Something was off.
I couldn’t put my finger on it that morning as I dressed and prepared for our game against the Rhode Island Trojans. Warm-ups felt solid, I was just as bendy as ever in stretching, and my kicks soared with ease through the posts every time during pre-game drills.
But there was this low hum buzzing through my veins, an unsettling vibration that muted my hearing and made me feel like I was watching the entire game underwater. Even the roar of the crowd was dulled as they chanted our fight song, rooting us on for another win.
I tried to ignore it as their team kicked the ball downfield to Zeke, who caught it and got pummeled after a short, eight-yard gain. Still, offense found the way to connect, converting on third down multiple times until we made it into the end zone.
Touchdown.
The stands erupted in celebration, and like a robot on an automatic setting, I put my helmet on and jogged out for the extra point kick.
That’s when I knew something was really off.
Where my hands were usually steady, my heartbeat reposed and breath long and slow, I found all the opposite happening as I lined up for the kick. My body trembled, sips of shallow air all I could find, and as I jogged toward the ball, I knew before I made contact that it was all wrong.
I somehow made decent contact at the last second, but it was too late, the kick off-center, and the ball went sailing two feet to the left of the left goal post.
I stood there for what felt like ten years, but I knew was only a split second before I jogged toward the sideline, trying to ignore the disappointed gasp from the crowd. Coach Aarons tapped me on the helmet before I took it off.
“It’s alright,” he said. “You’ve got the next one.”
I nodded, setting my helmet on one of the metal benches before I went straight for the water station.
As I did, I felt like I had the plague.
My first bad kick, and none of the other players would look at me. They avoided eye contact as I jogged past them, no words of encouragement — not that I should expect them. This was football, after all. This was college football.
I needed to get my own shit together.
Our special teams defense jogged out on the field for the punt, along with Shay Holmes, who landed a beautiful kick that put the Trojans starting at their eight-yard line.
And the game went on.
Both team defenses played tough, holding the score at six-zero until just before the half when the Trojans finally managed to sneak into our end zone. We went into the locker room down by one point.
The one point I missed.
I was quiet as we got re-taped and ready for the second half, eyes on my fingers clasped together between my bouncing knees.
Come on, Novo. Head in the game. Shake it off… whatever it is.
When I glanced up as Coach signaled for us to head back out, I caught Zeke staring at me.
He frowned, asking without a word if I was okay. I just shook my head in warning for him to leave it alone, to leave me alone. His words from the library last night were already too itchy under my skin.
I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong but… you seem a little stressed.
The memory made me grind my teeth, and I closed my eyes on an exhale, blowing it off.
If I was going to focus, I needed absolutely zero distraction.
The third quarter started just like the first for us, defense stopping their advance followed immediately by our offense connecting on each drive and scoring a touchdown.
This time, I jogged out and landed the kick with my gut tied up in the fiercest of knots as I watched the ball sail through.
I eased a bit going back to a sideline that greeted me with claps on my shoulders and atta girls that made me feel like I redeemed myself.
But by the end of the fourth quarter, the Trojans had made it down far enough for two solid field goals and the game was tied.
So we went into our first overtime of the season.
“Alright, boys, let’s go! This is it! Our house! Our win!” Clay said, running up and down the sideline and butting helmets with everyone who would let him as he passed.
I stayed silent, focused, and limber, stretching and keeping warm off to the side.
Holden jogged out onto the field for the coin toss, and thankfully, we won it. He elected for us to play defense first, and just like that, overtime started.
It was different than I was used to in high school. In college, the opposing team started at our twenty-five-yard line, one possession to score. Our defense held strong, though, and nearly intercepted the ball before forcing a kick.
They made it, and then it was our turn to answer.
I watched with my heart hammering in my ears as Holden led the offense in a tight drive. Leo ran the ball like a machine, but their defense was just as tough as ours, and on a third down I was sure we would convert, Holden was run down and sacked in the backfield.
It was a loss of nine, fourth down and twelve to get the first.
I knew before Coach told me that I was going in.
I pulled on my helmet, jogging out onto the field with that same uneasy presence that had been simmering all game.
Blake eyed me through his face mask as we lined up. “You’ve got this, Novo,” he promised, just like he had that day in practice before I secured my spot on the chart.
I nodded, lining up everything just how I needed it before I angled back and got into position.
It’s just a thirty-one-yard kick. You can do that all day long. You can do that in your sleep.
