His smile is so wide I feel like it might crack his face right open.

Our defense does its job perfectly, and the Spartans never even gain enough yardage for a first down on their first possession. I barely have time to catch my breath before it’s time for us to take the field again.

Elijah is the last to set up, checking out the pattern of the defense before nodding at me and getting into position.

“Set!” he yells.

“Red 15! Red 15! Hike!” I yell, and Elijah goes to work, clearing the defense and giving me a nice deep pocket to work with. I see Nate hustling downfield. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the left tackle digging in and heading in my direction, and everything starts to happen in slow motion. Elijah is wrestling with the middle linebacker, and the rest of the o-line is fighting hard to keep the other defensive players at bay. With that tackle coming at me, I know I have to make a quick decision.

I wasn’t planning on letting a long bomb go so quickly after the last one, but I can see that Nate is a perfect option right now. Out of nowhere, Elijah flies in front of me and takes the tackle out at the knees just as he reaches out to grab my shins. I can feel the tackle’s glove brush my right leg right before Elijah pulls him down onto the turf.

I let the ball go just like my father taught me, fingers between the laces and pointer finger on the seam. The ball rolls off my fingers, and it’s one of those passes that I just know is going to look beautiful when I watch the playback later. Everything about it feels right as it spirals out of my hand and drops perfectly into Nate’s arms. He pivots and runs right into the end zone. Again.

There isn’t a green jersey anywhere near him. Nate spikes the ball, and the Crenshaw bleachers go absolutely wild. I can see Birdie on her feet, screaming and waving a glittery poster with the number eighty-seven, Elijah’s number, emblazoned on it.

Elijah catches me on our way off the field and gives my pads a hearty punch. “Yeah! Yeah! That’s how you do it,” he yells, his face full of pure joy.

The entire first half of the game goes like that. I feel like I’m on fire, and nothing can stop any of us from marching into the end zone over and over again. We head toward the fieldhouse with a score of 24–3 as the Guardettes and the band take the field behind us.

All the Guardsmen are whooping and hollering at the top of our lungs when we get into the privacy of our own locker room. Most of the players bump pads with Elijah or bump his knuckles when they walk by him.