"Now all of you should have finished reading King Lear by now, and I promise this is the last piece of Shakespeare you'll ever read in high school. We appropriately end with a tragedy."

Dr. Fontanella rose from her desk and leaned back against the whiteboard. "You have two options - a thoughtful class discussion where we're all involved, or a pop quiz. Take your pick."

The classroom gave a collective nod, and as usual, Dr. Fontanella directed her gaze towards me with an endearing smirk. Either she didn't realize or didn't care that I'd wedged myself into the back of the classroom with what was obviously not my copy of King Lear opened in front of me. I was the shining star she gravitated to no matter where in orbit I was.

"Mr. Gunther, can you give me a concise description of who and what King Lear was about?"

I let out a sigh of relief. I'd had just enough free time to skim the Sparknotes on King Lear over the weekend. I sat up in my chair. "King Lear was a well-respected ruler whose manic desire to be loved ultimately caused his downfall. Everyone died in the end - it was pretty bleak honestly."

There were a few of the usual giggles from my pack of admirers, and Dr. Fontanella gave me a nod of approval before continuing.

I couldn't help but let my eyes wander to Kaia, who felt miles away in the front row of the classroom. As if she could feel me looking at her, she slowly turned in her chair and met my gaze. She offered me a cordial smile before turning back around.

I ducked my head back down, hunched over in the white plastic three-ring binder that held my playbook. The championship game was tonight at UConn's stadium, and the team had been given special permission to leave school early so we could make it there and get prepared for the game. Over the last week, if I wasn't eating, sleeping, or practicing, my head was in this playbook. I had a pocket sized version of the playbook that I wore in a sleeve on my wrist during games, but I avoided looking at that if I could - it fucked with my momentum to have to pause and try and decipher x's and o's when I could just know them like I'm supposed to. Coach Knox always said I was the smartest quarterback he ever coached, and I'd hate for that reputation to fall short.

We'd never played Oneonta before, but all the time I probably should have spent reading King Lear, I'd been watching their game film. Any time an opposing offense shifted running backs into the slots in a single spread formation, Oneonta's safeties never moved, leaving a gap the size of the god damn pacific ocean between the linemen and the secondary. I'd be popping slants to Chris all game.

After class ended, I had one foot in the hallway, and the sound of my name from her mouth stopped me so quickly, I almost tripped over my own shoes.

I turned on my heel to meet Kaia's gaze again, and the way her hazel eyes studied me had memories from Halloween night rushing back in a fury. It was the last time we were standing this close.

"I know you're leaving early, so I don't see you for the rest of the day." She held the straps of her backpack and rocked on her heels. "So...good luck tonight."

A casual smirk worked its way across my face. "No luck needed, don't you worry."

Kaia scoffed. "I...I wasn't worried, I was just-"

"Dallas! There you are!"

Jordyn came skipping over, a wave of her lavender perfume washing over us. She slung an am around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder, beaming with all the light of the sun. As per usual Friday gameday tradition, the team wore our black and white home jerseys, but Jordyn had finally claimed the away jersey, despite Rochelle's insistence that as my designated cheerleader, she'd claimed it for the entire season. She had it tucked into the front of her plaid skirt and the excess fabric slipped off of her shoulder as she leaned into me. Despite the almost imperceptible grimace from Kaia, I wrapped my hand around Jordyn's waist.

"So are you going to the game?" I asked Kaia.

"Kennedy is driving us." Her response was brief, but her eyes held a smile.

"A bunch of us are getting together at Broadway Diner before the game if you guys wanna join," Jordyn offered without a hint of the maliciousness that had run rampant during the last interaction I'd witnessed at Homecoming. To any casual observer, they could have almost passed as friends.

"Thanks for the invite, but we're hanging at Jackson's and leaving from there."

It was hard not to notice how preoccupied she was with Jackson on a regular basis, and how nonchalantly she roped his name into our conversation. Things were back to normal, as if I hadn't caught her crying over him not two months ago. Maybe the way it should have always been.

By the time the final bell rang, I'd received countless words of encouragement and too many fist bumps. I threw myself against the double doors leading out to the senior parking lot, and the cold air burned the back of my throat when I inhaled.

I bolted to my car and sat hunched over in the drivers seat while I waited for the heat to crank up. We were meeting in the locker room in 30 minutes, but I needed to medicate first. I had four Percocets left - all I needed was to get through tomorrow, and I'd be absolved of this shit for good.

In just a few hours, I had one last chance to defend my crown, and I thought back to what little I'd read of King Lear - he'd already gone sideways mad, but he still said I am a king, my masters, know you that? Even though he was actually a king, by that point in the play it was merely a title. King was just a word, and without the power to enforce it, the crown was a fucking joke.

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alexa, play dallas's pregame bangers
14 songs • 46 min 29 sec

[i. lil bit - blackbear. ii. trophies - young money, drake. iii. runnin' - mike will made it. iv. jungle (remix) - x ambassadors. v. turn me down (dark heart remix) - gashi. vi. what's next - drake. vii. blood // water - grandson. viii. every chance i get (feat. lil baby and lil durk) - dj khaled. ix. higher - the score. x. ballin' - logic. xi. betrayal (feat. drake) - trippie redd. xii. you can't stop me - andy mineo. xiii. smoke break - kennyhoopla. xiv. how not to drown - chvrches.]

Adrenaline had fueled me all afternoon, through the biting cold of the crisp December air and through our final practice at the stadium before the game that night. Adrenaline protected you from pain in times of distress or panic. Not just physical pain, but emotional pain too. The realization that no matter the outcome, this was my last high school football game, didn't hit me until we won the coin toss and huddled one last time before the game. When I exhaled, my breath materialized as smoke in the night.

