Page 59 of Make the Play
“Did you eat breakfast, Jason?”
Jason laughs then shakes his head. “I uh, no.”
“Skipping breakfast can cause mood swings and impaired concentration,” Emerson points out, popping open the glove compartment and digging out a protein bar he rips open before passing to Jason.
“Thanks,” Jason mumbles, taking half the bar in one bite. He returns his eyes to the road, merging into the turn lane now that they’re directly in front of the school.
“For the record, I think you’re very smart, Jason. Anyone who ever made you feel differently deserves, well—I won’t say what they deserve.”
Jason swallows, sparing a glance at Emerson before his attention returns to the hot mess of cars all trying to get into the school parking lot.
“Thanks, Emmy.”
“And Jason.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Emerson whispers, sliding his hand further across the console to rest on Jason’s leg. He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, but he gives it a squeeze the same way Jason does when he’s upset. His bravery is rewarded by Jason’s shuddering exhale and blinding smile.
“Emmy,” Jason starts, pausing to mutter under his breath when someone cuts him off before he turns into the parking lot. He’s quiet until he’s parked, turning the engine off and focusing his attention on Emerson. “There’s uh, one other thing that I think I should tell you. It’s uh, well, the thing is?—”
“Isn’t that one of your players?” Emerson interrupts, distracted by the hulking figure standing at the front of the truck staring.
“Yeah,” Jason frowns, his expression pinched. “What’s he doing?”
“You should check on him.”
“Yeah,” Jason agrees, grabbing his cooler bag and exiting the truck. Emerson has no idea if he’s supposed to wait or leave them be, but before he can try and guess, Jason hurries around to his side of the truck, same as he does every morning, opening the door and offering him a hand down. At this point, Emerson is used to getting in and out of the truck and doesn’t really need the help anymore. But when he’d pointed that out to Jason, he’d mumbled something unintelligible so Emerson hasn’t brought it up since. Besides, it's not like he’s ever going to complain about Jason touching him, or paying attention to him, or spending a few extra seconds with him.
Before he can make an escape, the kid in question has moved towards them still staring but hovering an awkward two feet away. Emerson recognizes him now as Jason’s star player, the one always smiling. Except he isn’t smiling now. He rocks back and forth from foot to foot, his usual confidence and swagger nowhere to be found. He’s dressed in a similar get up to Jason, almost as if the entire football team planned it, but where Jason wears it with confidence, Matty appears to be shrinking in on himself.
“Morning, Matty,” Jason says.
“Morning, Coach,” Matty mumbles, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He looks terrible, his face all red, almost like he’s been crying.
It’s clear Jason has come to a similar conclusion because the worry rippling off him is palpable. “Matty?”
“So uh, funny story, Coach.” Matty tugs on the strings of his backpack. “I might get banned from the homecoming game.”
Jason goes very still. “What?”
“Banned from the game,” Matty repeats again in a rush. He looks like he might be sick and while Emerson feels very sorry for him, he also takes a step back, vaguely uncomfortable. “Well I think the word Mr. Caldwell used on Friday was academic freeze.”
“Mr. Caldwell,” Jason echoes in a tone that Emerson has never heard him use before. “Why?”
“I have a book report, Coach. And uh, I tried to do it, but with practice and my job and helping my mom around the house I was tired. You know I’m not so good with English class, the words get all jumbled, and when I’m tired it’s hard to focus. It was due last week, so I begged Mr. Caldwell for an extension, but he told me Friday if it wasn’t on his desk by the end of today I wasn’t playing in the game.” Matty’s twisting his hands now, looking like he might be sick. “I spent all weekend trying, Coach. I swear I did.”
“Matty,” Jason tries, softening his tone.
“The words just get so messed up going from my brain to the paper, and the book was confusing and—” Matty takes a very deep breath, “I’m not going to have it for him, Coach. I’m so fucking sorry. I let you down. I let the team down. I understand if you want to kick me off.”
“No one is kicking anyone off any teams,” Jason says firmly, tugging Matty into a hug. Matty falls against him, his shoulders shaking like maybe he’s crying. The first bell rings, students around them starting to head to class, but none of them move. Not even Emerson. When Matty pulls back, his eyes are red rimmed, and he scrubs his hands over his face looking so very young.
“I’m so sorry, Coach.”
“We’ll figure this out, Matty.”
“I can help,” Emerson blurts.
