“You all wanted me to be with a nice guy.”
“Except that you don’t love him. Or did I misinterpret the way you looked at Chase? I understand you were all hyped up at Homecoming, feeling like a big shot, and you were pissed when he took the crown to Lacey, but if the tables were turned and you had been sick the night you won, wouldn’t you have wanted your date to do that for you? Simply out of respect? All the girls—and I mean, every. Single. One—was swooning about it at school. How sweet it was of him. But you got pissed and then decided to get even. Enter Mr. Too-Nice-For-You Guy.”
“You’re not being fair to me, Damon. Chase and I had an agreement. Friends with benefits. No commitment. And he was still dating Lacey, so why is that okay for him but not for me?”
“It’s different because you know he loves you. And so does Lacey for that matter. But you brought this guy home to flaunt him in Chase’s face.”
“I actually didn’t. I gotta go, Damon.”
“No, you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t say anything to you about this at Thanksgiving. Chase was nice to the guy. I was nice to the guy. Everyone was nice to the guy. But I’m done being quiet now because you just screwed with my future. The state championship game is this weekend, and eleven days later, we are going to sign our National Letters of Intent. Which is a legal commitment to spend our first year at that college. Our plan was to go to Nebraska.”
“And you should sign with them regardless of what my relationship with Chase is.”
“Yeah, well, guess what, Dani. Those plans got changed. Chase says he can’t do it. He can’t go there. Which means neither am I. And it really sucks because it’s what we’ve both dreamed about since we were kids.”
“Wait, you’re not committing to Nebraska? But what happened—”
“You happened. Your plan to make Chase jealous or piss him off or whatever your little deal was has become a big deal. I hope you’re happy, Devaney.”
“I don’t—”
“I know, sis. And that’s the problem.”
“Damon.”
“What?”
“I broke up with Eddie right after the game on Friday.”
“Why?”
“Because if I really cared about him, I wouldn’t have kissed Chase in the laundry room. He took it well. Told me it was a bummer. That he loved my family and to tell you and Chase that if you ever want to hang out, are considering joining a frat next year, or just need a place to party, to let him know. He seemed fairly unfazed by the whole thing.”
“Why in the world haven’t you told Chase?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“I don’t want to hurt him again. And I need to figure some things out.”
“Well, I hope to hell that you can do that fast. There isn’t much time.”
When he ends the call, I do something that I started during rush week but never finished. I watch the video of that day.
All of it.
From start to finish.
Then, I watch it again.
And I realize something important.
Something that makes all the difference in the world.
Friday, December 6th
Sometime is now.
Chase
After dinner with my family, I excuse myself to go to my room. I want to watch some game film of the opponent we’ll face tomorrow in the state championship game.
I barely get the video started when Dani walks in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shocked.
She stands up straight and tall, looking serious. “I want to explain why I did what I did that day on the field with Hunter because it got all mixed up.”
“It’s in the past, Dani. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“So are your games, but you still watch film of them, right?” she counters.
“Uh, yeah, I guess, but that’s so I can learn.”
“Exactly. And that’s why you and I are going to watch the video of that day together. I want to explain to you what I was thinking and why I said what I did.”
“The last thing I want to do is relive that day,” I say.
“You have to. That’s exactly how it is when you have a bad game. You don’t want to watch the proof of your suckage, but you do. And you, Chase, are an athlete, not just a quarterback. You’ve played soccer, tried hockey, you golf, play baseball, wakeboard, water ski, run track, and”—she smirks—“have even been known to play some sand volleyball.”
I sigh and roll my eyes at her, clearly remembering our conversation when she was cockblocking me that summer. “Do you have a point?”
“I do,” she says, and she’s smiling.
Why is she smiling?
“When you’re out there with the ball in your hand and your offensive line gives you time to make the play, there’s nothing to affect you; you perform at your peak. Differently than you would if you had to, say, scramble or you got a bad snap. I mean, who wouldn’t panic a little when a big lineman or a defensive end has one goal, which is to put you on the ground and make it sting a little?”
“And?”
“And when those things happen, you forget your perfect passing motion, you become the shortstop and throw it sidearm, you throw off your back foot. Sometimes, you’re so busy looking for a receiver that you don’t see that you’re open for the run. So, what do you do to get better, Chase?”
“Practice?”
“No, you watch film to figure out why you missed the wide-open guy downfield. You watch film to see why you threw an interception. And all I’m asking is for you to allow me to show you a different kind of film. One that didn’t just affect some game, but our lives. I know we’ve done our best to hide it from everyone. I know we’ve been cordial and spent time together with our families. I know that all those times, I put on a smile for everyone while my heart felt like it was breaking over and over again. We lost the big game, Chase, because I fumbled the ball at the end. Although watching the film did me some good because I realized just like in all games and relationships, it’s never one play that causes a loss. It’s a team effort. It’s a bunch of little mistakes. And I thought if I gave you a play-by-play of what I did, told you exactly what I was thinking at the time, what I was feeling, then maybe it might help us become friends again. For real this time.”
“Fine. I’ll watch it sometime,” I say noncommittally.
She grabs my hand and grins at me way too much, like she used to, and for a moment, I can pretend that things between us are normal.
“Sometime is now,” she says, leading me over to her house and down to their movie room, where it becomes very obvious she knew I’d agree to this.
Sometimes, I think I’d agree to anything she asked me.
But that day.
On the field.
When push came to shove, when she should have taken my hand and walked away with me, when we should have shown everyone.
It’s funny how life—just like a game—becomes a series of decisions, a series of consequences that follow those decisions, and how they push you down a path. For better or worse.