The reality was a little better. The guys wore helmets along with their white jerseys and black shorts, but I could pick out the ones I knew. Mac was taller than everyone out there, Noah had a tattoo on his arm, and Soren blew me a kiss when they walked out onto the field. Derek, kitted out in a red jersey, slapped the back of Soren’s helmet. I couldn’t see his face, but when he looked up at me, heat flooded my system.

During the entire two-hour practice, he didn’t glance my way again, but the coach I’d seen a couple of times now in the dining hall sent me progressively deep scowls with alarming regularity. I wasn’t the only one in the stands. A couple of guys in suits sat up at the top, deep in discussion, and a gaggle of girls in short skirts clustered near the coaching staff.

He didn’t seem to mind the ball bunnies, as I’d heard the guys call them.

I hated to admit it, but Derrick was right. I’d been woefully uninformed about how hard football players worked. They moved with intention, even if it was just going from one group to another. Considering I felt like I was going to melt sitting in the shade, I couldn’t imagine how hot they must be in the sun performing plays over and over again with the same high intensity.

Derrick and Parker started off to the side with a coach I hadn’t met before, but by the end of practice, they were trading off plays with what looked like a full team. Mac hollered as he caught a high pass from Parker and took off for the end zone.

The next play, I held my breath as Derrick scooted back and scanned the field instead of throwing the ball right away. Out of his line of sight, Soren broke loose, dodging around his defender with a level of grace I hadn’t expected from him. In some kind of psychic connection, Derrick turned and heaved the ball down the field into Soren’s waiting arms.

The whole play lasted maybe four seconds, but even I could see it was beautiful. No wonder they were so cocky.

The angry coach blew his whistle, and the guys gathered around him, some taking a knee. I fanned myself and replayed that throw in my mind. Maybe I’d been missing out by not watching football all these years.

One of my foster dads had watched it religiously every Sunday. He’d been nice enough, but I’d always had the feeling that the games were more important than us kids. That family hadn’t lasted long, and honestly, I hadn’t thought of them in years.