Double Reverse (7 page)

The football came spinning back. Jesse caught it, spotted the ball on the ten-yard line, and spun the laces away from the kicker. Savannah took two steps in and drove her right foot forward. Jesse heard the solid
plunk
of her foot hitting the ball. He looked up and watched it split the uprights.

“Good kick,” Jesse said, pumping a fist.

Savannah smiled. “Eleven in a row.”

Jesse checked the scoreboard as the Franklin offense jogged off the field.

Franklin trailed the Eastport Dolphins 16–14 with only four minutes to go.

The Panthers had jumped off to a quick 7–0 lead in the first half. Jesse had scrambled right, set his feet, and launched a long pass. Langston had caught it behind the Eastport secondary and raced in for a 50-yard touchdown.

The Dolphins had come charging back. They’d ground out two long touchdown drives followed by a pair of 2-point conversions and grabbed a 16–7 lead.

“Eastport is undefeated for a reason,” Quinn had said.

Now, after Griffin had scored the Panthers’ second touchdown on a ten-yard run, Jesse wondered if the Panthers offense would get another chance to put some points on the board and win the game. “Come on, guys!” he yelled. “Hold ’em!”

Savannah nailed the kickoff, sending the Dolphins’ kick returner scrambling back to the goal line. The Panthers pounced on the runner and pinned him down on the 18-yard line. The Franklin sideline was on its feet cheering.

“We need a three-and-out bad,” Quinn said, pacing the sidelines like a nervous cat.

Jesse could feel the precious seconds ticking away and made some quick calculations.
Even if we force them to punt after three downs,
he thought,
we’ll still only have two minutes—or less—to score.

Jesse ran over to Coach Vittone. “How many timeouts do we have left?” he shouted.

“One. Coach wants to save it until
we
have the ball. We just have to hope we can stop them.”

The Panthers defense came through. They stopped the Dolphins just one yard short of a first down, forcing them to punt. Jesse and his team would get one last chance.

The Franklin kick returner fielded the punt and weaved his way to midfield before being run out of bounds.

The Panthers’ ball was on the 50-yard line with 1:40 to play.

Coach Vittone grabbed Jesse a few steps out onto the field. “Tark, start off with the naked bootleg play and then call the bootleg
pass where the tight end cuts back.”

Jesse raced onto the field.

“Call them both so we don’t have to huddle after the first play!” Coach Vittone shouted after him.

Almost out of breath, Jesse called the two plays. He stepped to the line of scrimmage. The butterflies were back and swooping around in his stomach.

“Ready … set … hut one!” The Franklin line surged to the left. Jesse spun and held the football out for Griffin, the Panthers running back. At the last possible moment, he pulled the ball back and sprinted to the right.

The fake worked! Jesse had a clear field and took off. He was thinking
touchdown
when an Eastport defensive back leaped out and clipped his flying feet with a diving tackle. Jesse tumbled down at the 36-yard line.

First down!

But the clock was still running.

Jesse and the Franklin offense scrambled to line up for the second play. The clock was ticking: 1:02 … 1:01 …

One minute left. The Panthers were ready to go.

“Ready … set … hut one!”

Again Jesse faked the ball to Griffin and spun to the right. This time, the Eastport defensive end wasn’t fooled. He charged in on Jesse at top speed, but Jesse was ready. He lofted a pass over the defensive end’s outstretched hands to Quinn, who was tackled right away at the 30-yard line.

The clock was still running! Thirty seconds … twenty-nine … twenty-eight …

Jesse looked over to the sidelines for the next play as the Panthers frantically tried to line up. Coach Butler was signaling him to spike the ball to stop the clock. Jesse waved his team into place as the seconds ticked away. “Come on, line up! Hurry up, hurry up!” Finally the Panthers were set.

“Ready … set … hut one!” Jesse slammed the ball straight into the ground to stop the clock.

The Panthers were down to their final chances.

Jesse could feel his heart pounding under his pads as he listened to Coach Butler and Coach Vittone.

He spotted Savannah warming up along the sidelines, kicking a football into a net.
That’s right
, Jesse thought.
A field goal will win the game. We just have to get the ball close enough for Savannah to make the kick.

