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  “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.”

  Chapter 8

  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 helm
et. 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.”

  Chapter 9

  Ready … set … hut one!” Jesse faded back three steps, looked to his left, and fired a quick slant pass. Langston reached out and grabbed the ball in full stride.

  “First down!” Langston spun the football in the playground grass. “Nice throw, Jess. Right on the money.”

  “How come you’re always throwing to him?” Quinn complained as he jogged back to the line of scrimmage to get ready for another play.

  Jesse held out his arms wide as if to take in the entire football field at Hobbs Park. “He’s always open,” he said.

  “What? And I’m not?”

  The three boys were practicing pass patterns and there were no defensive backs anywhere in sight.

  “All right, all right,” Jesse said, laughing. “I’ll throw you one. Let’s run Play Action, Waggle Out.” He turned toward the backfield and explained the play. “Langston will line up at running back. I’ll fake it to him and roll out, then hit you on a down-and-out.”

  “Do you want me to hold my block?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah, one count.”

  Jesse held the ball in front of him just the way Jay always did. Langston and Quinn lined up in three-point stance: Langston at running back, Quinn at tight end.

  “Ready … set … hut one!”

  The boys sprang into action. Jesse tucked the ball close to his body and spun left. He slipped the ball in and out of Langston’s midsection and rolled out to the right.

  Quinn pretended to block an imaginary defensive end, then took three quick, choppy steps downfield and broke to the right. While still on the run, Jesse flicked him a perfect spiral.

  “Touchdown!” the big guy shouted as he sprinted under the goalposts. He spiked the ball into the grass.

  “We finally won one!” Jesse raised his arms in victory.

  Langston did his own celebration dance around the empty football field. “We finally found a team we could beat,” he joked.

  “Let’s take a break,” Quinn suggested. “I’m exhausted from playing against these nobodies.”

  Jesse peered toward the soccer pitch in the far corner of the park. “Why don’t we check out the soccer game, see who’s playing?” He waved his hand in a circle. “Come on, let’s race.”

  The three teammates sped toward the soccer pitch. They arrived huffing and puffing. Jesse was first, then Langston, then Quinn.

  “It’s the freshman girls’ team,” Jesse said, surveying the field. “I think they’re playing Eastport.”

  “Look,” Langston said. “Savannah’s in the goal.”

  With the action at the other end of the field, Savannah stood in her Day-Glo yellow goalie jersey about fifteen yards in front of her goal.

  Langston cupped his hands and shouted, “Hey, Savannah! Nice gloves!”

  She recognized the boys and waved.

  Eastport got the ball and went on the attack. Savannah turned her attention back to the field. She snagged a crossing pass out of the air and waved her players away from the goal. After two short steps, she boomed a punt high and far downfield.

  “Whoa!” Jesse said. “Did you see that kick?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn said. “It went past midfield.”

  Her next three punts were just as spectacular as the first. Watching Savannah got Jesse thinking.

  An Eastport shot sailed over the net. Savannah retrieved the ball and placed it near the corner of the penalty area. She took a few confident steps forward and … boom! The ball soared up the center of the field.

  “Man, that girl can really kick!” Jesse exclaimed.

  “A lot better than Denny,” Langston said, referring to the freshman team’s not-very-good kicker.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Jesse said softly to himself. He thought back to the season’s many short punts and kickoffs that had put the Panthers in poor field position. He stared at Langston for a moment, then looked over at Quinn.

  “Why don’t we ask Savannah to be our kicker?” Jesse said, putting into words what he’d been thinking ever since he saw her blast that first kick.

  “For starters, she’s a girl,” Quinn said.

  “So what? Girls can play football.”

  “I don’t know,” Langston said. “She doesn’t, you know, really look like a kicker.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t lo
ok like a quarterback,” Jesse said. Another of Savannah’s punts sailed high into the air. “If you ask me, I’d say she looks a lot like a kicker.”

  “She can’t play football,” Quinn said. “She’s already playing soccer.”

  “Why don’t we ask her?” Jesse suggested. “Let her decide. She didn’t sound crazy about playing the goal when we saw her at the mall.”

  “What about the other guys?” Quinn persisted. “Maybe they don’t want a girl on the team.”

  “They want to win, don’t they?” Jesse said. “If we’re going to win, we need a kicker.” Another one of Savannah’s punts flew high in the air. “And she can really kick.”

  The last kick seemed to silence Quinn.

  “All right, so who’s gonna ask her?” Langston said.

  “Mr. Quarterback,” Quinn said, pointing at Jesse. “It’s his big idea.”

  After the game, the three boys rushed up to Savannah and congratulated her on her team’s win. After a minute, Jesse could feel Langston’s hand on his back. “Go ahead, ask her,” his friend whispered.

  “Ask me what?” Savannah said.

  “Well, you know, I was thinking … I mean, we were wondering,” Jesse said, searching for the right words, “whether you would think about being the kicker—you know like the punter and stuff—for the freshman football team.”

  “Me?” She looked surprised. “On the football team?”

  Quinn grabbed Jesse by the arm. “Let’s go. I knew it was a stupid idea.”

  Savannah held up her gloved hands. “Hold on,” she said. A small smile slid across her lips. “I think it could be kind of cool.”

  “Wait,” Quinn said to the boys. “We don’t even know if she can kick a football.”

  “Are you crazy?” Jesse shouted. “Were you watching that soccer game?”

  “Quinn’s right,” Langston said. “Kicking a football is a lot different than kicking a soccer ball.”

  Savannah looked at the football under Jesse’s arm. “There’s only one way to find out,” she declared. “I’ll meet you at the football field at”—she checked her phone—“four o’clock.”