Going Long (26 page)

“You see, my son wanted me to
give you a scholarship,” she chuckled a little to herself, more amusement at my
expense. “I explained that we have rules, and the scholarships, Nolan? They
just don’t work that way.”

Oh God, she was pitying me now!
I wanted to curl up like a bug, and disintegrate into her carpet.

“But my son? Well, like I said.
He loves you. And let’s just say he gave me some things to think about,” she
said, touching my hand a little. I could feel her hand trembling, and was lost
between wanting to shirk it from my skin and wanting to grab hold of it
tightly. I was powerless, and I couldn’t get myself to look her in the eyes.

“Nolan, I don’t know you well.
And I’m sorry. I know that is mostly my fault. But from what I do know, you
aren’t someone who is used to favors. You like to earn your way. And I can
respect that,” Millie spoke more comfortably, her formalities breaking down
just the slightest bit, and my heart leaping at the word
respect
. “I
sent your files to a friend of mine. Dean Howard is in charge of the Education
College at ASU, and it seems she’s quite familiar with you. She submitted your
profile for the Summit Fellowship. Are you familiar with the program?”

I shook my head slowly. I’d
heard of it, but really had no clue what it was.

“Hmmmm, well…basically your
senior year is turned into an intensive study program under her direct
supervision. You have to complete a major paper to be published in an academic
journal and turn in several hours of hands-on experience. And in exchange for
your tutoring in her class, your tuition is completely covered,” her words were
starting to echo as my head was racing through this possibility. I had spent
the semester digging my own grave, and there was this chance now that I would
actually be able to claw my way out.

  Millie held the folder
out for me to take, and when I did, I clung it to my chest, afraid to look
inside.

“Nolan, I removed myself from
the selection committee. It wasn’t appropriate. I hope you understand,” she
said as she left the office and left me to sit there alone, curious about the
direction my life would turn the second I flipped open the damn folder in my
hand.

I set it flat in my lap, and
with shaky fingers I turned the cover over to see the personal letter from Dean
Howard, welcoming me to join her fellowship next fall. I gasped for air, my
heart beating quickly, and my eyes stinging with relief. I read every word of
the letter and every paper that followed, spending at least 20 minutes alone in
Millie’s office. The more I read through my files, and the details of the
program, the more I realized what Millie had meant. She had removed herself
from the committee. I’d earned this honor all on my own. While I might not be
good enough for her son, I had Millie Johnson-Snyder’s respect. And with that
in my hip pocket, I felt renewed optimism that someday I might just be able to
win her favor completely.

Reed

“Dude, get your head in the
game,” Trig laughed, slapping the back of my head with a towel after our
morning workout the day of the bowl game. We did some light running, and I
threw a few passes just to get a feel for the ball and the cooler air. Playing
in California was amazing. Of all the BCS bowls, the Rose bowl was the bomb.

“My head’s in the game. Don’t
you worry about me. You just make sure you catch the pretty little passes I’ll
be throwin’ your ass, okay?” I gave it right back to him. He started laughing
as he lay down on the bench across from me, stretching his arms out and taking
up the entire bench. Trig was six-foot-four, and when he jumped, he seemed like
he was 10-foot-plus, which made even my crappiest throws look pretty
spectacular.

“Don’t let coach hear you
calling your passes
little
. He won’t like that too much,” Trig joked.
“You know they’re going to be gunnin’ for your ass.”

“Yep. I know,” I said, laying
back, too, and shutting my eyes, my head spinning with everything that was
happening so fast. Win or lose, tomorrow morning I was declaring myself draft
eligible. I had been ready for it all season, but now that it was here, this
new step scared the shit out of me. If I failed, it was going to be on a mega
stage for the world to see. I’d gotten used to being the big fish in the small
pond; I wasn’t so sure anymore that I was ready to swim with the sharks.

I heard my phone in my bag and
sat up to dig it out. Trig started laughing at the ringtone Noles had put in
for her number. “Man…is your phone playing P!nk?” he started poking fun.

“Yes. It is,” I said back
seriously, my face bluffing my embarrassment. I was going to play it proud.

“Well, alright then,” he said,
laying back down and popping his headphones in.

“Huh? That was easy,” I laughed
to myself.

I answered Nolan’s call, excited
to hear how close she and my dad were to the stadium. “Hey, Princess. Where you
at?” I asked.

“We’re getting off the freeway
right now. Your dad’s telling me some story about the Rose Bowl parade in 1994,
something he did to one of the floats?” she was giggling a little, telling on
my dad. I just rolled my eyes. I’d heard the story a million times. ASU was in
the bowl that year, and my dad and a few of his alumni buddies managed to
sabotage one of the ASU floats, spraying their flowers red and blue, UofA
colors. I’d heard the story about a thousand times. Poor Nolan, this was only
her first.

