take his eyes off her.
Then I said, “From sixty, boys.”
Exley looked at me.
“You don’t have to run it if you don’t want to. Walk on down there, and when you’re sixty yards away from her, start running, do a post pattern.”
But he and Anders both acted like they wanted to see this. They caught their breath, got themselves ready, then stood on the line of scrimmage. Jesse got the snap from center and Darius took off. She dropped back about seven steps and Darius, running full speed, cut at the 35-yard line all the way on the other side of the field, toward the goalposts, at which point Jesse snapped the ball off and dropped it just over his right shoulder, at about the 18-yard line. It was nearly 70 yards in the air. It should have dropped over his left shoulder, so the pass was off and he had to twist himself to get it, but get it he did.
“Over the wrong damned shoulder,” she said. She picked up another ball. Then more to herself than anybody else, she said, “Could score on a play like that.”
Then Anders took off. He could run, too. She hit him at the same distance, but this time she put it out in front of him so that he ran under it. It had to be 70 yards at least. She was really on. Of all the balls she threw, only one of them was even slightly off target, and the receiver had caught it anyway.
Coach Engram turned to me, smiling. “Goddamn,” he said. “You’re right. She can throw it better than anybody on this team.”
“You owe me a dinner,” I said.
“Sign her up.” He was making a joke.
“I did,” I said.
It was priceless watching his face change in the silence that ensued. You could see it hit him—first the shock of it, and then the realization. “You actually did ?”
“It’s on me,” I said. “You had nothing to do with it.”
But he was smiling. “You son of a bitch.”
I thought I’d won. His smile seemed the satisfied kind—as if he was glad I’d taken care of this thing, glad I’d protected him from ridicule. “Okay. Back to the office,” he said.
I walked over to the guys. “Not a word of this to anyone. You got it?”
Exley said, “What’s it all about?” That was four words more than I’d heard him say in a year.
“Just keep quiet about it until we tell you otherwise.”
Dan Wilber patted Jesse on the back. “I didn’t hurt your hands did I? Snapping you the ball?”
She gave him a look.
“I didn’t do it as hard as we’re supposed to, you know.”
“So do it,” she said. “As hard as you want. I won’t drop it.”
“Really?”
“My father was a center,” she said. “He hit my hands a lot harder than you’re going to.”
“We’ll see.”
“How ’bout right now?”
Coach Engram had walked a bit up the path toward his office, but he was close enough to hear this exchange. He stopped and turned to watch. Jesse took snap after snap from Wilber. He kept hitting her hands with the ball as hard as he could. You could hear the sound the ball made slapping her palms. She’d take it, step back, and then flip it back to him. “You can start anytime,” she said. You’ve never seen anybody more calm. She was being tested and she knew it, but she turned it around and after a while, it was Wilber who was being tested. He couldn’t even make her wince.
Finally he gave her a sheepish smile. “You can take it, I’ll say that.”
“Come on, Granger,” Engram said.
“Be right there.” I turned back to all of them. “Listen, you guys. And that means you, too, Jesse. Not a word of this to anybody. You got it? Until we tell you.” I gave Jesse a wink, then followed Engram back to his office. All the way back I could see him thinking. He said nothing. As we were entering the building, I looked back to see Jesse flipping the ball back and forth with Anders and Exley. Wilber stood there watching her, his arms folded. I figured if I got him on my side, the others might fall in line. He was a team captain and the players
Then I said, “From sixty, boys.”
Exley looked at me.
“You don’t have to run it if you don’t want to. Walk on down there, and when you’re sixty yards away from her, start running, do a post pattern.”
But he and Anders both acted like they wanted to see this. They caught their breath, got themselves ready, then stood on the line of scrimmage. Jesse got the snap from center and Darius took off. She dropped back about seven steps and Darius, running full speed, cut at the 35-yard line all the way on the other side of the field, toward the goalposts, at which point Jesse snapped the ball off and dropped it just over his right shoulder, at about the 18-yard line. It was nearly 70 yards in the air. It should have dropped over his left shoulder, so the pass was off and he had to twist himself to get it, but get it he did.
“Over the wrong damned shoulder,” she said. She picked up another ball. Then more to herself than anybody else, she said, “Could score on a play like that.”
Then Anders took off. He could run, too. She hit him at the same distance, but this time she put it out in front of him so that he ran under it. It had to be 70 yards at least. She was really on. Of all the balls she threw, only one of them was even slightly off target, and the receiver had caught it anyway.
Coach Engram turned to me, smiling. “Goddamn,” he said. “You’re right. She can throw it better than anybody on this team.”
“You owe me a dinner,” I said.
“Sign her up.” He was making a joke.
“I did,” I said.
It was priceless watching his face change in the silence that ensued. You could see it hit him—first the shock of it, and then the realization. “You actually did ?”
“It’s on me,” I said. “You had nothing to do with it.”
But he was smiling. “You son of a bitch.”
I thought I’d won. His smile seemed the satisfied kind—as if he was glad I’d taken care of this thing, glad I’d protected him from ridicule. “Okay. Back to the office,” he said.
I walked over to the guys. “Not a word of this to anyone. You got it?”
Exley said, “What’s it all about?” That was four words more than I’d heard him say in a year.
“Just keep quiet about it until we tell you otherwise.”
Dan Wilber patted Jesse on the back. “I didn’t hurt your hands did I? Snapping you the ball?”
She gave him a look.
“I didn’t do it as hard as we’re supposed to, you know.”
“So do it,” she said. “As hard as you want. I won’t drop it.”
“Really?”
“My father was a center,” she said. “He hit my hands a lot harder than you’re going to.”
“We’ll see.”
“How ’bout right now?”
Coach Engram had walked a bit up the path toward his office, but he was close enough to hear this exchange. He stopped and turned to watch. Jesse took snap after snap from Wilber. He kept hitting her hands with the ball as hard as he could. You could hear the sound the ball made slapping her palms. She’d take it, step back, and then flip it back to him. “You can start anytime,” she said. You’ve never seen anybody more calm. She was being tested and she knew it, but she turned it around and after a while, it was Wilber who was being tested. He couldn’t even make her wince.
Finally he gave her a sheepish smile. “You can take it, I’ll say that.”
“Come on, Granger,” Engram said.
“Be right there.” I turned back to all of them. “Listen, you guys. And that means you, too, Jesse. Not a word of this to anybody. You got it? Until we tell you.” I gave Jesse a wink, then followed Engram back to his office. All the way back I could see him thinking. He said nothing. As we were entering the building, I looked back to see Jesse flipping the ball back and forth with Anders and Exley. Wilber stood there watching her, his arms folded. I figured if I got him on my side, the others might fall in line. He was a team captain and the players
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