Game Changers (11 page)

“Goin' for it,” Darrelle said.

“Right here, right now,” Ben said.

Ben bought himself some time, rolling to his right. The cornerback went for Sam's fake, and after ten yards Sam was in the clear. Ben planted and threw, sure there was no way he could overthrow Sam Brown when he turned on the jets like this.

And sure was wrong.

Wrong, and long. By five yards.

Too excited, too much on it, too far out of Sam's reach. Ben watched the ball fall to the ground. As it did, he slapped the sides of his helmet with both palms. Hard. Feeling in that moment as if he'd blown his best shot to bring his team all the way back.

Sam, of course, acted like it was no big deal. Like he was the calmest guy at The Rock. As usual. “Well, look at the arm on the little guy,” he said.

“A big dope actually,” Ben said. “I had you.”

“Chill,” Sam said. “
We … got … this
.”

They ended up just inside the Parkerville ten, second and goal, twenty seconds left. Coach sent in Kevin with the play. Simply called “Out.” Sam was supposed to line up right next
to Justin, their tight end, then just run straight for the orange pylon at the goal line, the one that meant touchdown if you got inside it.

Kevin said, “Coach said that if Sam can't get in, or can't get out of bounds, you've still got time to line us up and spike it, we'd still have time for one last play.”

“We won't need it,” Ben said.

But they did.

The Patriots blitzed this time, all out, and Ben had to rush his throw, which came up short, and low. Sam managed to catch it somehow, but had to come back to the ball to do that, his momentum taking him away from the end zone. The Parkerville guy on him brought him down before Sam could get out of bounds.

Ben had time to look at the scoreboard.

Eleven seconds.

Ten.

He waved the Rams up to the line of scrimmage, yelling “Spike! Spike!” as he did, telling them and the Patriots he was going to spike the ball into the ground, stop the clock, bring up fourth down.

Even as the fire drill was going on, he had time to give a quick look to Sam.

Ben nodded at him.

Sam nodded back.

They both knew what was coming next even if nobody else at The Rock, including Coach O'Brien, did.

Ben wasn't going with a spike.

He was faking one.

It was one of his all-time favorite plays off ESPN Classic, and one of Sam's, they'd watched it plenty of times. Dan Marino against the Jets, faking a spike at the end of a game, coming up and throwing the touchdown pass that won the game for the Dolphins.

Parkerville waited for the spike the way the Jets had that day. Everybody on the field pretty much stopped. Everybody except Ben and Sam, running the play now the way they always had at McBain Field.

What they called “The Full Marino.”

Sam was standing all alone at the back of the end zone when Ben threw him the pass that beat the Parkerville Patriots.

The refs didn't even make them bother with a conversion.

Game over.

Rams 22, Patriots 20.

A lot happened next. A lot of running and pounding and Ben ended up at the bottom of another pile, just without the ball this time. Sam still had that. When Ben got loose, Sam was in front of him, handing it to him.

“You know the only one who can make that play?”

“Marino?” Ben said.

“No,” Sam Brown said. “A quarterback.”

Even Lily was there by the time the Rams had finished shaking hands with the Patriots, waving at Ben from behind the Rams' bench, like she was telling him to get over there right now.

Ben said, “You showed up?”

“Heard big things were happening and hopped on my bike.”

“You
heard
?”

Lily said, “It happened like this: Darrelle's sister decided to come watch the game today. Well, actually, her parents
made
her, she didn't really want to. And when the coach put you in at quarterback, she didn't have a cell but Justin's sister did, so she's the one who texted me …”

Lily's parents had caved on a cell phone, having originally told her she couldn't get one until she was twelve.

Ben put up both hands, in surrender. “Way too much information,” he said. “But I'm glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

“When did you get here?”

“After your first touchdown.”

“So you saw the good parts.”

“Did I ever.”

“I'm not gonna lie to you, Lils. It didn't stink.”

Lily reached across the bench and gave him a high five.

“No, McBain, it definitely did not stink.”

He saw Sam and Coop at the other end of the bench, waving at him to get going.

“Hey,” Ben said. “We're about to head —”

“Back to your house?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, see you there.”

Not asking to come over, just telling. Just being Lily.

“Cool.”

“Core Four against the world,” Lily said.

“Yeah, girl.”

Lily smiled at him now, raising that eyebrow at the same time, like hitting him with both barrels, saying, “What you did today, I
guess
that was the opposite of choking. Right?”

“I guess.” Now he smiled at her. “And, Lils? I'm glad you were here.”

Lily went to get her bike. Ben turned around and Coach O'Brien was standing there, having waited for Lily to leave, still looking as happy as any of the Rams' players. Like he was eleven.

“I know guys your age never want to hear about the good old days. But, man, I gotta tell you, you took me back today.”

“Took you back
where
, Coach?”

