Schooling the Jock (Nerds Vs Jocks #1) - - Eli Easton Page 0,97

If they’re running that way with the ball, they’re not on your team,” Bubba said, pointing again to the enemy end zone.

“Ah, yes, I see! That’s completely understandable.”

I felt like someone had just explained the theory of relativity to me for the first time. It made sense people running in that direction with the ball must be on the enemy team.

Unless, of course, that person was confused. But it was likely they were all experienced. Surely I was the only confused player on the field. Therefore, as Bubba said, I should be able to safely assume that people heading toward the south goal line were on the opposing team.

But what if they were standing still? If they weren’t going one way or the other, I wouldn’t be able to tell which team they were on.

Never mind. There was a workaround for that. I resolved to ignore such a person and only take the flag from a player when I could clearly tell the direction of their motion. That was sound logic.

Wait.

“So let’s—” Bubba began.

“Hang on. One last question,” I interrupted. “What if a player is heading toward the opposing goal line, but it’s just a feint? That happens, doesn’t it? Perhaps they’re running that way to dodge around another player and then they’ll run back toward our team’s goal line. Or what if they’re trying to psyche out the other team? In such a scenario, I could incorrectly assume they’re not on my team and take their flag erroneously.”

To my consternation, Bubba threw back his head and laughed again, loud and hard, like I’d just made the funniest joke. “You’re a card, Sean. Seriously, man!” Bubba hit me in the shoulder again. “So you’ve got it, right? We’re all clear?” His tone was a little patronizing.

I frowned. “Well, I’m not stupid.”

Bubba grinned. “I sure as hell hope not.” He looked me up and down. “Because if you were stupid on top of that, you sure would have been dealt a raw deal in life.”

“Hey!” I glared at him, knowing an insult when I heard one.

He just chuckled. “Come on! Let’s go get ’em!” He ran off toward the cluster of players near the south goal line.

I was a little miffed, honestly, but perhaps he was teasing me. His manner hadn’t seemed cruel. I shook it off and jogged behind him. The other players were momentarily stopped, most of them with hands on knees, waiting for something. Ah, yes, it looked like they were preparing to hike the ball. I’d seen that on TV.

Not sure what else to do, I ran toward the southern goal line. Perhaps it would be best to position myself near there and try to stop anyone who attempted to cross the line with the ball. Rather like a goalie? I wasn’t the only one with this idea, however, as there were a half-dozen ALA players already in the area. I found a hole toward the left and took up a position facing the play.

There was a whistle and a scramble. Tray ran backward, holding up the ball and scanning ahead.

There. He was running backward, toward the north end, yet he appeared to be intent on the southern goal. That was exactly the sort of scenario—

“Sean! Catch!” he yelled. He sent the ball sailing right toward me.

Oh. Oh shit.

I held up my arms. Perhaps I should have informed everyone beforehand that I’d never played ball before. I’d never caught a football in my life. Oh fuck.

The ball sailed over my outstretched arms and struck me, the pointy end slamming into my sternum. There was a bolt of pain and I couldn’t breathe. But somehow, I managed to fold my arms in and hang on to the ball. I was quite proud of myself for that, even as I gasped for air.

“Run!” someone was shouting. “Run, Sean!”

Oh. Yes.

I paused only a fraction of a second, half turning toward the goal line shortly behind me. But then, of course, I remembered. I started running, hugging the ball, toward the north end.

Dear God, it was far away. Did I really have to run all that way?

For a moment, everyone just looked at me. And I wondered if, perhaps, because I was the new guy, they were giving me a head start? That was sporting of them.

Where were the boundaries? My instinct was to curve left, to escape what would surely be an assault at any moment since I was holding the ball. But going out of bounds was an offense