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  Then Dartmouth rallied. The Big Green drove down the field, eating up yardage and time on the clock. Dartmouth capped the drive when their quarterback zigzagged his way to the end zone on a 15-yard scamper. Dartmouth had the lead again, 21–17.

  After the kickoff, Jesse’s father studied the scoreboard at the end of Memorial Field. “Less than three minutes to go and Cornell’s got to cover 70 yards for a TD.” He was on his feet. “Hold ’em! Dee-fense! Dee-fense!”

  Jesse looked down at the field. “Jay’s going in!”

  Cornell kept fighting. Two first downs put the ball in Dartmouth territory at the 45-yard line. The cheers from the Big Green fans grew more desperate.

  “Dee-fense!”

  “Dee-fense!”

  “DEEEE-fense!”

  On fourth down with only twenty seconds to go, the Cornell quarterback faded back and lofted a long Hail Mary pass into the end zone. For just a second the Cornell receiver looked open. Jesse watched as his brother rushed over, leaped high into the air, and swatted the ball away. The moment the football hit the turf, Jesse and his parents jumped up and cheered, joining the other overjoyed Dartmouth fans. Thanks to Jay, the Big Green had hung on to win.

  After the game, the fans and players from both teams milled around the field as the sun slipped down behind the White Mountains. The last rays of sunshine bathed the stadium in an orange, reddish glow.

  “Here he comes!” Jesse’s mother shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  Jay emerged, dirty and sweaty but smiling with the Big Green victory. Their mom rushed over and gave him a kiss, avoiding the eye black on his cheek.

  “Great play at the end,” their dad said, giving Jay a playful punch on the shoulder pad.

  Jay laughed. “Oh man, I was so scared. If I had let that guy catch the ball, I don’t think Coach would’ve ever let me play safety again.”

  Jesse watched his brother as he talked. With his helmet under his arm and the number 12 on his chest, Jay still looked every inch a quarterback.

  Chapter 13

  Jesse’s cleats clattered against the hard floor when he stepped out the Franklin High School locker room door. He studied the freshman team schedule on the Big Board. The scores of the team’s games had been neatly filled in.

  FRANKLIN HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN TEAM

  [all games on Thursdays]

  Date Team Time Score

  9/19 South Shore 3:30 p.m. L 26-0

  9/26 @ Pinewood 3:30 p.m. L 21-14

  10/3 Glen Forest 3:30 p.m. W 14-12

  10/10 Roosevelt 3:30 p.m. W 22-12

  10/17 @ Auburn 3:30 p.m. L 30-14

  10/24 @ Morgan 3:30 p.m. W 21-16

  10/31 @ St. Andrews 3:00 p.m. W 28-6

  11/7 Eastport 3:00 p.m.

  The Panthers had added three more wins after the Glen Forest comeback. Jesse had played well at quarterback. He had surprised everyone except maybe Coach Vittone with his scrambling, play-calling, and knack for finding open receivers while still on the run.

  Quinn stepped up behind Jesse. “Four wins, three losses,” he mused. “That’s better than I thought we’d be at this point. One more win and we’ll have a winning season. And you”—he nudged his shoulder against Jesse’s back—“turned out to be a pretty good quarterback.”

  “You’ve been a pretty good tight end,” Jesse said, poking Quinn in the ribs with his elbow.

  “What about me?” Langston protested. “I’ve scored four touchdowns. That’s as many as Griffin.” He posed and flexed his right bicep. “Not bad for a little guy.”

  “And you’re forgetting about me?” Savannah had just emerged from the girls’ locker room in full practice gear. “Where would you guys be without your kicker?”

  The four friends jogged out to the practice field. Jesse stopped short when he saw something he hadn’t seen in weeks—Henry Robinson warming up along the sidelines.

  “What’s Henry doing here?” he asked. “I thought he was out for the season with his ankle.”

  “I saw him running down at Hobbs Park last weekend,” Savannah said. “He looked okay.”

  “What do you think Coach will do?” Langston asked. “Are you going to lose your job?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Quinn hooked his thumb back toward the gym. “No way. Coach has seen the Big Board. We’ve been winning and scoring points big-time with Jesse at quarterback.”

