Double Reverse (3 page)

The morning was sunny and warm with just a breath of a cooling breeze. Perfect football weather.

“Want to go to Hobbs Park?” Jesse asked, already heading in that direction.

Jay sniffed the air. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the beach. I think it’s low tide.”

The brothers broke into a silent jog. In a few minutes they were stepping onto the cool, hard sand of Preston Beach.

“See? I told you it’d be low tide,” Jay said with a wide smile.

Jesse sat down and pulled off his sneakers and socks. “It doesn’t feel right to wear sneaks on the beach.”

Jay slipped off his shoes too. He gazed at the wide sweep of sand, the blue sky, and the bluer water. “I miss this place,” he said. “There’s nothing like it at school. Just a lot of woods. All those trees feel like they’re closing in on you. The beach feels open.” He held his arms out. “Wide open.”

Without another word, the brothers lined up in their familiar positions: Jay at quarterback, Jesse at wide receiver.

Jay called out plays and pass patterns. Jesse ran square-ins, curl-ins, down-and-outs, and deep posts. Jay put pass after pass right in Jesse’s hands. The football never touched the sand.

“All right,” Jay said. “Let’s run a deep-out.”

Jesse took off down the beach. He faked left, dug his bare toes into the sand, and broke to the right. The football spun through the clear salt air right into Jesse’s hands. He tossed it back to his brother.

“Break time.” Jay stared out at the ocean. The sparkling water spilled onto the sand in small, rhythmic waves. “Let’s go check out the water.”

“You’re throwing great,” Jesse enthused as they headed down to the water’s edge. “That last pass was right on the money.”

“Not good enough, I guess,” Jay said.

“Think you’ll go back and play?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve always been the quarterback.” Jay let his feet sink into the soft, wet sand. A wave washed across his ankles. “Whoa! This water’s freezing.”

“You could be a good safety,” Jesse said, ignoring the cold water splashing his shins. “You’re a good athlete. You’re fast enough. And you’ll know what the quarterback is thinking. You’ll probably intercept a million passes.”

Jay peered out at the water as if the answer to his problem lay somewhere beyond the waves. He stepped a little further into the water. The ripples pooled around his ankles.

“What about you guys?” Jay asked. “Losing 26–0, that stinks. What’s going on with your team?”

Jesse didn’t feel like talking about the
Panthers. “We’re not that bad,” he said at last. “But it’s tough when you don’t have a decent quarterback.”

Jay reached into the water and pulled up a smooth, flat stone. He leaned over and tossed it along the top of the waves. The stone skipped several times before ducking into the ocean.

“What about you?” Jay asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t
you
play quarterback?”

“I’m not a quarterback,” Jesse blurted out. “I’m not as big as you … and not half as strong.”

Jay skimmed another stone across the water. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re really fast. You’ve got a good arm—”

“Not half as good as yours,” Jesse insisted.

“You know the plays by heart,” Jay said. “I think you could be a pretty good quarterback.”

“No way. I’m a wide receiver, period.”

Jay just stood there, watching the ocean roll in.

Jesse could sense that something had changed between the two of them. He wasn’t sure exactly what or how. But now that Jay
was talking about him being a quarterback, Jesse didn’t feel quite so much like the little brother.

His brother skipped another stone along the top of the still surface. This time it bounced off the water eight or nine times before sinking.

“Tell you what,” Jay said finally, turning to Jesse. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you try out for quarterback, I’ll go back and try playing safety.”

Jesse thought about Jay’s proposal. The Panthers needed a quarterback. And Kurt Fuller sure wasn’t the answer.

Maybe Jay was right; maybe Jesse could play the position. After all, his brother should know. He was a quarterback. The best.

The sun was high. The ocean sparkled a deep green-blue. It felt like the last days of summer were holding on before the chill of autumn arrived.

“So what do you say?” Jay asked again. “Deal?”

Jesse turned to Jay and nodded. “Deal.”

Jesse, Quinn, and Langston marched shoulder to shoulder through the halls of Franklin High School.

“You gonna ask him?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “I mean … I’m not really QB material.”

Langston dismissed Jesse’s second thoughts. “Don’t put yourself down. You sure looked like a quarterback practicing with us yesterday afternoon.”

