Page 218 of For the Fans
“These fighting fucking Irish…” Bridget scoffs, then hollers, “Show ’em how Irish really fight, Ky!”
Everyone around us cheers, but I can’t even move. My hands are clasped together so tightly I think I might break my own fingers.
Kyran and our offensive line jog back onto the field, and I know I can’t see his face, but somehow, I canfeelhow tense he is. It’s like we’re both down there, and I’m sitting inside his body with him, sharing his nervous frustration.
The ball is punted to Guty, and he catches it. Then he takes off running, weaving in between Notre Dame defense for a return. The crowd around me is screaming and hollering. I think Guty’s family is sitting right behind us because my eardrums have officially blown out.
Someone finally gets him down, but he managed to gain twenty-six yards. Kyran says something to him when they’re all gathered around setting up for the next drive. Guty nods and they smash their helmets together.
“Come on, baby…” I whisper. “You’ve got this on lock.”
There’s the snap. Kyran hands off the ball to Benito to run it. But then he steps back and whips the ball in Guty’s direction. They faked the hand-off, and seamlessly, I might add.
Notre Dame is unprepared, and Guty is a fuckingmadman. He catches the ball and runs faster than I’ve ever seen any human move before. He gets all the way to the fifteen-yard line before he’s knocked out of bounds. But no matter. We’re in scoring position now.
“Fuck yea!” I shout while Bridgetwoosand we high-five. “That’s what I’m talkin about!”
“Number eighty-one is a beast!” Bridget cheers.
“That’s my son!” a lady with tanned skin and short spiky hair says from behind us, clear excitement shaking her voice.
“You’re Guty’s mom?” I ask her, and she nods enthusiastically. “He’s a great guy.”
“Are you from BC?” she asks, and I nod.
“I’m Kyran’s…” The words come to a fast bottleneck in my mouth.Stepbrother? Friend? Boyfriend? Why the hell do I not know what to say right now?!I clear my throat. “I’m the Eagles’s mascot.”
Bridget shoots me a look, to which I shrug.
“You’rethe Eagle?!” Guty’s mom gasps. “We love you!” I grin humbly, mimicking a bow. “You should be down there with them, cheering them on!”
“I wish…” I mumble. And the conversation stops because the ball is in the air.
Fellows catches it in the end zone, and we all jump out of our seats.
“Yea, bitch!” I scream while everyone goes wild.
“Hold up,” a guy sitting next to Guty’s mom calls out. “There’s a flag down.”
“Who threw it??”
The ref announces over the speaker. “Holding. Offense, number seven. Ten-yard penalty. First and goal.”
“That’s bullshit!” Bridget squawks.
“Holding my ass!” Guty’s mom screams, and she and Bridget tap their cups together in a cheers.
“Hey, ref! I’ve got something you can hold!” the guy next to Guty’s mom roars, grabbing his crotch.
“Mijo…” she scolds, shaking her head at him.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “They’ve got this.”
I can tell Kyran is pissed, but not once do you see him react to it. He pats number seven, Sean Cameron, on the back, and they get ready to try again.
The play is live and I’m sweating. Notre Dame’s defense is covering the crap out of everyone in the end zone. Kyran has nowhere to send the ball, so he starts to run, doing his best to dodge the guards and tackles. He gets within a step of the end zone, and some big asshole knocks the ball out of his hands.
“Fuck!” Bridget and I both gasp at the same time, everyone’s eyes locked in suspense on the field.