“I’m so sorry. You’re too good
to him. You can tell him to stop talking sometimes you know?” I said, also
loving the fact that I knew Nolan would never say anything remotely mean or
rude to my dad.

“Oh God, never. I love his
stories,” she said, her voice honest and true. My grin stretched ear-to-ear
talking to her.

“Oh, hey! Tell Pops to pull in
to the media lot when you guys get here. His name’s on a list, so he gets VIP
parking,” I said.

“Got it,” she said, muffling the
phone a little as she relayed my words to my dad. “Okay, we’re pulling in. See
you in a few!”

She hung up quickly, which was
good, because I was about to unleash some seriously mushy stuff, and I wasn’t
so sure Trig’s music was playing loudly enough to block it all out. I headed
down the main hall to the front of the team lounge, almost skipping like a
schoolgirl. Here I was about to play in the biggest game yet of my football
career, and my heart was completely, 100-percent focused on the girl about to
walk through the doors in front of me. My dad swung them open first, but then
he held one side open so Nolan could catch up and walk through.

Damn. She was perfect.

When we talked the night before,
she told me that she was going to break her rules—go
full Wildcat
for me, but I didn’t think she’d look like
that
! She had on a red
version of my jersey that she’d tied in the back so it hugged her body,
slumping a little over one shoulder. Her tight jeans slung low on her hips,
showing off her smooth stomach and cute-as-hell bellybutton. She pulled her
hair back into a ponytail, the long curls swaying as she walked. She was a
goddamned fantasy, and for once I didn’t care that every other guy in the
lounge right now was staring at her, because she walked right up to me. And I
was the one who got to kiss her.

“Well, that’s a fine way to say
hello,” she said after I finally let my lips leave hers, acting like one of the
old-fashioned girls from those old movies.

“You…are dangerous in that
outfit, Miss Lennox,” I said, tugging on the bottom of the jersey.

“Too much?” she asked, folding
her arms a little, shying away over her body. I just pulled her arms back out
and held them in front of her.

“Definitely not. You look
amazing!” I reached around her and slung her back a bit, kissing her again, and
then standing her back up in my arms. “You just make it kinda hard to focus,
that’s all.”

“Ohhhh,” she snickered, lowering
her eyes and showing her embarrassment from my bold attention.

I held her hand every second she
was in the lounge with me, just dragging her around by my side while I
introduced my dad to a few people. I hadn’t really spent time with her since
Christmas Day at my mom’s. And the rollercoaster of that day had left us both
pretty emotionally spent. I was grateful that my mom had actually heard me when
I had it out with her over how she treated Nolan. I knew she wouldn’t be able
to just flip a switch. But the fact that she even had the smallest hand in
Nolan’s fellowship award was a good sign—at least I was taking it for
one. I grilled Nolan pretty hard about the conversation they had, mostly
because her eyes seemed red and swollen when she finally walked out of my mom’s
office. But she swore to me that my mom hadn’t been mean. And she said my mom
even told her she respected her, which seemed to mean more to Nolan than being
gushed over the way Dylan was, which I guess was just one more reason why I
loved Nolan so damned much.

About three hours before game
time, Nolan left with my dad to grab a bite to eat before meeting up with the
rest of the family to take their seats. They were near our bench this time,
only a few rows up. My dad actually turned down box seats to get closer to the
action. He was never much for the luxury and high-end side of sporting events.
He liked to hear and feel the grit of the game and be close to the field.

The closer we got to kick-off,
the more my nerves started to zero in on what was at stake. We weren’t
contending for the title, just a higher ranking to end the season. But I knew
tonight I was out there for evaluation, and how I played meant I ended up third
string in Buffalo, riding the bench and freezing my ass off, or with a fighting
chance to start someday for a team like San Diego.

I jumped up and down with
nervous energy in the tunnel next to Trig. He lived for this kind of stage. And
normally, so did I. But I couldn’t seem to shake the cloud over my head. I was
worried…and that
worried
me. “Yo, Johnson. You ready to show these
Buckeyes how it’s done?” Trig shouted, bumping fists with me before putting his
helmet on his head and kicking off into a sprint to race out onto the field.

My mouth yelled with him, but my
head was calculating every aspect of the game. I was thinking about the people
in the stands, the people on phones calling stats back to main offices, the
lawyers sitting on offers and contracts. My stomach was so sick, I actually ran
straight over to the giant trash can behind our bench and hurled everything I
had inside me into it.

“What the fuck was that? I’d
never lost my head. Not out here?” I thought.

“You alright, Johnson?” I heard
one of the coaches shout over my shoulder. I just held my hand up and wiped my
mouth with my other arm.

