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She shook her head. “It’s not about seeing good. I don’t get to define what’s good. It’s just about giving people another chance. Cornell doesn’t believe everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Cornell just wants you to remember that the cat bit you once. He could do it just as easily again, no matter how nice you are to him.”
Ali cocked a brow. “He’s worried about me now, is he?”
“No. But when there’s a shark in the water, it’ll take a bite out of a surfboard if it’s hungry enough.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much Animal Planet. We’re talking about a kid, not a feral animal.”
John shook his head, the ordinarily playful tone of his voice deepening into something more serious. “We’re talking about a young man, not a child. I just want you to be on the lookout. You might be the one to see something isn’t right before anyone else.”
Ali’s mind went to the other day in the cafeteria when she hadn’t just seen a change but felt one too.
“You’re right.” She turned to John and smiled. “I’ll keep my eye out. You can tell Cornell that on your next nine-hole.”
Her mother’s boyfriend laughed. “He’s got an open invitation.”
The music that played loudly during halftime simmered down, the cheerleaders moved off the field, and a minute later, both teams jogged out to their benches.
“Your offense might be shaky, but that linebacker isn’t,” John commented as Dwayne Davis sacked the quarterback on the first drive of the second half, causing a fumble that secured the ball for Hopperville’s offense.
Ali nodded. “He’s ranked number one of Juco players.”
To Ali’s surprise, Graham put his helmet on, heading out to the huddle at the line of scrimmage. Cornell had told her he would be going with Julian—for many reasons—but Ali knew that if the starting quarterback couldn’t handle the pressure, Cornell would be forced to go with Graham.
But it had been the right choice. From the snap, Graham stepped back with quick, light feet, motioning his head before releasing the ball. The stadium grew silent until it landed right into the hands of a receiver, completing a fifty-seven-yard touchdown.
John shrugged at Ali. “No one said he didn’t have a good arm.”
She watched with a small smile as the team congratulated Graham, high fives, jumping, slamming bodies—all of the anticipated celebratory actions that come with a massive play. Ali’s eyes floated back to Cornell, and only when she saw him run onto the field did she realize that in a split second, the celebration had turned into a disaster.
From her spot on the bleachers, all Ali could see was Dwayne trying to yank Graham back by his jersey as both teams crowded around, blocking her view of them.
Quickly, Ali climbed onto the bench to look over the sea of fans, over the swarm of players on the field, pushing and shoving, circling Graham and an opposing player who were face to face, chest to chest. Her hand flew to her mouth when Graham took off his helmet, lifting and swinging it into the protected head of the guy in front of him. The blow of metal on metal made her jump and nearly stumble.
“Jesus,” John whispered from beside her.
Bobbi nudged him. “John, go. There might not be a doctor here.”
“No.” Ali placed her hand on John’s shoulder. She didn’t stop him because he was an OBGYN and didn’t think he could help, or that she wasn’t confident in Hopperville’s athletic trainers. The crowd of players surrounding Graham only amplified. Ali held her breath until she saw Cornell still on the outskirts with most of the coaches pulling players back while the referees fought their way into the thick of it. “You could get hurt.”
There was more yelling and screaming from the mosh of players on the field, and Ali’s eyes left Cornell and drifted back to the center. She was hit with relief when Dwayne pulled Graham back, but the reprieve was overtaken by horror when Ali realized that Dwayne’s move was made only to stop Graham, who had raised his helmet again. Ali’s eyes widened and gut sunk seeing that Graham had been prepared to strike an older, unprotected referee.
A collective, haunting gasp of stadium patrons followed, Ali’s own included until it was swallowed by more screaming, and the shrills of whistles after whistles blowing through the air.
* * *
Cornell still wasn’t home by midnight, and Ali lay impatiently on the couch, channel surfing on the TV that hung across from her. It took nearly forty minutes to sort out the mess that Graham had created—including an ambulance for the other team’s player who took the brunt of it all.
Hopperville did win the game after Julian returned to the field, but a somber, dark cloud seemed to take hold of the small stadium. When the final whistle blew, the heaviness of the night didn’t leave much room for celebrating.
Ali kept hearing it in her mind—the slam of Graham’s helmet, the sheer force, the anger behind it. The angle and flex of his arm raising his helmet again, prepared to strike the referee flashed before her eyes. The sound and sight of a potential, life-threatening disaster was disturbingly terrifying.
Leaping off the couch, Ali was unable to sit still any longer, uncomfortable in her skin, with her thoughts, disgusted by her own naivete. I vouched for him, for a kid who could do that. He could’ve killed someone. It wasn’t just a blow to her ego. Ali going to the line for Graham and him proving to everyone—his team, the college, the entire town—that he was exactly who everyone thought he was, was devastating to her.
I tried, Ali thought as she went into the kitchen, pulling out a quart of strawberry ice cream. The blow was that when Graham swung his helmet tonight, he showed everyone that she failed.
The front door creaked open, and Cornell appeared as Ali removed the spoon from her mouth.
