The Rules | ✅ Completed

Chapter 7

August is the most ridiculous month when you live in Illinois. One minute the sun is blinding you and your sweating your tank top. The next you're swapping your shorts for jeans and burying yourself in a hoodie as the sky dumps buckets of water. Tonight was no exception.

Cam had to work after school and couldn't give me a ride to the game. Heather had practice before kick off, as did Lucas. Since I had promised my brother I would sit through the whole game, I stayed after school. Big mistake. My bare legs bounced on the metal bleachers as they tried to produce some form of heat. Rain rolled down the leather of my brother's jacket which I was pulling tighter around my body to trap what heat I could.

The field was a muddy mess. If it hadn't been for the pylons marking the yards and endzones, you wouldn't know where the play was happening. The ref threw out a yellow flag and blew into the whistle. He pointed toward our team, then signed a hold. The number of the player followed before a second ref picked up the ball and counted out ten yards.

"Bull shit," I tried to shout, but it came out in a flat tone. The other team had three uncalled holds, but we somehow managed to grab a face mask. The torrential downpour could be to blame. The ref being an idiot could be another.

I squinted at the scoreboard at the far end of the field. We were down by five points and there were only two minutes left. A lot could happen in two minutes. My dad says that every time we are watching a game. He was supposed to be here, but at the last minute his boss called him about a meeting. Instead of sitting in the rain with me, he was at home getting his notes together.

The clatter of pads hitting each other drew my attention back to the game. Our sidelines erupted as they yelled for the fumble. Lucas scrambled up from the quarterback he just piledrived and dove for the ball. The ref waved his hands and signaled we recovered it. The defensive line came off the field to pats on the back as the offensive ran out.

Shane crouched behind the center at the forty yard line and shouted over the rain. Quickly looking at the running clock, I smiled. There was just over a minute now. The smacking of pads and growls roared from the field as our offensive line held off the defenders. Their feet sunk into the mud as the were pushed back. Shane faked a hand off, then bolted to the far end of the field. He sprinted on the sloppy field, cradling the ball in the crook of his arm. Putting his other arm out, he deflected one of the line men. Two more waited for him on the other side. Wrapping both arms around the slippery ball, he dropped to his knees and slid, feet first, for the first down.

The ref set the ball down somewhere near the thirty yard line. The clock was still running. I bit my lip as a big fifty lit up the board. Fifty seconds. They could do it. As the boys set up, I smiled. They were going for a pass. Most of the game had been spent on running plays. Neither team wanted to risk dropping the ball and it be turned over. Shane knew he could lob the ball and it would find its way to Finn's hands.

The snap was called and I watched as the play unfolded. Finn slipped as he dodged the safety shadowing his movements. The safety fell and smacked the ground as Finn ran to make the catch. Only the coach's shouting from both sidelines could be heard as we all held our breath. The ball came down and Finn stretched out to great it. He slid as he tried to stop in the endzone. Cheers overpowered the sound of the rain as the siren wailed from over the scoreboard. Game over.