teams don't know how to stop it when everyone wants to play 7 on 7 style
Run To The Sun
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djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
-
djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Run To The Sun
National Signing Day was supposed to be the pinnacle. A celebration. Jalen Knox had earned every ounce of it.
He’d led the Saguaro Sabercats to two state championships in three seasons, throwing for over 8,000 yards and rushing for more than 1,500. His junior year had ended in heartbreak—a late-game injury in the title game cost them the championship.
But he came back with a vengeance, dominating his senior year. His five touchdowns in the state championship game were the perfect way to put a bow on his high school career.
The gymnasium at Saguaro High School vibrated with anticipation. Banners hung from the rafters, and rows of chairs filled the polished hardwood floor.
At the front, a long table draped in the school's colors awaited its star athlete. Jalen stood just outside the gym doors, his heart pounding like a drumline. The sound of cheering and chatter bled through the gym doors, but inside Jalen, everything went quiet. This was it—the choice that would define everything.
His mother, Lisa, gently adjusted his tie, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure about this, Jalen? It's a big decision."
He met her gaze, a confident smile spreading across his face. "No doubt, Mom. This is where I'm meant to be."
She nodded, pride and worry mingling in her expression. "Then go make it official."
As Jalen stepped into the gym, applause erupted. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment as he approached the table adorned with hats from various top-tier programs: Alabama, Texas, Oregon, and Arizona State. He pulled out a chair for his mother before taking a seat between her and his coach, the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders.
The announcer's voice echoed through the gym. "Jalen Knox, quarterback for the Saguaro Sabercats, will now announce his college commitment."
Jalen took a moment to settle his nerves and looked around, taking it all in. The gym swelled with reporters, classmates, and fans—each one eager to see where one of the most electrifying dual-threat quarterbacks in the country would land.
He'd made it. National signing day. The entire college football world watching his every move, waiting to hang on his every word. Surrounded by family, coaches, and teammates. His letter of intent waited silently at center stage, the final line in a script he’d been writing for years.
The gym held its collective breath, but Jalen’s mind drifted for a moment—back to the games that brought him here.
The slant he zipped through traffic to beat Hamilton in overtime. The 70-yard scramble against Chandler, ducking three tackles before flipping into the end zone. And that semifinal game against Liberty—third and goal, clock under ten, every eye on him. He looked off the safety and ripped a bullet across the middle to seal the win.
That was the moment he knew he could play anywhere. That was the moment he became a dude.
Jalen reached out, his hand hovering over the crimson 'A' of Alabama, then the burnt orange of Texas. He paused, then firmly grasped the maroon and gold hat of Arizona State, placing it on his head.
Jalen leaned toward the mic, his voice smooth and confident. “I want to thank my family, my coaches, my team… This journey’s been a blessing. With that said, I’ll be continuing my football career at Arizona State University.”
Gasps. Cheers. A few stunned looks.
He had pushed aside hats from Alabama, Texas, and Oregon. Picked up the one with the pitchfork logo. Shocked the recruiting world. Arizona State hadn’t landed a quarterback of his caliber in years.
His combination of size, athleticism, and arm strength had coaches, fans and future teammates salivating. He was the guy.
Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
===
That night, Jalen scrolled through social media, still riding the high of the ceremony. There were photos of him with his family, clips of his announcement, graphics from recruiting sites calling him the future of the Sun Devils.
Then he saw it.
Another quarterback.
Arizona State had also signed Navi Bruzon.
Jalen’s stomach dropped.
He knew Bruzon. Everyone in Arizona high school football did. Bruzon had led Liberty to a state championship. They had history—Liberty had beaten Saguaro in the regular season two years ago, but Jalen had answered with a game-winning touchdown against them in the semifinals. Last season, Jalen missed the regular season rematch with an ankle injury. Liberty rolled.
Deep down, Jalen knew he was better. He’d outdueled Bruzon in the biggest moment of their junior year—the semifinal game where everything was on the line. That throw to the back of the end zone? Bruzon couldn't have made that. Jalen had.
But facts didn’t silence doubt. Bruzon had stayed healthy. Bruzon had won state too. ASU recruited him too. Just like they had recruited Jalen.
Now they wore the same colors. Sat in the same meetings. Shared the same reps. Jalen caught glimpses of Bruzon during early workouts—calm, steady, always laughing with someone. Coaches gravitated toward him. Players too. Jalen hated how natural it looked.
And yet, every time he saw Bruzon throw—clean, tight mechanics, ball placement on point—it stung. Not because it was better. But because it was close.
Too close.
He couldn’t help but feel Bruzon had the upper hand now.
The same school. Same position. Same class.
No one had told him that.
Had they known all along? Had they told Bruzon the same things they told him?
Jalen stared at the screen for a long time. Part of him wanted to believe it didn’t matter. That he was still the guy. But another part—the quieter, sharper part—wondered if he’d just been played.
The buzz of the gym had long faded. Now it was just blue light and doubt.
===
When spring workouts began, it got worse.
The transition from high school star to college freshman was jarring. The playbook was thicker, the terminology more complex, and the competition fiercer.
Two transfer quarterbacks showed up on the roster—Sam Leavitt from Michigan State and Jeff Sims from Nebraska. That brought the QB room to five.
The coaches kept saying the right things, trying to keep their prized recruit happy.
“We brought in competition. Iron sharpens iron. You’ve got just as much of a shot as anyone.”
“Just keep your head down and compete,” Coach Ward told him with a hand on his shoulder. “We believe in you.”
Jalen tried to believe them, but the rep counts told the truth.
But then he watched Leavitt throwing darts in practice, smooth and confident. Sims didn’t have the same polish, but he was electric on his feet. Bourguet, the returning senior, wasn’t flashy, but he knew the system like it was coded into his blood.
He kept his chin up. Shoulders back. But the doubt was there, creeping in like a slow leak beneath the surface.
He’d barely unpacked his dorm room, and already it felt like the door to opportunity was closing.
===
Meetings were a mess.
“Trips right. Z short. Fake 42 zone. X dagger. T flare.”
The coordinator spoke fast, clicking through film like everyone had grown up in this offense.
Jalen wrote furiously in his notebook. Half the time, the plays looked like math equations.
He remembered how simple things were at Saguaro. Quick reads. Spread formations. Half-field progressions. Here, everything was layered—reads built off keys built off motion.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t want to look lost.
But he was.
During one session, senior quarterback Trenton Bourguet noticed Jalen's furrowed brow. Leaning over, he whispered, "Need a hand with that concept?"
Jalen hesitated, pride warring with the desire to understand. "Yeah, actually. That'd be great."
Bourguet explained the play, breaking it down into manageable parts. Jalen nodded, the fog lifting slightly. He considered asking Bourguet for extra help after the meeting but stopped himself.
He told himself no one helps the guy they’re trying to beat out. Even if part of him still hoped he was wrong.
Later that night Jalen sat at his desk agonizing over the playbook, trying to grasp something, anything.
He reached for his phone and pulled up Bourguet’s info. His thumb hovered over the button for a second or two before he sighed and locked the phone, stuffing it in his pocket before slamming the playbook closed and standing up abruptly.
===
His lack of a grasp on the system showed more and more on the field.
In a red zone drill, he misread a blitz and got out of the pocket after only making his first read. He scrambled and showed off his athleticism, sprinting for eight yards and a first down.
He beamed with pride, gesturing for a first down as he jogged back to the huddle.
The quarterbacks coach pulled him aside.
“You bailed too soon.”
“I got the first down,” Jalen replied, trying to check his tone.
“You got lucky. Your footwork on the drop was sloppy. You missed the whip. That’s the problem—this isn’t high school anymore. Execution matters. We need you to work through that progression.”
The next rep, he stayed in the pocket like they told him to. Didn’t bail. And got buried for it.
Frustrated, he ripped off his helmet and threw it to the ground.
Coach Ward stormed over. "Knox! Pick up that helmet."
Jalen complied, his cheeks burning, fists clenched tight.
"You're a quarterback," Ward said sternly. "A leader. You can't let your emotions get the best of you. Control yourself."
Jalen nodded, chastened.
===
Despite the setbacks, there were moments of brilliance.
Late in practice one afternoon, they ran two-minute offense. Jalen got a rep.
The play call mostly made sense for once. He saw single-high coverage and the corner creeping in.
He dropped back, glanced at the hitch, and fired a deep ball down the right sideline. Perfect trajectory. Right in stride. Korbin, a redshirt freshman receiver, took it to the house and celebrated with Jalen afterward.
The crowd of assistants on the sideline responded.
“Attaboy, Knox!”
His heart raced. Finally, something clicked.
Maybe the gap wasn’t so wide after all.
That night, buoyed by his success, he delved into the playbook. The pages wouldn’t sit still. Lines blurred. Words swam. Jalen closed the binder and pushed back from his desk, the cheap dorm chair creaking beneath him.
