Emergency Quarterback Read online

  But he knew a change was coming. His class—the seventh-graders led by himself, DiMarco, Miguel, and the others—was building a tradition of winning. Last winter, Jason had been a starter for the Hudson City Middle School basketball team that won the league crown. And here they were again, undefeated in football.

  Jason was leading the league in total number of receptions (27), touchdown receptions (6), and scoring. In addition to the six touchdown catches, he’d scored on a running play and a punt return. Last night’s two-point conversion gave him fifty points for the season.

  He was the type of athlete who always made things happen. Whether it was basketball, football, or just a pickup game of hockey on the playground, he was in the center of the action. Usually he came out as a winner—he had great natural ability, and observers often commented that his performances on the field or on the court seemed effortless.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Vinnie’s number. “Hey, Mrs. DiMarco,” Jason said when she answered. “Good news or bad?”

  “Not great,” she said. “It’s not a bad break, so it should heal fine. But it’ll take a while. You want to talk to him?”

  “Yeah.”

  It was several minutes before Vinnie picked up. He sounded tired and far away.

  “How you doing?” Jason asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “We won.”

  “I heard. That’s a relief.”

  “You threw the winning touchdown pass.”

  Vinnie gave a short, grunting laugh. “I paid for it, too. As soon as I let go of the ball, I got drilled.”

  “Well, it was a good pass.”

  “Last one for this season.”

  “I know,” Jason said. “We’re dead.”

  “No you ain’t.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Wade can handle it. He started last year. He almost started this year.”

  “No way. It wasn’t even close.”

  “Closer than you think. He’s not that bad. You guys just have to work on him. He’s selfish and he plays it too safe, but he can throw the ball if the line just gives him some time.”

  “I don’t know,” Jason said. It was probably true that the team could continue winning, but the individual honors mattered to him, too. He needed to catch a lot more passes if he was going to lead the league in receiving.

  But without Vinnie throwing the ball, how many more receptions would he get? Winning the championship probably depended on that number.

  “We need you badly,” he said.

  “Ain’t gonna happen,” Vinnie said. “Just hang in there. The worst thing you could do is give up now.”

  3

  Scrambling man

  Jason jogged across the practice field Monday afternoon, out of breath from another long, fruitless sprint along the sideline. He’d been open, but Wade hadn’t even looked his way. Instead, he’d been sacked in the backfield trying to carry the ball himself.

  “Where was the pass?” Jason said to the tall, awkward quarterback as they huddled up.

  “You took too long to get open,” Wade said, looking away. “They were all over me.”

  “I’ve got my man beat,” Jason said. “Every play. Just get the ball to me.”

  “I’m in charge here,” Wade said, shaking his head. He kneeled among the offensive players. “Eighty-three,” he said, calling for a long-pass play. He glanced up at Jason, then looked straight ahead. “On three. Let’s go.”

  Jason spread out wide to the left, nearly to the sideline. Cornerback Calvin Tait took a few steps in toward Jason, then stepped back. Calvin was fast, but Jason was hard to contain.

  Wade lined up in a shotgun position, several yards back from the center. He called signals and fielded the snap, dropping back and looking toward the sideline.

  Jason sprinted out from the line and Calvin wheeled around to stay with him. The play called for Jason to simply outrun the defender, but Calvin had him covered well. So Jason gave a quick hesitation—forcing Calvin to stutter—and cut back toward the center of the field, a couple of steps in the clear.

  And here came the football, but it soared way over Jason’s head and landed on the sideline.

  Jason stood and stared at the ball. It hadn’t come close. Wade hadn’t completed a single pass to him all afternoon.

  “What was that?” he said as he got back to the huddle.

  “That was right where you were supposed to be,” Wade said sharply. “That’s the play.”

  “But I wasn’t there! You ever hear of an adjustment? Calvin was on my butt so I changed the pattern.”

  “I threw the ball where I was supposed to.”

