The Quarterback
The Quarterback: CH. 5
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CHAPTER FIVE: THE FALLOUT
The grass is dead in patches. Dry and sharp beneath my cleats, like it’s just as over this week as I am.
Coach blows the whistle again. I run the route like I’m chasing something. Or running from it. Maybe both.
The ball lands in my hands harder than it needs to, and I don’t cradle it—I clutch it. Like it might fall apart if I loosen my grip even a little.
I hear someone whistle from the sideline.
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