Unfortunately, the Carolina offense fires back quickly, and we find ourselves in a Monday night shootout. Great for the stat monkeys, that's for damn sure, because by halftime, we've combined for sixty-six points of scoring between us, and we're up thirty-five to thirty-one.
"Fuck, it's a goddamn Madden game out there!" Tyler gasps as we sit in the locker room. "Defense, give us at least one fucking stop!"
"Tyler, chill," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
Tyler looks at me for a moment, then laughs. "You're right. Okay. Go spread some sunshine and rainbows, Hero."
It's my new nickname from the team after Tyler spread the word that 'Touchdown' was forever retired. I shake my head and pick up my helmet. "You guys have to think of a new one. That's even worse than the old."
After discussing some adjustments, we head out for the second half, and I see Joe and the rest of the defense go to work. The adjustments they made are effective, and for the first time tonight, the Carolina Swamp Foxes punt the ball. We return the ball to our forty, and as the offense goes out, we know there's a chance to start to stretch our lead.
We line up, and as the ball snaps, I explode across the line, directly into the side of Jerome Lattimore, who was passed by our guard and tackle. He's huge, and has nearly fifty pounds on me, but I've got speed and surprise, and as he gets driven to the turf, I feel something jump over me and hear the roar of the crowd.
I scramble up to see our running back off to the races, nobody in front of him, and we go in with one play for a sixty-yard touchdown.
"Nice block," Coach Thibedeau says when I have a seat. "The old Duncan wouldn't have hit that hard."
"You think?" I ask, smirking. "Remember, Coach, if I throw some pancakes out there, that gets me a better draft position too, you know."
Coach shakes his head and chuckles. "Right. Well, get ready. See if this stays together."
In the end, we take Carolina's heart and win the game handily. Afterward, in our locker room, you'd expect that we'd sound like a party was going on, but we are all just too damn tired—jet lag and the idea that we have a Saturday game coming up—and we're quiet as we change and get back on the bus to take us to the airport.
"I know you're all wishing we could fly home tomorrow morning, but we've got a short week, gentlemen," Coach Bainridge says as the bus starts rolling. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's a no-pads day.”
"Thank God it's an easy game Saturday,” someone behind me grumbles.
It is true. NMAE is one of the worst teams in our conference, but we can't slack off. I feel still at least a little awake, so I pull out my phone and fire up my text messenger. It's still only a little after seven back in California.
Hey, how's it going?
Carrie: Just got done watching the post-game. Congrats.
It was a tough one, but fun. How was ur day?
Carrie: Pretty terrible. Word's gotten out, and I felt like ppl were staring at me all day.
Ouch. U OK?
Carrie: I will be when U get here. I'm at ur apt.
No Dorm?
Carrie: Didn’t want to b there. At least here, I can wear ur t-shirt.
Oh my.
My phone goes silent for a bit before buzzing again. It's a picture from Carrie, and I open it to feel my mouth drop open, as she's posing in my bedroom with just one of my team t-shirts on, and from the looks of it, nothing else, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders and a devilish-angelic smile on her face, her doe eyes glinting in amusement. There's a caption.
Go Bulldogs.
Chapter 16
Carrie
Looking down, I realize that I'm scared absolutely out of my mind. I'm wearing my most professional looking clothes, a black pencil-ish skirt and white blouse that makes me feel more like I'm showing up for a job interview than a hearing that could change my entire life.
You really should have taken Duncan up on his offer to stay the night at the apartment.
Maybe, but I was too worried that I wouldn't get any sleep. Of course, I still didn't, as I stayed up most of the night worrying about the hearing. Now, standing in front of the Honor Building, I'm still sleep-deprived and nervous that Duncan isn't by my side.
"Don't worry," he told me this morning as we talked over the phone. "I've got a nine o'clock class, then I'll be there. The hearing starts at ten, so at most, I'll miss the opening statements. Don't worry. I have your back."
I take a deep breath again and open the door, going up to the second floor where the hearing room is located. Outside, I'm trembling, and my shakes increase when I see Chelsea coming down the hallway. "Why?"
Chelsea gives me an evil look and smiles. “It's nothing personal."
She goes inside, and I give her a minute to get settled in before I go in. I look around and grimace at the setup. The Honor Board has a history that stretches back over a hundred years, and as such, the hearing room has an aura that is straight out of the Inquisition. As the Concerned—we're not Accused, and of course, since this technically isn't a legal proceeding, we're not Defendants either—I sit in the middle of a semi-circle that wraps around the outer walls of the octagonal room. The Honor Board has a "Hearing Officer," what should really be called the Prosecutor, and then the Board itself, nine members made up of five students and four teachers who sit on the semi-circle.