𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

There is only one night left until the big homecoming game. One.

I have been so distracted by the talk I had with Miles at the diner that nothing else seems to matter as the days pass. My head has been up in the clouds, playing what he said to me on repeat.

Take a deep breath and find the things that make you feel alive, then stick with it. Things can be different, but it's up to you to realize what you want to be different and then make the change.

All that I can think about is what I want to be different. I've spent so much time mulling over his words that I've made a mental checklist.

• Figure out how football plays into my life.
• Find a healthy way to deal with my emotions (note: stop burying them, you stupid idiot)
• Discover who my real friends are.
• See how Miles fits into my life.

Emphasis on that first and last one.

It hasn't been easy to keep my priorities in line this week. Balancing the homecoming activities, pepfest yesterday, and Hannah texting me every day has me booked.

Speaking of Hannah, I've been chewing on guilt since Monday night. I knew that I should never have agreed to that date. Honestly, one would think I would learn not to act on my anger by now, but we all make mistakes.

I went as far as messaging her before practice to ask if we could postpone the date. With homecoming coming up fast and dealing with practice tonight, I didn't want another thing to worry about.

There's also Miles to consider—

"EARTH TO PARKER!"

I nearly jump out of my cleats, a shockwave reverberating through my ears as my uncle Greyson blows a quick, sharp whistle.

"There you are, boy! Good god, I was wondering if you had gone deaf! Are you even paying attention?!" He demands, walking closer to me.

If it weren't for the fact that we're family, I would be scared shitless. Teammates standing near me back off a step or two, leaving me alone on the front line. They're super reliable for moral support.

I blush under my helmet from embarrassment. Here I am, rotating through a hundred things to deal with when the season's biggest game is tomorrow.

"Um, yeah, sorry. I just... Never mind, you were talking about plays? The double suicide offense?" I take a stab at it. I loosely recall him saying those words. Besides, we always practice our plays the night before the big games. Greyson is a man of tradition.

His shoulders crumple with relief that his star player isn't completely stupid. "Yes, thank you very much. We haven't had much need for the new plays this season, but I think we'll need to use them tomorrow. Calallen High is one of the only undefeated schools in the region, other than us. This could be war, boys."

Kendric snorts softly next to me, making me smirk. Greyson has a knack for the dramatics, considering we haven't lost a homecoming game in over four years.

If Greyson heard Kendric, he doesn't bother showing it. "Here is my plan for the night: study these plays, put them into practice, and run them through until we understand them inside and out. Afterward, we will do conditioning. Then I'll let you all go home early so you boys can get some rest for the game tomorrow. That means no pit stops by your girlfriend's house. You all are going straight home. Understood?"

I mumble, "Yes, sir," in time with the rest of my team. That girlfriend rule will be easy enough for me, especially since Hannah is now off the table.

"Good. Alright, let's go! Snyder has the whiteboard over there." Greyson points at one of his assistant coaches. Then his eyes flick up beyond the field. "Go see him. I'll be right back."

Greyson fixes his ball cap as he walks away, holding himself up a little higher. I quirk an eyebrow and pick Griffin out of the crowd, dodging around the stream of boys until I fall in step next to him.

"Where's your dad going?" I ask quietly, tipping my head back in the same direction that Greyson hurried off to.

"No idea." Griffin pauses to look over his shoulder. "Probably to go and... shit," he curses and comes to a stop.

The way that his tone switches from sarcastic to serious makes my feet stop moving. I look, too, my gaze catching on the shiny black car that pulled over on the road near the field. A red car is coming in right behind it, taking the spot behind the first one.

A man gets out of the black car and goes to Greyson with a big smile on his face and a clipboard in his hands. His athletic jacket is maroon and white, and I can see the logo glowing from here.

Texas A&M.

What in the world are scouts doing here, at a practice?!

My blood goes cold as another guy bounds out of the red vehicle, the colors of the Baylor Bears adorning his hat. This is unbelievable.

"Shit," Griffin mumbles next to me, making me twitch. I forgot he was here. "Two scouts the night before the game? They're definitely here for you."

