The Hard Count(98)

The hard count is a thing of beauty when it’s done right. It requires trust. It thrives on surprise. It needs precision and a certain amount of faith. Rarely, if ever, have I seen a quarterback use it right out of the gate. My dad recognizes it, too, and I smile seeing the smirk on his face. Nico shouts his cadence, the rhythm different, his offense ready—North falls into their hands.

“Offsides!” the announcer says.

The head ref signals the five yards, and both teams move—our opponent now lit and flustered. This is where Nico wants them.

Off guard.

Before the defense is even set, Nico’s calling the play, only enough time for them to make it to the line before he’s backpedalling, Colton holding the line, Travis sprinting. Fifteen yards out, Nico’s pass is a bullet to his chest, and the defense wraps him up. In no-huddle, hurry-up mode, The Tradition scrambles, and they do it again. And again. The same play, only slight variations. North has no answers, and in less than a minute, Nico hits Travis in the end zone, and we’re up six to zero.

“That was unbelievable,” my dad says, scratching at his chin while my mom grabs his arm in both of her hands, shaking it in her excitement.

“He’s better than me,” Noah says.

My mom starts in quickly with her “no, honeys” and “you’re different,” but Noah holds his hand up to stop her.

“He is. He’s better than me, and it’s okay, Mom. I’m in awe,” Noah says, his eyes clear and wide, his head shaking at what just happened on the field.

Nico’s Uncle Danny leans to high-five both my brother and my dad, while Nico’s mom beams with pride, Alyssa clapping and screaming her uncle’s name over and over again—Nico, Nico, Nico!

Our defense takes the field for kickoff, and I get an idea. I ask Valerie if Alyssa can come with me, and when she nods yes, I take the little girl’s hand and tell her I’m going to show her something “very cool.” I lead her down to the steps at the middle of the bleachers, and at a quick glance to check that the coast is clear, we climb down to the field level, but stay near the stands until we walk over to Izzy and the rest of the cheer squad.

I sit with Alyssa and watch both the game and my best friend cheer as The Tradition defense holds North to three downs, forcing them to punt. Izzy jogs over to me during the timeout.

“Hey, I remember you,” she says. Izzy has always been good with kids, despite not having siblings of her own. She’s bright and bubbly, and I’m sure in Alyssa’s eyes she’s a fairy princess.

“This is my friend Alyssa,” I say, making eye contact with Izzy so she understands. She smiles at me softly before kneeling down to be on Alyssa’s level.

“Hi, Alyssa. I’m Izzy. I met you after one of Nico’s first games, and Reagan has told me a lot about you. She says that you…are quite the cheerleader,” my friend says.

Alyssa tucks her face into my arm, but smiles when she tilts it to the side, nodding in big movements.

“You maybe want to cheer with me? For a little while?” Izzy asks.

Alyssa’s eyes bulge, and Izzy jogs to the equipment box a few yards away, coming back with a set of golden pom-poms. Alyssa takes them in her hands, and as she stands to test them out, the other girls come over to meet her.

Within seconds, Alyssa is swept into the fantasy, the girls all working together to create a routine she can do. They teach it to her, while Nico leads the offense on the field to another six, this time with a forty-yard run of his own. In less than five minutes, we’re up by two touchdowns.

Nico’s play continues to be nothing short of miraculous. At one point, Coach O’Donahue begins to take credit, a certain swagger to his walk along the sidelines, as if any of this is his doing. As if he’s the one who believed in Nico Medina all along.

And maybe that’s the story the board will start to tell. Perhaps that’s how they’ll play this. It doesn’t matter, because run after run, pass after pass, my father stands and high-fives Nico’s uncle, he laughs and cheers with my brother—he hugs Nico’s mom. The real motivation, the real faith—it’s right here.

Alyssa performs with the cheerleaders during halftime, and Izzy lifts the little girl high on her shoulders, letting her rile up the crowd. The sight makes Valerie cry. When Alyssa climbs back up to join us in our seats, she keeps the pom-poms with her, showing each of us how to use them best. This little girl will never know her father, but his brother is playing for him out on that field—and I swear she can feel it.

We all feel it.

North has only managed a field goal, and with seconds to go, our team is on the fifty-yard line, and one more down before the lights go out and the history books on tonight are closed. I’m confident Nico is going to get a visit from the USC men in the booth. I’m certain they’ve already made phone calls, and I’m also sure that they’ll walk down to the field and shake Jimmy O’Donahue’s hand before they leave, asking for an introduction.

But Nico plays on. Just as hard. These few seconds…they aren’t for scouts, or haters, or boosters or even his team. This moment—it’s for Vincent.

Colton snaps the ball, and Nico moves with the grace of a panther on the hunt. His feet work in tandem, each knowing where to go, when to slide, when to push—when to run. He breaks a tackle and spins, bolting to the other side to give his best friend time to get in place. Sasha’s running with all he has toward the end zone just as Nico arches back, his arm pumping, his chest letting out a grunt that I swear I can hear as he releases the ball. The spiral is perfect. The distance is there. Sasha is being trailed, but he won’t be caught, and right as his feet cross the goal line, the ball is waiting to greet him, hitting his hands for the longest completed pass I’ve ever seen thrown on this field.