  Jesse wasn’t so sure. “Coach may not want Henry to lose his starting position just because he got hurt. I mean … that wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Hey, Jesse!” Coach Butler called, waving his clipboard over his head. “Hustle over here.”

  “Looks like I’m about to find out,” Jesse said.

  “Tell him to keep you at quarterback,” Langston called. “I’m getting to like playing wide receiver.”

  Jesse joined the coaches. Henry didn’t look over at him.

  Coach Butler got right down to business. “We’re going to split the practice reps between you two at quarterback today,” he explained. “I want to see how Henry’s coming along. I’ll play the guy who looks like he’ll give us the best chance to beat Eastport.”

  The two quarterbacks nodded in silence. Jesse stood up as straight as he could. He felt small next to Henry. The same way he felt when he stood next to his brother.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Coach Butler said. “Henry, you take the first reps.”

  Jesse started to turn away, but then realized he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. Was he a quarterback? A wide receiver? Or something else?

  “Hey, Tark!” Coach Vittone called.

  The older coach came over and rested his hands on Jesse’s shoulder pads. “Listen, you’ve done a great job all season at quarterback,” he said, looking Jesse in the eye. “Coach Butler just wants to give Henry a chance … you know, after his injury. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, I get it. But I mean … am I still, you know, a quarterback?”

  “Of course you’re still a quarterback, Jesse.” Coach Vittone smiled. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing—scrambling, passing, calling the plays, leading the team.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “My guess is that you’ll be the starting quarterback against Eastport.”

  Jesse stood on the sidelines with his helmet off and watched as Henry ran through some plays with the Panthers’ starting offense. Jesse hated to admit it to himself, but he secretly hoped Henry wouldn’t do well.

  Sure enough, Henry was rusty after more than a month on the sidelines. Most of his passes were either too high or too low.

  Jesse just watched, trying not to smile.

  “Okay, Jesse. Switch up with Henry,” Coach Butler ordered.

  Jesse stepped in, feeling at home under center after six games. The offense ran some crisp running plays. Then Jesse faked a handoff, faded back, and hit Langston on a square-in pattern. On another fake, Jesse rolled out and slipped a quick pass to Quinn right in the numbers. Finally Jesse dropped back and lofted a long pass to Langston sprinting in full stride on a deep post pattern.

  “Great pass, Tark!” Coach Vittone shouted, making an encouraging fist.

  After the day’s practice, Coach Butler called Jesse and Henry over. The coach pulled up the hood of his Franklin High sweatshirt to guard against the late autumn chill. It was nearly dark and Jesse could hardly see his coach’s face, but he could hear his voice.

  “Good practice,” Coach Butler started. He paused, looking for the right words.

  Jesse knew exactly what he wanted him to say.

  “I think we’ll stick with Jesse at quarterback,” Coach declared. “But we’ll keep working with you, Henry, giving you some reps,” he added. “Right now I think Jesse gives us the best chance to beat Eastport.”

  Henry nodded. Jesse could see the disappointment on his face. Jesse knew he would have felt the same way if their coach had made the other choice.

  Coach Butler clapped the two boys on their shoulder pads. “It’s not th
e worst thing in the world to have two guys who can play quarterback.”

  Chapter 14

  Jesse leaned over the study hall table. His pencil scratched busily across a sheet of paper, spilling out complicated patterns of Xs and Os and lines. Jesse was concentrating so hard, he didn’t notice when Quinn and Langston sat down.

  “What’s up?” Quinn asked. “You doing math problems?”

  Caught by surprise, Jesse covered the paper with his elbow. “No. I’m just … you know … making up some … aah … football plays.”

  “Let’s see.” Langston reached for the paper.

  Jesse hesitated.

  “Come on,” Quinn said. “What’s the big secret?”

  Jesse slowly spun the paper around to show his friends.

  “I was just thinking,” Jesse started to explain, “that Eastport’s defense is supposed to be really—”

  “Yeah,” Quinn interrupted, “I heard they’re awesome. They shut out Roosevelt, Glen Forest, and South Shore. They even stomped Auburn.”

