My chest fills with air and my body feels light, and I realize just how much my muscles have been clenching, on edge.
The team moves toward the field, and I see my friend holding a banner up while she sits on another cheerleader’s shoulders, stretching the hand-painted paper, perhaps the ugliest looking drawing of a Tiger I’ve ever seen, across several feet to another pair of cheerleaders on the other side. The team huddles and disappears behind the banner, their “woofing” and chest-pounding growing like thunder until they break through the center, Nico and Colton at the front, Travis right behind them.
My family and Nico’s stands and screams. I’m filled with adrenaline, and my nerves are out of control, my fingers tingling and my legs unable to stop moving. I apologize as I sit down next to Valerie, and she hugs me from the side.
“I can’t stop moving, either. It’s okay,” she says.
With my camera set and propped next to me, I let myself watch kickoff with my own eyes. The North team is huge—in both numbers and size—and they manage to gain twenty yards on their initial run. They make the fifty, and I start to worry—my father and Nico’s uncle both shouting the things they see wrong, agreeing and shouting louder.
In a blink, Sasha changes the course of the game. He pulls away from the line, shifting and staying with the targeted receiver, reading the pass perfectly and leaping in front at the right time. He’s only able to bring the ball down before the North offense tackles him, but he jumps and pounds his chest as he makes his way to our side, tossing the ball to the ref.
Coach O’Donahue has his offense pulled off to the side, and he’s holding up a hand to the ref, giving them instructions before yelling, “Break.” When Nico rushes to the field, I get to my feet, not caring that it’s only the first play. I’m so happy to see him out there, so proud and so relieved that Jimmy didn’t ruin this, too; I have to stand. My mom stands with me, and before long, I’ve started a movement, and the entire right side of the bleachers is on their feet, screaming.
The hard count is a thing of beauty when it’s done right. It requires trust. It thrives on surprise. It needs precision and a certain amount of faith. Rarely, if ever, have I seen a quarterback use it right out of the gate. My dad recognizes it, too, and I smile seeing the smirk on his face. Nico shouts his cadence, the rhythm different, his offense ready—North falls into their hands.
“Offsides!” the announcer says.
The head ref signals the five yards, and both teams move—our opponent now lit and flustered. This is where Nico wants them.
Off guard.
Before the defense is even set, Nico’s calling the play, only enough time for them to make it to the line before he’s backpedalling, Colton holding the line, Travis sprinting. Fifteen yards out, Nico’s pass is a bullet to his chest, and the defense wraps him up. In no-huddle, hurry-up mode, The Tradition scrambles, and they do it again. And again. The same play, only slight variations. North has no answers, and in less than a minute, Nico hits Travis in the end zone, and we’re up six to zero.
“That was unbelievable,” my dad says, scratching at his chin while my mom grabs his arm in both of her hands, shaking it in her excitement.
“He’s better than me,” Noah says.
My mom starts in quickly with her “no, honeys” and “you’re different,” but Noah holds his hand up to stop her.
“He is. He’s better than me, and it’s okay, Mom. I’m in awe,” Noah says, his eyes clear and wide, his head shaking at what just happened on the field.
Nico’s Uncle Danny leans to high-five both my brother and my dad, while Nico’s mom beams with pride, Alyssa clapping and screaming her uncle’s name over and over again—Nico, Nico, Nico!
Our defense takes the field for kickoff, and I get an idea. I ask Valerie if Alyssa can come with me, and when she nods yes, I take the little girl’s hand and tell her I’m going to show her something “very cool.” I lead her down to the steps at the middle of the bleachers, and at a quick glance to check that the coast is clear, we climb down to the field level, but stay near the stands until we walk over to Izzy and the rest of the cheer squad.
I sit with Alyssa and watch both the game and my best friend cheer as The Tradition defense holds North to three downs, forcing them to punt. Izzy jogs over to me during the timeout.
“Hey, I remember you,” she says. Izzy has always been good with kids, despite not having siblings of her own. She’s bright and bubbly, and I’m sure in Alyssa’s eyes she’s a fairy princess.
“This is my friend Alyssa,” I say, making eye contact with Izzy so she understands. She smiles at me softly before kneeling down to be on Alyssa’s level.
“Hi, Alyssa. I’m Izzy. I met you after one of Nico’s first games, and Reagan has told me a lot about you. She says that you…are quite the cheerleader,” my friend says.