Free Catching Jordan by Miranda Kenneally

drawl.
    “It’s okay,” I mutter. “Nice pass.” After JJ hikes the bal so our kicker can take the extra point, I pul him aside. “JJ, don’t ever do that again.”
    “Do what?”
    “Let a linebacker go after a player like that. Ty could’ve gotten clobbered. Thank God it’s only Lynchburg.”
    “What the hel do you care? The dude stole your position.”
    “JJ, I don’t care if he threatens to kil my unborn children. Ty is stil part of the team. We take care of each other. Understand?” I smack JJ’s helmet hard enough to make his head hurt, to make a point.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Then I see Ty talking to Duckett, who’s wearing his “I’m freaked out of my mind” face, so I go see what’s happening there. I hear Ty say, “You can’t interfere with a receiver like that—you just cost us fifteen yards!”
    Ty’s advice is right on, but he’s not the coach, and he’s certainly not captain. “Duckett,” I say, “You’re playing a fantastic game, but Ty’s right. Don’t let it happen again.”
    “Got it, Woods.” Duckett glares at Ty and walks away.
    “You were too nice to him,” Ty tel s me.
    “I’m the captain here. There’s a big difference between being brutal y honest and tel ing people what they need to hear. Understand?”
    Ty stares at me like he’s never taken directions from anyone before.
    I grab him by the jersey and pul him closer. “You got a problem with one of the players, you bring it to me. Understand?”
    “Sorry,” he mutters. He rubs the back of his neck, furrowing his eyebrows at me.
    “I run the field for Hundred Oaks. Not you.”
    “Understood.” Ty shoves his helmet back onto his head and runs out for our next play. Henry and JJ fol ow Ty, but once they’re gone, Carter comes over to me.
    “I don’t like this one bit, Woods,” Carter says. “Something’s off about that guy—he assumes way too much.”
    “It’s under control,” I reply in a tone that tel s Carter to go away, which he does. But I can’t help but wonder if Carter’s right. This is my team. It’s only our first game, and Coach has already taken me out and put in our far-better quarterback, a quarterback who’s used to cal ing the shots and getting his way.
    But I won’t be control ed by anyone. No matter how cute he is.

    •••

    As usual, I’m the first one out of the locker room and seated on the bus. I pul out my iPod and stretch across the last row. JJ and I always sit in the last two bus benches—it’s one of those senior perks. Closing my eyes, I listen to some rap music and hope the beats wil relax me. I can’t wait to get home and hear what the recruiter said to Mike about me. Of course, he might have already forgotten about me—considering I’m only the second-best high school QB in Tennessee now.
    We won 42–0. Ty was nice enough to take it easy on Lynchburg, only throwing two long passes, both to Henry. Three touchdowns for Henry in one game is awesome—the col ege coaches definitely must’ve noticed that. I find myself smiling at the memory of Henry’s dance at the end of the game. In the end zone, after his third touchdown, he did this one move cal ed “The Lawn Mower,” where he pretends to start a lawn mower. Then he did “The Sprinkler.”
    That one got us an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty and then we had to kick off from fifteen yards back. Coach got angry about Henry’s showboating, but I didn’t care.
    Suddenly, the rest of the team gets on the bus, and the bus starts bouncing and shaking, and the other players’ yel ing distracts me from the music and my thoughts. I close my eyes again. I feel a tap on my foot, and expecting to see JJ, I look up and find Ty standing in front of me. He pushes my legs, causing me to sit up and my feet to fal to the floor, and starts to squeeze in next to me on the bench.
    “Woods likes to sit alone,” Carter cal s out. “Get your ass to your own seat.”
    Ty turns and glares. “Mind your business, Carter. I