louder.
Poor Kyle, I thought. Then it registered that Kyle was one of the wide receivers.
I looked over and caught Mrs. Rodgers’s eye. I didn’t know
if it was appropriate to be hopeful that Levi would get pulled
in at the expense of another player’s health. But that was
exactly what happened.
Levi started to jog out onto the field.
“GO, LEVI!” Adam shouted loudly, and patted me on
the back.
I felt my heart beat faster. But I was sure it was nothing
compared to what Levi was going through.
The team lined up and the ball was snapped to Jacob
Thomas, the quarterback. He moved back and surveyed the
players making their way down the field. Jacob always had
more time than most quarterbacks in the district because
Keith was his left tackle. No opposing player really had a
chance of getting to him with Keith blocking.
Jacob threw the ball long down the field. I held my breath,
conflicted about whether I wanted the ball to be thrown to
Levi or not. While I wanted him to score, I also didn’t want
him to drop the ball and be accountable for a loss. Even
though I always thought it was unfair that one player was
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either applauded or vilified if they scored or didn’t in the last seconds of a game. The other players on the team were
responsible for their getting to that moment. One player does
not a team or victory make.
It was an incomplete pass. The team quickly scrambled
near the forty-yard line. There were less than twenty seconds on the clock. The ball snapped. Jacob kept shuffling
back, looking for an opening. We were at fifteen seconds. The
crowd was on its feet. The ball sailed through the air. It was
headed straight to Levi, who was running fast toward the
end zone.
I swear time stood still for those few seconds. The entire
place was silent. Everybody’s eyes were following the ball’s
trajectory.
Levi held his arms out, his focus clear.
He jumped up slightly and caught the ball. He hesitated
for a slight second, probably shocked that the ball was safe in
his arms. He turned around and sprinted to the end zone.
The stands erupted in applause while the remaining players arrived in the end zone to celebrate their victory.
Adam and I hugged each other. We hugged the people next
to us. I made my way over to Levi’s mom and dad.
“That was amazing!” I said as Dr. Rodgers picked me up.
Celebrating with Levi’s parents felt right. They were like
my family — that hadn’t changed. I knew we’d get back to
the place we once were. You don’t just toss family aside.
I glanced down at the field. Stacey ran over with the other
cheerleaders and joined in the commotion. He quickly kissed
her before the team hoisted him up.
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Levi was beaming. This was all he ever wanted: to be part
of a team. One of the guys.
The elation I felt quickly evaporated. While I knew I should
be happy for him, I had to face the truth.
I knew right then that I had lost him for good.
It’s truly amazing what winning a game can do for someone’s
confidence. Or ego.
I texted Levi after the game on Friday to congratulate
him and never heard back. I saw him in the parking lot at
school that Monday morning and gave him a wave, but he
was too busy being the athletic stud he’d always dreamed of
to notice me.
The entire school kept talking about it as if we’d never
won a football game before. Nobody seemed to remember
that it had been an extremely boring game for the first
three quarters. Apparently, the last twenty seconds were
the only thing that mattered. Had that play happened with
two minutes left, we would’ve already moved on to something else.
And yes, I was being a horrible friend for not being more
excited for Levi, but were we even friends anymore? We
hadn’t talked in weeks. He had bigger (in no way better) people to spend his time with.
My annoyance was at an all-time high when I turned the
corner on my way from English to see Levi walking with Tim
and Keith. They had on their letter jackets and walked down
the hallways with that athletic air of superiority that I never
quite understood. So you can throw a ball or hit a ball or do
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something with a ball rather well — that entitles you to some
kind of hero worship? The band kids with their musical tal—
ents didn’t walk around like we should all feel lucky to be
graced with their presence.
I reminded myself that only a small percentage of their
team would end up playing sports in college, and an even
smaller percentage would go on to become professional athletic egomaniacs, if any at all. So at most, Keith would sit
around twenty years from now, fat and balding, recounting
the glory days of his high school athletic career.
I wanted to believe, at least hope, that my best years were
ahead of me. It would be too depressing to fathom if high
school was as good as it got.