I loosened a breath as the ball was snapped, and then as if in slow motion, I jogged toward where Blake waited for the ball.
A breath, he caught it.
A skip, he positioned it.
A heartbeat, I kicked it.
And then I watched with every other person in that stadium with bated breath as the ball went sailing up, up, up…
And too far left.
Again.
It must have skimmed the post. It must have left a brown skid mark as it passed because it was so close to passing in.
But it didn’t.
The small section of Rhode Island students in the stands went nuts, their team exploding off the sideline in celebration as I stood staring at the post in disbelief.
“Come on,” someone said to me as they passed, trying to tug me off the field, but I was glued to the spot.
I missed.
I missed, and we lost.
We lost, and it was all my fault.
I should have heeded the warning my teammate tried to give me, because in the next instant, a camera was in my face along with a woman smiling too brightly for my taste as she tried to get my first reaction on the muffed kick.
I swallowed, blinking, trying to remember what they taught us in media training.
Say something. Say it was a hard-fought game and you’re proud of your team. Say you’re disappointed in your performance but know it was just a bad game and you’ll get the next kick. Say… anything.
But I couldn’t.
I knew my face was white as a ghost as I declined to comment and jogged off the field, maneuvering between my teammates and somehow managing to shake hands with a few members of the opposing team before I finally ducked inside the locker room.
No one looked at me as they joined me one by one, not until Holden jogged in and stopped right in front of me. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Okay? We all could have played better.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kyle muttered.
Holden didn’t have to raise his voice when he turned on Kyle and said, “I’ll speak for all of us, since I’m the captain. And if I recall correctly, you missed not one, but two receptions when the ball was well in range. The last time it hit you in the chest, for Christ’s sake, and could have made the difference in that last drive before OT.”
Kyle clamped his mouth shut, but he didn’t eye me with any less disdain as he sulked off to his locker and threw his helmet so hard it made me shutter at the sound of it hitting the metal.
“We win as a team, we lose as a team,” Holden said loud enough for everyone to hear. “This isn’t one person’s fault. If you’re thinking that, I challenge you to reflect on your own game tonight and try to tell me you played perfectly.”
No one argued, the locker room quiet save for the sound of cleats on the tile and helmets hitting metal and jerseys being peeled off.
Coach Sanders came in next, sniffing as he stood at the center of the locker room and thought of what to say. Holden gave me a sympathetic smile, squeezing my shoulder one last time before he left me alone.
But he couldn’t make me feel any less like a failure.
No one could.
We lost.
We lost, and it was all because of me.
Zeke
“Tough loss, son,” Dad said, tucking me under his arm for a brief half-hug before I was swallowed up in a crushing one by Mom.
“But you had a killer return in the second!” She pulled back, sticking her tongue out as she punched the air this way and that like she was Ali. “Juked ’em every time. They couldn’t catch you!”
I smiled, dropping my bag at my feet. “Thanks, Mom.”
Dad pulled out his phone, texting someone about something — my guess was it was work related, since the man didn’t know how not to work. If they allowed laptops in the stadium, he likely would have had his perched on his lap, sending emails in-between plays.
I admired that in so many ways, his work ethic — Mom’s, too. They both knew that it took time, dedication, and persistence to make something happen. They’d instilled that in me from the time I could understand English.
But when you had two seemingly perfect parents who had higher than high standards for what they expected out of you, it was tough to face them after a loss.
“What happened with Riley?” Dad asked, tucking his phone away and meeting my gaze again. His eyes were the same as mine, and I saw more and more every day how much I favored him. I had his nose, his body-build, even the shape of his jaw — especially as I matured.
But I had Mom’s smile, and I loved that maybe the most.
“She had a rough game,” I answered, glancing in the direction of the athletic dorms like I could see through trees and buildings and into her room. I knew she was there, likely sulking or beating herself up for something that happens to all of us.
“I’ll say. Cracked like a fragile little egg out there, didn’t she?” He shook his head. “Unacceptable. My bet is Coach will be benching her. At least, he should be.”
I gaped. “Dad.”
“What? She’s in college now. This isn’t some cute high school stunt for a girl trying to pay homage to her brother. Her failures have real consequences here.”
My jaw still hung open, though I shouldn’t have been surprised. If it were me who made what he believed to be the game-losing mistake, things would be a lot uglier right now.
“She didn’t fail, Ken,” Mom said, giving Dad a look that said more than her words — one I translated to be nice. “And I’m sure she’s punishing herself enough for everyone.”
