I feel dozens of curious eyes on me, but I don’t let my own waver from Coach Alberts as I infuse as much confidence as I can muster into my hastily concocted explanation.

Andrew Alberts eyes me skeptically. “What do you know about the Kamanski throwing technique?”

“I know it won Jerry Lewis and the Ducks three championships.”

Andrew gives me a grudging look of respect. “You know your football.”

Jace makes a low sound of incredulity beside me, but otherwise remains silent.

“How come you’re so invested in Dawson’s throwing technique?” Andrew asks. “Are you a groupie?”

I have to work to hold back the laugh that threatens to escape in response to that accusation. Based on my understanding of the term, I’m the furthest thing from one.

“No one wants to go see their football team lose,” I reply instead. Andrew looks unconvinced, so I improvise further and quickly add, “I’m also writing an article comparing this year’s starters to the 1998 Ducks team. Jace is the obvious choice for Jerry Lewis.”

Andrew harrumphs, but seems appeased. “Dawson, go get changed,” he barks. “Cotes and Anderson, go ask Coach Jestings to warm you up using the Kamanski method, so when Dawson gets back, we can try running it.”

I allow myself a quick glance over at Jace, who’s staring at me in blatant shock. I wink at him, then begin walking back over to the entrance we’d come in.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Care to explain how you’ve never seen a football game but knew about some obscure throwing technique I’ve never even heard of?” That’s how Jace greets me the following morning for what has apparently become our daily run.

“You’re welcome,” I retort, continuing to jog past the tree he’s leaning against as he waits for me. “Pretty sure you were about to get kicked off the team before I intervened,” I call over my shoulder.

Jace pushes off from the bark and begins running after me, his footfalls pounding the ground.

“Was the whole I’m-so-clueless-about-football act just some ploy to get my attention?” he presses, drawing even with me.

I scoff loudly, incensed by the accusation. “You were the one who showed up at my dorm and dragged me to the stadium when I was planning to go on a run by myself and then eat breakfast. Not sure what sort of master plan that would have been.”

Jace doesn’t reply, acknowledging I have a valid point.

After a moment of silence, he persists. “Did one of the guys on the team put you up to it?”

“Of course not. I only talk to you because you refuse to leave me alone. You seriously think I’m coming up with elaborate plots with other football players?”

“I didn’t ask if you’ve been plotting with them, I asked if they told you to do it,” Jace replies evenly.

“You’re unbelievable. But in this hypothetical situation, I obviously would have been the brains behind any supposed plan.”

“Sounds like a confession to me.”