Fucking amateurs.
Thankfully, the other guys leave me alone during lunch in the team’s cafeteria. Tight End Energy finds friends among the other meatheads, and the dozen or so guys eat together, talking and laughing raucously. I have never been the type to understand that kind of companionship. Most likely, none of them will make the team, and they’ll never speak again after tryouts, so why even bother? Is an hour of unnecessary small talk really worth it when they could be doing something useful?
Like me. I use this free hour to review highlights from the Rubies’ last season. Their quarterback—Ezekiel Aleks—is one of the best the league has seen. He’s been to the Super Bowl three times in his eight-year career, one of those being with the Rubies two years ago. Aleks was also the first active player to come out as gay, and while I’m a firm believer in keeping an athlete’s personal life separate from the sport they play, I also admire his bravery, courage, and leadership. My college roommate was gay, and he was way too happy about Aleks’ outing—as if he would ever get a chance to scoop up the most eligible gay bachelor in the NFL.
Maybe if I make the team, I’ll put in a good word for him.
Since Aleks’ coming out, a few others in the NFL have as well, along with some professional baseball and hockey players. The Love-is-Love movement has taken on a new role within professional sports since it began applying to some of the nation’s favorite players.
The Los Angeles Rubies are neighbored by the Los Angeles Treasures, and between the two, they have the most queer players of any city with a team, though the gap is diminishing with every new player to come out.
I take my time studying the plays we were provided, as well as finding clips of games in which Aleks called them. I familiarize myself with his cadence, tone, and the way he always checks each potential target before committing to one player, all within the span of half a second. In order to catch the coach’s attention, I will have to make sure I am the one making the plays and catching the ball.
I know I can do it, no matter the cornerback matchup they give me. Football is in my blood, and my bones are made of determination. I’ll go out there and fucking wow them all.
Head in the game, I duck out of the cafeteria twenty minutes early to re-stretch on the track. I’ve cued the clipped plays and intently watch each one as I ensure my muscles and tendons haven’t tightened since the morning workout.
“What are you doing, kid?”
I startle as a voice comes seemingly out of nowhere. Pausing the video, I look over my shoulder to find Traylor standing behind me. His brows are furrowed, eyes focused on the phone screen propped in front of me. My mouth opens to snap that I haven’t been a kid in years, but I bite back the instinctual retort. I’m sure Traylor wouldn’t appreciate my smart-ass attitude at tryouts. “Watching the plays and stretching, Coach,” I respond instead.
“Those routes aren’t on the papers,” he points out.
“Sorry, sir. I noticed Aleks sometimes deviates, and I wanted to—”
“Aleks won’t be on the field during tryouts. Better focus on the plays as they are meant to be. I’d hate to pass over the fastest guy in tryouts because he can’t follow a playbook.” Traylor’s voice fades out as he begins walking away before even finishing the last sentence, but I don’t mind.
Because Traylor noticed that I’m the fastest runner, which means I’ve made an impression.
I can work with that.
A few minutes later, everyone is gathered on the sideline, and Traylor is plugging us into the lines of the offensive and defensive practice squads. Tight End Energy really is a tight end, and so is another guy. Three take to the defensive line, one to an offensive tackle spot, one to the quarterback position, and the rest of us are receivers.
Traylor tells us that we will take turns, so I’m stuck on the sideline as the other receivers try their luck at running the routes.
I’m not sure if it was intentional or not, but I’d noticed earlier that one of the plays only had a defensive line of ten, meaning there is one guy unaccounted for. Sure enough, when they run it, the receiver intended for the pass has an unexpected two-man coverage—testing both the quarterback and the receiver’s inability to adapt.
“You know the playbook was missing that eleventh defenseman, right?” I ask Traylor as the line resets.
The training coordinator smirks to himself, not looking away from the field. “We know.”
When my turn finally comes, I take to the turf, nervous but eager. No one and nothing can distract me as Tryouts Quarterback calls the play Traylor instructs him to do. I set my stance and wait for the snap . . .
What seems like only a single blink later, I’m dodging the cornerback who is supposed to be covering me. I maintain speed as my mark gets closer but turn my head to eye the football. Tryout Quarterback is in trouble, and he pumps a few fakes. He scrambles, intending to throw the ball away. My reaction is pure instinct. Spinning from my poor excuse for a matchup, I dart to the sideline the quarterback is eyeing, dig in my toes, and dive just as he releases the ball. It sails into my outstretched hands, hitting my palms quick enough for me to secure my hold before my body makes contact with the ground.
The worn pads and helmet we were given aren’t quite up to full-contact standard, and my body howls at the impact of the hard ground. I can’t feel the pain, though. I’m too excited about having made the catch. We get a first down because my toes were still in the green when I caught the ball. All because of me.
I’m absolutely appalled when Traylor calls me off the field. The other receivers all got a solid twenty minutes of green time before I was allowed out. So why do I only get one play?
The fuck?
“Coach, I—”
“Not now, kid.”
Snapping my mouth shut, I don’t talk back, but there is nothing I can do about my withering scowl. I’m pissed, and it is very obvious.
The other guys continue to run play after play, and Traylor calls out two more to stand with me on the sideline—another receiver and Tight End Energy. One more—a defensive lineman—joins us before Traylor blows his whistle and hollers, “Everyone else, go home. You didn’t make the cut.”
My heart stutters in my chest at his abrupt announcement. Only four of us are worth keeping, and I had been the first to be chosen. I’d only run one play.
Holy. Shit.
I mean, I knew I could do it, but actually being told I have what it takes is something else entirely. I am this much closer to living my dream.
“All right, don’t start patting your backs just yet,” Traylor tells us as the other guys trudge off the field. “You all still need to prove you have what it takes to play with the big dogs. They’ve been watching you, so show them something they haven’t seen, okay?” He points, and we follow his direction to the seats I hadn’t realized are filled with none other than the LA Rubies starting players.
CHAPTER 2
HENDRIX AVERY
I am on fire. Nothing and no one can stop me as I catch pass after pass and run as fast as I ever have before, fueled by the insults that have been thrown my way my entire football career. Each catch is a punch to the face of everyone who told me I would never be good enough.
No matter which cornerback, safety, or linebacker they put on me, I slip through them all until they resort to holding or grabbing the plastic of my face mask in an attempt to stop me—to no avail.
I am going to prove to everyone that I’m worth a spot on this team.
This is my only shot. The other local team’s tryouts have already passed, and I don’t have enough money to travel anywhere else to try out for a different team this year.
