Momentum is a strange thing in football. It's invisible, but you can feel it. It weighs nothing, but it makes you heavier or lighter.
After that first down scramble, the weight on my shoulders got a little lighter.
"Hurry up! On the ball!" I yelled, clapping my hands.
The Henderson defense was gassed. They were big farm boys—corn-fed and strong—but they weren't built for cardio. They were hands-on-hips, looking at their sideline for substitutions.
I didn't let them sub.
"Check! Check! Zone Left!"
We marched down the field. Five yards. Eight yards. A quick screen to Timmy for six more.
We reached the 8-yard line. First and Goal.
The crowd noise was actually loud now. The "Cooper" chants hadn't started yet, but the "Let's Go Medford" was deafening.
"Time out!" Henderson's coach screamed, running onto the field.
I blew out a breath, wiping sweat from my eyes.
"Good tempo," I told the huddle. "Take a knee. Catch your breath."
I jogged to the sideline. Coach Wilkins was waiting. He looked intense.
"Great drive, Cooper," Wilkins said. "But we gotta finish. You don't get points for nice drives. You get points for crossing the paint."
"They're stacking the box," I said, grabbing a water bottle. "Their safety is creeping up to stop the run. They think we're gonna try to punch it in with Dave."
"Dave is averaging two yards a carry," Wilkins noted. "So what's the call?"
I looked at the playbook on his belt. Then I looked at the System.
[Situational Awareness: High]
[Red Zone Efficiency: Critical]
[Henderson Weakness: Lateral Speed]
"Bootleg," I said. "Fake the handoff to Dave. Roll out right. If the defensive end crashes, I run. If he stays, I hit the tight end in the flat."
Wilkins chewed his gum. It was a risky play for a 12-year-old. If I got sacked, we lost yardage and settled for a field goal.
"Do it," Wilkins said. "But Cooper?"
"Sir?"
"If you get hit, protect the ball. I don't care about your ribs. I care about the fumble."
"Understood."
***
I ran back out. The huddle formed.
"Green Right, 18 Bootleg," I whispered. "Dave, sell the fake. Make them think you have the ball. Tiny, seal the edge."
"Got it," Tiny grunted.
We lined up. The Henderson defense was bunched tight. All eleven players were within five yards of the line of scrimmage. A "Goal Line Stand."
"Hut!"
I took the snap. I shoved the ball into Dave's stomach, held it for a split second, and then ripped it away.
Dave did his job perfectly. He curled over empty air and dove into the pile of linemen. The Henderson linebackers crushed him.
I was already gone.
I rolled to the right. Naked bootleg. No blockers. Just me and the grass.
The Defensive End, a kid with acne scars and bad intentions, realized he had been fooled. He spun around and charged at me.
He was fast.
I looked at the end zone. The Tight End was covered. The receiver was covered.
[System Alert]
[Scramble Path: Blocked]
[Option 2: The Pylon]
It was a footrace. Me vs. The Defensive End. 8 yards to the corner of the end zone.
I sprinted.
"Get him!" the Henderson sideline screamed.
My legs burned. The End was closing the gap. He dove.
I didn't slide. I launched myself.
I extended the ball in my right hand, diving for the orange pylon at the corner of the end zone.
The defender hit my legs mid-air. I spun like a helicopter blade.
My shoulder hit the turf hard. The ground knocked the wind out of me again.
I rolled over, staring at the referee.
He raised both arms.
"Touchdown!"
The crowd exploded.
[System Update]
[First Touchdown Scored]
[Experience: +50]
[Integration: +2%]
My teammates pulled me up. Even Tiny patted my helmet.
"Crazy," Tiny repeated, shaking his head. "You're actually crazy."
"6-0," I grinned, spitting out grass. "Let's kick the extra point."
***
**End of 4th Quarter**
The scoreboard read: **Medford 21, Henderson 17**.
It hadn't been pretty. I threw one interception in the third quarter (rookie mistake, stared down the receiver). I got sacked three more times. My jersey was grass-stained and bloody from a cut on my elbow.
But we had the lead.
There were 30 seconds left. Henderson had the ball, but they were on their own 20.
Their quarterback threw a Hail Mary. Our safety batted it down.
The buzzer sounded.
"Ball game!"
I collapsed on the bench. I didn't have the energy to jump around.
"Cooper!"
I looked up. Kyle Benson was standing there. He was still in his clean uniform. He hadn't played a single snap.
He looked down at me. He looked angry, jealous, and... surprisingly, resigned.
"You missed a read in the third quarter," Kyle muttered. "The post was open."
"I know," I said, unsnapping my chin strap. "Safety baited me."
"Yeah, well," Kyle kicked the dirt. "Nice run on the first drive. Tiny actually blocked for you."
"Tiny likes winning," I said.
Kyle didn't say anything else. He just walked away to join the handshake line. It wasn't a friendship bracelet, but it was a start. The "Mutiny" had been downgraded to a "Grudge."
***
The parking lot was chaos. Parents, cars, honking horns.
I sat on the tailgate of Dad's truck, icing my shoulder and drinking a Gatorade that Meemaw had smuggled to me.
"That was quite the spectacle," Sheldon said, appearing next to me. He was wearing noise-canceling headphones.
"Did you watch any of it?" I asked.
"I observed the scoreboard statistics," Sheldon said. "You completed 62% of your passes. Mathematically above average for a Junior High biped."
"High praise," I smiled.
"Indeed."
George Sr. walked up. He was carrying the cooler. He stopped and looked at me.
He didn't smile. He didn't cheer. He just reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, slightly squashed Snickers bar.
He tossed it to me.
"Good game," George grunted.
I caught the candy. "Thanks, Dad."
"You took some hits," George said, loading the cooler into the truck. "You scrambled too much in the second half. Stay in the pocket."
"Pocket collapsed," I argued gently.
"Then step up, don't bail out," George countered. But his voice lacked the usual bite. "But... you led the team. They listened to you."
"Eventually," I said.
"Tiny told me you called him out in the huddle," George said, closing the tailgate. "Said you told him to let the guy hit you harder."
"He was testing me," I said.
George chuckled. He leaned against the truck, looking at the stadium lights turning off one by one.
"Yeah. He was. And you passed." George patted the metal of the truck. "Get in. Let's go home. Your mother is probably freaking out about the grass stains."
I climbed into the truck. My body hurt everywhere. My stats were mediocre. My backup QB hated me.
But as we pulled out of the parking lot, and I saw a kid wearing a Medford jersey point at the truck and wave... I realized something.
I wasn't just Georgie Cooper, the dropout tire salesman anymore.
I was QB1.
[Quest Complete: The Season Opener]
[Reward: New Skill Unlocked - "Pocket Presence"]