How I Fall (46 page)

Ellen keeps using the word
patience
. She has this steadfast idea that all of this will sort itself out, but I’m going insane. All I want to do is have a normal relationship. I should be able to do that. Take her out, hold her hand, walk down to the lake, watch sunsets, movies—heck—just normal stuff. It’s such a joke. I’ve got straight A’s, never broken a rule in my life, never been drunk or high or anything but good, and my parents are treating me like some sort of deviant criminal!

The day after he got back home, which was Tuesday, Dad went to the principal behind my back and had me moved out of Ellen’s digi-photo class to one that’s the same class, but held during another period! When I tried to swap it back and tell the principal what my dad was about, that rat-bastard told me he supported my coach and my father’s decisions in all things that will help the school and help me stay focused on my football game!

No one even cared that I needed to edit the final WOA photographs. Ellen, Laura, Patrick and I actually had to meet up at lunch to do the, then to make sure all was turned in on time, I stayed after school. That made me really late to football which of course earned me another public-yelling session.

I shouldn’t have pushed dad’s buttons by being late to practice because that very next day, Dad was all over the damn school. He was everywhere, and it didn’t take him long to find out the four of us were still having lunch together in Miss Brown’s classroom. So, that afternoon, he ordered the entire team to report for extra lunchtime weight lifting! Since that day, in case I should get
lost
, my dad actually shows up at my locker and escorts me directly to the locker room. I go with him, because if he’s with me, then I know he’s not lurking around, waiting to pounce on Ellen. Something she does not deserve.

If he tries to scare her or yell at her how he’s yelled at me this week, he’s going to be very sorry. I at least stood up to him enough to tell him that. I threatened that I wouldn’t touch another football for the rest of my life. Thankfully, because of that little speech, Dad’s left Ellen completely alone. It’s the only win I’ve had, but it’s been enough to keep me sane.

As the whistle blows signaling the end of the time out, I glance at the clock, relieved that I will be talking to Ellen in less than two minutes. We all walk back onto the field, and I try to muster some energy for this last play, because my heart’s not in it at all. The guys are counting on me to make some huge moves for this playoff game because Dad convinced some recruiters from Michigan to attend this game.

From what I’ve heard the other guys saying, they’re from Ann Arbor and Michigan State. I figure they are probably easy to spot because of school colors, but again, my eyes are only for Ellen. My dad says the recruiters are here just to hang out with him, which is partly true, he let it slip that they are also here looking at me and Patrick for next year’s picks.

This means, that by default, they are also looking at our senior players and the team as a whole. Some of the seniors would love spots down in Michigan next year. If we lose this game—if we don’t even make it to the final playoffs—then those guys probably don’t have a chance for any scholarships, so I need to get my head on straight.

Play a clean game. Do the right thing. This is not just about me and my dad…this is other people’s entire futures at stake here.

To get myself amped up, I start thinking about my dad, his face, his stupid shouting and ever critical expression. It works. My anger spikes. Then I imagine the principal’s self-serving face telling me there’s no chance to get back to my original digi-photo class with Ellen and my pulse races even more. Then I picture the dirty looks from my whole team while we’ve had to lift the extra weights all week long.

All of the guys, besides Patrick, of course have backed my dad and Coach. As a group, and more than once, they’ve attacked me and ordered me to break up with Ellen on numerous occasions! As I look around at each of them, my adrenaline spikes along with my anger. I have the urge to punch each and every one of them who had the nerve to tell me, indirectly to break Ellen’s heart.

Luckily my dad helps me reach full-max angst in his own special way by shouting, “If you mess this up—and I’m talking to the love-sick prima-donna front and center, I’m going to make the rest of your life a LIVING HELL!”

Patrick, already in crouch position, tosses a sympathetic look over his shoulder while the rest of the team glares at me with the same unspoken challenge.

My heart clenches with fury and my eyes go to a kid I’ve been tracking since the first quarter.

Number 11. Outside line backer. And I mean
monster
outside line backer.

The kid looks about one head taller than me, and he’s got to weigh as much as Optimus Prime. The kid is so huge I swear he makes Patrick look like a girl in a tutu. On my last play, I tripped him and called him
slow
as he hit the ground and I ran past him to score. It was just to egg him on, of course, but in the back of my mind I’m hoping he’s going to be pissed off enough to save me. I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, but staring into his eyes right now as we get ready for the ‘hike’ I know he did. I glance at him, then over to my dad. My mind starts spinning into play-time auto pilot.

