The Clutch by Paul Hoblin

Author:Paul Hoblin [Hoblin, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Athlete, Athletes, Darby Creek, Football, Football Game, Football player, Football Players, Football Team, Football Teams, Gridiron, Hi/Lo, High Interest, High School, High School Athlete, High School Athletes, High School Football, High School Football Player, High School Football Players, High School Life, High School Sports, High School Struggles, High School Student, High School Students, High/Low, low reading level, Reluctant Reader, School, Sport, Sports, Struggling Reader, Teens, Touchdown, Clutch, High School Quarterback, Paul Hoblin, Performance Anxiety, Quarterback, The Clutch
ISBN: 9781512482140
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2017-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

It’s weird seeing Coach on TV. His face looks too big. It’s as red as usual but looks less intense. His voice isn’t as gruff. In fact, it’s barely audible.

He may not look angry, but my guess is that he’s furious. The reason he’s talking under his breath is to keep his frustration at bay. He can’t believe he has to answer these questions, all because of a player (me) who he knows doesn’t even want to play.

Mom turns the volume up, but it doesn’t help much. He’s still basically mumbling.

His words come in and out: “ . . . decided to give Bailey a closer look . . . Team first, individuals second . . . We’re trying to focus on the game ahead of us . . . Like I said, the kid’s going to get a shot, okay?”

The screen switches back to the studio. The reporter continues to sum up the interview with Coach. Her voice blares. Rather than turning the volume back to a reasonable volume, Mom turns off the TV.

Apparently she’d rather get the report from me.

“Is it true?” she asks. “Is he finally giving you a fair shot?”

I don’t want to lie to Mom again—I’ve done enough of that already. But I also don’t want to explain my meeting with Coach before practice, or the way I played during practice.

So I say, “I got half the snaps at practice today.”

It’s true, even if it’s not quite what she asked.

“In that case, I’ll see you on Friday,” Mom says.

“You’re coming to the game?”

She hardly ever goes to my games because she says it’s too painful to see me standing there on the sidelines being ignored by the coach.

“Are you kidding me?” she says. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“It’s away. At North Valley.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Jordan. If you’re playing I’ll be there.”

“The thing is,” I say, “I didn’t throw very well today. I mean, there’s still a good chance I won’t play on Friday.”

Mom springs up from the couch. “Only one way to fix that,” she says. She heads to the closet and comes back with car keys in one hand and a football in the other. “You tell me the routes and I’ll run them,” she says, flipping the football to me.

We head for the car.

“Hey, Mom?” I turn to her.

“Yes, Jordan?” she says.

“Do you think Dad will be able to come on Friday?”

“You know he doesn’t like to watch.” Then, with a sympathetic smile, Mom adds “We’ll ask him tonight, okay? He should be back from the hospital by the time we’re done practicing.” She smiles bigger. “Otherwise,” she says, “it’s another TV dinner for us.”

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