Coach Butler summarized the situation. “Twenty seconds to go, third down, four yards to go for a first down.”

“We still have one timeout,” Coach Vittone reminded Jesse. “If anyone gets tackled inbounds, you have to call a timeout right away. We won’t have time to line up and spike the ball again.”

Coach Butler looked right at Jesse. “Let’s go with Fake Post, Deep Out. Hopefully Langston can get some yardage and step out of bounds to stop the clock. If he does, we may still have time for two more plays.”

Jesse swallowed hard. “Fake Post, Deep Out to Langston,” he repeated.

“Be sure to step into it,” Coach Vittone encouraged his quarterback. “Make a good, strong throw, Tark. You can do it!”

Jesse did exactly what Coach Vittone had said. Just as Langston broke for the right sideline, Jesse stepped into the throw and let fly a perfect spiral—almost as good as any pass Jay had ever thrown—on a straight line to his favorite receiver. Langston caught the ball at the 14-yard line and was tackled immediately. The side judge raced to the spot, windmilling his right arm.

Langston was inbounds! The clock was still running!

“Time out! Time out!” Jesse shouted, racing to the referee and frantically making the T sign.

Coach Butler and Coach Vittone were already on the field, studying the scoreboard.

“Seven seconds to go,” Coach Butler declared. “We only have time for one more play.”

“Maybe we can try a pass to Quinn in the end zone,” Jesse suggested. “He’s really tall. He can get his hands above everybody else.”

Coach Butler shook his head. “They’ll have a million guys back there defending against the pass. And if he’s tackled short of the end zone, we don’t have any timeouts.” The coach was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “Savannah!” he shouted.

The Panthers placekicker rushed over. She already had her helmet on, ready to go.

“What’s the distance?” Coach Butler asked Coach Vittone.

“The ball is on the 14-yard line, so we’ll place down around the 22 for the kick. It’d be a 32-yard field goal.”

Coach Butler turned to Savannah. “Have you ever—?”

“I’ve kicked a 35-yard field goal in practice,” Savannah answered before the coach
could finish his question. “A couple of times.”

“Let’s try it,” Coach Butler said. “I think it’s our best shot. Give her a good hold, Jesse.”

Jesse and Savannah started back onto the field. “You know I only kicked those 35-yard field goals in practice,” Savannah said in a nervous whisper. “I mean … no pads … no rush—”

“And no pressure,” Jesse said, finishing her thought. Just short of the Panthers’ huddle, an idea stopped him. He grabbed Savannah by the arm.

“Remember the play I made up for you the other day in study hall?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s run it.”

“I … I … don’t know …” Savannah was breathing hard. “No one else … knows the play.”

“They don’t have to,” Jesse assured her. “In fact, the fake will work better if no one else knows about it.”

Savannah stared at Jesse for a second,
thinking about the play, the kick, and the pressure. “Okay, let’s do it.”

The Panthers lined up for the field goal. Savannah took her steps back and nodded. Jesse knelt on the 22-yard line with his hands toward the center. He could see all eleven Eastport Dolphins on the line of scrimmage—just as he had drawn up the play in study hall—ready to rush in to block the kick. He almost smiled.

“Ready … set … hut one!

The ball spiraled back and Jesse caught it. But he only touched the tip of the ball on the ground for the briefest second. Instead of holding it in place for the kick, he flipped the ball over his shoulder without even looking.

Savannah didn’t step forward toward the ball to kick the field goal. Instead, she dashed to the right, in back of Jesse, and caught his no-look, over-the-shoulder pass on a dead run.

The Eastport defense was completely faked out. All eleven players had rushed headlong to the spot where they thought
Jesse would place the ball, some diving in their efforts to block the kick. Now they could only watch helplessly as Savannah sprinted the 22 yards of wide-open field and into the end zone.

Touchdown!
The Franklin Panthers had won, 20–16!

Jesse, Langston, Quinn, Griffin, Jenesis, Henry, Kurt, Denny, and all of the other shocked Panthers ran toward Savannah. They jumped up and down in a happy circle in the end zone.

“It worked! It worked!” Savannah yelled over and over as she held the football high above the celebrating mob of players.

