The First Team huddle was different. It smelled better.
The linemen were bigger. The receivers actually had gloves that weren't shredded. And they were all looking at me like I was a zoo animal that had just learned to do algebra.
"Alright," I said, clapping my hands. "Coach wants '24 Blast' again. But listen up."
I looked at the left tackle, a massive kid named 'Tiny' who already had a five o'clock shadow.
"Tiny," I said. "That defensive end likes to swim move to the inside. If he dips his shoulder, just seal him off. I'll step around."
Tiny blinked. "How do you know that?"
"Because he did it three times to the last guy," I said. "Trust me. Break!"
We walked to the line.
The practice went on for another thirty minutes. I didn't throw another touchdown—I didn't need to. I just ran the offense. I handed the ball off smoothly. I completed three short passes. I didn't fumble.
It was boring. It was efficient. It was exactly what a coach wants.
[System Status]
[Stamina: 15%]
[Right Shoulder Integrity: 75% (Warning: Fatigue)]
My arm was getting heavy. The "Mahomes Flick" required a lot of torque, and my rotator cuff was screaming at me to stop.
Finally, Coach Wilkins blew the whistle.
"Alright! Take a knee!"
The team collapsed onto the grass. I knelt down, chest heaving, trying not to look like I was dying.
Coach Wilkins walked back and forth, his clipboard tucked under his arm.
"Better," he grunted. "Energy was better. Defense, you got sloppy. You let a seventh-grader pick you apart because you got greedy."
The defense looked at their cleats.
"Offense," Wilkins continued. "We got a game on Friday. Henderson Middle School. They're big. They're mean. And they smell like sulfur."
A few kids chuckled.
"Benson," Wilkins said, looking at Kyle.
Kyle straightened up, smirking. He knew he was the starter. He was the 8th grader. It was his team.
"And Cooper," Wilkins added.
Kyle's smirk vanished.
"I haven't decided on a starter yet," Wilkins said, dropping the bomb. "You two are gonna split reps this week. Whoever looks sharper on Thursday gets the ball on Friday. Dismissed!"
The team erupted into chatter as we headed for the locker room. I kept my head down, focusing on breathing.
*Split reps.* It was more than I expected.
***
The locker room was a humid box of concrete and testosterone.
I opened my locker and started peeling off my pads. My shoulder had a red welt where the strap had dug in.
*SLAM.*
A locker door banged shut next to me.
I didn't flinch. I just kept unlacing my cleats.
"You think you're funny, Cooper?"
It was Kyle. He was standing there, towel around his waist, chest puffed out. His "posse"—two other 8th graders—stood behind him.
"I think I'm tired, Kyle," I said calmly. "Practice was long."
"You think you can just walk in here and take my job?" Kyle stepped closer. "You're a receiver. A backup. You got lucky on one play."
"Coach Wilkins didn't seem to think it was luck," I said, finally looking up.
"Coach Wilkins is friends with your daddy," Kyle sneered. "That's the only reason you're even on the field. Daddy's Boy."
The locker room went quiet. The "Daddy's Boy" insult was a classic. It was lazy, but effective.
I stood up. I was five inches shorter than him. I was lighter. But I had the eyes of a man who had dealt with worse things than a middle school bully.
"Kyle," I said, lowering my voice so only the guys around us could hear. "You have a cannon arm. Seriously. You throw harder than anyone here."
Kyle blinked, confused by the compliment. "Yeah? So?"
"So," I continued. "If you actually learned to read a defense, you'd be dangerous. But right now? You're blind. You're throwing into coverage because you panic."
Kyle's face turned red. "I don't panic!"
"You panicked today," I said simply. "You screamed at your receiver because you overthrew him by ten yards. That's panic."
I grabbed my towel and shampoo.
"I'm not here to fight you, Kyle. I'm here to win. If you're the better QB on Thursday, I'll be the first one to shake your hand. But if I'm better? You better be ready to block for me."
I walked past him toward the showers.
Kyle stood there, fists clenched, vibrating with rage. But he didn't swing. He couldn't. Not after I handled it like that.
[System Alert]
[Social Domination: Success]
[Reputation: +5 (The Locker Room Lawyer)]
***
The truck ride home was quiet.
George Sr. was driving. I was in the passenger seat, an ice pack (which Dad kept in a cooler for his post-practice beers) pressed against my shoulder.
"Shoulder hurt?" Dad asked, not looking away from the road.
"Just sore," I said. "Good sore."
"Wilkins told me what happened," George said.
"He did?"
"Said you checked out of a run play. Said you threw a dart." George tapped the steering wheel. "Gutsy move. Stupid, but gutsy."
"The safety was coming, Dad."
"I know," George said. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mustache. "I taught you how to spot that safety blitz when you were eight. I just didn't think you remembered."
"I remember everything," I said.
We pulled into the driveway.
"He also told me he's splitting reps," George said, turning off the engine. "You vs. Benson."
"Yeah."
George turned in his seat to look at me. His face was serious.
"Listen to me, Georgie. Kyle Benson is an idiot. But he's big, and he's popular. If you take his job, half that team is gonna hate you. They're gonna 'miss' blocks. They're gonna drop passes."
"I know," I said.
"Being the Quarterback ain't just about throwing the ball," George said. "It's about leading men who might not like you. You think you can handle that?"
I looked at my dad. This was the George Cooper I wanted to save. The guy who understood the burden of command.
"I can handle it," I said.
"Good," George grunted. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a grocery bag. "Then take this inside to your mother."
"What is it?"
"Chicken breasts," George mumbled, getting out of the truck. "And broccoli. Don't tell your mother how much it cost. I told her I won twenty bucks on a scratch-off."
I looked into the bag. There were three packs of chicken.
I smiled.
"Thanks, Coach."
"Shut up and get inside," he called back. "And ice that shoulder for twenty minutes!"
[Relationship with George Sr.: +5 (Respect)]
[Resources Acquired: Quality Protein]
I walked into the house. The game hadn't even started, but I felt like I had already won something important.