The First Game (III)

Final bell rings and I'm out of my seat before the sound ends. No time to waste.

I head straight for the locker room, dodging groups of students in the hallway. Most of the team is already there when I arrive, pulling gear from lockers, checking equipment.

"Doe!" Coach calls from his office. "Need you a minute."

I detour to his door, where he's sorting through a stack of jerseys. "Yeah, Coach?"

He holds up a white away jersey, my number 27 on the back and shoulders. But there's something different about this one. An "A" stitched on the front, just below the left shoulder.

"Trying this out tonight," he says, handing it to me. "See how it fits."

I take the jersey, running my thumb over the letter. Assistant captain. Not what I wanted, but a step in the right direction.

"Thanks, Coach."

He nods, already turning back to his work. "Bus leaves in twenty. Make sure everyone's ready."

I return to my locker where Sanjay is lacing up his shoes. He spots the jersey in my hands and grins.

The team loads duffel bags onto the bus waiting in the parking lot. Parents and other students mill around, offering good lucks and high fives. I scan the crowd for Abbie, finally spotting her red hair by the school entrance. She's talking to Megan.

Abbie sees me and breaks away, weaving through the crowd.

"Hey, superstar," she says, reaching up to straighten my collar. "Ready to destroy Riverside?"

"Born ready."

She smiles, her eyes flicking to the bus where most of the team is already loading up. "How long's the drive? Forty minutes?"

"About that."

"And you play at seven?"

"Yeah."

She steps closer, one hand resting lightly on my chest. "I'll be there with the rest of the cheer squad. Megan's driving us over after practice."

"Good."

Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, "I'll start on your English paper. Due Monday, right? The comparison of tragic heroes?"

I pull back slightly to look at her. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to." She shrugs. "But you'll be exhausted after the game, and I can knock it out in an hour. Consider it my contribution to the cause."

The cause being my scholarship chances.

"Thanks." I lean down and kiss her, brief but firm. Public displays aren't really my thing, especially on game days, but I make exceptions for Abbie.

"Now go win." She steps back, straightening her, my jersey. "And remember what's waiting for you when you do."

"Let's go!" Coach calls from the bus door.

"Gotta go."

I join the last few guys boarding the bus, claiming my usual spot halfway back on the right side. Window seat. Always window seat for away games.

Rick drops into the seat beside me. "Abbie's looking good in your jersey."

"Eyes on your own girlfriend, Hernandez."

He laughs, pulling out his phone. "Just saying. You're a lucky man."

"I know."

The bus rumbles to life, pulling out of the parking lot. I spot Abbie one last time, standing with Megan, both of them watching the bus leave. Then we turn onto the main road, and they're gone.

I pull out my headphones, connecting them to my phone. Game day playlist. Always the same tracks, always the same order. I scroll to George Harrison, starting with "What Is Life."

The familiar guitar riff fills my ears, drowning out the chatter around me. I lean my head against the window, watching suburban neighborhoods give way to stretches of highway lined with trees just starting to show hints of fall color.

Forty minutes to Riverside. Forty minutes to get my head completely in the game.

The bus hits traffic about halfway there, slowing to a crawl. Some of the guys get antsy, checking the time, shifting in their seats. I stay still, music playing, mind focused. Delays happen. Adjust, adapt, overcome.

By the time we pull into Riverside's parking lot, we're cutting it closer than Coach likes.

"Let's go, let's go!" Coach stands at the front of the bus. "Get your gear, head straight to the locker room. No wandering, no socializing."

We file off the bus, grabbing our gear from the storage compartments. The air is cooler here, a breeze cutting across the parking lot. Riverside's facility is newer than ours, built three years ago with fancy donor money. Glass and steel exterior, state-of-the-art everything inside.

I hoist my bag onto my shoulder, stick in hand, and follow the team through the players' entrance. The hallway leads directly to the visitors' locker room. Cramped, basic, nothing like the home team's facilities. That's fine. Sometimes discomfort breeds focus.

Inside, we claim spaces along the benches, unpacking gear with practiced efficiency. No music, no loud talking.

I pull out my jersey, that white number 27 with the "A" stitched on the front. Tonight's the first test. First game, first chance to show the scouts what I can do, first step toward everything I've been working for.

I lay the jersey on top of my pads, careful not to let it touch the floor. Not yet time to put it on. That comes last. Always last.

Rick catches my eye from across the room, gives me a nod. "Let's fucking go, Doe."

"Let's fucking go."