Is it going to be this guy? Is it going to be today?

As I call out, “32-22-45,” and the ball fires from the hike into my hands, I tilt my chin at that halfback in what I hope is a challenge-salute. He tilts his chin in return as my feet skip-run backwards. He rushes forward, expression full of promise and all the players surge around me.

My dad shouting is the last thing I hear.

“Throw the damn ball, son, THROW THE BALL, YOU SUCKING IDIOT, EVERYONE’S WIDE OPEN. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

All sound around me grows into a suffocating rush of blood between my ears. I force myself not to look at Ellen in the bleachers because I know she hates this part of the game as much as I do. I can hear my heart going
thud. thud, thud.
And I’m struggling to hear my own thoughts as my feet steadily work backwards and avoid tackles.

Hate, thud, this, thud, stupid, thud game.

Thud, hate, thud, my life.

Thud, football, thud, hate, thud, hate. My dad.

Dad’s voice creeps in, “Cam! Throw the damn ball! The clock! Thirty seconds! Throw the ever-loving ball or MOVE, you
IDIOT
!”

I replace Dad’s voice with Ellen’s, saying to me that
everything is going to be okay
.

Ellen. Thud. Love. Thud. Love. Thud. Love…

I tuck the ball under my arm and run as fast as I can, directly toward Number 11. Which is easy, because the kid’s right here and he’d been coming at me full speed this whole time.

ellen

“No! No!” I’m screaming! I’ve been watching Cam look from his dad, who is shouting as usual from the sidelines, then back to a player who is bigger than a grizzly bear. He’s got the ball, and everyone’s running around him. The crowd’s been screaming “throw the ball” and even I can see more than one wide-open spot where Cam could land a good throw to his teammates, but he’s not throwing the ball! It’s like Cam’s gone crazy.

As has Patrick.

Patrick seems to be trying to singularly protect Cam. He’s brought down guy after guy as they’ve approached Cam, but all the while Cam’s been holding the ball, and run-walking backwards! His eyes won’t quit doing the Ping-Pong thing to his dad, to this huge player who’s managed to avoid everyone, even Patrick, who—as we all watch—is taken out in a huge and horrible dog pile!

“Oh, my poor boy!” Patrick’s mom gasps out.

Cam’s got no more protection and it’s all happening so fast. I don’t know much about football, but I do think I know…I know. I get what Cam’s trying to do! The extra big player’s full on running directly at Cam now. And Cam, like he’s just clicked a switch, is running also—not toward the end zone for the score like he usually does—but instead he’s running directly at this gigantic guy.

“Laura! Laura! Please. You’ve got to help me.” I let my legs dangle off the side of the bleachers and I drop, almost falling but Laura’s close behind. Patrick’s mom gets stuck in the crowd as everyone closes in, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Because our bleachers are close to the field I can still see what’s happening.

The crowd roars louder just as Laura lets me lean on her and has balanced me all the way to the sideline. I realize I’m right next to Cam’s dad and that alone has me shaking.

But Laura’s also shaking. I hear her say, “Where’s my Patrick?” But I don’t take my eyes off Cam because he’s about to—

Before I’m even aware of it, I’m screaming, “No! No!” at the very same time Cam’s dad is also shouting the same words, “No! NO!”

Cam gets hit and goes flying like some sort of rag doll high into the air as the clock runs out.

His dad and I are both screaming: “CAM! CAM!”

Whistles blow all over the place, flags are flying and the whole team, the cheerleaders and anyone near the sideline surges onto the field because it’s halftime. Mr. Campbell shoves past me but pauses as if he’s surprised to find me standing so close to him then he runs full speed onto the field to get to his son.

Already crying, I look at Laura. “Get me out there. Please. Help get me there.”

Laura nods and steps in front of me. “Get on. I’m as strong as a horse.”

With no time to protest, I do as she says and she’s galloping me out there, shouting as she goes. “Move out of the way. Move out of the bloody way or I’ll rip your heads off! Move it along—step aside you bloody onlookers. Camden Campbell’s girlfriend is coming through!”