I don't, can't, won't, believe it. "Shut up. No, they're not. We have a lot of talented guys on the field this season. They're here for all of us." I have to look away from the scene so I won't be sick. There's an anxiety smoothie blending up in my stomach right now, and I hope it doesn't end with me vomiting my guts out on the turf.

"Whatever you want to say to make yourself feel better. Don't stress over it, champ." With that, Griffin slaps my back, nearly knocking the puke right out of me as he jogs away.

Stephen King must be authoring my life because this shit is a nightmare.

There isn't enough time to mentally prepare myself for this. Greyson and the scouts are going to expect perfection. The thing is, I don't even know if I want to keep playing this damned sport once junior year is over. Miles might have been right about sticking with the things that make me feel alive because all I want to do right now is suffocate under the dirt.

As the hysteria slowly washes over me, I distract myself by jogging over to Snyder, joining my team.

I maneuver around my teammates to try and get closer to Snyder, craning to see what we're doing. I see the Xs and O's drawn on the whiteboard and the arrows squiggling around, except my brain isn't computing it. He's talking way too fast.

Before I can fully comprehend what's happening, my team is chattering and disintegrating from the huddle. Boys are all over, moving to sit down, to put on red mesh jerseys, going out on the field, bumping shoulders, and laughing. Utterly oblivious to the weight of this situation. Our future is standing on the other side of the field, and no one has noticed.

"Parker, are you coming?"

The words pull me out of my trance, and I turn, barely giving Joshua a passing glance as he walks beside me. "Yeah. Let's go, man."

"Did you see who is with Coach G tonight? Scouts, dude! This is huge!" Joshua hoots, but thankfully he doesn't touch me. It's a good thing because my sensory overload would definitely make me punch him right in the jaw.

For some reason, I feel like being sick and fighting a WWE star simultaneously.

"Trust me. It's impossible to miss those guys, especially when they're decked out in their schools finest. Do you know if they're here for a reason or just making their rounds to high schools in the area?" I ask him, peering at the scouts over my shoulder.

The three men start walking over, enthralled in their conversation. The man from A&M looks over at us, sees my number, and smiles as he meets my eyes. Shit.

I do the polite, respectful thing and raise a hand in acknowledgment before turning away, lengthening my stride to hurry toward the rest of my teammates before those guys can snare me into a conversation I don't want to have.

"No idea. They're probably here for our starting lineup of juniors and seniors, if I were to guess. Or you." Joshua grins and pulls his gloves out of his pants pocket, strapping them on.

I scoff and wave my hand dismissively. "I'll go out on a limb and assume they're here for everyone and anyone. We're all talented, don't downplay it."

"I'm not downplaying shit. I already know that. Just speaking facts, brother!" Joshua slaps my back and jogs over to the opposite side of the field, picking out his spot as a wide receiver right where Snyder must have put him.

Shaking my head, I put on my helmet and tighten it as I walk to the center of the field. A lot of people have been "speaking facts" to me recently.

"Getting a little comfortable with Josh now, are we?" Griffin's voice purrs, distracting me as he jogs over.

I bristle at the accusation. It was stupid for me to assume that Griffin would be totally at ease with my secret and keep it, well, a secret.

"Shut the fuck up, Grif. Besides, everyone in this state knows he's not gay," I hiss at him, keeping my voice down.

"Does Miles know that?" Griffin smirks and tilts his head over to the opposite side of the field.

My heart drops down into my socks. He's here?! Why wouldn't he have said anything?

I whip my head around to look, my eyes searching the fence. Griffin snickers when all I see is empty bleachers and lone palm trees. Suddenly I put two-and-two together, and my chest heaves as I leash my embarrassment.

"You're fucked up in the head. You know that?" I seethe, turning around to point a finger at him.

Griffin grins like a shark, his eyes glittering. "So I've been told. I'm keeping you on your toes. Get Black Beauty out of your head, and let's play some football."

