“Why do you want to go to Alabama so bad?”
“It’s the best footbal team in the country.” Duh. Dad picks up a pen from his desk and clicks it a few times. “I don’t think they’l ever let you play.”
“What are you talking about? Of course they wil .”
“Don’t you find it a bit weird they invited you to visit campus and basical y offered you a ful ride before seeing you in person?”
My head droops a bit. I wondered the exact same thing. “Maybe they saw some of my tapes from last year.”
“And then they make you pose for a calendar? It’s like they want you to be their trophy. And I would’ve said the same thing if this had happened with your brother, you know.”
“Dad, I’m one of the best footbal players in Tennessee. Did you ever think Alabama may actual y want me to win some games for them?”
Dad shakes his head and clicks the pen some more before chewing on the end of it. “You understand the long hours? The hard hits you’d take at the col ege level? Dealing with sixty Jake Reynoldses all the time—the jerks who wil constantly degrade you?”
“Yes, Dad. I understand al of that.”
Dad looks at me for a long time, then picks up a footbal from the floor and tosses it to himself. Twirling the bal as he goes over to stare out the window again, he says, “Jordan, I love you and I’m so proud of you. I’l try to be better.”
I feel a snag in my throat and swal ow hard. “I love you too, Dad.”
“So, I cal ed down to Texas to speak with Buddy Simpson about your boyfriend.”
Buddy is one of Dad’s old friends. He used to play for the Cowboys and now just hangs out in Texas not doing much of anything except fol owing the footbal circuit. If something’s happening in Texas regarding footbal , Buddy usual y knows about it.
Dad tosses the bal up and catches it. “A bunch of schools were interested in him after last year, but he’s been ignoring al their cal s and emails,” Dad says.
“Even Florida showed some interest.”
“So he lied to us?” I reply, tracing the lines of my palm with a fingertip.
“Yup.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not surprised. He’s real y only concerned with what happened to his parents…
only concerned with what happened to his parents…
and making sure his sister is okay…”
“I’d like to help him—and his sister. I’m worried about him.”
Thinking of Ty crying last night, I say, “I’m worried too.”
“Taking care of a sister and a sick mother is not something a seventeen-year-old should have to do.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what I can do, though. He doesn’t like being taken care of. He likes being in control.”
Dad tosses the bal to me. I catch it and toss it back to him. “Wel , let’s give him some control then. Tel him I’l loan him whatever money he needs to take care of his mom. But he has to pay me back with interest.”
I smile. “I like that idea.”
“Think he’l go for it?”
“Maybe. I’l talk to him about it.”
“Good. You know, Jordan, even if he was just some guy on the math team, not some great footbal player, I’d stil want to help him out.”
Sometimes the great Donovan Woods can actual y be pretty cool.
it gets worse
the count? 4 days until alabama
As I pul into the school parking lot before our third game, my cel rings. Mike.
“Hey, bro, guess what?”
“What?”
“Alabama’s athletic director sent me another email. He said a friend of his, an Alabama alum, is coming to look at me tonight.” Since recruiters are technical y only al owed to watch a player once during the season, sometimes col ege coaches ask boosters or alumni to come see the rest of the games. It’s kinda shady, but that’s just the way things work. “And he thanked me for doing the photo shoot,” I add.
“Great.”
I shut off the truck’s engine. “Are you coming with me to visit campus Tuesday?”
“Can’t. Big history exam that day.” As I get out of the truck, Mike says, “Listen, you need to dress up when you go. Wear a dress and fix your hair, okay?”
“Why?”
“Remember when I talked to the coach at your first game?”
“Yeah.”
“He told me that if you join the team, the coaches wil expect you to act like a lady.”
“What? Why?”
“I dunno. Probably ’cause they want to give off a certain impression.”
“Oh.”
“Well , if you want to play for Alabama, you’l have to do what they say. You might as wel go ahead and start now.”
“Okay,” I reply with a shaky voice. “I guess I can do that.” Even though it’s not me at al . What does acting like a lady have to do with rocking on the footbal field?
I remember when I decided to play bal . I actual y started out as a cheerleader, for a Pop Warner team, the Hornets. Mom dressed me up in skirts and ribbons and handed me pompoms. Henry played quarterback, and instead of cheering, I was searching for crickets behind some trees, because good bait is always important. The bal went out of bounds—I ran to grab it, and hurled it, and the bal flew farther than any of Henry’s passes. He caught the bal , ran back to me, and said, “Darn, you’re good,” with this big smile on his face, his two front teeth missing. “Wanna come out for pizza and air hockey after the game? With me and the team?”