She’s so loud and so startling with her accent and with her full tiger get-up, everyone just steps aside. I know the part where I’m sobbing and shrieking from her back has to be helping. “Let us through. Please! Let us through!”

In a half a minute, Laura deposits me next to Cam who’s laid flat, but thankfully seems relatively okay. We’ve even beat Cam’s dad and the coaches through the tightly knit crowd.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers up at me.

“Are you okay?” I breath calmer when I realize Nash, who is known to volunteer on the sidelines as the resident PT for the big games, is right here as well.

Player number 11 is kneeling by Cam’s feet. His helmet’s off. His cheeks are red and round, making him appear quite young and harmless without his gear. Poor kid seems really distraught. He keeps whispering to his own teammates who’ve gathered around. “Dude just went crazy. What the heck was he doing running at me like that? I didn’t know what to do. I just…tackled him…but damn, I didn’t know he’d fly so far.”

I pick up Cam’s hand just as I hear Cam’s dad screaming, “Let us through. Damn you kids, move out of the way!”

Nash asks him, “Where does it hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Cam groans out, curling onto his side. “Everywhere. Don’t worry, I think my body’s just surprised that I was in the air so long, you know?”

“Dude, you surprised us all.”

“Oww. Crap,” Cam groans again.

“What did he hit? Was it his shoulder?” Nash asks the player who tackled him. “Did anyone actually track how and where he landed?” He’s poking his arms and asking Cam, “Did you hit your head—did you twist your spine? Cam talk to me.”

Cam rallies and sits up which makes the crowd cheer and press in closer. “I’m good, Mr. Nash. I’m really good. I swear.”

My heart aches. I can tell by his voice that he’s not good. Not good at all.

“Oh, bloody ducks,” whispers Laura, meeting my gaze. She can tell the same.

“Look,” Cam goes on, moving his arms and legs which only increases my level of dread. I’ve spent years watching his arms and his legs be so fluid and flexible. Right now he moves them like a very old man. From the way he’s keeping his right arm next to his body, kind of like how I do when my bad arm is spazzing, I wonder if he’s really and truly hurt?

Cam smiles at me and holds out his left arm. “Patrick—someone, help me stand. I want to spend a few minutes of this halftime with my girlfriend and wipe the worried look off her sweet face.”

“Aww…” someone calls out from the crowd.

Patrick hauls Cam to his feet and Laura and Nash help me stand as well. Cam’s dad breaks through the crowd and pushes between us, forcing me to fall backwards into Patrick.

“Don’t anyone touch him! Especially you, Ellen Foster. You’ve got no right to be here! And you—” Cam’s father grimaces at Laura and her tiger outfit then, as if he realizes there’s an audience he calls out in an announcer voice. “None of you kids need to be here. Please return to your seats.”

Cam steps forward, but wobbles slightly on his feet as though he can’t quite see straight. “I want my
girlfriend
here at least,” Cam shouts, but then grimaces as if shouting hurts his head.

“You don’t have a
girlfriend
.” Cam’s dad glares at me.

The crowd, instead of dispersing as Cam’s dad commanded, closes in more. I suppose ‘the disabled girl and the quarterback’ is the best halftime show our school has ever orchestrated. Because I can’t run how I want to run, I staple on a calm face and field glares from some of Cam’s and Patrick’s team mates as well as the cheerleaders who are also crowding in around us.

Mr. Campbell freezes me with another death glare as he goes on, “How about you take your circus side show of freaks out of here. All of you! Get off the damn field!” He moves in really close and stares down at me. I stare back. Up. Way up. “Now!”

Cam’s voice gets stronger. “Back off her, Dad, or I swear I will lay you flat!”

The crowd gasps and starts muttering because no one’s ever heard Cam, or anyone for that matter, speak like that to Mr. Campbell.

Cam tries to step around his dad to get to me, and even though my left calf has started cramping up as a warning that I’m stressed and about to have trouble, I don’t care. I only want to get to Cam. Touch him, put my hand in his to calm him down. He sounds so upset and I’m still really worried he’s not okay after that horrible tackle.

Cam’s dad makes this face like Cam’s some sort of annoying insect and pushes him back at the same time he uses his elbow to block me and almost knocks me to the ground!