“It’s been a difficult few weeks what with losing Coach Hill,” Blaine said. “It’s not unusual that we’d suffer a setback…” He droned on, keeping up pretenses by saying a lot of nothing.
Finally, Gabe took the floor, but he didn’t talk right away. He sat in his wheelchair, waiting until everyone was looking at him. When Kenny could hear a faucet drip in the bathroom, he said, “How many of you think this is just a game?”
Several members of the team glanced at each other, obviously confused. Even Buzz, the new consultant, seemed surprised by the question.
“How many?” Gabe repeated more insistently.
When everyone finally figured out that he actually expected an answer, a few boys raised their hands, then a few more until everyone had a hand up, including Kenny. Somehow Kenny knew it wasn’t the answer Gabe was looking for, but it was what his mother always said, and Hannah tended to be right about things in general.
“Well, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t just a game.” Holbrook drilled the players who made up the Spartan front line with a pointed, steely gaze. “Not tonight. Why? Because life is all about the little things, the decisions we make every day. That’s what builds us into who we are.” He eyed the twins, who’d done such a halfhearted job keeping Kenny safe in the pocket. “It’s about having courage and always holding up your end. It’s about making an honest attempt. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?”
No one said anything.
“Do you understand?” Holbrook repeated.
Kenny couldn’t help nodding.
“Price, why don’t you explain it to the others.”
Kenny cleared his throat when he found everyone watching him. He didn’t like being put on the spot, especially when he felt guilty for having been tempted to fail his team. But the victorious glint in Blaine’s eye told Kenny that Blaine thought he had Holbrook by the throat, and Kenny knew he had to say something.
“This is our defining moment,” he said, thinking of Tuck. “This is where we show ourselves and each other who we really are, what we’re made of.”
“There’s no shame in losing once in a while,” Blaine said. “Oakridge is a tough op—”
“It isn’t about winning or losing,” Holbrook interrupted. “It’s about character. There are two kinds of men—strong men, who remain true to their internal compass regardless of all else; and weak men who are easily misled and wind up cheating themselves of all they can be.”
“That sounds like something I once heard Coach Hill say,” Brandon Joseph said, sitting up straighter and taking note.
Gabe’s teeth flashed in a smile. “I heard him say it too, Brandon, twenty years ago. And I know if he were here today, he’d deliver the same message. He certainly set the example, didn’t he? Coach Hill lived a life he could be proud of. So what do you think? What kind of men do you boys want to be? Will you remain true to your team, to each other, to Coach Hill and to me?”
“I will, Coach!” Dookie Howser yelled.
“Me, too!” someone else called, and the response soon turned into a chorus.
Kenny saw the twins cast each other, and Coach Blaine, an uneasy glance. Finally, Moose stood up. “I’m sorry, Coach,” he said, hanging his head. “I don’t deserve to play because I haven’t been giving you an honest effort. But I hope you’ll put me in second half and let me make it up to you.”
Blaine went beet red at the defection of his own cousin.
“No one should get past you. You’re too good, Moose,” Holbrook said and turned back to Kenny. “Kenny, you’re the team leader. What can we expect from you this half?”
Kenny met his coach’s gaze. Maybe Holbrook would be gone next year, maybe it’d mean that Kenny would never play football again. But for here and now, he was playing for a man he could respect. And he was going to walk away from this game being able to respect himself. “Leave me in, too, Coach,” he said. “You’ll get nothing but my best.”
“I believe that,” Holbrook said. “I believe you’ll all give me your best. Now get out there and show me what you’ve got.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AFTER HALFTIME, the feeling on the field was completely different, but Kenny’s job still wasn’t easy. Most of the guys on the team seemed to understand what had happened in the locker room. They seemed to be committed. But there were a few, like Sly, who didn’t care about internal compasses, respect or team loyalty—which meant those who did care had to work twice as hard.
Midway through the third quarter, the Spartans finally came within scoring range. When Lonny missed his block on third and seven, the defense rushed in. But Kenny managed to roll away from the pressure and head downfield to score the Spartan’s first touchdown. A rush of adrenaline shot through him as he saw the referee’s arms go up. But then someone flew at him, hitting him when he wasn’t expecting it. He landed hard on his left arm, and the resulting pain momentarily paralyzed him.
“Kenny, you okay?” Moose shoved the Wildcat who’d hit him out of the way.
The guy hurried off the moment he saw the size of Moose, and Kenny tried to nod, but he could scarcely breathe.
“You hurt?” Moose pressed.
Kenny had never felt so much pain in his life. But he knew he couldn’t show it. He had to stay in the game. The momentum was just beginning to shift—he wasn’t done yet.
“I’m fine,” he managed to say, but he didn’t object when Moose grabbed the front of his jersey and set him on his feet.
“Thanks,” he said, trying not to grimace.
Worry showed in Moose’s meaty face. “You don’t look good,” he said. “You’re out for the rest of the game. Maybe even next week’s game.”
Kenny scowled. “No way, man. I’m fine!”
“The hell you are.”
It wasn’t until Moose glanced at Kenny’s left arm that Kenny realized he couldn’t move it. “I throw with my other hand,” he said. “Don’t say anything to the coaches.” But he should’ve saved his breath because the stands were deathly quiet, and Owens and Blaine were already trotting out onto the field, along with the team’s trainer.
“Come on,” Kenny said from between clenched teeth, and he and Moose started for the sidelines. When they met up with the coaches, Kenny blinked the sweat out of his eyes, which felt mysteriously like tears, and tried to brush past them. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”