It's terribly difficult to keep from flicking him off with both hands. Usually, that would be my go-to response, but it's hard to lash out with two major league scouts watching your every move.

Instead, I take a deep yoga-style breath and slowly exhale as I take my place on the field. Snyder has the whistle and the ball, which he throws Declan, our offensive center, the latter. As he catches the ball, I steal a final look over toward the sidelines.

Much against my will, I scan the fence. Still empty.

Damn Griffin.

Dropping my gaze down, I notice Greyson standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed, watching me like a hawk. The scouts are sitting in the chairs usually reserved for our coaches, with clipboards in their hands and pens on paper. Waiting.

My lunch from earlier sloshes inside my stomach like a tidal wave.

Snyder blows the whistle unbearably loud, making all the boys near him flinch. He takes his job seriously. "Alright, boys! This will be the first play we discussed. Everyone ready!"

What play did we discuss? The pitch? A counter? One of the new ones that Greyson made up crazy names for that I now can't remember?

There's no time to ask and no room for error. I can't do anything but panic and lean down into position. My head is spinning. I need to give myself time.

I glance around the field, but everyone's already in position, waiting for my call. Double shit. Time's up.

"Play one!" I holler, hoping that everyone else knows what they're doing. "Ready, set... hut!"

The field bursts into action.

In their mesh jerseys, our defense charges forward to push against my guards. Declan tosses the ball back at me.

The football is awfully blurry tonight. It's a habit to raise my hands and feel the pigskin hit my fingers. Clenching the ball, I scan the field. Everyone is moving way too fucking slow.

THWUNK.

As things slow down, everything suddenly fast-forwards as I'm taken down, my head bouncing off the ground. I grunt as the air squeezes out of my lungs, and I roll over to shove this fucker off.

"God damn, Brady!" I curse at the tackler and clamor onto my feet. "This is practice, not—" I shut up, aware that my voice is carrying across the field. I can't seem like a poor sportsman. Not tonight.

"Sorry, Graham! You're usually quicker than that, my bad," Brady apologizes profusely and gets up, brushing the grass off himself. "Second time is a charm. Won't happen again."

I have to remind myself of my yoga breaths. In, out, in, out. "There's nothing to apologize for. You made the right move; I was off. Let's go again."

I pause for a moment, glancing at my frozen teammates. They all look at me, confused, but for a good reason. I've hardly been tackled this year, much less at practice. As my attention falls on Griffin, with his arms crossed and a knowing look on his face, new determination fills me up.

"Again! Now!" I bark, finally prodding everyone into action. Tossing the ball back to Declan, I shuffle my feet into place and lower down.

Now that I'm swimming in embarrassment, my head is surprisingly much clearer. Even as I flick my gaze over at a puzzled Greyson and bewildered scouts, I'm not shaken.

My teammates follow suit and lower down into position, and their game faces back on. I wait a moment to ensure everyone's ready before yelling the same call as earlier.

Again, everyone moves at once. I straighten as the ball reaches my hands, letting intuition take over. Move a few feet to the right, and pretend to pass the ball to my halfback. Griffin, my running back, crosses paths with the halfback at the right time to confuse the defense.

Although we're all on the same team, and the defense was standing right there with us by Snyder to see the play, they're genuinely confused as the two boys sprint in opposite directions. With their attention redirected, I let the ball fly down the field into Joshua's hands.

Joshua doesn't even bother running all the way down into the end zone, although he had a clear shot at it. He turns around instead, his hands raised in victory.

All the guys cheer and laugh, slapping each other on the back for the genius play. Even Snyder is grinning, nodding his approval.

I smile too, but the emotion doesn't reach further than that. I'm too distracted by looking at the scouts for their reaction.

Whatever Baylor is saying to Greyson is making my uncle grin like a madman, nodding vigorously. A&M looks like he's texting wildly on his phone.

Maybe it should be easier to smile seeing that sight, but instead, I feel like an imposter to my team, my uncle, as I turn away, the fake smile falling off my face.

There hasn't been a real victory worth celebrating yet.