âPeople, I know weâre shorthanded out there on defense tonight without Reggie, but Bryce is ready to fill in. Help him out there. Be good teammates, stick together, play Lincoln football.â
I looked across the locker room at Bryce Clark, an eleventh grader who was the head coachâs son. Bryce was a good player, but he was being pushed into a starting spot because of my absence. I hoped he wasnât feeling too much pressure. At the same time, I felt some resentment. He was taking my spot tonight, the spot Iâd worked like a dog to earn since well before I got to Lincoln. And this was the biggest game of the season. It just wasnât fair.
As Coach ended his speech, the players began to chant, âLions, Lions, Lions.â It was our usual ritual before we headed out the locker room door, through thepaper Lincoln banner and onto the turf. They were all so focused on the task at hand that nobody noticed me slip in. Nobody except Coach Molloy, that is.
He winked at me. âGood to see you, Reggie. I was hoping youâd come out tonight.â
I didnât know what to say in return. But Coach Molloyâs words made me feel a little less awkward about being in the locker room without a uniform.
I followed the rest of the guys onto the field, walking with Coach Molloy, just behind Coach Clark. The stands were packed and the stadium lights illuminated the turf. The Lincoln and Franklin bands were taking turns running through fight songs, each trying to outdo the other. Even though I wasnât playing, I still felt jacked just being out there. Who wouldnât on a Friday night like this?
I heard somebody calling my name, and I turned around. Blake Marshall, a friendfrom chemistry class, was motioning me over to the stands.
âThat sucks about your suspension,â Blake said matter-of-factly.
âWhat?â
âYour suspension,â he repeated. âFor that hit on the Milbury kid.â
âIâm not suspended,â I said firmly. âAnd I didnât hit that kid. Heââ
Blake didnât let me finish my sentence. âNot suspended? Thatâs what the paper said, dude. How come youâre not dressed then?â
My face flushed. I didnât know how to answer that. âInjury,â I mumbled. âSee you, man. I gotta go.â
I returned to the sidelines, shaken by the conversation. If Blake thought I was suspended, then lots of other people must be thinking the same thing. I wished they would make an announcement on the pa system saying that I wasnât suspended. But then what would they say?âNumber seventy-seven, Reggie âStick-âemâ Scott, is not playing tonight due to mental problems.â Yeah, right. I was better off with people thinking Iâd been suspended.
Lincoln won the coin toss and elected to receive. Sammy Price, Franklinâs kicker, sent the ball deep to begin the game, straight into the hands of Jeff Stevens. That was good for us. Jeff has size and good hands, but he also has deceptive speed for a big guy. The Demons had likely kicked the football his way because they didnât want the smaller quicker Ronnie Bright to catch the ball. I was hoping Jeff would make them pay for that choice.
Sure enough, Jeff caught the football on the dead run and headed to the outside at full speed. He found a couple of blocks early and managed to get all the way to midfield before being brought down by Sammy Price. If not for that one tackle, Jeff would have gone all the way.
His return was enough to get us off to a terrific start. Lance Turner, our startingquarterback, had looked unbeatable in practice. He carried that into the game. Three plays after the opening kick, Lance and Jeff Stevens were already celebrating a touch-down after the quarterback completed a twenty-yard strike down the middle to my best buddy. Even though I wasnât out there with them, my heart soared as Jeff crossed the goal