Eagles vs Tigers

Mark was tackled hard on one of his first runs of the game. He came too on the sidelines with a splitting headache and was **** to watch helplessly as the Tigers ran over his team.

By the last quarter they were losing by 30 points. In some ways Mark was relieved to be sitting out of this massacre, at least no one could say it was his fault, but another part of him wanted to be in there supporting his team. He needed to prove himself to Bryce. He also new Winter and the other girls were out there in the stands, wanting to cheer him on. His desire to give them something to cheer for giving him energy and cutting through the fog in his head.

Mark stood, wobbling slightly, and made his way toward the huddle forming near the bench. His heart thumped louder than the stadium speakers. He spotted Bryce, the quarterback, standing tall with a towel slung over one shoulder, barking orders.

“Bryce!” Mark called out, jogging up. “Put me in. I’m good.”

Bryce turned, eyes narrowing. “You sure? You looked like you saw stars back there.”

“I did,” Mark admitted, “but now I see the end zone. Come on, man—we’ve got one shot to make this hurt a little less.”

Bryce stared at him for a second longer, then gave a half-smile. “Alright. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. We’re calling 27 Sweep. Think you remember how to run it?”

Mark nodded, but his brain buzzed. 27 Sweep… was that left? Was that the one with the fake?

No time to figure it out.

Back on the field, the crowd noise swelled. Mark took his position in the backfield. The center snapped the ball. Bryce handed it off cleanly. Mark hesitated for half a second—then just ran. Hard. Fast. Toward the sideline, then cutting in sharp, trusting his instincts.

He spun out of one tackle, ducked another, and suddenly—there it was. Open field. His legs pumped, his lungs burned, and the end zone roared closer.

The crowd exploded as he crossed the line. Touchdown.

Mark slowed to a jog, then a walk, breathless and grinning. Bryce caught up to him and slapped his helmet.

“Guess you did remember the route,” he said.

Mark just shrugged. “Close enough.”