  “This ain’t a video game! I was wide open in the middle of the field. You didn’t see me?”

  “I saw you running the wrong pattern.”

  “So you threw it anyway?”

  “I threw it where the play was designed to go.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  Miguel put his hand on Jason’s chest and stepped between him and the quarterback. “Suck it up,” Miguel said. He turned to Wade. “You made your point, okay? But don’t throw the ball away to spite your own teammate.”

  Wade just shrugged and called a play. He threw another incomplete pass, this time on the side of the field away from Jason.

  The scrimmage proceeded that way for several minutes, with the defense dominating and the offensive players beginning to squabble in the huddle even more.

  Coach Podesta had been watching quietly, letting the players try to work things out for themselves. He believed that a bit of tension and even some hot tempers in practice were not always bad things. Smart players would learn to. work together.

  But Wade was clearly not doing much of a job leading the team. Coach had hoped that, given another shot to play, Wade would be ready to overcome the ego that had thwarted him the season before.

  Eventually, Coach sent in substitutes for Jason and Sergio Guzman, the starting center.

  “What’s up?” Jason asked as he reached the sideline.

  “Start taking some snaps from Sergio,” Coach said. “I was hoping Wade could grow up, but I think I know what we have to do.”

  “You’re putting me at quarterback?” Jason asked in disbelief.

  “I want to give it a try,” Coach said. “We need a great athlete out there. A leader. Take a few practice snaps and we’ll see what you can do.”

  “I’ve never played quarterback.”

  “You know all the plays. You’ve got the skills. Let’s try it.”

  Jason took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Sergio held up a ball and gave Jason a grin. “Football,” he said, twirling the ball around. “It’s very simple. I hike the ball to you, then I get hit by that ten-ton truck named Anthony. All he wants to do is run me over, chase you down, and make you eat this little ball. You’ve got three-tenths of a second to react. Have fun.”

  Jason took several snaps. An assistant coach showed him how to hold his hands to receive the ball, how to back up in a hurry, and how to make a proper handoff to a running back.

  “Okay,” Coach Podesta said after a few minutes. “Let’s get out there.”

  Coach blew his whistle and walked onto the field with Jason and Sergio right behind him. “Take a break, Wade,” Coach said. “Fellas, we can’t afford to have only one tested quarterback, so Jason is going to be our emergency man. We’re switching to a tightly controlled scrimmage—no sacking the new QB. If you hear my whistle, stop running. That means you, Anthony.”

  “Can I give him a bear hug instead of tackling him?” Anthony asked.

  “A gentle one.”

  Coach joined the offensive players in the huddle. “Thirty-three,” he said. “That’s a handoff to the fullback between the left guard and tackle, right, Jason?”

  “Right,” Jason replied. “On two. Let’s go.”

  Coach walked away, and Jason lined up behind Sergio. “Ready. Set. Hut. Hut.” Jason
felt the ball strike his fingers, and he pulled back quickly, nearly dropping it. He had it by his fingertips, a poor grip, and he turned and held it out for fullback Jared Owen. But Jared was wider out than Jason expected, and he had to lunge to get it to him.

  The ball hit Jared’s hip and slipped to the ground. It bounced awkwardly and Jason tried to dive for it, but he was roughly pushed aside. When the whistle blew, Anthony was on top of the ball, shielding it with his large arms and shoulders.

  “Sorry,” Jason said as they huddled up.

  “Try it again,” Coach said. “Same play. Let’s get it right.”

  This time Jason took the snap cleanly and did a better job of handing off to Jared, who forced his way forward for three yards.

  Coach called a couple of pass plays, and Jason completed the second one to Lamont, a short bullet over the middle. Then he fumbled another snap, but he was able to fall on the ball just ahead of Anthony, who smothered him.

  “Those famous fingers aren’t working so good,” Anthony said as he pulled Jason to his feet.

  “I’ll get there,” Jason replied. He was nervous, but he was starting to like the new position.