"Alright, circle it up," I called out, and the team huddled around me, like the warm little center of the universe I'd always been. I only had warmth to give, and keep none for myself. "I don't need to sugar coat it. This is emotional for me, and for the rest of the seniors. But we have a responsibility to leave the rest of you guys a legacy that you can continue to build upon. You've been tested this season and stepped up every time you've needed to. This is the best football team I've ever been a part of, I'm proud to be your captain, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of you guys. Now let's kick some ass."

There was a collective cheer, and we took the field. It was December. The wind was frigid, the sky was dark, but there was a crackling in the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end in anticipation. My life was changing. I could feel it.

"We're gonna stick to what we ran in practice," Coach Knox said as he gave my helmet an endearing tap. "Take care of it like I know you can."

In football, there was a style of play called RPO - run-pass option. The run-pass option gave the quarterback the option to hand the ball to the running back or pass the football to a receiver. The offensive line would block as if it was run play, which put stress on the defense to choose between playing the run or the pass. We'd been running RPO drills in practice for the last week, after watching game film of Oneonta's defense leaving wide open gaps after a shift, and the execution had been seamless.

An RPO could be a predictable offense, but with an unprepared defense against the right quarterback, it could wreak havoc. I was always the right quarterback. We coasted through the first half with three touchdowns, and Anthony and the defense kept Oneonta's offense to just one field goal.

I wore a pouch with handwarmers around my waist so my fingers didn't go numb, but by the third quarter I could barely grip the football, and calluses began to crack and peel on my palms. We were winning 28-3, but it wasn't enough. I wanted more.

I called the cadence to run another RPO with the intention of sending a downfield pass to Chris. I faked the handoff to our running back Simmons, then dropped back out of the pocket to launch one 30 yards. One of Oneonta's linebackers picked up on the fake and ripped a hole in my offensive line, plowing me into the ground the moment I released the ball.

My entire body shook down to my bones as I hit the turf with a thud. Everything around me slowed to a stop, but when you're on the ground, a few seconds could feel like an eternity. Coach Knox called a timeout to get me off the field, and two of our trainers rushed up to me and gingerly lifted me from the ground.

I tasted metal as something warm and sticky ran down my chin. Blood pooled around the pristine white of my jersey collar, and I realized it was coming from my nose. They sat me on the frigid metal bench on the sideline, but I kept my helmet on.

"Dallas?" our head trainer Coach Spencer quickly stuck his little flashlight in front of me. "You know where you are?"

"Yeah, yeah, state championship game. We're winning, I'm fine," I grumbled.

"Take your helmet off, son."

I ignored him and shook my head. "It's below 10 degrees out and I get nosebleeds in the cold. I'm fine. I'm going back in the game."

Coach Knox spun around and took his headset off. "Like hell you are. It's about to be the fourth quarter and we're up by 30 points. You've done everything that's been asked of you, now park it on that bench."

I ripped my helmet off and tossed it to the ground. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're gonna take this away from me?"

I was spitting blood the way a snake spit venom, but I didn't care. College coaches didn't want quarterbacks that won. They wanted quarterbacks that annihilated.

"No son, I'm making sure your future isn't taken away," he snapped at me. "One bad injury in a game you no longer need to be playing in and you can kiss all those pretty offers goodbye. You're a champion, Dallas. Now sit back and enjoy it."

I huffed again in protest, but I sat back on the bench and pressed a rag to my face. He took Chris and some other starters out of the game shortly afterwards, and eventually we just became part of the crowd witnessing the future of the New Livingston football program. It was bright.

Coach Knox called another time out with 30 seconds left on the game clock. He motioned for Chris and I to grab our helmets. Harrison had already taken a knee twice on the last two downs to run the clock down, but he wanted me to take the last one that would end the game.

As I jogged out onto the field, there was a wave of cheers and applause as people rose from their seats. Cheers and applause for me. Eat your heart out, King Lear.

I called for the play, took the snap and kneeled, and with the screech of the referee's whistle, it was over. My teammates tackled each other into hugs, but Chris and I found each other in the chaos and embraced, pressing our helmets against one anothers.

"I love you man," he said as he gripped my shoulders.

"I know. I love you too."

People jumped from the stands and stormed the field, seeking out their friends and family as they screamed and cheered. I separated myself from the crowd, found a clear spot at the 50-yard line and laid down, looking up into the night sky as confetti burst and rained down on us. I let it all wash over me like it was nothing more than waves lapping up on a beach. Maybe the waves would overtake me eventually, but I didn't care. What would come next I wasn't sure, but at that moment, I knew one thing.

I am a king, my masters, know you that?

i'm writing a chapter on what to do after they dig you up
on what to do after you grew to hate what you used to love
that was the first time i knew
they were out for blood
and they would have your guts

how not to drown / chvrches

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for clarification, "taking a knee" in football is also referred to as a victory formation, as its an alternative for the winning team (typically when they're winning by a lot towards the end of the game) to run the clock down instead of running an actual play.

ANYWAY, while the football content here gave me SO much angst and i may have cried about it once or twice, this is the last football game of the story so i'm pretty sad about that. i basically watched the youtube video of my husband's team when they won the New Jersey state championship in 2009 over and over again until i got this right. thx obnoxious jock teenager version of hubby for inspiration.

i've also officially finished outlining this story chapter by chapter, so now i can confidently say we're only a little bit past the halfway point. you didn't think it was all good and done just because the boys won a football game, did you?

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