“Freshman year at Maryland,” he said. “I was the third-string QB, but the starter wasn't getting it done, and the backup was hurt, and we were losing to Wake, and my coach threw me out there when we were down three touchdowns. And I started running around and throwing it around, and we came all the way back.” He shook his head, smiling. “Even though
my
coach really didn't think we had a chance that day. Sort of the way I was today.”

“I always think there's a chance,” Ben said, “long as there's still time.”

“I was the exact same way,” Coach O'Brien said. “That's why for a while there today, when you were bringing us back, I felt like I was watching
me
.”

It was then that Ben saw that Shawn was a few yards away, listening to the whole conversation. When he noticed Ben looking at him, he turned and walked away.

A few minutes later Ben, Sam, and Coop finally walked over to where Ben's parents were waiting for them. But as soon as they got close, Jeff McBain couldn't wait any longer, he stepped up and just bear-hugged Ben.

“You know that NBA commercial on TV?” Ben's dad said. “The one that says the league is where amazing happens? Well, it wasn't hoops today, pal. Amazing was
you
.”

“Dad,” Ben said, “you're the one who always says you have to play all the way into the parking lot if that's what it takes. So that's what we did.”

“Yeah, you did. Now let's say we head across the parking
lot and go home, because your mother is threatening to make what she describes as an epic batch of brownies.”

Even on the short ride home, it was as if Ben and Sam and Coop were trying to replay the whole fourth quarter, down by down, all the way to “The Full Marino.” They were all still in their football gear, but changing clothes when they got back to Ben's house wasn't a problem, Sam and Coop were always leaving so many clothes behind that Ben's mom just kept a special drawer for them.

Lily showed up about two minutes after the car pulled into the driveway. When she found out Mrs. McBain was making brownies, she said she'd help.

Lily said, “And anybody who says this is girls' work is going down.”

Yeah, Ben thought. A good day. No, a
great
day. The guys were all in the basement, waiting for the brownies to be finished, watching Auburn play Florida, when they heard the doorbell. Ben heard his mother yell down for him to get it.

When he opened their front door, Shawn O'Brien was standing there. And as soon as he saw him Ben couldn't help it, he smiled, thinking to himself that now the day was going to end exactly right, Shawn having come over here to make things right between him and Ben.

His way of picking up a teammate, even though the game had been over an hour now.

“Hey,” Ben said, “come on downstairs. My mom just made brownies, we're just hanging and watching football.”

“I'm not staying,” Shawn said.

Staying where he was.

“I just wanted to tell you something myself,” he said.

“Dude,” Ben said, “it's all good, you don't have to say anything.”

“Yeah, I do,” Shawn said. “You finally got what you wanted, didn't you?”

“Just a win,” Ben said. “It's what we all got.”

“No,” Shawn said, “you got my
job
.”

Ben said. “I was just the QB for one quarter today, that's all.”

“C'mon, you know you wanted to be QB from the
first
day.”

“No, I didn't.”

Ben stopped himself. Ben McBain the bad liar.

“No, that's not true,” he said to Shawn. “I
do
love playing quarterback. And, yeah, I'd like to be the starting quarterback. But I like our
team
more. I want our team to do well. That's why I tried to help you. You know I tried to help you. You can't say that I didn't.”

Shawn acted as if he hadn't heard the last of what Ben had said. Or if he'd heard, he just didn't care. Ben's mom was always telling him that people were complicated, to never think you had somebody figured out. That there was the person they let you know, and the person they really are. His dad said the same thing about sports stars, especially after Tiger Woods got into trouble and people started to find out about the person he was when he wasn't playing
golf. “We know what they do,” his dad said, “not who they are.”

As Ben stood there, waiting, he decided that Shawn O'Brien was about the most complicated kid he'd ever met. Like there were two Shawns. Or even more than that. All Ben knew about the one standing in front of him was that he was going out of his way to be mean right now. Not here to make the day more right than it already was.

Just trying to ruin it for Ben.

“You've got no idea how sick I am of hearing about you from my dad,” Shawn said, his voice rising suddenly, face red. “Sick about hearing what a perfect little teammate you are, what a perfect little player you are. Now he acts like you're his perfect little quarterback. Maybe you should be his son, not me, then everybody would be happy, wouldn't they?”

Shawn grinned then, Ben wasn't sure why, and said, “But there's more than one way to be a perfect son.”

Ben didn't know what to say to that, didn't even know where to start, just stood there with his mouth closed, watched as Shawn turned and started to walk back down the front walk.

“Wait,” Ben said finally.

Shawn turned around. “I said what I came here to say and now I'm out of here.”

Ben said, “Aren't you the same guy who told me you didn't even want to
be
a quarterback?”

Shawn O'Brien shrugged.

“Guess I changed my mind,” he said. “Guess I didn't know how much I really wanted to be one until somebody else was.
Perfect little Ben McBain. Seriously, dude? You really
should
be the coach's son.”

He got on his bike without turning around again and rode away.