He laced up his running shoes and stepped into the desert night. The air still held warmth from the day, but the breeze carried a bite. He ran past the practice fields, the lights long since shut off. Past the weight room. Past the stadium, where the empty bleachers cast long shadows on the turf.
Every step pounded his frustration into the pavement. Not just the playbook—everything. Bruzon. The transfers. The endless footwork critiques.
And worst of all, the creeping fear that maybe they were right.
He didn’t stop until his lungs burned. Didn’t turn around until his legs ached. And even then, he walked the long way back, hoping the silence would settle the storm inside.
===
Two days before the spring game, the depth chart went up. Just a sheet of paper taped to the quarterback room door. Black text. White background. That was all it took to churn the nerves of the young men who had worked for years to reach this point.
Jalen rounded the corner and saw the small crowd already gathered—half a dozen players, mostly receivers and linemen, lingering like they weren’t really reading it but absolutely were. The hallway had gone quiet, like a church right before the sermon.
He slowed his walk, tried to look casual. His heartbeat betrayed him.
“Yo, Knox,” one of the backup receivers nodded at him with a grin that was too quick, too rehearsed.
Jalen gave a small nod back, stepping past. The paper was right there.
Leavitt
Sims
Bourguet
Bruzon/Knox
Fourth string. A slash. Like they hadn’t decided—or didn’t care to.
Someone shifted beside him—a defensive end, Jalen thought. He couldn’t place the name, just barely recognized the face.
The guy leaned in, read it, and his fist pumped instinctively. “Let’s go—” he started, voice rising.
Then he glanced at Jalen.
The grin froze. The volume dropped. He gave a sheepish chuckle, nodded silently, and walked off while already tapping something into his phone—still smiling.
Jalen stood there, staring at the list. A couple other guys glanced at him, then looked away.
He turned and walked down the hall—not too fast, not too slow. But he felt the eyes on his back the whole way.
He wasn't surprised.
Jalen didn’t even know what he felt—anger, embarrassment, resentment. Maybe all of it.
===
The spring game was a furnace—mid-80s and cloudless. Fans filled the lower bowl. The band played. Cameras rolled.
He sat on the bench for most of the game, helmet on, eyes following every snap, trying to see what the others were seeing, what reads they were making.
From the bench, Jalen watched each series like it was a test he hadn’t studied for. He noted the way Leavitt called out protections, the timing of Sims’ dropbacks, the subtle head fake Bourguet used to freeze safeties.
Leavitt threw two touchdowns, showing off his arm strength and accuracy.
Sims ran for one and completed a tight-window seam route that got the crowd buzzing.
Bourguet was calm, poised, accurate.
Jalen burned.
Late in the game, his name was called.
He jogged onto the field. Told himself to relax.
He got the play call and took a deep breath. He repeated the play perfectly, word for word, and broke the huddle with confidence.
He clapped and caught the snap. His eyes immediately found Korbin, his first read, the out route was open and Jalen delivered a perfect ball. Korbin secured it and picked up 12 yards before he was pushed out of bounds.
Jalen pumped his fist slightly, barely noticeable to anyone but himself.
Jayden gave him a light slap on his helmet as they huddled again, a quiet encouragement.
The next play call came in. Jalen stumbled a bit with the terminology but caught it and broke the huddle.
That snap was low but he handled it with ease, feeling a sense of urgency he rushed past his first read and forced it to Korbin on a slant.
The outside linebacker jumped the route and picked it off.
The defender turned up-field. Jalen sprinted after him.
He didn’t see the defender coming.
Crack. A gasp. His vision spun before the sky re-centered itself above him.
The hit wasn't hard, the defender knew he'd be in hot water if he hit a QB for real.
Jalen was caught off guard and the contact flipped him. He landed hard on his shoulder and head. The crowd groaned.
Lying on the turf, blinking up at the sun, Jalen wasn’t sure what hurt more—his shoulder, his pride, or the realization that this wasn’t the story he thought he’d be living.
Trainers jogged out. He waved them off, dragging himself upright. He stumbled slightly as he got to his feet and that was it. His day was over. Two plays.
The disaster of the second play overshadowed the perfection of the first.
On the sideline, the coaches huddled. Bruzon trotted onto the field.
Two plays later, touchdown.
The stadium roared for Bruzon’s throw. Jalen didn’t look. He didn’t have to. He could already hear the coaches clapping.
===
That night, Jalen lay on his dorm bed, staring up at the ceiling, the dull throb in his shoulder serving as a bitter reminder.
He picked up his phone and opened his contacts.
He paused for a moment, considering how late it was, he started to set the phone back down but then hit the call button.
The phone rang three times and he considered hanging up before he heard the line come to life.
“Jalen? Baby, are you alright?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s just… harder than I thought.”
She waited. Not rushing him.
“I thought I’d come in and show everyone what I could do, take over, be the man. Thought I was built for this.”
“You are,” she said softly.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
She took a breath. “Remember your first year at Saguaro? When you were the backup? You came home mad as hell because you thought the coach hated you and you didn’t think you’d ever see the field.”
He chuckled lightly. “Coach said I wasn’t ready. That I played too wild.”
“And then you waited. You worked. And by the end of that season, nobody could take your job.”
He was quiet.
“You’re not behind, Jalen. You’re just starting over. Again. That’s not failure—it’s the first page.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re gonna be okay. Just don’t lose who you are.”
He nodded into the silence, eyes starting to close. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Jalen stared at the ceiling a while longer. Then rolled onto his side, cradling the phone to his chest like a lifeline.
The desert wind howled through the courtyard. It was relentless, unpredictable—and still moving forward. Just like he’d have to be.
He’d led the Saguaro Sabercats to two state championships in three seasons, throwing for over 8,000 yards and rushing for more than 1,500. His junior year had ended in heartbreak—a late-game injury in the title game cost them the championship.
But he came back with a vengeance, dominating his senior year. His five touchdowns in the state championship game were the perfect way to put a bow on his high school career.
The gymnasium at Saguaro High School vibrated with anticipation. Banners hung from the rafters, and rows of chairs filled the polished hardwood floor.
At the front, a long table draped in the school's colors awaited its star athlete. Jalen stood just outside the gym doors, his heart pounding like a drumline. The sound of cheering and chatter bled through the gym doors, but inside Jalen, everything went quiet. This was it—the choice that would define everything.
His mother, Lisa, gently adjusted his tie, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure about this, Jalen? It's a big decision."
He met her gaze, a confident smile spreading across his face. "No doubt, Mom. This is where I'm meant to be."
She nodded, pride and worry mingling in her expression. "Then go make it official."
As Jalen stepped into the gym, applause erupted. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment as he approached the table adorned with hats from various top-tier programs: Alabama, Texas, Oregon, and Arizona State. He pulled out a chair for his mother before taking a seat between her and his coach, the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders.
The announcer's voice echoed through the gym. "Jalen Knox, quarterback for the Saguaro Sabercats, will now announce his college commitment."
Jalen took a moment to settle his nerves and looked around, taking it all in. The gym swelled with reporters, classmates, and fans—each one eager to see where one of the most electrifying dual-threat quarterbacks in the country would land.
He'd made it. National signing day. The entire college football world watching his every move, waiting to hang on his every word. Surrounded by family, coaches, and teammates. His letter of intent waited silently at center stage, the final line in a script he’d been writing for years.
The gym held its collective breath, but Jalen’s mind drifted for a moment—back to the games that brought him here.
The slant he zipped through traffic to beat Hamilton in overtime. The 70-yard scramble against Chandler, ducking three tackles before flipping into the end zone. And that semifinal game against Liberty—third and goal, clock under ten, every eye on him. He looked off the safety and ripped a bullet across the middle to seal the win.
That was the moment he knew he could play anywhere. That was the moment he became a dude.
Jalen reached out, his hand hovering over the crimson 'A' of Alabama, then the burnt orange of Texas. He paused, then firmly grasped the maroon and gold hat of Arizona State, placing it on his head.
Jalen leaned toward the mic, his voice smooth and confident. “I want to thank my family, my coaches, my team… This journey’s been a blessing. With that said, I’ll be continuing my football career at Arizona State University.”
Gasps. Cheers. A few stunned looks.
He had pushed aside hats from Alabama, Texas, and Oregon. Picked up the one with the pitchfork logo. Shocked the recruiting world. Arizona State hadn’t landed a quarterback of his caliber in years.
His combination of size, athleticism, and arm strength had coaches, fans and future teammates salivating. He was the guy.
Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
===
That night, Jalen scrolled through social media, still riding the high of the ceremony. There were photos of him with his family, clips of his announcement, graphics from recruiting sites calling him the future of the Sun Devils.
Then he saw it.
Another quarterback.
Arizona State had also signed Navi Bruzon.
Jalen’s stomach dropped.
He knew Bruzon. Everyone in Arizona high school football did. Bruzon had led Liberty to a state championship. They had history—Liberty had beaten Saguaro in the regular season two years ago, but Jalen had answered with a game-winning touchdown against them in the semifinals. Last season, Jalen missed the regular season rematch with an ankle injury. Liberty rolled.
