Reality Check (2010) by Peter Abrahams Read Free Book Online

the kickoff back to midfield, and Jamal ran a sweep left, smothered by Martinelli for no gain; followed by an option right with a pitch to Jamal that went for three yards; and then an option right where Cody kept the ball, made what he thought was a nice move, and then got flattened by Martinelli, who'd somehow come all the way over from the other side, all his breath knocked clean out of him. No one had ever hit Cody harder, except for maybe Junior in practice. Cody fumbled the ball--was aware of it bouncing out of bounds, thank God--and then went a bit foggy. He tried to rise, failed, and was trying again when Junior reached down and helped him up. Cody staggered the slightest bit--surely not noticeable--and lined up for the punt, playing deep blocker. Jamal punted the ball away.
    Cody remained foggy for most of the rest of the game, little of which stayed in his memory. On the next Bridger series, something happened in a pileup that pissed Junior off, pissed him off big-time. He went a bit crazy and there was no stopping him after that. Bridger double-teamed and triple-teamed him but none of it did any good. Junior mauled them all, doing his video-game sound effects at the same time: "Bam! Crunch! Kapow!" He put their center out of the game, and then the tight end, number 80, too, taking away that problem. Bridger's offense ground to a halt.
    But Bridger's defense held. When they saw that the Rattlers weren't going to pass, they put everyone in the box and managed to stack up most of Jamal's runs despite Junior's blocking. At halftime, Cody, puking quietly in the toilet, heard Coach Huff from the locker room on the other side of the wall: "Got 'em right where we want 'em." But they were still down seven-zip. On the way back out to the field, Cody said something--he wasn't quite sure what--about maybe trying a pass. Coach Huff's face went all red. "Dint you get the message yet? We're gonna run it down their fuckin' throats."
    The Rattlers went back out, resumed trying to run it down Bridger's fuckin' throats. They started moving the ball a bit better, getting some first downs. Junior put another kid on the sidelines. Jamal almost broke off a long run on a dive up the middle, Martinelli making a shoestring tackle. But every drive ended up stalling outside field goal territory, which in the Rattlers' case was about the twenty, although Dickie, their kicker, could easily miss from closer than that. And the whole time, through the third quarter and into the fourth, the fog in Cody's mind just wouldn't lift.
    With less than a minute to go in the game, score still seven- zip, Rattlers' ball on their own thirty-two, and no time-outs remaining, Coach Huff called yet another option left. Cody took off, saw that Martinelli was shading toward Jamal, and cut inside, taking off for a fifteen-yard run that ended with another huge hit. Cody didn't have to look to see who it was; by now he knew Martinelli just by feel. But then a funny thing happened: His head cleared, just like that, as though Martinelli had descrambled what he'd originally scrambled.
    "Huddle up," Cody yelled. The team huddled around him. Cody was suddenly aware of all kinds of things: the noise of the crowd, the smell of sweat, Jamal bleeding from the nose, Junior growling. The guard came in with the play from Coach Huff.
"Green, eighty-six, left."
    Green 86 left? That was the exact same play they'd just run. Cody glanced at the scoreboard clock in the end zone, the end zone they needed to reach, so far away. Thirty-two seconds and ticking.
"Nope," he said.
    All eyes widened. Coach Huff sent in every play. He'd never actually said changing the play in the huddle was forbidden. He hadn't had to: It was unthinkable.
    "Blue three," Cody said. Blue three, the play action post to Dickie. For a moment, no one moved.
Then Junior said, "Drop the ball, Dickie, and I'll fuckin' kill you."
"On two," said Cody, clapping his hands. They clapped their hands.
The Rattlers trotted up