I wasn’t going to start crying was I?

I left Megan outside the doors of the gym, staggered into the locker room and almost turned around. The smell hit me like a wet towel thrown over my head, reeking of sweat and aggression. I don’t know what sort of expression I had, but I was afraid that I might be about to throw up. Did the guys always smell this bad after a game? At least they weren’t naked.

Coach Wilson was standing on one of the benches. “Nine to eight is the weirdest score I’ve ever seen in a football game,” he complained.

There was some nervous laughter, but no one was happy about the score. Jake in particular looked daggers at almost everyone. Dave had a stricken expression, like he’d just realized he’d dropped his pizza slice on the dog. Somehow, seeing the two of them so upset hit me hard.

I turned away and stared at the floor. My eyes burned. I wasn’t going to start crying was I?

Lee Frick moved closer to me. He appeared concerned instead of upset, and he was looking right at me. “It’s okay, Pete,” he murmured. “You did good out there.”

I shrugged, unable to think of what to say. Surrounded by three of the tallest guys in the room, I felt invisible¬¬—except Lee was staring right at me. If he didn’t stop that, I probably was going to cry, and I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Coach had some nice things to say first. That we’d played good defense, made clean tackles, hadn’t had a single penalty called. He praised my kick return that ended in a touchdown. “We’re going to give you more chances to run in the second half, Pete,” he promised. I nodded without meeting his eye. With big people standing around me, I would have had to lean sideways to see his face.

Dave and Upp got pats on the back for their conversion. “As sweet a short pass as anyone could want,” he said. Upp grinned but Garcia shrugged. Jake nudged him, and Dave managed a quiet, “Thanks, Coach.”

“And that’s it!” Wilson suddenly roared. Everybody jumped. “We didn’t score another point in the first half!”

I covered my face with my hands, certain that I was crying.

“Let me remind everyone that scoring points is how we win football games,” Coach said. “We didn’t score enough points! If we go back out there in the second half and do no better than we did in the first half, we will lose this football game!”

“No-oh!” someone moaned, and I was relieved to realize it wasn’t me.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Coach had to raise his voice over the noise the guys were making. “We did good out there. It was Dave’s first game at quarterback, and it worked, it worked. Matt, Upp, Bill, Pete, everyone did the jobs they were asked to do. We all did good.”

Mild cheering from the guys—no one was sure if they were supposed to feel good or not because Coach still looked and sounded angry.

“But we need to do better,” he suddenly roared.

“Do better,” someone agreed, and it turned into a chant with everyone shouting, “Do better!” to foot-stomping and banging on lockers.

It got comical, and I went quickly from near tears to laughing my head off and joining in the shouting.

Coach went from egging us on with arm gestures to motioning for quiet, and as the chant died down someone yelled, “We need to let the little guy run with the ball more.” (Meaning me—the smallest player on the starting team.)

Coach stabbed a finger at the guy, then tapped his own nose. “Yes!”

He turned toward me. “It’s got to be a running game in the second half. You up for it, Pete?”

I nodded and shouted, “Yes, sir!”

“That okay with you, Dave?” he asked Garcia. “Hand-offs, laterals, maybe even let Pete take the snap, too…” he made a circular wave with a fist, “mix it up?”

“Yes, sir!” Dave agreed.

Me take a snap? We’d done it in practice, but never in a real game.

“This okay with the rest of you mooks?”

They all roared, “Yes, sir!”

I still didn’t know what a mook was. Coach got some of his dialog from old movies. Speaking of which….

“Hey, Mr. A-Vee,” he said, turning to Frick. “We gonna have movies of this glorious game tomorrow?”

“I’ll work all night,” Lee promised. A-Vee for Audio-Visual was almost everyone’s nickname for Lee.

“You hear that, guys,” Coach shouted. “Lee is going to put in an all-nighter so we can watch ourselves tomorrow while we eat pizza and wings!”

Everyone cheered! Lee blushed. He didn’t usually see so much enthusiasm for what he did. I grinned at him, and his blush went up into his blond hair and down under his shirt. I had to laugh.

“But!” Said Coach. “But we have to win! No celebrations without a win, and no pizza without a celebration!”

There was a lot of raucous noise after that, and Coach yelling, “I mean it! No pizza without a win!”

The same guy as before, Simon, the left guard, shouted, “No worries, Coach. We got this! We give the ball to Pete, and the little guy runs their legs off!”

General laughter at that, and embarrassment from me. I couldn’t blush as brightly as someone pale like Lee, but I knew my face was red as we gathered in a huddle to chant, “Rah! Lions!” before we ran back out on the field.

The cheer squad had pumped up the crowd, and we got a huge wave of clapping and cheering as we took the field. Megan turned around and waved at me, and I waved back. Then Joanna waved—in a very girly way with her wrist bent and fingers flapping. I pulled my hand down quick and glared at her.

Before I could do more, Coach Wilson called me aside and leaned in close so I could hear him over the crowd. “We’re kicking off this half. They always have that Ginger kid return kickoffs and punts.”

“Number 17, just like….”

He interrupted, waving a hand toward the ‘Dogs. “Yeah, he’s their right halfback, too. They’ll probably try to make a wedge around him like we do for you.”

“Huh,” I said. I was beginning to think I knew what was coming.

“You’re fast, Pete,” Coach said. I nodded, like we both knew that, and it didn’t need saying.

He finished, and it was just what I expected. “I want you to get downfield there as fast as you can, before their big guys can shield him. Get in there and take him out, before he can bring the ball to us.” He gave me a grim look.

I nodded to show I understood what he was asking me to do. “Nothing dirty, just a clean hit,” I said to make it plain.

He gave one sharp nod. “He’s probably the only guy in the league who could outrun you. Longer legs.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and we said nothing more.

“What did coach want with you?” asked Dave as we took our places.

I shrugged. “Just a pep talk.”

Dave grinned a little sideways. “You were looking like something was bothering you last half of the second quarter. Girlfriend trouble?”

I shook my head. “Not my girlfriend.” He laughed as if that were a witty thing to say. I had no idea why he thought that was funny. Some guys just laugh to hear their heads rattle.

Our best kicker was Jake. Unlike some teams, we didn’t have a specialist from Mexico or someplace where they played soccer. I guess I hadn’t been paying attention, but there Jake was on the field, and now I remembered seeing Coach Pasco cutting the bandage off his hand. I scowled at him, but he just grinned.

You don’t need your hands to do a kickoff, but what if he ended up having to make a tackle? I lined up in my position, just left of the kicker’s lane. I shifted my glare downfield, trying to pick out my ‘Dog, number 17. There he was, mirroring my set-up midfield.

I waited for the kick. I intended to get to him quick and hit him hard, as soon as he had the ball. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I would be thinking of Joanna when I made the tackle. I needed the edge of mean that thought gave me.