Deep down, Jalen knew he was better. He’d outdueled Bruzon in the biggest moment of their junior year—the semifinal game where everything was on the line. That throw to the back of the end zone? Bruzon couldn't have made that. Jalen had.
But facts didn’t silence doubt. Bruzon had stayed healthy. Bruzon had won state too. ASU recruited him too. Just like they had recruited Jalen.
Now they wore the same colors. Sat in the same meetings. Shared the same reps. Jalen caught glimpses of Bruzon during early workouts—calm, steady, always laughing with someone. Coaches gravitated toward him. Players too. Jalen hated how natural it looked.
And yet, every time he saw Bruzon throw—clean, tight mechanics, ball placement on point—it stung. Not because it was better. But because it was close.
Too close.
He couldn’t help but feel Bruzon had the upper hand now.
The same school. Same position. Same class.
No one had told him that.
Had they known all along? Had they told Bruzon the same things they told him?
Jalen stared at the screen for a long time. Part of him wanted to believe it didn’t matter. That he was still the guy. But another part—the quieter, sharper part—wondered if he’d just been played.
The buzz of the gym had long faded. Now it was just blue light and doubt.
===
When spring workouts began, it got worse.
The transition from high school star to college freshman was jarring. The playbook was thicker, the terminology more complex, and the competition fiercer.
Two transfer quarterbacks showed up on the roster—Sam Leavitt from Michigan State and Jeff Sims from Nebraska. That brought the QB room to five.
The coaches kept saying the right things, trying to keep their prized recruit happy.
“We brought in competition. Iron sharpens iron. You’ve got just as much of a shot as anyone.”
“Just keep your head down and compete,” Coach Ward told him with a hand on his shoulder. “We believe in you.”
Jalen tried to believe them, but the rep counts told the truth.
But then he watched Leavitt throwing darts in practice, smooth and confident. Sims didn’t have the same polish, but he was electric on his feet. Bourguet, the returning senior, wasn’t flashy, but he knew the system like it was coded into his blood.
He kept his chin up. Shoulders back. But the doubt was there, creeping in like a slow leak beneath the surface.
He’d barely unpacked his dorm room, and already it felt like the door to opportunity was closing.
===
Meetings were a mess.
“Trips right. Z short. Fake 42 zone. X dagger. T flare.”
The coordinator spoke fast, clicking through film like everyone had grown up in this offense.
Jalen wrote furiously in his notebook. Half the time, the plays looked like math equations.
He remembered how simple things were at Saguaro. Quick reads. Spread formations. Half-field progressions. Here, everything was layered—reads built off keys built off motion.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t want to look lost.
But he was.
During one session, senior quarterback Trenton Bourguet noticed Jalen's furrowed brow. Leaning over, he whispered, "Need a hand with that concept?"
Jalen hesitated, pride warring with the desire to understand. "Yeah, actually. That'd be great."
Bourguet explained the play, breaking it down into manageable parts. Jalen nodded, the fog lifting slightly. He considered asking Bourguet for extra help after the meeting but stopped himself.
He told himself no one helps the guy they’re trying to beat out. Even if part of him still hoped he was wrong.
Later that night Jalen sat at his desk agonizing over the playbook, trying to grasp something, anything.
He reached for his phone and pulled up Bourguet’s info. His thumb hovered over the button for a second or two before he sighed and locked the phone, stuffing it in his pocket before slamming the playbook closed and standing up abruptly.
===
His lack of a grasp on the system showed more and more on the field.
In a red zone drill, he misread a blitz and got out of the pocket after only making his first read. He scrambled and showed off his athleticism, sprinting for eight yards and a first down.
He beamed with pride, gesturing for a first down as he jogged back to the huddle.
The quarterbacks coach pulled him aside.
“You bailed too soon.”
“I got the first down,” Jalen replied, trying to check his tone.
“You got lucky. Your footwork on the drop was sloppy. You missed the whip. That’s the problem—this isn’t high school anymore. Execution matters. We need you to work through that progression.”
The next rep, he stayed in the pocket like they told him to. Didn’t bail. And got buried for it.
Frustrated, he ripped off his helmet and threw it to the ground.
Coach Ward stormed over. "Knox! Pick up that helmet."
Jalen complied, his cheeks burning, fists clenched tight.
"You're a quarterback," Ward said sternly. "A leader. You can't let your emotions get the best of you. Control yourself."
Jalen nodded, chastened.
===
Despite the setbacks, there were moments of brilliance.
Late in practice one afternoon, they ran two-minute offense. Jalen got a rep.
The play call mostly made sense for once. He saw single-high coverage and the corner creeping in.
He dropped back, glanced at the hitch, and fired a deep ball down the right sideline. Perfect trajectory. Right in stride. Korbin, a redshirt freshman receiver, took it to the house and celebrated with Jalen afterward.
The crowd of assistants on the sideline responded.
“Attaboy, Knox!”
His heart raced. Finally, something clicked.
Maybe the gap wasn’t so wide after all.
That night, buoyed by his success, he delved into the playbook. The pages wouldn’t sit still. Lines blurred. Words swam. Jalen closed the binder and pushed back from his desk, the cheap dorm chair creaking beneath him.
He laced up his running shoes and stepped into the desert night. The air still held warmth from the day, but the breeze carried a bite. He ran past the practice fields, the lights long since shut off. Past the weight room. Past the stadium, where the empty bleachers cast long shadows on the turf.
Every step pounded his frustration into the pavement. Not just the playbook—everything. Bruzon. The transfers. The endless footwork critiques.
And worst of all, the creeping fear that maybe they were right.
He didn’t stop until his lungs burned. Didn’t turn around until his legs ached. And even then, he walked the long way back, hoping the silence would settle the storm inside.
===
Two days before the spring game, the depth chart went up. Just a sheet of paper taped to the quarterback room door. Black text. White background. That was all it took to churn the nerves of the young men who had worked for years to reach this point.
Jalen rounded the corner and saw the small crowd already gathered—half a dozen players, mostly receivers and linemen, lingering like they weren’t really reading it but absolutely were. The hallway had gone quiet, like a church right before the sermon.
He slowed his walk, tried to look casual. His heartbeat betrayed him.
“Yo, Knox,” one of the backup receivers nodded at him with a grin that was too quick, too rehearsed.
Jalen gave a small nod back, stepping past. The paper was right there.
Leavitt
Sims
Bourguet
Bruzon/Knox
Fourth string. A slash. Like they hadn’t decided—or didn’t care to.
Someone shifted beside him—a defensive end, Jalen thought. He couldn’t place the name, just barely recognized the face.
The guy leaned in, read it, and his fist pumped instinctively. “Let’s go—” he started, voice rising.
Then he glanced at Jalen.
The grin froze. The volume dropped. He gave a sheepish chuckle, nodded silently, and walked off while already tapping something into his phone—still smiling.
Jalen stood there, staring at the list. A couple other guys glanced at him, then looked away.
He turned and walked down the hall—not too fast, not too slow. But he felt the eyes on his back the whole way.
He wasn't surprised.
Jalen didn’t even know what he felt—anger, embarrassment, resentment. Maybe all of it.
===
The spring game was a furnace—mid-80s and cloudless. Fans filled the lower bowl. The band played. Cameras rolled.
He sat on the bench for most of the game, helmet on, eyes following every snap, trying to see what the others were seeing, what reads they were making.
From the bench, Jalen watched each series like it was a test he hadn’t studied for. He noted the way Leavitt called out protections, the timing of Sims’ dropbacks, the subtle head fake Bourguet used to freeze safeties.
Leavitt threw two touchdowns, showing off his arm strength and accuracy.
Sims ran for one and completed a tight-window seam route that got the crowd buzzing.
Bourguet was calm, poised, accurate.
Jalen burned.
Late in the game, his name was called.
He jogged onto the field. Told himself to relax.
He got the play call and took a deep breath. He repeated the play perfectly, word for word, and broke the huddle with confidence.
He clapped and caught the snap. His eyes immediately found Korbin, his first read, the out route was open and Jalen delivered a perfect ball. Korbin secured it and picked up 12 yards before he was pushed out of bounds.
Jalen pumped his fist slightly, barely noticeable to anyone but himself.
Jayden gave him a light slap on his helmet as they huddled again, a quiet encouragement.
The next play call came in. Jalen stumbled a bit with the terminology but caught it and broke the huddle.
That snap was low but he handled it with ease, feeling a sense of urgency he rushed past his first read and forced it to Korbin on a slant.
The outside linebacker jumped the route and picked it off.
The defender turned up-field. Jalen sprinted after him.
He didn’t see the defender coming.
Crack. A gasp. His vision spun before the sky re-centered itself above him.
The hit wasn't hard, the defender knew he'd be in hot water if he hit a QB for real.
Jalen was caught off guard and the contact flipped him. He landed hard on his shoulder and head. The crowd groaned.
Lying on the turf, blinking up at the sun, Jalen wasn’t sure what hurt more—his shoulder, his pride, or the realization that this wasn’t the story he thought he’d be living.
