Two-Minute Drill Read Free Page B

would Scott.
    “The town team? Uh, that would be a no.”
    Chris took two steps back now.
    So did Scott.
    “Come on, you gotta—it’ll be great,” Chris said. “And it’s not really like you’re trying out, anyway. They don’t even call them tryouts, because if you show up and you’re willing to come to practice, you’re on the team. Nobody gets cut.”
     
    Chris threw a pass that had a little extra zip on it. Scott tried to concentrate as hard as he could, look the ball right into his hands the way Chris had told him to.
    And dropped it.
    “You’re still thinking too much,” Chris said.
    “Because I know I can’t play,” Scott said. “Except maybe when I’m out here by myself.”
    By now they had the whole field between them and were shouting at each other to be heard.
    “Come out for the team,” Chris said. “Otherwise you’re never going to find out if you’re any good or not.”
    “I already know.”
    Chris’s answer to that was to haul off and throw as hard a pass as he had all day, like one of those bullets the real Brett Favre would throw to one of the Packer wide receivers. The ball came in a little high, forcing Scott to jump for it, but somehow he timed the jump perfectly and looked the ball into his hands like Chris had been telling him to all day.
    And made the catch.
    Yes!
    He felt like spiking the ball, the way guys did in the pros after they scored a touchdown, but figured he better quit while he was ahead.
    “That’s what I’m talking about!” Chris said. “Let’s end on that one.”
    “Deal,” Scott said.
    “My mom’s probably already here. See you at school.”
    Scott watched Chris and Brett until they disappeared into the woods, Casey following behind them, barking at Brett like he was telling him to stay, he wasn’t done playing yet.
    Now it was safe for Scott to kick.
    No way he was going to kick in front of Chris.
    He walked over to goalposts, picked up his tee where he’d left it the day before, walked back to the ten-yard line, placed the ball on the tee just right. Then he went through his little routine, measured out his two steps back and one to the side, feeling no pressure now that he was alone on the field, everything quiet back here again.
    Scott took a deep breath and stepped into the kick and caught this one perfectly, kicked the ball so high and true he thought he might have made this one from thirty yards away from the posts.
    As soon as the ball landed, he heard Casey barking again, so he pretended that sound was the roar of the crowd going wild.
    Scott smiled, turning toward the woods as he said, “Good timing there, Case, you came back just in time to see the game-winning kick.”
    Only it wasn’t just Casey.
    Chris was there, too.
    “You can kick ?” Chris said.
    He sounded shocked, but Scott didn’t care. He could feel himself smiling, happy that Chris had seen him make that.
    Happy and proud.
    He felt like he’d really impressed him now, even more than he had with one leaping catch.
    “Well, keep it to yourself,” he said, trying to make it sound like the kick was no big deal.
    “Don’t worry,” Chris said. “Your secret is safe with me.”
    “Oh, I get it,” Scott said, “you’re one of those guys who doesn’t think kickers are real players.”
    “Not me,” Chris said. “Coach Dolan.”
    Scott could see now that Chris wasn’t joking around, he was being serious.
    “Mr. Dolan doesn’t like kickers?”
    “He lost the Pop Warner championship for the older kids last year because a guy missed an extra point,” Chris said.
    Then he paused and said, “The guy hates kickers.”

FIVE
    They didn’t call them tryouts here. They called them “evaluations.”
    Mr. Dolan, Jimmy’s dad, explained this to all of them, saying that even though each and every one of them was supposed to try his hardest, they weren’t trying out, because if you were willing to put in the time and the effort, you were going to be a member of his