#1 - Page 21 (2/2)

I flip through all the pictures until finally I get to a letter, folded at the bottom of the box. I pick it up and unfold it. It’s a short letter in my handwriting, addressed to Charlie. I begin to read it, but my phone buzzes, so I reach over and unlock it.

Charlie: What time is your practice over?

Me: Not sure. I found a box of stuff in the locker room. Don’t know if it’ll help, but there’s a letter in it.

Charlie: What does it say?

“Silas!” someone yells from behind me. I spin around and drop two of the pictures in my hands. There’s a man standing at the door with an angry look on his face. “Get on the field!”

I nod and he continues on down the hall. I put the pictures back in the box and set it back inside my locker. I take a deep, calming breath and make my way out to the practice field.

Two lines are formed on the field, both rows of guys hunched forward and staring at the guy in front of them. There’s an obvious opening, so I jog toward the empty spot and copy what the other players are doing.

“For s.h.i.+t’s sake, Nas.h.!.+ Why are you not wearing your shoulder pads?” Someone yells.

Shoulder pads. c.r.a.p.

I skip out of line and run back to the locker room. This is going to be the longest hour of my life. It’s odd I can’t remember the rules of football. Can’t be that hard, though. Just run back and forth a few times and practice will be over.

I locate pads behind the row of lockers. Luckily, they’re easy to put on. I rush back out onto the field and everyone is scattering, running around like ants. I hesitate before walking onto the field. When a whistle blows, someone shoves me from behind. “Go!” he yells, frustrated.

The lines, the numbers, the goal posts. They mean nothing to me as I stand on the field amongst the other guys. One of the coaches shouts an order and before I know it, the ball is being thrown in my direction. I catch it.

What now?

Run. I should probably run.

I make it three feet before my face meets the astroturf. A whistle blows. A man yells.

I stand up, just as one of the coaches stalks in my direction. “What the h.e.l.l was that? Get your d.a.m.n head in the play!”

I look around me, the sweat beginning to trickle down my forehead. Landon’s voice rings out behind me. “Dude. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?”

I turn and look at him, just as everyone huddles around me. I follow their motions and lay my arms over the backs of the guys to my left and right. No one speaks for several seconds, and then I realize they’re all looking at me. Waiting. I think they want me to say something? I get the feeling it’s not a prayer circle.

“You gonna call a play or what?” The guy to my left says.

“Uh…,” I stutter. “You…,” I point to Landon. “Do that…thing.” Before they can question me, I pull apart and the huddle breaks.

“Coach is gonna bench him,” I hear someone mumble behind me. A whistle blows and before the sound even leaves my ears, a freight train crashes into my chest.

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