Trainers jogged out. He waved them off, dragging himself upright. He stumbled slightly as he got to his feet and that was it. His day was over. Two plays.
The disaster of the second play overshadowed the perfection of the first.
On the sideline, the coaches huddled. Bruzon trotted onto the field.
Two plays later, touchdown.
The stadium roared for Bruzon’s throw. Jalen didn’t look. He didn’t have to. He could already hear the coaches clapping.
===
That night, Jalen lay on his dorm bed, staring up at the ceiling, the dull throb in his shoulder serving as a bitter reminder.
He picked up his phone and opened his contacts.
He paused for a moment, considering how late it was, he started to set the phone back down but then hit the call button.
The phone rang three times and he considered hanging up before he heard the line come to life.
“Jalen? Baby, are you alright?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s just… harder than I thought.”
She waited. Not rushing him.
“I thought I’d come in and show everyone what I could do, take over, be the man. Thought I was built for this.”
“You are,” she said softly.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
She took a breath. “Remember your first year at Saguaro? When you were the backup? You came home mad as hell because you thought the coach hated you and you didn’t think you’d ever see the field.”
He chuckled lightly. “Coach said I wasn’t ready. That I played too wild.”
“And then you waited. You worked. And by the end of that season, nobody could take your job.”
He was quiet.
“You’re not behind, Jalen. You’re just starting over. Again. That’s not failure—it’s the first page.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re gonna be okay. Just don’t lose who you are.”
He nodded into the silence, eyes starting to close. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Jalen stared at the ceiling a while longer. Then rolled onto his side, cradling the phone to his chest like a lifeline.
The desert wind howled through the courtyard. It was relentless, unpredictable—and still moving forward. Just like he’d have to be.
-
djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Run To The Sun
It had been just over a month since they had moved to Sleepy Hollow. Chase walked to school now. No Carter waiting outside with the engine running. No Robert riding shotgun, lobbing jokes about missed homework. Just his own footsteps and the sound of birds, the occasional bark behind a fence, the steady rhythm of his breath in the mild spring air.
Morning air in Sleepy Hollow didn’t bite the way it did in Livermore Falls. It brushed past him like a passing thought—cool, fleeting, and gone. In Maine, the cold stuck around, made itself known, even in spring. But here, everything moved differently. The town pulsed with quiet energy, more alive somehow, but at ease—confident, not frantic.
The town itself was... nice. Nicer than Livermore Falls. The sidewalks were clean. The storefronts freshly painted, the business owner's pride evident. The people smiled more—genuine, full-faced smiles that didn’t seem forced. It felt like a place trying its best to be welcoming.
He passed a bagel shop on the corner, the kind of place that might become a routine stop if things kept trending in the right direction. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the fresh baked goods. He didn’t feel at home here. Not yet. But he didn’t feel lost anymore, either.
Inside the school, everything felt bigger, brighter and more optimistic than it had back home. The ceilings, the hallways, even the energy. Teachers greeted students by name. Posters for clubs and sports lined the walls like bright invitations to belong.
In second period, Chase did something he hadn’t done since he arrived—he raised his hand. It was just to answer a question about Of Mice and Men, but still. He heard his voice fill the room and didn’t flinch. A few heads turned. The teacher nodded. “Exactly, Chase. Well done.”
At lunch, he sat by himself at first. Not unusual. He picked at the corners of a sandwich, pretending to scroll on his phone with his headphones in but nothing playing.
Then he heard it: “Hey, new guy. Chase right? You play sports?”
Chase looked up. A group of three guys sat at a nearby table. He recognized one of them from English class earlier. He was stocky with broad shoulders and short brown hair. He waved Chase over.
Chase hesitated.
“C’mon,” the guy said, patting an empty seat.
Chase looked them over, making them out to be athletes. He gathered his stuff, stood, and made his way over.
“I’m Johnny,” the first guy said. “This is Miles, and that’s Connor.”
Miles nodded – lean but muscular, with sharp eyes.
Connor, taller and less round than Johnny, offered a fist bump. “Where you from?”
“Just moved from Maine,” Chase said. “Livermore Falls. My mom works at Phelps.”
“My aunt works there.” Connor said with a mouthful of pizza.
“Where did you say? Liverwood Falls? Never heard of it,” Johnny scrunched his nose. “You play football?”
Chase paused. “Livermore Falls, and Yeah. I play football. Well... I did anyway.”
“What position you play?” Miles asked, mostly out of curiosity and partly sizing up potential competition.
“I’m… I was a running back. Played a little bit of corner or safety sometimes.”
“Nice. We all play too. I'm a receiver and I bet you can guess where these two meatheads play. Season was rough last year, but we’re gonna bounce back. You should talk to Coach Ella. We could use a back.”
Chase nodded. “Maybe I will.”
“Not maybe,” Miles said, smirking. “You should. He’s in the east wing. Glass door with his name on it. Can’t miss it.”
Chase smiled. “Alright. Thanks.”
They talked for a few more minutes—light stuff. Music, sneakers, which teachers to avoid. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a start. They exchanged numbers and went their separate ways when the lunch bell sounded.
===
Later that day, Chase took the long route to class. He wasn’t lost. He just wanted to see more of the building, find his own paths through it.
That’s when he saw it—etched in red lettering across a frosted glass door:
Coach Ella – Head Football Coach
He kept walking.
Then he stopped.
Then he turned back.
He knocked.
“Come in,” came the voice from inside.
Coach Robert Ella looked up from his desk, a tall man with calm eyes and a closely cropped beard. His office was clean, a few framed game photos and a stack of papers on one side.
“Can I help you?”
Chase stepped in. “I’m Chase. Chase Pryor. I just moved here. From Maine. I met Johnny, Connor and Miles today. They said I should come find you.”
Ella nodded slowly. “You played ball in Maine?”
“Yeah. Running back. Mostly. A bit of DB.”
Ella leaned back in his chair, studying him. “We’ve had some tough years lately. Putting in the work but not getting the results we want on game days.”
Chase stayed quiet, nodding slightly.
“I’m changing things,” Ella continued. “Scheme. Culture. Whole approach, really. We’ve got a meeting next week to talk through it and go over summer workouts.”
He scribbled something on a sticky note and handed it to Chase.
“Show up if you’re interested.”
“I will,” Chase said, a bit too fast. “I mean—yeah. I’d like that.”
Ella smiled faintly and extended a hand. “Glad to hear it.”
Chase shook it. Firm.
===
The lights burned brighter than he remembered.
The turf felt soft under his cleats—new, unscuffed, almost glowing in the haze of the lights.
The crowd roared, but not the crowd from Livermore Falls. This was different. Louder. Bigger. Restless.
Chase stood in the backfield in gray and red, the word “HORSEMEN” emblazoned across his chest. His number 2 looked different. Different font. Different colors. He barely recognized the uniform, but it felt right.
The quarterback barked out the cadence. Chase shifted slightly, hands on his thighs, eyes scanning the defense.
The snap came like lightning.
He darted left, then cut hard right, slipping past a linebacker who lunged and whiffed. The hole opened like a secret door. He hit it at full speed.
Twenty yards. Then thirty. Someone dove at his legs and missed by inches.
The sideline flashed past in a blur—students, teammates, coaches. A new town, a new home, all watching him fly.
The end zone drew near. He stretched the ball forward.
Touchdown.
The crowd erupted.
“Pryor!” someone shouted.
He turned—and for a flicker of a moment, Carter Cross was there, helmet in hand, clapping like always.
Then Robert, too, standing at the edge of the field, smiling wide.
But they faded just as quickly as they appeared.
Chase looked down at his jersey.
It still said “HORSEMEN”.
And it finally felt like it belonged to him.
When his alarm went off it took Chase a few beats to realize it was a dream, it had felt so real, so familiar, so right.
===
The meeting came a few days later. After school.
The auditorium at Sleepy Hollow High was nothing like the threadbare, creaking-seat space Chase had grown used to back in Livermore Falls. This place had polish—not brand new, but cared for. The rows of cushioned chairs were deep red, plush enough to sink into, and none of them wobbled or groaned when sat in.
Overhead, modern light fixtures glowed warm and steady, casting even light across the room without flicker or hum.
On one wall, towering over the rows of players filing in, was a massive mural: the Headless Horseman, cloak billowing, charging forward on a midnight-black steed. The image was bold, stylized, full of motion—his raised jack-o'-lantern flared with streaks of fire that curved across the background. Beneath it, the words SLEEPY HOLLOW PRIDE arched in silver block letters. It was half mascot, half myth—and entirely intimidating.
Chase took a seat near the back, glancing around. The space wasn’t extravagant, but it had presence.
He scanned the faces—some familiar, most not. But one thing stood out: there were more players than Livermore Falls ever had. A full team worth and then some.
Johnny spotted him first and waved him over. “I had hoped to see you here.”
Connor and Miles sat next to him in the front row, Chase joined them.
