Page 32 of The Backup Plan
“A lot of girls would have lowered their guns when you did.”
He inspected the glowing red cross on his chest. “Oops.”
ELEVEN
Chunky Quarterback
CAMERON
Unlike the schedule app in his phone firing notifications left and right, the tiny calendar tacked over Cam’s desk reminded him of only a few things. Home games were circled in blue ink, away games in black. Two away games sported an extra mark: a red star for the game against Hayden, and an orange star for the one in Tennessee against Ethan, and possibly the only game his parents would make that year.
He’d drawn a black square around September twenty-ninth, dragging the ballpoint over and over around the date until he almost pushed through the paper: eighty-nine days since Jordan had been active in the QB1 chat, weeks before Cam was invited. He wasn’t sure if Jordan knew he was there, or if he still talked to anyone. Maybe Cory. A few things he said made him wonder.
Every time he took a snap, his old friend was in front of him, pushing back against his pads like he’d buckled them too tight. Cam racked up passing and rushing yards faster than he ever imagined he could, and the pressure in his chest fueled him instead of holding him back.
The calendar on his phone pinged a grim reminder that he was due at the athletics complex for yet another photo shoot, this time in full gear so they could remake Jordan’s poses for a series he did with Will Bennett, their All-American tight end, and Trevon Stevenson, the left tackle he prayed would stay an extra year to keep him on his feet. He poked his hair—dry, no product. In his forced positive mindset, he decided that if the media crew wanted to style his hair, he’d let them do it and call it research for how to look like less of a sloppy jock around a certain girl.
“You have nice hair, Cam.” Shay worked some product through the curls. “Why do you always wear that beat-up hat?”
“You don’t get a luckier hat than that one for a quarterback. Peyton Manning signed that for me when I went to Manning Passing Academy.”
“What’s that?”
“The Manning family does a camp every summer for high school kids. They actually come and teach. Like, here’s Peyton Manning talking to me during stretches about ankle pronation on dropbacks.”
“That’s crazy you got to do that.” Shay leaned back and cast a critical eye over him. “You’re good, hair-wise. That’s all they trust me with yet.”
“What else is there to do? I know how to dress myself. If Shelby thinks she’s coming in the locker room and showing me how to pull up my pants, we’re going to have a talk.”
“Nooo,” Pippa whined when she walked into the green room. “Shay, come on. You think Shelby’s going to be okay with this?”
“With what?” Shay and Cam said together.
“She said full gear,” Cam continued, waving his gold helmet. “I have the official everything. My hair is done, and we’ll do the helmet-off stuff first.”
“Yeah, but your jersey’s too big. And your pants… oh boy.”
He gestured at his navy and gold jersey and white pants. “This is exactly what I wear on home game days. Same size. I have a brand new away jersey in my locker, just in case. It has to be a little loose or I can’t get it on. And what’s wrong with my pants?”
“Ugh, Cam, just hang on.”
Shay shot him a bewildered glance as Pippa trotted across the room to where other members of their crew flipped through photos from the previous shoots. She mumbled something to the only male member of their team and hung back as he strode across the room.
“Cameron, you need to adjust yourself, buddy.” He nodded at Cam’s pants.
“Hold on.” Cam stepped close to him, hulking over him in cleats and pads. “I don’t know your name. I think we should be introduced before you start talking about my?—”
“Cam, Garrett. Garrett, Cam,” Shay said quickly.
Cam offered a hand. Garrett shook it, then jumped back.
“You’re just a little off center.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked down and caught himself before he pointed. “You can’t see anything.”
Pippa cleared her throat.
“I’m wearing the same kind of compression shorts we all wear, all the time. I’ve been on TV in this stuff a hundred times and no one told me I was off center. Or centered. Or anything. You know, no one has ever remarked on the alignment of my dick, ever, in or out of pants.”