I find this hard to believe. He doesn’t look like a football player. He’s not big enough. Too skinny.
“JV.”
Junior varsity. Maybe he’s making this up. “What position do you play?”
He shakes out the match and lets it fall to the ground. Thin tendrils of smoke rise from it before disappearing into the air. “Quarterback.”
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
Forget this boy. Forget JT too. They’re all quarterbacks like my dad. Meaning they all want to get close to me because of my dad.
Never because of me.
Without another word, I turn and walk away, praying I never have to talk to him again.
I didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t ask mine, but he knew who I was.
Eventually, I’d know who he was too.
Sophomore Year
Two
I’m spying. I’m good at it, better than my brother Jake, who crashes through a room even if there’s nothing to bump into, and then there’s my little sister, who has the biggest mouth EVER. Ava is eleven and a total pain in my ass. Mom says it’s because she looks up to me, that’s why Ava follows me everywhere.
Whatever. She’s always getting in my business, digging through my room, going through my makeup, my face wash, my freaking tampons. Trying to steal my clothes, even though she’s smaller than me. It’s annoying.
She’s annoying.
And then there’s the baby of the family, Beck. He’s six, and he looks just like my dad, even more so than Jake. As in, Beck’s the actual spitting image of my father when he was the same age, and that melts our mom’s heart. Combine that with him being the youngest, and he has Mom wrapped tight around his dirty little finger.
His finger is dirty because he’s the boy-est boy of all boys. When we moved to this house in the mountains, Beck’s heart filled with absolute joy over the fact that he had acres of land to explore. He’s always digging up something, even old animal bones, which is freaky. Falling and hurting himself is part of Beck’s daily life—he broke his arm last year and it didn’t even faze him, though I thought Dad was gonna flip out. Can’t wreck his throwing arm, you know.
What Beck really is, is totally lovable. Even I can admit that.
I’m veering off topic when I should be listening to what my dad is saying to my mom. They’re having a big discussion, and I’m praying it has nothing to do with me.
“…I thought we moved up here to get away from it all. So we could just focus on our family and nothing else,” Mom says, sounding mad.
Wait, not mad. Just irritated. And I rarely hear her sound like that toward Dad.
“I know. And this shouldn’t take too much time away from us,” he says, making Mom snort.
“Drew, be real right now. You’ll throw yourself into this project. You will become the best offensive coordinator that high school has ever seen. Do they not realize how lucky they are that you’re even considering this? You played for the NFL! You won two Super Bowls! You were a commentator on TV!”
“Yeah, and that’s all behind me now. What else am I going to do with my time?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe spend it with me and the kids?”
Dad just totally stepped in it.
“They’re all in school. Even Beck. And now his time is tied up with football practice just like his brother,” Dad points out.
Beck is in youth football, as is Jacob. Beck’s on the peewee team and Jake’s on the senior team since he’s in the eighth grade. Next year he’ll be at the high school with me, and honestly?
I’m not looking forward to it.
“If you’re going to coach anyone, coach Jake’s team. He’s your son,” Mom stresses. “He needs you.”
“He doesn’t. My son is amazing. So is his team.” The sincerity in Dad’s voice rings true. Jake is an amazing football player, even I can admit that. And their team will most likely win their league championship. “The high school needs me more. They’re so close to being good, but they’re not quite there yet. Besides, Jake will be at the high school next year,” Dad points out.
“And you’ll be coaching the varsity team.”
“It’ll bleed over into the JV team and you know it. Come on, babe.” I’m not looking at them, but I can tell he just pulled her into his arms. My parents are very affectionate with each other. Sometimes almost too affectionate, like when they kiss and stuff in front of us.
It’s gross. Who wants to see their parents act like that? They’re so old.
“Does this mean I have to go to every game?” Mom asks on a sigh.
Look at how easily she gives in to him. I’m surprised. She’s always trying to protect his time, especially since he retired.
“Aren’t you already going to be at every game because of Autumn?” he asks.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “True.”
There’s no more talking, which tells me Dad convinced her it was a good idea and now they’re making out like teenagers.
And that’s my cue to leave.
I slip down the hall in pure stealth mode, back in my room with the door closed in seconds. Mom has to go to the games because now they’re my games too.
I made the cheer team last spring. After fumbling around the first month of my freshman year like a lost little puppy, I actually made friends. Lots of friends. A couple of them were on the cheer team and they convinced me to try out for next year with them. So I did.
And I made it.
Doing dance for years helped, I’m sure. The fact that my dad is a football legend has nothing to do with it, which feels really good. For once I did something on my own, and I like that. I think Dad’s shadow hangs over Jake, so he always has this need to prove himself to everyone he meets. I’m guessing Beck will end up the same way, though maybe not. That kid has major swagger and he’s in the freaking third grade.
Within minutes of me being back in my room, there’s a knock, and then it’s my dad walking through the door, a barely there smile curling his lips.
I sit up straight on my bed, blinking up at him. If you didn’t know him at all, you’d say he was intimidating. He’s big. Tall and broad with dark hair and laser-focused blue eyes. Eyes that see everything, which is a little scary sometimes. My parents always say you can’t pull anything over on them. They’ve seen and done it all. Stuff we couldn’t begin to comprehend, Mom always adds, almost like it’s a threat.
I don’t know exactly what they mean, but I believe them. They scare me. And not because they abuse me or anything like that. I love my parents so much, and I know they love me too, but I’m secretly terrified I’ll disappoint them, and that is the worst.
We remained in San Francisco for a few years after my dad retired from the NFL, and he’s still considered a celebrity there. He couldn’t escape the fame, even though he wanted to. Living in such a big city, my parents eventually got tired of it, so they decided to pick up and move us somewhere quieter. A smaller town with a good school district and not as much traffic and crime.
We may have moved to this small town to get away from everything, but everyone who lives here knows who my dad is, especially all the boys at my school. Of course, they do.