  Calvin Tait had switched over to offense, taking Jason’s spot at wingback. “Let’s run that fly pattern,” Coach said. “You know it, Calvin—you’ve covered Fiorelli enough times.”

  Jason lined up in the shotgun. He took the snap and drifted toward Calvin’s side of the field, watching for just the right second to unload the pass. But Anthony was already in pursuit, and linebacker Anderson Otero was circling toward him as well. Calvin was tightly covered. This wasn’t going to work.

  Jason pivoted and ran wide around Anthony, scrambling toward the other side of the field. He was twelve yards behind the line of scrimmage, in danger of a huge loss if he was caught. But his speed carried him past the on-rushing linemen, and suddenly he was heading upfield, going wide around the end and cutting along the sideline.

  The field was clear ahead of him, but Willie Shaw was racing over from his cornerback position, and the angle between them was to Willie’s advantage. Jason upped his speed another notch, tucking in the ball and sprinting. Willie dove and Jason leaped, feeling Willie’s hand slip off his calf. Jason landed hard, caught his balance, and ran unchallenged into the end zone.

  Jason trotted back. Coach had called all of the players together, and they were standing near him or kneeling with their helmets off.

  “That’s what I was looking for,” Coach said. “Without Vinnie in there, we need to adjust in a big way. Jason hasn’t got the experience, but he’s certainly got the athleticism.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” came Wade’s voice. Everyone turned to look at him.

  “I’m the quarterback,” Wade said. “You said he was just the emergency guy.”

  “That’s right,” Coach replied.

  “Sounds like you’re planning to switch to him.”

  “I haven’t made that decision yet,” Coach said. “But Jason’s got the talent we need. Your status hasn’t changed, Wade. We need you. But we need to explore all the options. We’ve got a championship to win.”

  4

  The Starting QB

  Agroup of people were clustered near Jason’s school locker as he approached the next morning. Jason smiled as he saw why. Vinnie DiMarco was back in school—his right wrist in a heavy cast and the arm in a sling.

  Jason gently pushed through and gripped his friend’s good arm. Vinnie grinned back. He was a hard worker and always had a good attitude—win or lose. It didn’t seem fair to Jason that his buddy could get such a rotten break when they were on the verge of a title.

  “How’s the pain?” Jason asked.

  “Comes and goes. I can stand it.”

  “Bad timing, brother.”

  “Yeah. Heard you might be the backup.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Looks like it. Too bad I can’t pass to myself.”

  “At least you’d get your hands on the ball.”

  “Yeah. Wade never passes to me if he can help it.”

  Vinnie looked around before speaking. Everybody there—Anthony, Miguel, Lamont, Willie—were his allies. “Wade’s been a jerk,” Vinnie said, “but part of it was because I took away his job. And he’s jealous of you for being the star. Anyway, he’s got the job back now. So give him a chance to lead.”

  “Some leader,” Jason replied. “Wade couldn’t lead a herd of sheep.”

  The bell rang for homeroom and the boys started to leave. “Wait,” Jason said to Vinnie. “You coming to practice?”

  “Nothing else to do,” Vinnie said with a shrug. “I’ll be cheering.”

  “Can you kick?”

  Vinnie looked surprised. He thought for a moment. “I don’t think they’d let me. But maybe.” He planted his left foot and swung his right as if kicking a ball. “Feels a little awkward with this arm tied up, but I think I could do it. Maybe something short, like an extra point.”

  “That would be great.”

  Vinnie shrugged. “My parents would have a fit. Doctor probably would, too.... We’ll see.”

  Jason hustled away toward his homeroom. Vinnie was part of the new attitude and outlook he wanted so badly to bring to Hudson City sports. In Jason’s mind, Wade was a symbol of that old era of consistent losing—last season’s 2-6 record being all the evidence he needed.

  Now, with Vinnie on the sidelines, Jason would have to shoulder even more of the burden.