Coach Ella worked the room at first—brief conversations, fist bumps, eye contact. Then he moved to the front, taking a seat on the edge of the stage.
“Alright, let’s get started.”
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“We’ve had moments,” he began. “Games where it looked like we were turning the corner. Then it fades. And we slip back. We haven’t been who we want to be.”
He paused, looking around the auditorium.
“And part of that’s on me. I stuck too long to what was comfortable. To what we used to do. That’s over. Starting this summer, we’re shifting. We’re moving to a more physical identity. Option football. Run-heavy. Control the clock. Hit hard. Play smart. Less finesse, more grit.”
A few heads turned.
“That means changes,” Ella said. “Some of you may move positions. Some of you may not like it. But it’s not about individual comfort. It’s about building something bigger than ourselves. Team first, teammate second, self third.”
He held up a thick packet. “This is our summer schedule. Workouts. Expectations. Optional sessions.” He emphasized “optional” with an exaggerated wink eliciting light laughter.
He handed stacks to the front row and motioned for them to pass it back.
“Look, I know the last few years haven’t been easy. But I’m more excited for this season than I’ve been in a long time. I see the faces in this room, and I believe.” He paused again.
“I hope you believe too.”
The room stayed quiet for a beat. Then came the rustle of papers, the low murmur of teammates comparing notes.
Johnny turned to Chase.
“What do you think?” Connor asked.
“You in?” Johnny added.
Chase grinned. “Absolutely.”
===
A few days later, Chase sat in the kitchen while his mom packed away groceries.
“Your birthday’s coming up,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” she teased. “What do you want this year?”
Chase hesitated. “I mean… I always kinda wanted my own helmet. One that fits me right, not as old as me. But they’re expensive, so...” He trailed off, remembering times when the budget didn't have room for extras.
“Honestly, I don’t really need anything.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said with a soft smile.
===
The morning of his birthday, Chase shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep.
Then he saw it.
A gleaming football helmet, matte silver, sitting in the center of the counter like a trophy.
He stopped in his tracks.
“You like it?” his mom asked.
His voice caught for a second. “It’s perfect.”
He ran his fingers along the shell. No scratches that were put there by someone else when he was still learning to walk.
The padding inside was spotless white, still holding the scent of new plastic and possibility.
It wasn’t just a helmet.
To Chase, it felt like a fresh start.
Morning air in Sleepy Hollow didn’t bite the way it did in Livermore Falls. It brushed past him like a passing thought—cool, fleeting, and gone. In Maine, the cold stuck around, made itself known, even in spring. But here, everything moved differently. The town pulsed with quiet energy, more alive somehow, but at ease—confident, not frantic.
The town itself was... nice. Nicer than Livermore Falls. The sidewalks were clean. The storefronts freshly painted, the business owner's pride evident. The people smiled more—genuine, full-faced smiles that didn’t seem forced. It felt like a place trying its best to be welcoming.
He passed a bagel shop on the corner, the kind of place that might become a routine stop if things kept trending in the right direction. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the fresh baked goods. He didn’t feel at home here. Not yet. But he didn’t feel lost anymore, either.
Inside the school, everything felt bigger, brighter and more optimistic than it had back home. The ceilings, the hallways, even the energy. Teachers greeted students by name. Posters for clubs and sports lined the walls like bright invitations to belong.
In second period, Chase did something he hadn’t done since he arrived—he raised his hand. It was just to answer a question about Of Mice and Men, but still. He heard his voice fill the room and didn’t flinch. A few heads turned. The teacher nodded. “Exactly, Chase. Well done.”
At lunch, he sat by himself at first. Not unusual. He picked at the corners of a sandwich, pretending to scroll on his phone with his headphones in but nothing playing.
Then he heard it: “Hey, new guy. Chase right? You play sports?”
Chase looked up. A group of three guys sat at a nearby table. He recognized one of them from English class earlier. He was stocky with broad shoulders and short brown hair. He waved Chase over.
Chase hesitated.
“C’mon,” the guy said, patting an empty seat.
Chase looked them over, making them out to be athletes. He gathered his stuff, stood, and made his way over.
“I’m Johnny,” the first guy said. “This is Miles, and that’s Connor.”
Miles nodded – lean but muscular, with sharp eyes.
Connor, taller and less round than Johnny, offered a fist bump. “Where you from?”
“Just moved from Maine,” Chase said. “Livermore Falls. My mom works at Phelps.”
“My aunt works there.” Connor said with a mouthful of pizza.
“Where did you say? Liverwood Falls? Never heard of it,” Johnny scrunched his nose. “You play football?”
Chase paused. “Livermore Falls, and Yeah. I play football. Well... I did anyway.”
“What position you play?” Miles asked, mostly out of curiosity and partly sizing up potential competition.
“I’m… I was a running back. Played a little bit of corner or safety sometimes.”
“Nice. We all play too. I'm a receiver and I bet you can guess where these two meatheads play. Season was rough last year, but we’re gonna bounce back. You should talk to Coach Ella. We could use a back.”
Chase nodded. “Maybe I will.”
“Not maybe,” Miles said, smirking. “You should. He’s in the east wing. Glass door with his name on it. Can’t miss it.”
Chase smiled. “Alright. Thanks.”
They talked for a few more minutes—light stuff. Music, sneakers, which teachers to avoid. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a start. They exchanged numbers and went their separate ways when the lunch bell sounded.
===
Later that day, Chase took the long route to class. He wasn’t lost. He just wanted to see more of the building, find his own paths through it.
That’s when he saw it—etched in red lettering across a frosted glass door:
Coach Ella – Head Football Coach
He kept walking.
Then he stopped.
Then he turned back.
He knocked.
“Come in,” came the voice from inside.
Coach Robert Ella looked up from his desk, a tall man with calm eyes and a closely cropped beard. His office was clean, a few framed game photos and a stack of papers on one side.
“Can I help you?”
Chase stepped in. “I’m Chase. Chase Pryor. I just moved here. From Maine. I met Johnny, Connor and Miles today. They said I should come find you.”
Ella nodded slowly. “You played ball in Maine?”
“Yeah. Running back. Mostly. A bit of DB.”
Ella leaned back in his chair, studying him. “We’ve had some tough years lately. Putting in the work but not getting the results we want on game days.”
Chase stayed quiet, nodding slightly.
“I’m changing things,” Ella continued. “Scheme. Culture. Whole approach, really. We’ve got a meeting next week to talk through it and go over summer workouts.”
He scribbled something on a sticky note and handed it to Chase.
“Show up if you’re interested.”
“I will,” Chase said, a bit too fast. “I mean—yeah. I’d like that.”
Ella smiled faintly and extended a hand. “Glad to hear it.”
Chase shook it. Firm.
===
The lights burned brighter than he remembered.
The turf felt soft under his cleats—new, unscuffed, almost glowing in the haze of the lights.
The crowd roared, but not the crowd from Livermore Falls. This was different. Louder. Bigger. Restless.
Chase stood in the backfield in gray and red, the word “HORSEMEN” emblazoned across his chest. His number 2 looked different. Different font. Different colors. He barely recognized the uniform, but it felt right.
The quarterback barked out the cadence. Chase shifted slightly, hands on his thighs, eyes scanning the defense.
The snap came like lightning.
He darted left, then cut hard right, slipping past a linebacker who lunged and whiffed. The hole opened like a secret door. He hit it at full speed.
Twenty yards. Then thirty. Someone dove at his legs and missed by inches.
The sideline flashed past in a blur—students, teammates, coaches. A new town, a new home, all watching him fly.
The end zone drew near. He stretched the ball forward.
Touchdown.
The crowd erupted.
“Pryor!” someone shouted.
He turned—and for a flicker of a moment, Carter Cross was there, helmet in hand, clapping like always.
Then Robert, too, standing at the edge of the field, smiling wide.
But they faded just as quickly as they appeared.
Chase looked down at his jersey.
It still said “HORSEMEN”.
And it finally felt like it belonged to him.
When his alarm went off it took Chase a few beats to realize it was a dream, it had felt so real, so familiar, so right.
===
The meeting came a few days later. After school.
The auditorium at Sleepy Hollow High was nothing like the threadbare, creaking-seat space Chase had grown used to back in Livermore Falls. This place had polish—not brand new, but cared for. The rows of cushioned chairs were deep red, plush enough to sink into, and none of them wobbled or groaned when sat in.
Overhead, modern light fixtures glowed warm and steady, casting even light across the room without flicker or hum.
On one wall, towering over the rows of players filing in, was a massive mural: the Headless Horseman, cloak billowing, charging forward on a midnight-black steed. The image was bold, stylized, full of motion—his raised jack-o'-lantern flared with streaks of fire that curved across the background. Beneath it, the words SLEEPY HOLLOW PRIDE arched in silver block letters. It was half mascot, half myth—and entirely intimidating.
Chase took a seat near the back, glancing around. The space wasn’t extravagant, but it had presence.
He scanned the faces—some familiar, most not. But one thing stood out: there were more players than Livermore Falls ever had. A full team worth and then some.
