The senior popped a bubble. "Football's out on the main field. Roster is still open for a few more days. Swimming is mostly a spring sport for competitions, but since it's late summer and still hot, the pool is open for casual conditioning." The senior lazily handed over a printed sheet of paper. "Swim conditioning is only one day a week right now. Football is everyday."
I leaned over Alex's shoulder to look at the paper.
Perfect, I thought. Swimming only being one day a week meant it wasn't a huge commitment. I could just go there in my spare time to float around and build some shoulder stamina. Football, on the other hand, was the main event.
"Football it is," I declared, tapping the paper. "It's a good way to build some mass before winter." Plus, if I played my cards right, I could secure a position like punter or third-string safety, where I'd spend eighty percent of the game safely sitting on the bench.
I turned to Alex, giving her an appreciative nod. "Alright, I've got it from here. You can go ahead and head home. Thanks for helping me navigate, tour guide."
I turned my back and started walking toward the glass double doors that led out to the football field. Out on the bright green turf, I could already see a bunch of guys in practice gear running drills. I figured I would just head straight to the club office near the field house and register.
But as I walked, I noticed a second set of footsteps echoing behind me.
I stopped and looked back. Alex was following right behind me. She had flipped open her phone and was pressing it to her ear.
"Hey, Mom," Alex said into the phone. "Yeah, school's out. Listen, Luke is joining the football team... Yes, I'm serious... I know, it's a miracle... Anyway, don't pick us up now. Come by later after his club activities are done."
She listened for a second, rolled her eyes, and said, "Yes, Mom, I'll make sure he doesn't drink water from the puddles. Bye."
She snapped the phone shut and looked up at me with a perfectly innocent expression.
I was entirely confused. "Wait, but how will you get home? Are you taking the bus?"
Alex smiled. It wasn't her usual sarcastic smirk; it was a bright, determined smile. "No, I'm not taking the bus. I'm going to stay right here and watch until you finish your practice."
My eye twitched for the second time that day.
Oh. She was actually serious. Her threat about monitoring me wasn't just empty air. She was fundamentally so bothered by the mystery of my sudden intelligence that she was willing to sacrifice her precious reading time just to keep an eye on me.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Well... whatever. Do what you want. But you're just going to get incredibly bored watching a bunch of sweaty guys run in circles."
"I brought a book," she hummed happily, patting her heavy backpack. "I'll manage."
We reached the small, cinderblock building right at the edge of the field that served as the football club office.
"I'll be right over there on the bleachers," Alex pointed toward the metal stands overlooking the field. "Go get 'em, tiger."
I just nodded, shaking my head slightly as I pushed open the door to the office.
The inside smelled like deep heat muscle rub and old leather. A burly man with a clipboard was sitting behind a desk. After a few minutes of paperwork, signing away my soul to the middle school athletic department, the formalities were done.
"Alright, Dunphy," the man grunted, handing me a folded practice jersey—a slightly faded, oversized mesh shirt with the number 42 on it. "Here's the deal. Mandatory practices are an hour in the mornings before the first bell, and half after school in the afternoons. You miss a practice, you run laps. You run laps, you throw up. Got it?"
My heart shattered into a million lazy pieces.
Morning practices? I had to wake up earlier?
"Understood, sir," I lied smoothly, while internally weeping for my lost hours of sleep.
"Locker room is down the hall. Get changed. Coach Miller is out on the field running the defense. Report to him."
I walked out of the office and headed down the narrow hallway to the boys' locker room. I found an empty locker, shoved my blue backpack inside, and quickly changed out of my hoodie and jeans. I pulled on a pair of athletic shorts I had brought in my bag, laced up my sneakers, and threw the oversized mesh jersey over my t-shirt.
I looked at myself in the cracked mirror above the sinks. I looked like a completely average kid about to get destroyed by a linebacker. But inside, I had the tactical mind of an adult and the motivation of a guy who just wanted to survive so he could go home and play games.
I pushed through the heavy metal doors and stepped out into the late afternoon sun.
The heat radiating off the artificial turf was intense. Whistles were blowing, players were grunting, and the chaotic energy of a football practice hit me like a wall.
I scanned the bleachers and immediately spotted Alex. She was sitting on the bottom row, her massive book open on her lap, but her eyes were fixed squarely on me. She gave me a small, mocking wave.
I rolled my shoulders, jogging lightly over to the center of the field where a tall, broad-shouldered man with a whistle around his neck was barking orders.
"Hustle! Hustle! Drive those legs!"
I jogged up to him and came to a stop. "Excuse me, Coach Miller?"
The coach stopped yelling and turned around, looking down at me from beneath the brim of his baseball cap. He looked at my fresh jersey and my lack of pads.
"You the new walk-on? Dunphy?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel.
"Yes, Coach."
"Alright, Dunphy. No time to baby you," Coach Miller barked, pointing a thick finger toward a group of guys lining up near the thirty-yard line. "Get over there. Introduce yourself to the team, and join the rotation. Let's see what you've got!"