  Jason split the practice time at quarterback with Wade for the rest of the week, proving that he could generate the offense but also making some major errors—getting sacked for big losses, fumbling some snaps and handoffs, having passes intercepted. Wade was steady but unspectacular.

  Coach Podesta gathered the team after a light workout on Friday.

  “Big game tomorrow night,” he said. Everyone knew that.

  Coach wasted no time making the announcement they’d been anticipating. “Wade will start at quarterback,” he said. “He’s got the experience and deserves the chance.”

  Several players voiced agreement, especially the eighth-graders. Jason glanced over at Wade, who nodded his head slowly at the news, a small but triumphant smile on his lips. Jason was slightly relieved. He was much more comfortable at wingback.

  “We’ll be looking to control the ball,” Coach said. “I hope we can get our running game going and not have to rely too much on passing.”

  He paused and looked directly at Wade. “You’ve got the whole team behind you, Wade, and you’ll have every chance to lead them. But if things aren’t going well out there, we’ll reevaluate. We’ve all seen this week that Fiorelli can make big things happen at QB.”

  “Yeah—good and bad,” Wade said. “Don’t worry, Coach. I’m more than ready for this.... I should have been in there all season.”

  Coach let the remark slide. “Be at the field by five thirty tomorrow, guys,” he said. “The game’s at seven.”

  Anthony ran a finger over the old Little League team photo taped to the wall of the Fiorellis’ basement. He stopped when he found himself, kneeling next to Jason. “Man, I was a fat little kid, wasn’t I?” he said.

  “You were a fat big kid last time I looked,” Miguel remarked from the plaid couch shoved in the corner.

  Anthony smirked and grabbed his waist. There was still a small roll there, but he had become a strong, solid athlete in the past year.

  “Did you see that look on Wade’s face when Coach said he’d be starting?” Anthony asked, dropping onto the couch between Miguel and Lamont.

  It had become a ritual for many of the seventh-grade players to gather at the Fiorellis’ the night before a game. The basement was small, but there was a TV and some furniture to lounge on. Jason had tacked up posters of rock musicians and some unframed team pictures of the various YMCA and Little League squads he’d played for.

  He and his dad had painted the cinder-block foundation walls white that summer, and they’d
put a coat of gray on the cement floor. The wet paint had stunk so much that they’d had to spend the night at Mrs. Fiorelli’s parents’ house in Jersey City.

  “Wade,” Lamont said with a touch of disgust. “I wanted to smack him.” He took off his glasses and wiped them on his button-down shirt. “What’s the word for it? Not conceited. Smug. He had that smug look, like ‘I told you all I was better than Fiorelli.”’

  “He’s not starting because Coach thinks he’s better,” Anthony said. “Coach is just hoping we can squeak by for one game until Jason gets some more practice. Wade is what they call the stop-gap measure.”

  “I think Vinnie could play better left-handed than Wade,” Willie Shaw piped in. “Too bad they won’t let him do that.”

  “Where is Vinnie anyway?” Lamont asked. “Thought he was coming by.”

  “His wrist hurts too much,” Jason said. “Sitting in school all day is all he can manage right now.”

  Vinnie had been over to watch practice a couple of times that week, but left early. He had assured Jason that he’d be at the game, and Coach said he could wear his jersey and stand on the sideline, with the team.

  “It’s almost like I want Wade to have a bad game just to show how much better Vinnie is,” Jason said. “Like throw three interceptions or something.”

  “We’d lose, man,” said Lamont.

  “I know. Guess that would be even worse.”

  Lamont picked up a small rubber basketball and began to dribble. The ceiling was only seven feet high down here, but years before, Jason had rigged up a basketball hoop on the far wall, about a foot below the ceiling. He’d spent hundreds of hours down here, playing alone, inventing opponents and teammates. Often his friends would be over for wild two-on-two games that lasted for hours. Jason’s parents didn’t mind; there wasn’t anything down there to break.