Kid Owner by Tim Green

was the second play of team period, which is kind of like a live scrimmage. Jason Simpkin rolled out on a bootleg pass. Michael Priestly came hard up the middle on a blitz. No one touched him, and Priestly built up a head of steam and launched himself. Simpkin got the pass off before Priestly slammed him, right in the ear. I think they heard the hit halfway across town. Simpkin went down like a wet blanket and flopped onto the grass, unmoving. Coach Hubbard hurried over and knelt beside him, shouting for Coach Vickerson to get the trainer. Simpkin stirred.
    We had a teammate get a concussion during the first week of contact, so I knew the drill and I knew what it meant. Simpkin would have to sit out for a week at the very least. Estevan Marin would step in at first team quarterback. Simpkin got up and was helped off the field by the trainer. The coaches returned to business.
    Now we’d need another quarterback. No team—not even a seventh-grade middle-school club—would go into a game without a backup quarterback.
    And I had an appointment with destiny.

26
    I saw them talking about me, Coach Hubbard with his paw hung over the shoulder of Coach Vickerson, his head bobbing up and down and the younger coach nodding in agreement before the parted.
    â€œRyan!” Coach Hubbard barked. “Zinna!”
    I hopped to it and stood at attention in front of them both. “Coach?”
    â€œGet in there with the second offense. We need you to be ready in case something happens to Marin. We have no idea how long Simpkin’s gonna be out.”
    â€œGot it, Coach!” I bolted into the huddle and wondered only briefly if he would have given me the shot if I hadn’t been the owner of the Dallas Cowboys. I thought not. I thought they would have picked Griffin Engle, our tailback—who was fast and a really good athlete overall—to fill in, but it didn’tmatter. This was my chance. Second-string QB didn’t guarantee I’d get on the field, but it did mean I’d get reps in practice.
    I looked around at my teammates.
    Bryan Markham didn’t even try to hide his disgust. He snorted and spit a loogie on the grass in front of him. Everyone else, except for Jackson, stared and blinked in disbelief at the sight of Minna Zinna taking over their huddle. Jackson? His face glowed and he grinned so hard that it looked like it must have hurt. He might have been happier than me, and that’s saying something.
    â€œCome on, Ryan. Let’s do this.” Jackson spoke like it was just the two of us getting ready to launch a bottle rocket in my backyard.
    â€œLet’s ease you in here with something simple, Ryan.” Coach Hubbard looked at his clipboard, selecting a play. “Thirty-two Dive.”
    â€œCoach, I can run the dive, but there isn’t a play I don’t know.” I turned to look directly at him. Honestly, owning the Dallas Cowboys made me feel like . . . like Superman. Things that hadn’t been possible before were now. I felt like I could say what I wanted. I felt bold and confident and . . .
    Coach scratched his ear and glanced down at his list of plays on the practice schedule. “Okay, Blue Right 94. Hit the 4. Got that?”
    I didn’t even reply and went straight to the huddle, called the play, and marched to the line like General George Patton crossing into Germany at the end of World War II. I barked the cadence, took the snap, rolled right, and threw a wobbling duck to the 4 route. It wasn’t pretty, but I completed the pass.
    Jackson hooted and slapped me high five, then hugged me all the way back to the huddle.
    â€œWell . . .” Coach Hubbard looked at Coach Vickerson and shrugged. “First down. Good play, Ryan. Get a little more spin on that ball if you can.”
    Playing quarterback isn’t always about being this super athlete. It’s about knowing the offense, making the right decisions, and being able to get the ball