Free Hometown Legend by Jerry B. Jenkins

with this wild buck!”
    Suddenly he stopped, hands on his knees. “But the sixth… Oh, baby, the sixth and final touchdown is a thing of beauty—an eighty-five-yard
     punt return.”
    It was all Rachel could do to keep from bursting out laughing as the boy tossed the balled-up cloth into the air again, caught
     it, and smashed into tables and chairs. “Oh, he’s got it! Touchdown! Oh, yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh, boom!” He slammed the apron
     to the floor and flexed, growling and grunting. When he finally knelt to retrieve the apron, he found himself face to face
     with Rachel and flew back on his seat, sliding across the floor.
    Rachel felt bad for him. She blurted, “I, uh, was just looking for Tee, and she’s definitely not under here.”

15
    H ow dare she hide there watching him? Elvis felt such a fool! He retied his apron as the girl stood and thrust out her hand.
     “I’m Rachel, your FCA prayer warrior.” Elvis shook her hand quickly and reached for his helmet, wishing he could disappear.
     She pulled it away. “Uh, no, I keep your game helmet until Friday night. It’s kind of a visual reminder than I need to pray
     for you.”
    He scowled, trying to punish her with his look. “I do okay on my own.”
    She shrugged and moved toward the door, then stopped and mimicked Scarlett O’Hara. “A gentleman would walk me home.”
    So she was that kind. He just wanted her to remember his anger and forget everything else. “Let me know when you find one,”
     he said and headed for the kitchen.
    “Elvis?”
    He whirled around.
What now?
    She smiled. “I just wanted to make sure that was really your name.”
    He shook his head, disgusted. “Cute.”
    “Well, face it,
Elvis
. You’re stuck with me for the season.” Then, barely audibly, “If you make it that long.”
    Why couldn’t she take a hint? Why was she even still standing there?
    “If?”
    “I know why guys like you show up in Athens City. Hate to break it to you, but Brian—the guy whose jersey you commandeered
     today—is a shoo-in for the scholarship. He’s coach’s nephew, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “Every one of the Schulers has gone to Bama since the days of Bear Bryant.”
    How had she turned this around? She was the one who had embarrassed him. Now
she
was trying to put
him
in his place? “Till this year,” he said, through with her.
    She hesitated. “So, what should I pray for?”
    He shook his head. If he told her, she’d pester him for the whole story. He just wanted her gone. “I don’t care,” he said.
     “Pray for green grass.”

16
    Y ou understand I hadn’t really prayed about it. It’s just that when the young woman in the copy center who puts all the material
     together for teachers—even one-class wonders like me—seems friendly and talkative, I start thinking God’s trying to tell me
     something or give me something, namely her. Don’t ask me why. Maybe Kim telling me to pay more attention to Bev—which I have
     been doing for months and not noticing anything different—or maybe hearing Coach talk about his wife with so much love despite
     everything she’d put him through. I don’t know. Maybe I was finally getting ready to move on, way past when most people thought
     I should’ve been ready.
    Probably it was just that this woman was really something to look at. So call me shallow. Her name’s Jacqui and she’s a good
     ten years younger’n me. But she’s real pretty with a nice smile and bright eyes, and she’s the type who holds your gaze till
     you gotta look away or smile yourself. Well, I’m not gonna do anything half-baked so I make sure the first thing I ask her
     is if she’s a Christian. Folks down here know that means more than just whether you call yourself one but also that you’re
     a churchgoer and serious about it. Jacqui wasn’t from my church but from another one up the road.
    I found myself getting more and more stuff reproduced and having to come to school a little earlier