Jesse threw his head back and laughed at the sky. “I can’t believe it, Savannah!” he shouted. “Now you’re a running back!”

Come on, Big Green, hold ’em!” Jesse yelled from the stands. He clapped his gloved hands together, more to keep them warm than to make any real noise.

“Do you want some more hot chocolate?” Jesse’s mother asked.

“Sure, I’m freezing.”

She passed Jesse a thermos cup. He blew on the hot chocolate and steam rose into the cold November air.

“Oh, that feels good,” Jesse said after a couple of warm sips. “I think I’ll pour some in my shoes. My feet feel like ice.” He turned his attention back to the field. “We’ve got to find some way to stop that Princeton running back.”

“Yeah,” his father agreed. “He doesn’t look very big, but he must have close to 200 yards today.”

“I guess you don’t have to look like a running back to run like one,” Jesse said, thinking back to his own season at quarterback and Savannah’s final touchdown run.

His father nodded and smiled. Jesse checked the scoreboard at the end of Memorial Field.

Dartmouth was leading 37–33 in an exciting, high-scoring game with less than three minutes to go. But the Princeton Tigers had the ball and were driving again.

“Look!” Jesse’s mother pointed to the field and almost spilled her hot chocolate. “Jay’s coming in.”

“He’s played a lot today.” Even Jesse’s father sounded excited.

Sensing that the next few plays would decide the outcome of the game, the Dartmouth crowd cheered loudly.

“Go, Big Green!”

“Hold that line!”

“Dee-fense! Dee-fense!”

The Tigers picked up two more first downs on quick passes to their star running back swinging out of the backfield. They were at the Dartmouth 24-yard line, but the clock was ticking away. There was just enough time for a few more plays.

“We’ve got to stop ’em,” Jesse’s father said, checking the clock nervously.

The Tiger quarterback faked a handoff to the running back. The Dartmouth defense surged forward, falling for the fake. The Princeton quarterback faded back and threw a deep out to a wide receiver who was open at the five-yard line.

Fearing the worst, the Dartmouth fans were on their feet. At the last second, the Dartmouth safety—number 12—dashed
over, leaped in front of the Princeton wide receiver, and snapped the ball out of the air. He tumbled to the ground, straining to keep his feet inbounds.

Tweeeeeet!
The line judge rushed up, pulling both hands to his chest to signal a good catch.

“He got it!” Jesse’s mother shouted, pounding her husband’s shoulders and spilling hot chocolate everywhere. “He got it!”

“All right, Jay!” Jesse screamed into the late afternoon sky as his brother ran down the sidelines, holding the ball high in the air with one hand. With the crowd’s cheers ringing in his ears, Jesse could almost see Jay beaming underneath the big green
D
on his helmet.

A minute later, the home crowd counted down the final seconds of the game.

“Five … four … three … two … one!”

Afterwards, the players stood around the field talking and shaking hands. The late autumn sun had already vanished behind the New Hampshire hills, leaving only the
last rays of light lingering in the November chill. Jesse and his parents waited at the edge of the field.

“There he is!” Jesse shouted.

Jay walked toward them with his helmet pushed back, spinning a football in his hands.

“Is that the one you intercepted?” his dad asked.

“Yup, my first college interception.”

“That was a fabulous play,” his mom said.

“I knew he was going to throw the deep out,” Jay said. He gave Jesse a sly wink. “Sometimes it helps to have played quarterback.”

Jesse took off his winter coat and dropped it on the cold stadium turf. “Want me to go out for a pass?” He started out a few steps.

“No way,” Jay said, flipping the ball underhand to Jesse. “I hear
you’re
the quarterback now.” Jay pulled his helmet down. “I’ll go out for you.” He ran a deep-out, dodging around the players and parents still on the field. Jesse stepped into the
throw and spun a tight spiral right into his brother’s hands.

“Touchdown!” their mom and dad yelled, throwing their hands into the air.

Jay walked back, grinning. “Not bad, little brother. Not bad at all,” he said. “I think you’re starting to look like a real quarterback.”

For the first time ever, standing in the cold November gray, Jesse felt every bit as tall as his older brother. He finally felt like a real quarterback.