“She should be,” Dad retorted with a shrug. “It was an embarrassment.”
My nose flared, and I had to look at the ground and dig my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from popping off at my father. It wouldn’t do me any good, nor would he actually listen to me.
It was his way or the highway. He was right and everyone else was just yet to see it if they didn’t already agree with him.
“Honestly, I don’t know how she made it to this level,” Dad continued when Mom and I stayed silent. “I love the girl, you both know that. But this is football. I mean, you and Gavin started when you were three years old. She really expected to come in as a high schooler and be successful?”
“She got the same scholarship I did,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but… not for the same reasons.”
My teeth clenched so tightly I saw stars. “You know she played with us growing up, too, right? She was in the yard with us every day, kicking and passing and catching just like us.”
Dad arched a brow. “If you can’t see by her performance today that—”
Mom elbowed him, her eyes brightening as she looked somewhere behind me. I turned to find Gavin wheeling his chair toward us across the parking lot, a timid grin on his face.
“Gavin!” Mom bent to wrap him in a hug as soon as he joined us, and Dad reached out to shake his hand. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! How is everything?”
“Peachy as always, Mrs. Collins,” Gavin answered, but his eyes were wary as he tipped a chin at me. “Hey, I know you’re probably beat from the game but… can I talk to you a sec?”
“Of course.” I turned back to my parents, and before I could even excuse myself, Dad waved me off.
“We need to get running, anyway. Shop opens early — even on Sunday.” He winked at me with a wide smile that told me that was something he was proud of, that he worked seven days a week. “You get some sleep, too, okay? No partying. You don’t get to party after a loss.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And send me some videos from drills this week. I want to see what they’re having you run,” he added.
“Yes, sir,” I said again, but I knew already that wouldn’t be happening. Not only because Coach would be pissed if I let my parents override anything he was doing, but because I wasn’t about to pull a Kyle Robbins and film myself.
With a kiss on Mom’s cheek and another half-hug from Dad, they ducked inside their SUV and pulled out, leaving me and Gavin alone.
“You good?” I asked.
“As good as I can be after that, I guess.” He frowned. “I took Riley to get ice cream, but… I don’t know, man. Something’s off with her. I know she blames herself for the loss, but it feels heavier than that.”
I swallowed. “I’ll check in on her, figure out what’s going on.”
Gavin nodded. “Thanks, man. I need to get across town for practice, but it killed me to leave her like that.”
“She’ll be okay,” I promised him — and I felt comfortable making that promise because I knew Riley enough to know nothing could keep her down.
Gavin nodded, letting out a long sigh. “I’m glad she has you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.
Because I was a thousand percent sure Riley didn’t feel the same.
“What about you,” Gavin asked next. “Are you good?”
He nodded to where my parents had just stood, and I grabbed the back of my neck on a shrug.
“Fine. You know how it is.”
“I do,” Gavin said, his eyes telling me more than words that that statement was true. “They love you. That’s why they push.”
“I know.”
And I did. I was thankful for everything they’d sacrificed for me, for everything they saw in me from a young age and encouraged me to pursue — despite test scores and guidance counselors that told them I would struggle.
I wouldn’t be here without them.
“You’re doing great, Zeke,” Gavin said, snapping me back to the present. He waited until I looked at him to continue. “As a teammate, as a friend, and as a student.”
I snorted a laugh at that last part.
“I’m serious,” he said, frowning until I dropped the goofy grin. “I’m proud of you.”
Gavin knew better than anyone how much hearing those words meant to me. I could barely nod in acknowledgement before it felt too uncomfortable, foreign and unnatural, like something I needed to squirm away from.
“I’m going to head out,” I said. “I’m beat. You got a ride to practice?”
“Yeah, Ralphy’s brother is picking me up. Games at your place later this week?”
I clapped his hand when he held it out. “Only if you wanna get beat like always.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky your stats for NBU don’t mirror the ones you have for Madden.”
He offered one last wave over his shoulder as he turned and wheeled toward the end of the parking lot, and I watched him the whole way, not shying away from the way my chest ached to watch him. I waited until the van pulled up, until Ralphy’s brother helped him out of his chair and into the car before loading his chair in the back.
Gavin was all smiles and laughs, likely already cracking jokes to his friends inside the van before the door slid shut and the van pulled away.
He was happy.
He was okay.
He’d forgiven me long ago.
I wondered how long it would be until I would be able to do the same.
