Small Town Hero - #ONC 2024

Chapter 3

A tremble ran through me out of fear the coach would actually answer the door, my hand freezing mid-air, knuckles inches from knocking on the frosted glass. I had played for this guy since my sophomore year, so I should know him, but he had never listed me as anything more than third string until my senior year. If I wasn't a starter by now, that meant I didn't have what it took to lead the team. Of course, now he didn't have a choice other than Finn, the tenth grader, meaning the coach had to perform a miracle on the backup quarterback, the less than stellar Evan Mack.

Me.

"You gonna knock on that door or not?" the edgy-toned voice of Elijah Ray asked, the middle linebacker, otherwise known as Bruiser, by the rest of the defensive squad.

I faced him and did some awkward gestures because I didn't know what to do with my hands. My finger pointed left and then right, and then, to rectify the situation, my thumb jabbed back at the coach's door behind me. Hoping I didn't look like an idiot, I nodded, trying to act calm. "Who me? Yeah. I was about to."

"Yeah," Elijah said, a chilled rasp dragging out in his voice as he eyed me with a sidelong glance. "You get to be a starter; I'll miss sacking you in practice. Have to take my anger out on Skinny Boy Finn."

"That's good, right?"

"For you." He grinned, huffed. "Relax, man. The coach is just gonna have a little pep talk with you. Bring you up to speed." He slapped me on the shoulder. "Your feet could use an extra gear, and your passes could use an accuracy tune up, so Blake doesn't have to do all the work trying to catch your lame duck throws. Feel me?"

I nodded.

His eyes grew serious. "No cap."

I think 'cap' meant 'lie', so 'no cap' meant 'no lie'. "Got it," I replied.

He turned, heading toward the locker room, but stopped and spun back to me. "One more thing." He paused for a long moment, staring at me. "Don't forget to say yes to what the coach offers. If you don't, it won't be good. For you." He pointed at me.

With that, he disappeared around the corner.

I blew out a nervous breath and swallowed. Felt a chill sweep over me, gooseflesh rising over my forearms. Seeing I was the backup QB, I had gone up against the first-string defense every practice for the last three years. I had felt the power behind Elijah's shoulder pads, his reckless intensity when he pursued the quarterback and levied a sack. His speed had an extra gear, unlike mine, fast enough to run me down with little effort. Many times, I would run out of bounds if I could, or slide to my knees to avoid a devastating hit. Poor Skinny Boy Finn.

After another quick breath to steady my nerves, I turned to face the coach's door.

I could do this.

This time I didn't hesitate, giving the frosted window a firm knock. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then, just when I was about to rap on the glass again, I heard the oil-deprived squeak of his leather chair. I waited, expecting to hear his shoes hit the floor, but silence filled the air.

Several moments passed. Then...

"Come in," the coach said.

I ignored my building anxiety, placed a hand on the knob, and opened the door.

Coach Steele stood behind his desk, arms folded, looking down his nose at me. He nodded toward a chair across from him. "Sit down. We need to talk."

"Yes, sir." I eased into the seat, my gaze never leaving his.

After clucking his tongue on the roof of his mouth for a few unnerving seconds, he dropped into his chair and leaned back, steepling his fingers, each digit spread apart as he looked at me. Behind him, he had the blinds closed on a large window, which I remember had a dark tint, shading his office from the glare of the evening sun. When he finally spoke, his voice came out tight and serious, like hardened flint, ready to sharpen a blade or shatter it.