How It Feels to Fly(52)

“Yeah. But it’s hard with all this other stuff in my head. . . .”

“Totally.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

And then we’re on the field. It’s not a huge stadium, but in the bright morning sunshine, surrounded by empty seats, it makes me feel small.

It doesn’t have the same effect on Dominic. He puffs out his chest and starts strutting around like he owns the place. “My high school stadium is bigger than this,” he says. Then he yells into the air, “Please welcome . . . Your! State! Champions!” He imitates the roar of the crowd and jogs to the fifty-yard line, waving.

Dr. Lancaster walks out from under the home-side stands. There are three men with her, each holding a clipboard and wearing a polo shirt for an SEC school: Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee. After what Dr. Lancaster said yesterday, I know they’re not real recruiters; they’re psychology professors. Still, they look pretty official. Their presence changes the energy in the air.

“Uh, hi,” Dominic says to the men. Dr. Lancaster gives him a look, and he sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“Nice to meet you, son,” the man in the Alabama shirt says. “Why don’t you run some drills? Show us what you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir,” Dominic says. He jogs in place, rolling his shoulders and his head around. “But, uh, who am I supposed to play with?”

Tennessee-shirt points at the rest of us. “Looks like your team’s right there.”

I jump, and Omar blurts, “What?”

Dominic looks from us to the fake scouts and back again at us, frowning. “They don’t know anything about football.”

“So teach ’em,” Georgia-shirt says. “Give us something to watch.”

“Great. Uh, huddle up,” Dominic says, drawing us into a tight circle. “Katie, Zoe, we’ve thrown the ball around, so, uh, I know you don’t suck at catching it. You’ll be my receivers. Sam, Jenna, Omar, you’ll be the other team. Your job is to, um, stop Katie and Zoe from catching the ball. And stop me from throwing it.” He makes a frustrated noise, looking over at Andrew, who’s standing off to the side with Yasmin. “This is nuts.”

Andrew grins. “Just go with it.”

So Dominic does. He sets us up in formation on the field. Gives us instructions. Yells, “Hike!” We run. Omar goes toward Dominic, but stops short and ducks as Dominic rears back to throw. Jenna’s chasing Katie and I’m chasing Zoe. She’s faster than me. And yet not fast enough—the ball sails past her and hits the ground.

I see Dominic glance at the clipboards on the sidelines and wince. He calls out, “Bring it back in! We’re running that play again.”

We do. Again and again and again.

And all of a sudden, Dominic snaps.

“I told you to go long, Zoe. Do you even freakin’ know what that means? It means to run far and fast. And then to catch the stupid ball!”

Zoe’s eyes are narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not even listening to me. When the quarterback tells you to do something, you freakin’ do it!” He throws the ball at her, hard. “Catch this!”

It drops into her arms and she makes a surprised oof noise.

“Okay, so you can catch it,” Dominic sneers. “Good to know.” He turns to the rest of us. I take an involuntary step back. This is not the Dominic we’ve seen over the past week. I don’t know who this person is. “Huddle up. We’re starting over—”

Zoe slams into him. “You total—” She calls him a few choice names, shoving him with each one. “You know what? This doesn’t matter! Football doesn’t matter! Your whole life is so not important. When are you gonna get that through your thick head—”

“It matters to me!” he shouts. I can tell he wants to shove her back, but he’s restraining himself. Andrew steps in between them, but they keep yelling around him.

“This”—Zoe gestures at the stadium, the field, Dominic—“it’s just a stupid game, and you need to get over yourself—”

“It’s not just a game!” Dominic’s mouth is twisted and his face is red and he’s breathing hard. “It’s—it’s—”

“It’s what?”

Dominic sits down on the ground. Puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then I realize that he’s crying. He curses, and says, wiping angrily at his face, “It’s my future. Okay?” He drops his head in his hands again.

Andrew gives Zoe a look. “Don’t move.” He crouches next to Dominic, talking quietly.

“Are you okay?” Yasmin asks Omar, who looks like he’s about to cry too. He nods fast, gulping. “Katie?” She nods. Yasmin looks to me. “Sam?” I nod.

Zoe lets out a guttural roar. She stomps over to Dr. Lancaster and yells, “I did not start that. You saw him! It wasn’t me! And he shouldn’t have started something he didn’t want to finish, anyway—”

Dr. Lancaster steers Zoe off to the sidelines, talking to her in a low, firm voice.

I notice that the men with the clipboards have disappeared.

“Let’s go sit down,” Yasmin says, putting one arm around my shoulders and the other around Jenna’s. We walk with her to the bleachers. Katie and Omar follow. We sit.