Page 75 of Hail Marry
Luca, I’m really happy for you, and I’ma let you finish, but…Beyonce had one of the best college degrees of ALL TIME.
Did Beyonce go to college?
No clue, but I’m pretty sure you can major in Beyonce now.
Oh, by the way, Austin asked for your phone number. I apologize in advance for whatever comes of that.
Nothing comes of it until I’m heading to training camp Monday morning and a slew of texts comes through. It takes me a minute to figure out that I’ve been added to a group text of the Sheppard brothers and brothers-in-law.
I shoot a couple texts back so I don’t seem like a jerk, then get dressed and try to get my head in the game. Today marks the beginning of organized team activities. A lot of us will be rookies, but a number of the more seasoned players participate despite the fact that it’s voluntary. It’s an opportunity to build team chemistry and work on non-contact drills.
There are already a few guys in the room when I get to my locker. There’s a guy in front of the one next to mine, his shirt off. We’ve never met, but I recognize him as Max Bennett, one of the other wide receivers. The only time he played last season was in garbage time when the team was already well in the lead in one of the last season games. One of the starting receivers suffered a career-ending Achilles rupture, and Bennett took his place.
He’s got sandy-blond hair and a short, manicured beard. He turns to me and looks me up and down, then smiles knowingly. “Callahan.”
I nod and put out my hand. “Bennett, right?”
A few of the other players turn to see who he’s talking to.
“That’s right.” He takes my hand and shakes it—tightly—still smiling. “You ready to sit on the bench this season?”
A massive guy with a shiny head and ruddy cheeks walks by and swats Bennett with his towel. “Don’t listen to Bennett. He thinks it’s his job to haze the rookies.”
“And Moose thinks it’shisjob to protect his precious little calves,” Bennett shoots back, attempting to snap the guy, who grabs the towel like he just caught a fly out of the air.
“I’m Terry,” he says to me in his strong, deep voice as he drops the end of the towel, “but everyone calls me Moose.”
It’s not a name that requires explanation. The man’s a tank, and if memory serves, he’s our left tackle.
“Welcome to the Admirals.” Moose frowns as he looks me over. “You’re a wideout?”
“Looks more like one of your guys, doesn’t he?” Bennett says, nodding at the group of offensive linemen nearby. Bennett’s probably two inches shorter than me, but he’s also a lot leaner. I know from studying the team stats that speed’s a big strength of his.
“We could use a really strong receiver,” Moose says. “Right, DJ?”
The quarterback, Darius Johnson, looks up from his seat, where he’s studying the playbook. He clearly didn’t hear Moose, who repeats his question.
DJ surveys me with curiosity, then gets up and comes over. “You’re one of the new wideouts?”
I nod and shake his hand. DJ’s known in the League for his calm energy, but his firm grip exudes confidence. I’m looking forward to working with him after the louder, more aggressive style of our Trojan QB.
“Welcome to the team,” DJ says.
“Don’t get attached, DJ,” Bennett says with a wink. “We need speed, not an O-Lineman who missed his calling.”
Normally, I let trash talking slide. I’ve put in a lot of work to control my temper, and I’m not mad right now. But I’m also not going to let Bennett control the narrative.
“Speed’s not the only valuable skill,” I say.
DJ studies me. “It’s true. Coach Tate has a couple new plays where we could use some strength.”
“The Trips Right, 732 Y-Cross,” I say.
There’s a hint of admiration in the quarterback’s eyes. “How wouldyouhandle that one? Let’s just say you’re the X receiver.”
I frown, summoning the image of the play diagram. “I’m isolated on the weak side, so I run a deep post while the Z and Y on the strong side stretch the field with a vertical route, the Y crossing underneath. The goal’s to pull the safety away, leaving me one-on-one with the corner, or, if the coverage shifts, open up space for the cross.”
Silence follows, but DJ nods in approbation while Moose smiles and slaps me on the shoulder. “Someone’s been studying.”
