoyed football and the luxuries being a quarterback afforded, there was life beyond high school. Who wanted to end up as that guy, fat with a comb-over and two blown-out knees, who sat in a recliner, watching old game tape and reminiscing about when he peaked in high school? Not me. "You're quiet," Josh's voice hit my ears. I rolled my eyes at him thumbing through his phone. The poor sap was so whipped, a dog collar and leash had to be in his bags. Two years together and they traded a lot of "I miss you, cutie" and "You too, babe" shit. Morning and night, those cavity-inducing greetings sandwiched my days. For his sake, and whatever manhood he salvaged, I hoped he wanted me to leave so their conversations could turn dirty. By Josh's know-it-all tone, he assumed he knew my answer before he said, "You're thinking about her." My eyes traced the dancing flames. "No." Technically, I thought about my best friend's obsessive relationship. But now I thought about her. Thanks, Josh. He plopped down with a loud sigh. "I hate Harrison as much as the next guy, but involving her… Bad idea." Ellie wasn't worth a disagreement with my best friend. His judgmental looks and Ellie-feelings conspiracy theory all week were enough. Their only reaction was hardening my determination against Harrison. "I'm going to bed." "Can you charge this?" He held up his phone. Light dancing over its white case flashed a lightbulb idea. "Absolutely." Elongated shadows and yells faded behind me. My nose wrinkled; our room smelled like a cucumber melon store. Josh's open suitcase was the source, so I shut it with my foot. I happily lived without knowing what the fuck cucumber melon was. Surrounded by girl-stink-infested silence, a round of mattress squeaks erupted as I sat. Tracing 'Ellie' on my contacts, a steady resolve settled in my gut. Quitting wasn't in my nature. I never chased girls, but this was a necessary challenge. A captain's sacrifice, nothing more. If I had to irritate my way onto her radar, one 'baby' at a time, then so be it. Time to test that theory. "Thank you, Josh." I plugged in his charger, unlocked his phone with Ava's birthday, and dialed Ellie's number. Me: Are you ignoring me, baby? 🥺 I thumbed through my phone's messages and waited for her response. After I deleted pointless gripes about the canceled game, I served the team a much-needed reminder. Me: Get over it or enjoy games with your asses on the bench. Thank fuck the JV kids left soon. Jackson was one whine, two max, away from me knocking his teeth out. One particular message spread a wide grin on my face. Harper: I hope your dick grows gangrene and falls off. Yes, I worked every angle, even Harper's daily threats on my dick. My responses were tame, but hers were ruthless. Me: I like her. Total lie. Harper: I'm going to use small words, so your pea-sized, single-cell, pencil-dick brain understands. Harper: Stay the FUCK AWAY from her. "Not gonna happen, Harper." I almost fell over when Josh's phone dinged with a message from Ellie. Unknown number: Whoever you are, yes. "There you are," I mumbled to his phone and set mine aside. "Hi." Me: How could you forget about me already, baby? Unknown number: Stop reminding me of why I blocked you, Logan. Her recognition spread a grin on my face. I could work with being blocked but not forgotten. Me: Not nice. I miss you. Total bullshit, but a doting crush was my first step to breaking her resistance. Unknown number: Using someone else's phone? Unknown number: I'm not sure if that's pathetic or… no, it's pathetic. I tipped my head back and laughed. "I deserve that." Me: My gut tells me you're worth the effort. Unknown number: You sure know how to make a girl feel… nauseous. Ten days after our puke-meet, she kidded. I smiled like a fool until her follow-up response dissolved it. Unknown number: I'm at work. Any last words before I block this number too? Did she mean Pizza Palace? That was a shitty, hourly, low-wage job. Their pizzas were shit but seeing her at work was tempting. Guys probably hit on her all the time. My grin widened as I rolled up my mental sleeves and plunged deep into the charming pool. Me: I'm not giving up. Me: And you deserve that date. Me: Any chance of unblocking my number? 😉 I reclined and cupped my hands behind my neck. My words were sincere and kind. She had to consider - Unknown number: Are you insane? Me: That was our deal. Should've taken the kiss, Ellie. Unknown number: Keep dreaming, perv. Me: About you? Every night. Those last words might have been too much. Ellie didn't answer, but I didn't test if she blocked Josh's number. I deleted every message so Ava didn't skin his balls and smiled at the irritation seeping through Ellie's words before I wiped them out. Time and distance cooled my initial reactions into controlled indifference. A week of camp was the priority reset button I needed. No matter how cute or smart she was, Ellie was my means to end Harrison's undefeated reign. And that was all that mattered. 🙄