Page 3 of Racking Up Penalties
There’s a reason I came here and nothing is getting in the way of that.
I pivot, barely avoiding the unexpected obstacle, a surge of adrenaline sharpening my focus.
“Nice recovery,” a voice notes from the sidelines, and I recognize the tone—grudging respect.
As I clear the last hurdle, my chest burns with the effort, yet there’s something more potent burning within me, determination.
“Delaney!” Coach barks, motioning me over. “You’re up for passing drills. Show me what you’ve got.”
Nodding, I jog to the quarterback position, feeling the weight of the ball in my hands. This is where I shine, where my accuracy can’t be denied. I drop back, scan, and launch the football in a tight spiral to the waiting receiver. It’s a bullet, cutting through the doubts as cleanly as it slices the air.
“Solid throw,” the coach mutters, and I notice a couple of heads nodding in agreement. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. They’re beginning to see me, not just as the new kid but as their QB1.
“Again,” Coach orders.
And I do, again and again, each pass a statement, each catch a chorus growing louder with the respect I’m earning. Some of these guys might never like me, but they can’t ignore the precision with which I play.
“Keep it up, Delaney,” one of the wide receivers says after snagging another flawless pass from the air. “You might just make a believer out of me.”
“Thanks,” I reply, allowing a small smile, feeling the threads of camaraderie weaving themselves around us, still tenuous but there.
The practice wears on, the sun dipping lower, painting the sky in hues of red. My muscles ache, but it’s a good pain, the kind that comes from working hard in practice.
The whistle pierces the air, a clear signal for the next drill. I jog to my position, feeling the turf beneath my cleats.
“Let’s see if the golden boy can handle a real challenge,” Tyler’s voice slithers into my earshot, laced with enough venom to kill a small animal. His eyes, like shards of glass, cut across the field to where I stand.
Looks like we won’t be friends.
I could retaliate, throw back some biting remark, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, then slowly release it along with the tension Tyler’s trying to ratchet up inside me. Tessa’s face flashes in my mind, the way she’d roll her eyes at such childish provocations, and something akin to a chuckle bubbles inside me.
“Focus, Delaney!” Coach bellows from across the field, snapping me back to reality.
“Got it, Coach!” I call back, grateful for the interruption. I clasp the football, feeling its familiar roughness. This leather in my hands, it’s my response, my retort to every jab and taunt.
“Watch him crumble,” Tyler mutters as I step up.
But the words are just noise, lost in the blend of shouts and whistles. I survey the defense, spotting Tyler’s tense stance from the sidelines. He’s itching for a misstep, a fumble—anything to validate his disdain.
“Down! Set! Hut!” My voice cuts through the tension. The ball snaps into my hands, and muscle memory takes over. Drop back, look off the safety, step up, find the gap. The receiver breaks left, and I launch the ball before Tyler can even blink.
I can almost hear the satisfying hiss of air slicing around the spiraling pigskin, and when it lands squarely in the receiver’s outstretched arms, there’s a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph.
“Nice arm, Delaney!” one of the linemen shouts, a grudging respect in his tone.
“That wasn’t…” Tyler starts, but his voice fades under the slaps on my back and the nods I receive from most guys around.
“Thanks,” I say, focusing on the encouragement.
As we reset for another round, I steal a glance at Tyler. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrow slits. He wants his spot back on the team but I’m not giving it up.
This is right where I’m meant to be.
I grab some water on the sidelines.
“Delaney,” A burly figure jogs up beside me, his helmet under his arm. It’s Brett, the captain. “You’re picking up the plays quick.”
I nod, grateful for the acknowledgment. “Thanks, Brett. Just trying to find my groove.”