“Even your brother said you were looking pretty good,” Quinn added.

“That’s just messing around and running patterns in the park.” Jesse eyed his friends. “I mean, it’s not like Quinn here is a real wide receiver.”

“Hey, what do you mean?” Quinn frowned. “I caught almost every pass you threw me. I think I’d make a good tight end. If the coaches would let me.” He gave Langston a good-humored shove. “And Langston was good too … for a little guy.”

“I don’t know …,” Jesse repeated.

“Come on, you can’t back down now,” Quinn said, pushing open the door of the locker room. “You promised your brother, remember?”

Jesse remembered. He’d promised his brother again early that morning as Jay piled into the family car for the ride back to college.

Jay was keeping his part of the deal. Now it was time for Jesse to keep his.

“You gotta give it a try, man,” Langston said. He lowered his voice so none of the other freshman players could hear him. “You’re
way
better than Kurt.”

When Jesse stepped out onto the practice field, he saw Coach Butler and Coach Vittone talking together.

“Now’s your chance,” Quinn insisted.

Jesse could feel Quinn’s hand on his back. “Okay, okay. Quit pushing.” Jesse took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“Hey, Coach!” Jesse hoped his greeting didn’t sound too cheery.

Coach Butler looked up from his clipboard. “Hey, Jesse! Ready to work hard today?”

“Yeah, but—” Jesse took a deep breath. “I was kind of wondering, you know, if I could try playing quarterback. You know, now that Henry is hurt and everything?”

Coach Butler looked surprised. “You ever played quarterback?” he asked.

“Not exactly, but I practiced all this weekend with Quinn as my tight end and Langston as wide receiver. My brother Jay said I’ve got a good arm. Not great, but pretty good. And I know the playbook. I used to quiz Jay on it all the time.”

“Your brother was a real good quarterback,” Coach Vittone said. “One of the best high school quarterbacks I’ve ever—”

“Yeah,” Coach Butler interrupted. “But he was a lot bigger … taller. I mean …” He
paused as if he didn’t want to hurt Jesse’s feelings.

“I don’t know,” Coach Vittone mused. “Some quarterbacks aren’t that big. Drew Brees isn’t very tall. And that kid Wilson out in Seattle is pretty short.” The older coach reached back into his grab bag of football memories.

“Think about Fran Tarkenton. He was an average-sized guy. Ended up in the Hall of Fame. Threw for more than 340 TDs … took a couple teams all the way to the Super Bowl.” He chuckled. “They called him ‘the Mad Scrambler’ because of the way he moved around in the backfield.”

The smile disappeared from Coach Vittone’s face and he got serious. “Jesse here’s got some speed. And what does it matter whether he
looks
like a quarterback so long as he
plays
like a quarterback?”

Coach Butler rubbed his chin, thinking over the idea.

“Might be worth a try,” Coach Vittone said.

“You say you know the playbook?” Coach Butler asked.

“Yes sir. Backwards and forwards.”

Butler rubbed his chin again, a little harder. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll let you run some plays today. See how you do. Now get warmed up.”

Quinn and Langston were on Jesse the moment he joined the warm-ups. “Are they gonna let you try?” Quinn asked.

“Yup.”

“All right!”

After the usual warm-ups and drills, Coach Butler gathered the players in a circle. “Let’s run some plays. Kurt, you’re at quarterback. Defense, remember: no tackling. Just engage the ball carrier. Okay, let’s go.”

Kurt ran about a dozen plays. Most of his passes fell incomplete. The offense looked ragged. It was as if they were all on different pages of the playbook. Jesse lined up at wide receiver again, wondering when he would get his chance at quarterback.

After another one of Kurt’s overthrown passes, Coach Butler called out, “Langston! Take Jesse’s place at wide receiver. Jesse,
you go in for Kurt. Come on, hustle up. Look sharp!”

Jesse saw that Kurt was surprised. So was the rest of the team. The players in the huddle looked from side to side, not sure what was going to happen next. The coach leaned into the huddle and said, “Why don’t we start with I-34.”

Jesse felt a little funny doing the talking instead of the listening. He repeated the play in a strong voice, trying to sound as much like Jay as he could.