“I’m good. Too much Gatorade.
All good, all good,” I said, pushing my helmet to my head and begging myself to
get a grip on things.

We ended up losing the coin
toss, which meant I had to head out onto the field first. I liked having a
minute or two to pump myself up, but I wouldn’t get that luxury today. I thrust
my chest into Trig’s and a few of the other guys’ as we headed out to the field
for the huddle, the special team only getting us to the 23-yard line.

I took my calls, and we ran a
few running plays first, gaining only six yards by third down. “Okay, it’s game
change time, boys. Going audible. Listen up, and hold the pocket,” I shouted
through my helmet, the roar of the crowd almost deafening.

We got to the line and I
shouted, turning side to side for the hard count. “Six-eight-six, green 80,
green 80, hut!” I was actually screaming my words as the ball suddenly thrust
into my hands. It felt so foreign, like I’d never handled one in my life.
Within nano-seconds I was flat on the ground, the turf digging into my teeth
while a 300-pound linebacker sat on me, pushing me deeper into the earth,
yelling into my ear to “remember what that feels like, motherfucker, cuz you’re
tasting that shit again!”

My body hurt instantly. I’d been
sacked. I’d been sacked plenty of times, but for some reason everything seemed
heavier today. Trig reached down and pulled me to my feet, slapping my back as
we ran off the field, going three and out.

“Shit. Not a good start,” I
thought.

I pulled the grass from my mouth
and spit out water a few times, spraying some on my face before propping my
helmet halfway on my head.

“Come on. Get it together!” I
coached myself.
I was off my game. Something was wrong. I looked around
the stadium, taking in the crowd. I’d played here before. I’d won here before.
What the hell was my problem?

The next two outings were pretty
much the same, each drive getting a little deeper. But I couldn’t seem to
settle into a groove. And I’d eaten turf enough for the day. Finally, in the
middle of the second quarter, I got pissed. Sick of it, I started pacing,
turning every now and then to look up at the stands. I needed to see Pops. When
I finally found him, he was standing with Nolan holding onto one arm, on her
tiptoes. Rose was leaning on the other. They both hated to see me take a
beating; it always scared them. But my dad’s face was different. He was…calm.
He noticed me looking and gave me a nod. Just enough. He wasn’t worried. Not in
the least. Just like I usually was. There was always time, and I always had
control.

I channeled his confidence as I
ran out to the field, a little renewed energy in my steps. “Okay, how about we
don’t let those fuckers in this time, huh?” I yelled, pushing at my line’s
chests. They barked, getting pumped up, everyone ready to get into the game.
And I think finally, I was, too.

We broke and got to the line,
trying the same audible I had before, only this time I stepped out quicker, my
feet knowing right where they needed to be, where I needed to go. Trig was
crossing about 15 yards out, and I hit him right on the line as he ran out of
bounds. And suddenly there was a shift. We all felt it.

They call it momentum.

We ran the same play four more
times, the Buckeyes unable to stop it, and the frustration we were just
suffering from finally piled onto their side. Our running backs cut through
them as we charged down the field five and 10 yards at a time—finally
scoring in a two-minute drive. We were on the board, down by a touchdown, going
into the second half, and I was finally ready to get off my ass and fight for
this thing that I really wanted.

The second half was a complete
180 from our first half. We dominated the ball, and I even got to air it out a
few times, hitting Trig with 30-yard passes for touchdowns. I was feeling it,
everything suddenly effortless. I could close my eyes and still see the Harland
Motors scoreboard from Coolidge, smell the same grass from home, shut out the
crowd—pretend this wasn’t the big time. That’s how I always did it. I
could block it from my mind, but for some reason today I let it in, let it
attack me a little. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

It wasn’t a blow out, but we won
the Rose Bowl 48 to 38, clinching a no. 3 or 4 final for the season. My bones
hurt, and I knew I’d be icing some serious bruises and swollen joints for most
of the night. I had taken a beating. But I’d also gotten back up. And I hoped
that’s what the important people watching tonight’s game focused on. I wanted
to show my toughness, show that I could take anything thrown at me, no matter
how hard I got hit.

I wasn’t sure where my mother and
Sam were sitting for the game, probably in one of the boxes upstairs. And part
of me was glad my mom wasn’t closer to the field where she could hear the
crunch and the sounds of the wind being forced from my lungs. My dad could take
it, but she was always convinced that football was going to kill me.

I hung out on the field for
about an hour for interviews and the trophy presentations. And I was proud as
hell that I’d earned the offensive MVP award. There were times in my life where
I’d been on cruise control, just gone through the motions and gotten what I’d
wanted because it was easy. But tonight I had to fight, and I was honestly a
little surprised that I could fight, and even more that I still came out on
top.