“Let’s go Carter!” one of the fans screamed. “Atta boy!”
The team moved down the field steadily. Brody caught another pass, and then a third. He fought hard for every yard; even when he could dart out of bounds, he instead stayed inbounds and took a hard tackle just to gain an extra yard. He looked sharp out there, like he was playing with a chip on his shoulder.
The team was down in the red zone—that is, within twenty yards of the end zone. They ran the ball twice, then Dallas Lockett dropped back to pass it. He scanned the field, but Brody was covered by two defenders. Then he launched the ball into the back corner of the end zone, a perfect spiral to Kincaid, the wide receiver. It should have been a touchdown.
But the ball slipped through Kincaid’s hands, bounced off his pads, and tumbled in the air. The Patriots defender reached out and snagged it with his fingertips before it hit the ground for an interception.
The stadium noise shifted from jubilation to distress. The player that intercepted the ball tucked it under his arm and began running down the field, with his teammates spreading out ahead of him to block. The Stallions all gave chase, including Brody, who was sprinting across the field like a heat-seeking missile. He was five yards from the player with the ball, then two…
He never saw the Patriots player that stepped in front of him to block. The effect was like Brody slamming into a brick wall. He crumpled to the ground while the rest of the team chased after the ball.
They eventually brought the runner down before he could get to the fifty yard line, but my eyes were glued on Brody on the ground.
“Serves him right,” Isabella said with a chuckle.
“That’s right!” said another cheerleader in the A-line. Several other girls immediately voiced their agreement, and their support of the cheer captain.
Then Isabella glanced at me.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s what he gets.”
Isabella nodded and turned to the rest of the group. “Let’s get ready for defensive cheer four. On my mark…”
But as we started the next cheer, I felt a sinking sense of guilt in my chest for agreeing with her, and I kept my eyes on the player still laying on the ground. A few seconds later, Brody pulled himself off the turf and shook his head. He didn’t appear injured, but he walked back to the sideline rather than jogging, and he looked like he was in pain.
The Patriots kicked a field goal to take the lead. On the next Stallions possession, the backup tight end, Andrew Stark, went out onto the field for two plays. Then Brody replaced him, which drew a lot of cheers from the crowd.
“Number eighty-two, back in the game,” the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker. Next to me, Isabella made an unhappy noise.
Brody didn’t get thrown the ball on the next two plays, but then Dallas Lockett targeted him for a ten yard pass, which gave them a first down. The next play was a running play, and then another passing one. The ball was thrown too high, and Brody had to leap in the air to catch it by his fingertips. He landed and immediately juked to the left, avoiding one defender. He sprinted forward toward the next Patriots defender, and then stiff-armed him to stay away from the tackle.
Go Brody! I thought as we all watched.
The crowd noise grew louder and louder as he zigged and zagged through the defending team. Then there was only one remaining player between him and the end zone. Right as the defender wrapped his arms around him, Brody did a spin move to slip out of his grasp, which sent the crowd into a frenzy. Then he jogged easily into the end zone for a touchdown.
Isabella clenched her jaw, but then said, “Cheer number two. Go.”
As we went into our celebration dance routine, I watched Brody celebrate the touchdown. He spun the football on his finger like a Harlem Globetrotter, then shot the ball into the crowd as if it were a basketball jump shot. His teammates all descended on him, slapping him on the ass and on the helmet, and then the six of them went galloping out of the end zone like it was a rodeo.
Their route back from the end zone to the sideline brought them close to our group of cheerleaders. Brody removed his helmet, glanced over at us, and gave us his most charming smile. The skin on my arms broke out in goosebumps.
Was that for me, I wondered, or for Isabella?