Johnny spotted him first and waved him over. “I had hoped to see you here.”
Connor and Miles sat next to him in the front row, Chase joined them.
Coach Ella worked the room at first—brief conversations, fist bumps, eye contact. Then he moved to the front, taking a seat on the edge of the stage.
“Alright, let’s get started.”
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“We’ve had moments,” he began. “Games where it looked like we were turning the corner. Then it fades. And we slip back. We haven’t been who we want to be.”
He paused, looking around the auditorium.
“And part of that’s on me. I stuck too long to what was comfortable. To what we used to do. That’s over. Starting this summer, we’re shifting. We’re moving to a more physical identity. Option football. Run-heavy. Control the clock. Hit hard. Play smart. Less finesse, more grit.”
A few heads turned.
“That means changes,” Ella said. “Some of you may move positions. Some of you may not like it. But it’s not about individual comfort. It’s about building something bigger than ourselves. Team first, teammate second, self third.”
He held up a thick packet. “This is our summer schedule. Workouts. Expectations. Optional sessions.” He emphasized “optional” with an exaggerated wink eliciting light laughter.
He handed stacks to the front row and motioned for them to pass it back.
“Look, I know the last few years haven’t been easy. But I’m more excited for this season than I’ve been in a long time. I see the faces in this room, and I believe.” He paused again.
“I hope you believe too.”
The room stayed quiet for a beat. Then came the rustle of papers, the low murmur of teammates comparing notes.
Johnny turned to Chase.
“What do you think?” Connor asked.
“You in?” Johnny added.
Chase grinned. “Absolutely.”
===
A few days later, Chase sat in the kitchen while his mom packed away groceries.
“Your birthday’s coming up,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” she teased. “What do you want this year?”
Chase hesitated. “I mean… I always kinda wanted my own helmet. One that fits me right, not as old as me. But they’re expensive, so...” He trailed off, remembering times when the budget didn't have room for extras.
“Honestly, I don’t really need anything.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said with a soft smile.
===
The morning of his birthday, Chase shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep.
Then he saw it.
A gleaming football helmet, matte silver, sitting in the center of the counter like a trophy.
He stopped in his tracks.
“You like it?” his mom asked.
His voice caught for a second. “It’s perfect.”
He ran his fingers along the shell. No scratches that were put there by someone else when he was still learning to walk.
The padding inside was spotless white, still holding the scent of new plastic and possibility.
It wasn’t just a helmet.
To Chase, it felt like a fresh start.
-
Soapy
- Posts: 13835
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Run To The Sun
I'm confused from that last update. Was he dreaming about the touchdown?
-
djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
-
Soapy
- Posts: 13835
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Run To The Sun
In the future, I'd use a different font or perhaps reference elsewhere in the update that it was a dream because yeah, i was confused af lmfao
-
djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Run To The Sun
noted, thanks
-
djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Run To The Sun
The summer heat didn’t hit the same in Sleepy Hollow.
Back in Maine, it came in waves—brief, muggy bursts between spells of rain or cool breezes off the lakes. But here, in the Hudson Valley, it just settled in and stayed. Not oppressive, but present. Heavy on the skin. Alive.
Chase found a rhythm quickly. Mornings started with a five mile run by himself.
Same time every day. Up at 5:00, hitting the pavement by 5:30.
Down New Broadway, a left onto Bedford Road then a right and past the school, past the Historic Sleepy Hollow sign, then Depeyster Street all the way to Ichabod's Landing right on the Hudson River.
Sometimes he'd let his pace drop a bit and take it all in. The lighthouse, the mural, then past a couple baseball fields and a playground before heading back toward home. He found comfort in the routine. He'd wave to the same people most weekdays and feel like he had the town to himself that early on the weekends.
On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, he ended at Horseman Bagels.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, sweat still clinging to the back of his shirt, his breathing just beginning to slow. The place smelled like toasted everything bagels and cinnamon cream cheese—an aroma that wrapped around him like a warm towel.
It had become his post-run ritual: jog the river trail, cut through the neighborhood, and end here for something hot and carby. The tile floor was cool under his sneakers. A handful of locals sipped coffee in booths by the windows, sunlight painting their faces in soft streaks.
He stepped up to the counter, still catching his breath and reviewing the run on his phone.
“That’s commitment,” came a voice from behind the register. “Running in this heat?”
Chase looked up and saw her.
She was wearing a black visor with a red Horseman Bagels logo, and her dark hair was pulled into a messy braid that dangled over one shoulder. Her name tag read Sophie, and her eyes were sharp but warm—curious, not judging.
“Gotta get the work in,” Chase said, offering a small grin. “Besides, I hear bagels taste better after a run.”
She laughed. “That’s good marketing. You here for the usual?”
He blinked. “I have a usual?”
“Everything bagel with egg and cheese, turkey sausage, light veggie cream cheese. Plus a Gatorade, red usually.”
He laughed, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t think I made that much of an impression.”
She shrugged. “We notice things. Especially when someone comes in every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday like clockwork.”
Chase smiled, feeling the sweat on his neck again—not from the run this time.
“Well, yeah. That’s me. Creature of habit.”
“Creature of bagels,” Sophie said, already moving to prep his order.
He watched as she moved with practiced ease, smearing cream cheese and sliding the sandwich into wax paper.
“You go to Sleepy Hollow?” she asked, tossing him a glance.
“Yeah,” Chase nodded. “Just moved here, actually. From Maine.”
“Oh. That’s… far.”
“It is,” he said. “But it’s starting to feel a little less far.”
Sophie handed over the bag and the bottle of red Gatorade.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow then, Maine.”
He took it, still smiling. “Thanks.”
“And hey,” she added, pausing before turning away, “good luck this season. Heard the football team’s got a new QB.”
He hesitated for a beat. “Yeah… something like that.”
“Guess I’ll be watching.”
Then she turned to the next customer, and Chase stepped aside, still grinning, the warmth in his chest suddenly outpacing the heat from his run.
After that he would look over the playbook or some of the clips Coach Ella had sent along. In the afternoon it was time for workouts—just him, Miles, Johnny, and Connor—meeting up at the school’s weight room or the local track. Four kids trying to be something more.
Chase and Miles tried to match Johnny and Connor’s numbers in the squat rack, faces red and legs shaking by the final rep. Johnny and Connor, for their part, struggled to keep up on sprints, winded and wheezing while Miles and Chase jogged back to the starting line.
It was a good balance. One part friendly, one part competitive. One part hope.
Their shirts stuck to their backs. Their jokes got lazier. But every day they showed up.
---
Eventually the official team practices started.
The first one started under gray skies with scattered sun, the turf still holding the morning’s dew. After warmups and positional drills, Coach Ella blew his whistle and called everyone together.
“You guys have put in the work,” he said, pacing in front of the kneeling players. “We’re not starting from scratch. We’re not building from the ground up. We've got a foundation but it's time for changes. A new approach. It's time to stake our claim as one of the top teams around. That means some of you are going to be asked to do things you haven’t done before. New positions. New responsibilities. Because the system’s changing, and we need the right pieces.”
There were nods. A few raised eyebrows.
Coach Ella clapped once. “Break into position groups. I’ll make the rounds.”
The assistant coaches jogged to different areas on the field, one shouted “Runningbacks with me!”
The players scattered—receivers here, linemen there, quarterbacks near midfield. Chase jogged toward the running backs, joining a half-dozen others including a rugged junior named Zeke and a freshman named Bryan who looked like he was ninety pounds and too scared to speak.
Coach Ella started with the linemen. Chase watched as he pulled aside a junior named Ty, one of the smaller guys in the group, and had a short conversation. Ty nodded, then jogged over to the running backs, settling in quietly.
Next, Coach Ella made his way to the receivers, pulling Miles aside. Chase watched them out of the corner of his eye between reps. Their conversation went on longer than the others. Ella pointed. Miles shook his head slightly, then nodded. Slowly.
Eventually, Coach Ella turned and made his way toward the running backs—with Miles trailing behind him, helmet swinging in one hand.
“You with us now?” Chase called, half-joking, extending a fist.
Miles tapped it, weakly. His expression was… off. Somewhere between confusion and annoyance.
Coach Ella said a few quick words to one of the assistants, then turned toward Chase. “Pryor.”
Chase jogged over.
Ella lowered his voice. “How you settling in?”
Chase shrugged. “Pretty good, I think. Still catching up, but I’m getting there.”
“Good,” Ella said. “Because I want to move you.”
Chase blinked. “Move me?”
“Quarterback.”
Chase laughed. Then realized Ella wasn’t joking.
“Coach, I haven’t played QB since Pop Warner. I can’t throw. I mean—not like a real quarterback.”
“We won’t be asking you to throw much,” Ella said. “This is an option offense. What I need is someone who can make the right read, manage the huddle, keep the defense honest. You’re smart. You see the field. And I think you can lead.”
Chase hesitated. He looked around—at the field, the players, the coaches.
