And while we wait, the three of them teach me about football. And I try my best not to connect everything I hear back to Silas.
Dallas begins: “So each team has offensive players and defensive players. Obviously, the offense’s goal is to score, and the defense’s goal is to stop the other team from scoring.”
“I think you can skip past the commonsense stuff. I’m not completely hopeless. Just tell me how to know when things are going well and when they aren’t.”
“Okay. Well, on offense, the team has four chances, which are called downs, to either score or move ten yards from their starting point, which clears the slate and lets them start over again with four more downs. That’s called getting a first down. So, ideally, when we’re on offense, we’ll continue to move the ball enough to keep starting over until we’re within scoring range and can run or throw the ball in the end zone. Defensively, the goal is to stop the other team from getting first downs, and we want to do it as far away from their end zone as possible. Following me?”
“I think so. So, Carson is the quarterback, right? He kind of leads the offense?”
“You got it,” Dallas says.
Stella cuts in then: “Silas is a running back. He’s on offense, too.” I try not to wince at his name or look too eager. I think Stella is trying to get us back together because she keeps not-so-casually slipping his name into conversation.
Matt tags on: “If Coach Cole sticks to his game from last year, they’ll be in shotgun with Silas, or I guess Silas’s replacement, positioned by Carson ready to either take a handoff or block for him.”
I hold up my hands. “Whoa. Whoa.”
Stella rolls her eyes. “Shotgun? Really? You thought she’d follow that?”
“Fine. Silas or some running back will take the ball on occasion, and he either has to be fast enough to run through open holes in the defense before they catch him, or he has to be strong enough to run over the people in his way.”
“Okay. Fast. Strong. Gotcha. What about the other positions?”
I want to know about Silas. I do. But I can only handle it in small doses.
They keep going, explaining the different positions and their purposes, and Stella helps me connect the people I know to their spots on the team.
“Wide receivers are typically the flashy guys. They get the big, exciting plays and catch the ball for bigger advances than Silas or Carson can usually get running. That is, if they actually manage to catch the ball. One guess which show-off you know is a wide receiver.”
“Torres?”
“Ding ding! We have a winner, folks.”
Dallas cuts in: “He’s also one of the idiots who does his own little dance when he scores a touchdown.”
“Hey,” Matt says. “I like touchdown dances.”
I snort. “You would.”
He holds up his hands. “I will not feel guilty for enjoying the wonders of tight football pants. I also enjoy the way the cheerleaders jump up and down when we score. All in all, I’m a big fan of when we score.”
Stella stands and goes to sit on the other side of Matt. “I’m watching the game with this guy. He, at least, knows how to enjoy the sport.”
Dallas rolls her eyes.
“You don’t like the game, right? But you come for Carson? And your dad?”
She says, “I’m getting used to it again. I’ll like it more once fall rolls in and it’s not so freaking hot.”
I agree with her there. I keep looking at my watch, thinking about how long the game is going to be, and considering buying one of those nerdy handheld fans with a water spray that they were selling at the souvenir booths on our way in.
Time passes a little faster once the game starts. I follow the group’s lead and hold up my hand in a claw shape and scream as the other team runs and kicks the ball to us. Dallas keeps up a running commentary for me, pointing out Carson as one of the big guys on the line tosses the ball back to him. In the beginning, it goes well. Torres and Brookes both make a catch each for back-to-back first downs.
(I feel so accomplished when I say “first down” out loud and actually know what I’m talking about.)
Then Carson runs the ball instead of passing, and the student section around us goes crazy. I see a few of the half-naked, painted guys down on the front row, screaming at the top of their lungs.
They start chanting something about bleeding Rusk red (which ick), but for a little while, I manage not to think about Silas, and I just have fun with some new friends.
Then on the next play Carson hands off to a shorter black guy, and he gets laid out when he tries to run through a hole. People around me wince and groan and I ask, “What? Was that bad?”
Dallas explains. “You know at the start of the play how the guy tosses the ball back to Carson?”
“Yeah.”
“Because they’re tossing the ball backward, they’re losing yards, which usually isn’t that big a deal as long as they make it past the starting point during the play.”
“And we didn’t that time?”
“No, we didn’t. So we essentially just moved backward instead of forward, so now we have to get more than ten yards for a first down.”
Ah. Hence the groans.
Stella leans around Matt to say, “And the dude who just choked is Keyon Williams. He’s a freshman, and Silas’s replacement.”
For the first time, my eyes find Silas standing on the sidelines. He’s not dressed in his uniform like the rest of the players, so he’s not hidden behind pads and a helmet. And my gaze fixes on him, unable to look away, even when another play goes badly and Matt curses next to me.
A few minutes later, I pull my eyes away to watch the game, but they keep going back.
Silas’s replacement gets one decent run, but the four after that are just like his first. They stop giving him the ball. Carson either runs it himself or throws it. But the defense seems to be coming down harder on him now that it’s clear Keyon isn’t as much of a threat. It’s common sense, really. The defense focuses their effort on the players who are statistically the most likely to cause damage.
And as things get worse and worse, I watch Silas pace on the sidelines. He runs his hand through his hair again and again each time the offense fails.
With three minutes left in the game and Rusk behind by thirteen, people start streaming toward the exits. We stay, along with the painted guys and a few more pockets of people in the student section. Stella plops down on the bleacher with a groan. Dallas stays standing, biting one of her fingernails and flicking her gaze back and forth between Carson and her father.