Knights of the Hill Country Read Free

position, I stopped him as the offense and defense crisscrossed paths. “You okay?”
    He slapped my shoulder pad. “You get them assholes for me. You hear? I don't care what you have to do, but you get 'em.”
    I nodded, snapping my chin strap down. It was hard to get me mad for myself, but I could damn sure get mad for a friend.
    Less than two minutes left now, but two minutes can seem like a hot-August hour at the end of a close game. One mistake and Wynette'd pick up enough yardage for even their rubber-legged kicker to score a field goal, send the game into overtime. A bigger mistake this close to the end zone, and they might even score a touchdown. Game over. The five-year winning streak down the toilet and our chance at being legends flushed down with it. It'd be the defense's fault, but everyone would hang the blame on Blaine for fumbling. That'd be too much. I knew him better than anyone, even his own family. He wasn't built for carrying a sack of rocks that heavy up and down the streets of Kennisaw for the rest of his life.
    Taking up my middle linebacker spot, I knew Wynette hadto pass. The smart play would be to shoot a short one out to the sideline, get out of bounds, maybe move the chains, but something told me that old camel-faced Titans coach would think that was too obvious right now. They'd try and be too smart for their own good.
    I was right.
    The center snapped the ball on a quick count, and the quarterback swiveled towards the tailback, and that's when I stopped time again. The tailback froze behind the left tackle, the quarterback leaning towards him like he was going to hand the ball off. A surprise running play. Only it was a fake and I knew it. The guard was already starting to pull back, which he wouldn't do on a run—nobody would run off-tackle in this situation unless they was crazy or stupid.
    No, they was pulling the same play they nearly fooled me on a while ago. No doubt about it.
    The easy thing to do would be to just lay back and wait for the split end to cut across the middle and bat the pass down or maybe even intercept it, but right now wasn't about the easy thing. Blaine told me to get them suckers for him, and, by God, I was going to get them.
    First, I charged in like I was aiming for the tailback, but instead I dodged right into the backfield. The guard seen me, but I flew past him before he could pull his cleats up out of the ground. The quarterback wasn't looking at nothing but that big fat clearing I left open in the middle of the field. He planted and cocked his arm, ready to fire off one of them perfect spirals over the line to number eighty-eight. Man oh man, he could taste him a touchdown, sweeter than apple pie with ice cream on top.
    But it was too late.
    He wasn't throwing no more touchdowns today. He wasn't about to turn my best friend's fumble into no giant sack of back-crushing rocks. I smashed into him at full speed, banging my helmet straight into his shoulder, busting through him as easy as one of them paper banners the team runs through at the first of the game. Then, there it was, the ball bouncing loose, springing up with perfect timing into my hands. I didn't even have to slow down. I just tucked that ball under my arm and blew towards the end zone like a cool breeze in July.
    I didn't spike the ball or dance. That's not my style. I only turned and watched as them black Knights jerseys stampeded towards me, ready to smother me with congratulations. The band kicked into the fight song, and the stands boomed, “Hampton! Hampton! Hampton!”
    Like I said, that kind of thing don't give me the big head, but if I could've stopped time right then, I would have. I'd have froze that exact moment right there, closed it up in my fist, and took it home to show what I done. Maybe that finally would've made a difference.

CHAPTER THREE
    After the game, we was out on Main Street in Blaine's old Blazer, stopped at the light just south of Jolly Cone, and these girls in their