Page 101 of For the Fans
I assume he means me at first. But then I realize he’s talkingtome, notaboutme, and I trot over, tilting my bird head at him.
“Johannes… Their quarterback.” He pours more water into his mouth, the sight of which wiggles my fingers. “He’s purposely going toe-to-toe, trying to run the exact plays we’rerunning.” He blinks up at me. “He wants to wear me out. Me and Guty…”
“Then don’t let him,” I mumble.
He scoffs and shakes his head, eyes going back onto the field, to the Hokies’s QB, Mike Johannes, who’s launching the ball to his wide receiver for a first-down.
I inch even closer to his side. “I’m serious, Kyran. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t quit. You’re stubborn as fuck. Use that. The defense will trip them up. As long as you don’t stop hammering those balls down the field, you’re golden.”
He stares at me for a second, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hammering balls.” He huffs a tiny chuckle. “You’re funny.”
I’m literally frozen. I can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s smiling at me, onpurpose, and paying me this endearing little compliment. It’s so out of the ordinary, for a second, I think I might be hallucinating.
Did I accidentally mix up my edibles with the mushroom ones again??
A boom of cheers tugs us both out of it, and our faces fling back to the field. Kyran leaps to his feet.
Johannes got sacked and the ball is loose.
Guys are diving all over it, and Kyran’s chin is jerking left and right to try to make out who has it. When the ref pulls everyone off, Kyran hollers, “Fuck yea!”
We recovered the ball.
“Bitchesfumbling!” I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him around while he laughs.
He shoots me a quick, elated grin before stuffing his helmet back on and jogging over to his guys.
I’m abnormally warm inside… my chest thumping with an excitement that seems new and shiny. And flustering, because of how much it relies on the person I despise.Rhyming is fun.
Biting my lip, I watch Kyran take the field, shouting things to his players.
He looks good… Is he supposed to look this good?
Am I supposed to notice how good he looks??
Shaking it off, I plop onto the bench and remind myself not to swoon.
Don’t be swayed by timid smiles and the way his butt looks in those tight pants. He’s still just your dickhead stepbrother.
Your secret business partner…
Nothing more.
My heart is officially lodged in my throat, which is pretty insane, considering how little I cared about football up until this point.
Sure, I get the appeal. I used to watch games on occasion, like that time the Patriots lost to the Giants in the Super Bowl and everyone in New York was acting like Eli Manning was a god all of a sudden for beating Tom Brady.
But sports have never really been my thing… Until right now.
Now that my school’s team is barely clenching their lead against this goddamn force of an obnoxiously named team… Forty-five to thirty-eight, with two minutes left in the game.
Virginia Tech has the ball, and they’reinsufferable, first-downing it down the field, demanding a touchdown to tie the game. Kyran is sitting on the bench, his knee bouncing rapidly. His eyes refuse to leave Johannes. Every move the guy makes, Kyran is watching it. I can almost see the wheels turning in hismind, his obsessive raging thoughts screaming at him louder than all the noise in the stadium.
Nothing, not even my routine of pratfalls and Michael Jackson crotch-grabs, could get him to look away right now. He’s zoned in.
And I don’t want to admit it, but I’m nervous. Our defense is exhausted. Our offense is exhausted. This game is bordering on psychotic. At this point, I think we’d need a miracle to keep them from tying the game.
And unfortunately, miracles don’t exist. Because with a minute left on the clock, the Hokies score a touchdown… And then they pull a motherfuckin’ two-point conversion out of their asses, putting them in the lead.
