I watch a handful of plays before I feel Miles’ presence.
“I don’t get it.” I keep my eyes trained on the field while he tentatively slips into the empty seat next to me. “Outside of all-star cheerleading, I’m a nobody. Why the hell would he care?”
Silence stretches between us, and for the first I can remember, it’s an awkward one.
“I think…” When Miles doesn’t continue after letting his words trail off, I dip my chin and meet his contemplative gaze. “I think he wants to play up the whole ‘football royalty’”—he goes as far as to use air quotes—“angle you two have going on.”
I growl. Thanks a lot, UofJ411. “How? It’s just a stupid hashtag a college gossip account started using.”
“True, but it’s a hashtag that has trended to national reach thanks to the U of J clinching the title of Big Ten champs and it being tagged in a video of two top draft picks for this year looking like they are about to throw down.”
Fucking Liam Parker. I have to remember to check with E to see if Liam and his parents signed the papers.
“Look.” Miles leans forward, his forearms resting against the ledge wall in front of us as he glances back at me. “All I’m saying is it wouldn’t surprise me if you get approached by someone from the front office asking about changing your seats for the game on Saturday.”
Fuck!
I focus my attention back to the field. I see they’ve already swapped out the Outlaws’ end zones, the turf on the right representing the U of J and the left Notre Dame. The Texas star usually sitting in the middle of the fifty is also gone, in its place the Cotton Bowl logo.
It amazes me how quickly the grounds crew can make these changes. By the time the Outlaws play here for Monday Night Football, you’ll never know anything was different less than forty-eight hours prior.
Grace, Mase’s mom, invited us to join them in the suite they purchased for their family and Nana McQueen, but I opted to get seats in the stands since Mase likes to look for me during a game. Plus, if the television cameramen pan to show players’ families, the suites are the first place they will go to.
Personally, I like being closer to the action. The smell of the turf, the clash of the pads, the call of the plays—that’s what the game is all about, not bullshit hashtags.
#Chapter31
Grabbing a paper cup of Gatorade from the hydration table, I rub a hand over my sweat-soaked hair as I down it, counting the seconds until the end of practice. Tomorrow is a no-pads practice for the team, and Coach Knight is making sure to put us through the ringer today. The man is a beast, but he’s one of the greatest coaches I’ve ever had the privilege to play for. He is the reason the U of J has one of the top collegiate football programs in the country.
In my tenure as a Hawk, we’ve made it to the top-tier bowl games all three years and the national championship last year. With each shrill of Coach Knight’s whistle and shouted “Again” for yet another drill or repeat play, it’s almost like a physical push toward winning it all.
After all the hoopla that comes with this type of bowl game the last few days, it’s a little eerie here without the press today. The way AT&T Stadium was built, it’s like the seats hover over the field. It makes for one trippy optical illusion when running plays while the stands are empty.
Another thing different about today is we haven’t seen the usual tour groups milling around the stadium, only the staff getting things prepared for the game on Saturday.
Some of my teammates were saying they saw people in the Outlaws owner’s suite, but Trav and I were busy working on perfecting a trick play Coach Knight made. When I’m on the gridiron, football is my only focal point.
It’s during these moments of downtime, when I pause to take a breath and hydrate, that my thoughts are able to drift.
A playful screech rips through the air, cutting through the clash of pads and grunts happening on the field. Looking over the rim of my cup, I lift my gaze in the direction of the owner’s box, and sure enough, there are people in it. I dig my knuckles into my eyes, rubbing across my closed lids, convinced I’m seeing things.