“Ready … set … hut one!” Jesse spun and handed the ball to Griffin, the Panthers’ running back.

“Good job,” Coach Butler said as the offense huddled up. “Run the pitch-right play.”

Jesse realized that Coach was purposely not naming the play to test him. But it didn’t matter anyway. Jesse knew exactly what to call from all the times he had quizzed Jay about the Franklin High School playbook.

“38 Power Sweep!” Jesse called. He could
see both Coach Butler and Vittone nodding with approval as the offense lined up.

Jesse called more running plays. With every down he felt more comfortable handling the ball and the offense.

“Quinn, move over to tight end. Mason, come in and play tackle!” Coach Butler looked at Jesse and lowered his voice. “Let’s try a pass. Call what you feel comfortable with.”

Jesse studied the faces of the players in the huddle. They were waiting for him to show the way. “Flood Pass Right on one.”

The players got into their stances. Jesse looked over the defense and crouched behind the center.

“Ready … set … hut one!” Jesse dropped back and looked right for Langston running a down-and-out. A defensive end crashed through the line and into the backfield. Jesse spun away from the tackler and kept his eyes downfield. Langston was covered but Jesse spied Quinn open on a curl-in. Jesse flipped him a quick pass for an eight-yard gain.

Tweeeeeeeet!

Coach Butler blew his whistle. “Good play,” he said, clapping his hands. “That’s how we keep moving, Jesse! Good catch, Quinn. We’re clicking now. Let’s keep it going.”

A couple of completions later, Coach Butler put Kurt back in to try again. Jesse sprinted to the sidelines, satisfied that he’d taken his first small steps to becoming a quarterback.

Coach Vittone clapped him on the shoulder pads. “Good job. The way you were scrambling around out there, you looked like a regular Fran Tarkenton.”

“Yeah, I felt pretty good,” Jesse said.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do to get you ready for Thursday.”

“You mean …?”

“I’ll talk to Coach Butler about having you start.”

Jesse could feel a smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t be too happy, Tark,” Coach Vittone warned. “It won’t be easy. Pinewood is tough.”

Jesse didn’t care. He was just glad for the chance. He looked at Coach Vittone and smiled. “Then I guess we’ll find out on Thursday if I can play the part.”

Jesse sat on the bench, staring at the play Coach Vittone had diagrammed on the clipboard. The cheers of the crowd and the Franklin High School freshman cheerleaders filtered through the ear holes in his helmet.

“It’s like Fake 34, Pass, except instead of dropping back, you roll out to the right,” the coach explained. “If you don’t have an open receiver, you can run with it. We’ve got to take advantage of your speed.”

Jesse nodded. He could still feel the butterflies in his stomach.

Coach Vittone patted him on the knee. “You’re doing fine, Tark. We’ve still got a chance to win this one. Be ready after the defense stops them.”

Coach Vittone was right. The Panthers were still in the game. Jesse took a few deep breaths as the Franklin defense tried to halt the Pinewood drive. He thought back over the first three quarters.

Franklin had received the opening kickoff, but the Panthers couldn’t move the ball. The butterflies in Jesse’s stomach had really been bad during the first few plays. A short punt had put Pinewood at midfield. They’d driven downfield, grinding out yards on the ground, for the first score.

“Look,” Jesse had said to Quinn as the Pinewood placekicker trotted out onto
the field. “They’ve even got a kicker.”

“I wish
we
had one,” Quinn had replied as the ball split the uprights.

The Panthers fell behind, 7–0.

The second time Franklin had the ball, Jesse dropped back to pass, but seeing nobody open, he took off. Scrambling by tacklers, Jesse picked up 12 yards.

First down!

After a couple of runs by Griffin and another first down, the Panthers had stalled. Another short punt led to a second Pinewood touchdown. The score was 14–0 at the half.

But when the Panthers got the ball near the beginning of the second half, they started moving. Mixing short passes and runs, Franklin marched straight downfield to the Pinewood ten-yard line. Jesse faked a handoff to Griffin and stepped back. The moment he saw Langston open in the corner of the end zone, he fired.

Touchdown!

