Free Emergency Quarterback by Rich Wallace Page A

doing a simple square-out in the flat. Get the pass near me and I’ll catch it.”
    Wade didn’t say a thing. He just walked to the huddle, called the play Jason had insisted on, and lined up with the rest of the team.
    Now the spectators were yelling. A South Bergen linebacker glared across at Jason, and the cornerback was coiled a few yards behind him. They knew where the ball was going.
    Jason darted from the line and was met with a fierce shove by the linebacker. He stumbled but found his feet, feinting toward the center of the field, then charging toward the corner of the end zone.
    He was open, but Wade wasn’t even looking his way. Instead he threw a wobbly pass in the direction of tight end Lamont Wilkins.
    Jason changed direction and sprinted toward the ball. A linebacker batted at it, and it flipped wildly into the air, out of Lamont’s reach.
    Jason had a chance. He dove headlong toward the ball, extending both arms in front of him and lifting his head to avoid ramming his face mask into the turf. He got the fingertips of his right hand below the ball, flicking it slightly toward him and cradling it with his left. He held on.
    There was the whistle, the referee extending his arms above his head to signal a score. Two points. Hudson City had the lead!
    Lamont and Miguel and big Anthony Martin all fell on top of Jason, smothering him in their joy.
    “Incredible catch!” Miguel shouted. “It must be your birthday or something!”
    “You are the man!” cried Anthony.
    Jason trotted to the sideline and drank it all in. The cheerleaders were leaping and yelling, and the red-clad fans of the Hudson City Hornets were standing in the bleachers, pumping their fists and cheering.
    The final minute was a blur to him: the kickoff, some long incomplete passes, Anthony’s massive sack of the South Bergen quarterback. When it ended, Coach Podesta lifted Jason in a bear hug. “You’re the best player I’ve ever coached,” he said. “That catch was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

2
    What’s next?
    P layers were whooping in the locker room, celebrating the comeback victory as they pulled off their shoulder pads and cleats. Jason shared in the fun, his face set in that wicked half-smile of his that always seemed to be on the verge of laughter. But he had a nagging feeling that things were about to change. Vinnie was nowhere to be seen.
    Coach came in and rapped his fist gently on a locker to get the team’s attention. “Great win,” he said, but his face was serious. “Vinnie’s been examined, and it looks like that wrist may be broken. And even if it’s only a bad sprain, there’s not much chance he’ll be ready to play again this season. There are only three games left.”
    Jason looked around at his teammates’ shocked faces as Coach gave the grim news. But then his eyes fixed on Wade, who seemed to be fighting back a smile. He’d be getting back the first-string quarterback job he felt he deserved.
    What a jerk, Jason thought.
    Jason had taken off his shoulder pads, so his red jersey hung loosely around his wiry frame. He grabbed his pads, helmet, and cleats and stepped outside, looking for his mom and dad. There was a cold, empty feeling in his gut.
    “Great game,” said Mr. Fiorelli, patting Jason on the back. He was a tall man, very athletic like his son. They had the same wavy, wheat-colored hair, but Mr. Fiorelli’s was cut much shorter than Jason’s and was thinning on top.
    Jason nodded. His mouth was set in a tight line, a big contrast to his usual easygoing expression. The DiMarco-Fiorelli passing combination was a huge reason the team was undefeated. Now, whiny Wade would either steal some of that glory or waste it.
    “We’re in trouble,” Jason said. “Vinnie’s through.”
    “Don’t think that way,” Dad said. “Somebody will step up.”
    “Maybe.... We’ll see.”
    “You must be starving.”
    “Not really.”
    “You will be. You can get a sandwich at