“All right,” he said. “You got it, Coach.”
He said it louder than he meant to. A few players looked up. Chase sprinted off toward the quarterbacks, trying to convince himself he wasn't nervous about the move.
---
After practice, Chase was pulling his cleats off outside the locker room when Johnny and Connor found him.
“QB, huh? You're going to lead us back to glory?” Johnny grinned.
Chase chuckled. “I don’t know about that.”
“You got it, man,” Connor said. “Jace throws like he’s aiming for the ground and that freshman that was with you looks like he's going to be on the soccer team by the end of next week.”
Johnny smirked. “If you can beat them out, Coach Ella might be looking for a job.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Chase said, shaking his head.
Miles walked up quietly. He nodded toward them. “Y’all heading out?”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “Catch you guys later.”
Once they were gone, Miles glanced at Chase. “You need a ride?” He asked, pointing to his hand me down Civic.
Chase started to say no. But he saw the look in Miles’ eyes—hesitation, maybe even worry.
“Sure,” Chase said. “Appreciate it bro.”
In the car, the music was low. Windows down. Neither said much at first.
“You good with the position switch?” Chase asked eventually.
Miles shrugged. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m excited to get more touches. Coach says we’re gonna pound the rock, so… yeah. Should be fun.”
He didn’t sound convincing.
Chase studied him. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Miles said quickly. “I mean...” He trailed off.
Chase let the pause breathe, waiting for Miles to find the words.
Miles cleared his throat. “I'm not sure about all the hits.”
He paused again.
“I ain't no bitch.”
Chase raised his eyebrows, surprised by Miles' tone. “Didn’t say you were.”
Miles sighed. “Just… it’s a lot more contact. I bulked up a little this summer, but I’m not built like you.”
Chase nodded. “That’s legit. But with how quick you are, you won’t be taking too many direct hits. You’ll be fine.”
Miles didn’t respond. But he seemed to relax a little.
“Let me know if you ever wanna go over anything,” Chase said. “Seriously.”
Miles nodded. “Thanks.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable.
---
A few days later, practice went live.
First team offense versus first team defense. Full pads. Real speed.
They were working on the read option. Chase had been getting most of the reps at quarterback. His first few reps were rough—first he he fumbled the ball on a bad mesh with Zeke. A few plays later he kept the ball when he should’ve handed it off, got wrapped up in the backfield for a loss.
Coach Ella called him over. “Eyes up, Chase. Feel the end. Don’t guess. React.”
Chase nodded.
Next play, they ran it to the right. Chase meshed with Miles and read the end. The defender stayed wide. Chase handed it off. Miles burst through the cutback lane, juked once—but flinched at the incoming linebacker and went down early.
“Good rep,” Ella called out, keeping his tone positive.
He exchanged a glance with an assistant, then rotated in a new set.
Zeke stepped up next to Chase. The play call was triple option. Chase read the crashing end, pulled the ball from Ty’s belly, and sprinted right. Zeke angled wide with him. The linebacker took Zeke. Chase turned upfield and dashed 30 yards before the whistle blew.
Coach Ella clapped. “That’s it! Read and react.”
Later, as the team took a water break, Chase caught up with Johnny and Connor. They were buzzing.
“This offense is gonna move bodies,” Johnny said. “I can feel it.”
“Especially with you back there,” Connor added.
Chase grinned. He was starting to believe it too.
Miles lingered nearby, helmet in hand. He looked frustrated.
“You good?” Chase asked.
Miles shrugged. “Coach keeps rotating backs. Feels like I’m gonna spend my whole senior season on the bench.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” Connor said.
“You’ll get your shot,” Johnny added.
Miles didn’t respond right away.
Chase stepped in. “Trust the process, man. It’s a long season.”
---
At the end of a late summer practice, Coach Ella gathered the entire team.
“Our season opener is coming up,” he said. “Nanuet. They beat us 29-0 last year. Made us look bad.”
A few players muttered. Some nodded.
“But that was last year. This isn’t the same team. This is a team with a new identity. And they don’t know what’s coming.”
He looked around.
“I’m proud of all of you. The work you’ve put in is real. And we’re getting close to the payoff.”
He paused.
“Depth chart’s going up tomorrow. If you’re at the top, congrats—but your work isn’t done. If you’re lower than you want to be, don’t pout. Don’t quit. Prove us wrong. Doors don’t shut until they’re locked. Got questions? Find me after.”
---
The next day, the chart went up just after practice.
Players crowded around the bulletin board in the hallway outside the locker room. Some shouted in celebration. Others quietly studied their placement.
Chase walked up with Johnny and Connor. They barely looked, confident that they had retained their starting spots from the previous season. They bumped fists and headed into the locker room.
Chase found his name at the top of the quarterback list. He took a moment to soak it in, even though he already knew. Coach Ella had met with him the day before, praising his reads and willingness to adapt.
But Ella also said something else.
“I need you to lead,” he told Chase. “Not just play the position—lead this offense. Lead this team.”
Chase had hesitated. “I’m still the new guy.”
Ella smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You’re the guy now.”
Chase snapped out of his half daydream as he saw Miles approach from the side, eyes on the running backs list.
Second string.
Chase walked over and clapped him on the back.
“You’re in the mix, man. We’re all gonna get touches, plenty to go around. Seize your opportunities.”
Miles nodded. “Yeah. Just gotta keep grinding.”
His feigned confidence didn't fool Chase but he believed in Miles, even if he didn't believe in himself yet.
---
That night, Chase lay in bed with his phone.
He pulled up a contact: Robert Everett.
Chase: “Hey man. Hope you’re good. First game coming up. Coach says I need to lead more. Got any tips?”
A few minutes passed before the bubbles appeared.
Robert: “You don’t have to yell. Just lead by example. Be the calm when things go sideways. Don’t kick guys when they’re down—help them up.”
Chase read it twice. Then smiled.
He set the phone on his chest and closed his eyes.
It was almost time.
Back in Maine, it came in waves—brief, muggy bursts between spells of rain or cool breezes off the lakes. But here, in the Hudson Valley, it just settled in and stayed. Not oppressive, but present. Heavy on the skin. Alive.
Chase found a rhythm quickly. Mornings started with a five mile run by himself.
Same time every day. Up at 5:00, hitting the pavement by 5:30.
Down New Broadway, a left onto Bedford Road then a right and past the school, past the Historic Sleepy Hollow sign, then Depeyster Street all the way to Ichabod's Landing right on the Hudson River.
Sometimes he'd let his pace drop a bit and take it all in. The lighthouse, the mural, then past a couple baseball fields and a playground before heading back toward home. He found comfort in the routine. He'd wave to the same people most weekdays and feel like he had the town to himself that early on the weekends.
On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, he ended at Horseman Bagels.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, sweat still clinging to the back of his shirt, his breathing just beginning to slow. The place smelled like toasted everything bagels and cinnamon cream cheese—an aroma that wrapped around him like a warm towel.
It had become his post-run ritual: jog the river trail, cut through the neighborhood, and end here for something hot and carby. The tile floor was cool under his sneakers. A handful of locals sipped coffee in booths by the windows, sunlight painting their faces in soft streaks.
He stepped up to the counter, still catching his breath and reviewing the run on his phone.
“That’s commitment,” came a voice from behind the register. “Running in this heat?”
Chase looked up and saw her.
She was wearing a black visor with a red Horseman Bagels logo, and her dark hair was pulled into a messy braid that dangled over one shoulder. Her name tag read Sophie, and her eyes were sharp but warm—curious, not judging.
“Gotta get the work in,” Chase said, offering a small grin. “Besides, I hear bagels taste better after a run.”
She laughed. “That’s good marketing. You here for the usual?”
He blinked. “I have a usual?”
“Everything bagel with egg and cheese, turkey sausage, light veggie cream cheese. Plus a Gatorade, red usually.”
He laughed, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t think I made that much of an impression.”
She shrugged. “We notice things. Especially when someone comes in every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday like clockwork.”
Chase smiled, feeling the sweat on his neck again—not from the run this time.
“Well, yeah. That’s me. Creature of habit.”
“Creature of bagels,” Sophie said, already moving to prep his order.
He watched as she moved with practiced ease, smearing cream cheese and sliding the sandwich into wax paper.
“You go to Sleepy Hollow?” she asked, tossing him a glance.
“Yeah,” Chase nodded. “Just moved here, actually. From Maine.”
“Oh. That’s… far.”
“It is,” he said. “But it’s starting to feel a little less far.”
Sophie handed over the bag and the bottle of red Gatorade.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow then, Maine.”
He took it, still smiling. “Thanks.”
“And hey,” she added, pausing before turning away, “good luck this season. Heard the football team’s got a new QB.”
He hesitated for a beat. “Yeah… something like that.”
“Guess I’ll be watching.”
Then she turned to the next customer, and Chase stepped aside, still grinning, the warmth in his chest suddenly outpacing the heat from his run.