Jesse had jumped so high in the air, he could’ve dunked a basketball.

Now, late in the second half with the game winding down, the scoreboard told the story.

The Panthers trailed 14–6 with seven minutes to go. Jesse sat on the bench waiting for another chance. He was feeling more comfortable in his new position. After the touchdown pass to Langston, the butterflies in Jesse’s stomach had settled down. Led by Jesse’s passing and Griffin’s running, the Franklin offense had been moving the ball but couldn’t put another score on the board.

The Franklin sidelines burst into cheers. The defense had held. It was fourth down. The Wildcats had to punt. Jesse jumped to his feet and clapped his hands.

Shouts came from all around him.

“They’ve got to kick it!”

“Let’s go offense, get ready!”

“Comeback time!”

Jesse squirted water into his mouth and pulled on his helmet. The offense was going back on the field. Coach Vittone gave him an encouraging sign by shaking his fist. Jesse hurried into the huddle. “Fake 34, Rollout Right,” he ordered.

Just as Coach Vittone had drawn it up, after the snap Jesse faked the ball to Griffin, went right and had a clear view of Langston. Jesse’s pass hit him right on the numbers before he stepped out of bounds.

The referee signaled first down.

“Let’s try it again,” Jesse said back in the huddle. “You were wide open!”

This time the Pinewood defense had Langston covered. Jesse faked a pass and took off. He spun by a pair of Pinewood tacklers before he was brought down in Pinewood territory.

Jesse bounced up, clapping his hands. “All right, we’re moving.”

A few plays later, the Panthers were on
the 20-yard line. Jesse checked the clock: three and half minutes to go.

Jesse dropped back to pass but the pocket collapsed around him. He swerved to his right to avoid a blitzing linebacker. Jenesis Kerr, the Panthers’ other wide receiver, had slipped behind the defense. Jesse reared back and let the ball fly. It settled into Jenesis’s arms in the back of the end zone.

Touchdown!
The Panthers were behind 14–12. They could tie it up with a 2-point conversion.

A Panther lineman ran in to the huddle breathlessly. “Coach says run Fake 33, Bootleg Right.”

The coaches were putting the ball in Jesse’s hands again.

The teams lined up at the three-yard line. “Ready … set … hut one!” Jesse faked a handoff to Griffin and scooted to the right. Looking up, he saw that Langston was blanketed by the Pinewood defense. He spotted a sliver of an opening in the Pinewood line and decided to go for it. He darted to the left, bouncing off one tackler and spinning
toward the end zone. He landed on his back. He wasn’t sure he’d made it.

But his teammates let him know. They surrounded him and pulled him up, slapping his helmet and pads. He’d done it! The score was tied, 14–14!

A low, short kickoff allowed the Wildcats to get a good runback. Starting in Franklin territory, they drove downfield until they were on the doorstep of the Panthers end zone.

Jesse and the rest of the Franklin offense stood, cheering and hoping against hope that their defense would hold on.

“Dig in, defense!”

“Get tough! Need a stop.”

“Hold that line! Hold that line!”

The cheers didn’t help. The Wildcats fullback blasted over the goal line for another touchdown. The extra-point kick made it 21–14.

Jesse paced along the sidelines, getting himself and his offense fired up. “Come on, Panthers, let’s go! We can do it! We’ve still got a minute left.”

But Jesse never got back on the field. The Franklin kick returner fumbled the kickoff and Pinewood recovered. The Panthers lost, 21–14.

Jesse, Quinn, and Langston trudged off the field, the loss sticking to them like the dirt on their uniforms.

Jesse slapped his helmet against his thigh. “We should have beaten those guys. We had a chance.”

Langston patted Jesse on the shoulder. “You’re the one who gave us a chance. Good game, Tark.”

“We’re never going to win if we don’t get our kicking game straightened out.” Jesse sighed. “Every kickoff and punt was way short. It’s like we’re just giving yards away.”

Quinn looked down at Langston. “How about you?” he asked. “Kickers are usually little guys, aren’t they?”

“Don’t look at me,” Langston protested. “Just because I look like a kicker doesn’t mean I am one.”

“I wish you were,” Jesse said. “We need a kicker big time.”