  “Right, so I’ve been trying to draw up some plays to fake out their defensive players. I just came up with this. I figure we can fake it to Griffin going left,” Jesse said, pointing to the diagram. “I’ll keep it and run right. It’s the old naked bootleg play.”

  Langston laughed. “You’re gonna be naked?”

  “Yeah, right.” Jesse gave Langston a look. “No. It’s just a play to get the Eastport defense going one way so we can run it the other way.”

  “What do you call it?” Langston asked.

  “Fake Left, Bootleg Right.”

  “Cool.” Quinn studied the play. “You know, maybe I could start blocking left from the tight-end position, then cut back and run a quick flare-out to the right.” He grabbed the pencil out of Jesse’s hand and scribbled a couple of lines. “You can hit me if I’m open. We can call it something like Fake Left, Bootleg Right, Tight-end Delay.”

  Langston looked at the papers spread out over the study hall table. “Have you got anything else?” he asked. “Like a play for me?”

  Jesse picked up a piece of paper from a different pile and showed it to Langston.

  Quinn leaned in for closer inspection. “What’s this one?”

  “It’s a wide-receiver reverse.” Jesse grabbed the pencil back from Quinn and used it as a pointer. “It’s the same idea as the quarterback bootleg play. Get the Eastport defense chasing one way and hand it off to Langston going the other way.”

  Holding an imaginary football under his left arm and stretching out his right, Langston struck a Heisman Trophy pose. “And I run around left end for the touchdown.”

  “Are you going to show these plays to Coach Butler?” Quinn asked after the boys stopped laughing. “The Eastport game’s coming up fast.”

  “I think I’ll show two or three of the plays to Coach Vittone. See what he thinks first.”

  “Which ones?” Langston picked up some more plays.

  “Probably the bootleg and the reverse.”

  Quinn held up the play he had drawn. “Don’t forget to tell him about the tight-end delay pass,” he insisted.

  “Okay, okay.” Jesse leaned back and held up his hands in surrender. “Why don’t you guys make up your own plays?”

  “Hey, you’re the quarterback,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah, Coach Butler didn’t think about putting Henry back at quarterback for long,” Langston said.

  Quinn nudged Jesse. “I think Vittone gave Butler the word. Coach Vittone loves his Tark.”

  Savannah slipped in beside the boys. “Hey, guys. You studying for Ms. Jackson’s math test?”

  Quinn held up some of Jesse’s plays to show Savannah. “Nope. Jesse here’s not satisfied with just being the quarterback,” he said in a teasing voice. “My man Jesse wants to be the head coach now. He’s making up plays.”

  “Cool.” Savannah’s eyes skimmed over the plays—the quarterback bootleg, tight-end delay pass, and wide-receiver reverse. She tossed the papers back onto the table. “You’ve got plays for everybody but me.”

  “You’re a kicker,” Quinn said. “Kickers just kick. They don’t really play football. Why would you need a play?”

  Langston wasn’t going to let Quinn dis Savannah. “Wait a second, she’s a pretty good kicker. She’s made …” Langston looked at Savannah for help. “How many points after touchdown have you kicked?”

  “Nine in a row.”

  “Okay, okay, so she’s a good kicker,” Quinn said. “But who’s ever heard of a play for a placekicker?”

  The bell rang for the end of study hall. Quinn and Langston turned to leave.

  “Wait, I think I’ve got one.” Jesse quickly drew eleven small circles in a placekicking formation. He added a row of eleven Xs all lined across the defensive front. Quinn, Langston, and Savannah hovered over him. Jesse added a few extra arrows and leaned back in satisfaction. His teammates smiled.

  “Whoa, that’s a very cool play.”

  “That’s the best one yet.”

  “Super football fake-out.”

  Savannah put her hands in the air and shouted, “Touchdown!”

  They all traded fist bumps.

  Savannah looked at Jesse. “It’s a great play, all right,” she said. “But there’s only one problem.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no way Coach Butler will ever let us use it in a real game.”

  Chapter 15

  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 h
uddle 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.

  Chapter 16

  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.