After that he would look over the playbook or some of the clips Coach Ella had sent along. In the afternoon it was time for workouts—just him, Miles, Johnny, and Connor—meeting up at the school’s weight room or the local track. Four kids trying to be something more.
Chase and Miles tried to match Johnny and Connor’s numbers in the squat rack, faces red and legs shaking by the final rep. Johnny and Connor, for their part, struggled to keep up on sprints, winded and wheezing while Miles and Chase jogged back to the starting line.
It was a good balance. One part friendly, one part competitive. One part hope.
Their shirts stuck to their backs. Their jokes got lazier. But every day they showed up.
---
Eventually the official team practices started.
The first one started under gray skies with scattered sun, the turf still holding the morning’s dew. After warmups and positional drills, Coach Ella blew his whistle and called everyone together.
“You guys have put in the work,” he said, pacing in front of the kneeling players. “We’re not starting from scratch. We’re not building from the ground up. We've got a foundation but it's time for changes. A new approach. It's time to stake our claim as one of the top teams around. That means some of you are going to be asked to do things you haven’t done before. New positions. New responsibilities. Because the system’s changing, and we need the right pieces.”
There were nods. A few raised eyebrows.
Coach Ella clapped once. “Break into position groups. I’ll make the rounds.”
The assistant coaches jogged to different areas on the field, one shouted “Runningbacks with me!”
The players scattered—receivers here, linemen there, quarterbacks near midfield. Chase jogged toward the running backs, joining a half-dozen others including a rugged junior named Zeke and a freshman named Bryan who looked like he was ninety pounds and too scared to speak.
Coach Ella started with the linemen. Chase watched as he pulled aside a junior named Ty, one of the smaller guys in the group, and had a short conversation. Ty nodded, then jogged over to the running backs, settling in quietly.
Next, Coach Ella made his way to the receivers, pulling Miles aside. Chase watched them out of the corner of his eye between reps. Their conversation went on longer than the others. Ella pointed. Miles shook his head slightly, then nodded. Slowly.
Eventually, Coach Ella turned and made his way toward the running backs—with Miles trailing behind him, helmet swinging in one hand.
“You with us now?” Chase called, half-joking, extending a fist.
Miles tapped it, weakly. His expression was… off. Somewhere between confusion and annoyance.
Coach Ella said a few quick words to one of the assistants, then turned toward Chase. “Pryor.”
Chase jogged over.
Ella lowered his voice. “How you settling in?”
Chase shrugged. “Pretty good, I think. Still catching up, but I’m getting there.”
“Good,” Ella said. “Because I want to move you.”
Chase blinked. “Move me?”
“Quarterback.”
Chase laughed. Then realized Ella wasn’t joking.
“Coach, I haven’t played QB since Pop Warner. I can’t throw. I mean—not like a real quarterback.”
“We won’t be asking you to throw much,” Ella said. “This is an option offense. What I need is someone who can make the right read, manage the huddle, keep the defense honest. You’re smart. You see the field. And I think you can lead.”
Chase hesitated. He looked around—at the field, the players, the coaches.
“All right,” he said. “You got it, Coach.”
He said it louder than he meant to. A few players looked up. Chase sprinted off toward the quarterbacks, trying to convince himself he wasn't nervous about the move.
---
After practice, Chase was pulling his cleats off outside the locker room when Johnny and Connor found him.
“QB, huh? You're going to lead us back to glory?” Johnny grinned.
Chase chuckled. “I don’t know about that.”
“You got it, man,” Connor said. “Jace throws like he’s aiming for the ground and that freshman that was with you looks like he's going to be on the soccer team by the end of next week.”
Johnny smirked. “If you can beat them out, Coach Ella might be looking for a job.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Chase said, shaking his head.
Miles walked up quietly. He nodded toward them. “Y’all heading out?”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “Catch you guys later.”
Once they were gone, Miles glanced at Chase. “You need a ride?” He asked, pointing to his hand me down Civic.
Chase started to say no. But he saw the look in Miles’ eyes—hesitation, maybe even worry.
“Sure,” Chase said. “Appreciate it bro.”
In the car, the music was low. Windows down. Neither said much at first.
“You good with the position switch?” Chase asked eventually.
Miles shrugged. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m excited to get more touches. Coach says we’re gonna pound the rock, so… yeah. Should be fun.”
He didn’t sound convincing.
Chase studied him. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Miles said quickly. “I mean...” He trailed off.
Chase let the pause breathe, waiting for Miles to find the words.
Miles cleared his throat. “I'm not sure about all the hits.”
He paused again.
“I ain't no bitch.”
Chase raised his eyebrows, surprised by Miles' tone. “Didn’t say you were.”
Miles sighed. “Just… it’s a lot more contact. I bulked up a little this summer, but I’m not built like you.”
Chase nodded. “That’s legit. But with how quick you are, you won’t be taking too many direct hits. You’ll be fine.”
Miles didn’t respond. But he seemed to relax a little.
“Let me know if you ever wanna go over anything,” Chase said. “Seriously.”
Miles nodded. “Thanks.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable.
---
A few days later, practice went live.
First team offense versus first team defense. Full pads. Real speed.
They were working on the read option. Chase had been getting most of the reps at quarterback. His first few reps were rough—first he he fumbled the ball on a bad mesh with Zeke. A few plays later he kept the ball when he should’ve handed it off, got wrapped up in the backfield for a loss.
Coach Ella called him over. “Eyes up, Chase. Feel the end. Don’t guess. React.”
Chase nodded.
Next play, they ran it to the right. Chase meshed with Miles and read the end. The defender stayed wide. Chase handed it off. Miles burst through the cutback lane, juked once—but flinched at the incoming linebacker and went down early.
“Good rep,” Ella called out, keeping his tone positive.
He exchanged a glance with an assistant, then rotated in a new set.
Zeke stepped up next to Chase. The play call was triple option. Chase read the crashing end, pulled the ball from Ty’s belly, and sprinted right. Zeke angled wide with him. The linebacker took Zeke. Chase turned upfield and dashed 30 yards before the whistle blew.
Coach Ella clapped. “That’s it! Read and react.”
Later, as the team took a water break, Chase caught up with Johnny and Connor. They were buzzing.
“This offense is gonna move bodies,” Johnny said. “I can feel it.”
“Especially with you back there,” Connor added.
Chase grinned. He was starting to believe it too.
Miles lingered nearby, helmet in hand. He looked frustrated.
“You good?” Chase asked.
Miles shrugged. “Coach keeps rotating backs. Feels like I’m gonna spend my whole senior season on the bench.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” Connor said.
“You’ll get your shot,” Johnny added.
Miles didn’t respond right away.
Chase stepped in. “Trust the process, man. It’s a long season.”
---
At the end of a late summer practice, Coach Ella gathered the entire team.
“Our season opener is coming up,” he said. “Nanuet. They beat us 29-0 last year. Made us look bad.”
A few players muttered. Some nodded.
“But that was last year. This isn’t the same team. This is a team with a new identity. And they don’t know what’s coming.”
He looked around.
“I’m proud of all of you. The work you’ve put in is real. And we’re getting close to the payoff.”
He paused.
“Depth chart’s going up tomorrow. If you’re at the top, congrats—but your work isn’t done. If you’re lower than you want to be, don’t pout. Don’t quit. Prove us wrong. Doors don’t shut until they’re locked. Got questions? Find me after.”
---
The next day, the chart went up just after practice.
Players crowded around the bulletin board in the hallway outside the locker room. Some shouted in celebration. Others quietly studied their placement.
Chase walked up with Johnny and Connor. They barely looked, confident that they had retained their starting spots from the previous season. They bumped fists and headed into the locker room.
Chase found his name at the top of the quarterback list. He took a moment to soak it in, even though he already knew. Coach Ella had met with him the day before, praising his reads and willingness to adapt.
But Ella also said something else.
“I need you to lead,” he told Chase. “Not just play the position—lead this offense. Lead this team.”
Chase had hesitated. “I’m still the new guy.”
Ella smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You’re the guy now.”
Chase snapped out of his half daydream as he saw Miles approach from the side, eyes on the running backs list.
Second string.
Chase walked over and clapped him on the back.
“You’re in the mix, man. We’re all gonna get touches, plenty to go around. Seize your opportunities.”
Miles nodded. “Yeah. Just gotta keep grinding.”
His feigned confidence didn't fool Chase but he believed in Miles, even if he didn't believe in himself yet.
---
That night, Chase lay in bed with his phone.
He pulled up a contact: Robert Everett.
Chase: “Hey man. Hope you’re good. First game coming up. Coach says I need to lead more. Got any tips?”
A few minutes passed before the bubbles appeared.
Robert: “You don’t have to yell. Just lead by example. Be the calm when things go sideways. Don’t kick guys when they’re down—help them up.”
Chase read it twice. Then smiled.
He set the phone on his chest and closed his eyes.
It was almost time.
-
Soapy
- Posts: 13835
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Run To The Sun
GL with the option in the game, always struggled with it
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djp73
Topic author - Posts: 11551
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42