On Monday before practice Coach O'Brien pulled Ben aside and told him that Shawn was still the starting quarterback.

“I just can't do it to Shawn, no matter how much he's been struggling so far,” Coach O'Brien said. “I know I'm the coach of the team. But I'm his dad first. Now it's my job as his coach
and
his dad to get the most out of his talent.”

“I get that, Coach, I do,” Ben said.

“He told me the other night,” Coach O'Brien said, “that being the best quarterback he can be is the most important thing in the world to him.”

Ben hoped the surprise he was feeling when he heard that one wasn't showing on his face, like some sign that had suddenly been lit up.

This was right before practice, Coach and Ben standing by themselves at the ten-yard line while the other guys stretched.

“Shawn and I had a really good talk when we got home after the game,” Coach O'Brien said. “And it nearly broke my heart hearing my own kid telling me how much he wants to get better, not just for me, but for the team.”

“Wow,” Ben said. Best he could do.

“I know,” Coach said.

No, he really didn't know, but it wasn't Ben's place to tell him that.

“Anyway, I did a lot of thinking over the weekend, and came up with what I think is a pretty good compromise to keep Shawn at QB and give you a chance to show your stuff,” he said. “What I've done is draw up some of those ‘Wildcat' plays they use in the NFL, where the ball is direct-snapped to a back like you and you get to run the offense on that down. And that means run it or pass it. I plan to split out Shawn and have you throw it to him sometimes.”

He smacked his hands together, smiling, like he'd just told Ben they were going to a Packers game together.

“Best of both worlds!” Coach said.

Maybe for you
, Ben thought.

After everything that had happened, after everything he'd shown once he got his chance, it was as if Coach O'Brien still couldn't see past his own son.

All Ben could hope for in that moment was that the hurt he was feeling didn't show. Nobody ever told him that being a good teammate could hurt this much.

“It's like I'm getting two quarterbacks for the price of one,” Coach O'Brien said. “Win-win, right?”

“Right,” Ben said.

“I know it's one more position for you to learn, but if anybody can handle it, you can.”

Just not the position Ben wanted, the one he knew he deserved, not that he was going to tell Coach that, or even say it that way in front of the rest of the Core Four.

There it was, anyway.

So that's what Shawn had meant when he said there was more than one way to be the perfect son. He had obviously said all the things his dad wanted to hear, obviously pushed all the right buttons with him, to stay the starting quarterback. To get exactly what he wanted.

Ben asked Coach if he had time to make a quick run into school, take a bathroom break. Coach said to go ahead, but hustle back. When Ben got inside, he went running past the boys' locker room, went to the far end of the gym, took his helmet off, and banged it as hard as he could against the padded wall behind the basket, kept doing that as hard as he could until he was ready to go out and act like a good teammate again.

 

The funny thing was, Shawn could catch a ball a lot better than he could throw one. Everybody knew by now he had a huge problem hitting one of his receivers in the hands. But if
you
hit
him
, it was a different story.

This was one part of football where
he
was money.

Coach had walked them through three or four Wildcat plays before the end of practice, then had the Rams run them. He purposely made them look like a fire drill. The Rams would come out of the huddle looking as if they were about to line up normally. But at the last second, Ben would step back, like he was a quarterback in the shotgun formation, and Shawn would sprint out and line up at wide receiver, usually on the opposite side of the field from Sam.

Sometimes, on “Wildcat Sweep,” Ben would just run the ball, behind what felt like a whole lot of blocking. When it was “Wildcat Toss,” the play would start out looking like a sweep but then Ben would stop, straighten up, throw to either Sam or Shawn.

When Coach told them the names of the first two Wildcat plays, Coop raised a hand and said, “Whoa there, Coach, this terminology is a little complicated for me.”

The rest of the guys laughed.

Coach said, “Cooper, have you always been this funny?”

At the exact same moment, Ben and Sam both shouted,
“No!”

Ben had to admit, the Wildcat did look like it was going to be fun. On the last play of the night he threw out of the formation when Coach gave him the option to run or throw, hit Shawn between two defenders, Shawn holding on to the ball even as he got hit, as if he went over the middle and made catches like this all the time, no problem.

He didn't acknowledge that Ben had delivered a perfect strike, almost as if the ball had thrown itself, just went over and accepted a high five from his dad before the two of them walked off the field together.

“One big happy family,” Coop said. “Or a small one.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, staring at the O'Briens, “just like our team.”

“Hey,” Ben said, “if this all
makes
our team better, that's what matters.”

“Right,” Sam said, “a team that would be a whole lot better off if the plays were starting with you
all
the time.”

Coop said, “How come Coach can't see that, ‘specially after what you did on Saturday?”

Looking at Ben now.

“Maybe because he doesn't want to,” Ben said.

The three of them started walking off the field. Nothing more to say. Ben knew better than they did. Sometimes coaches couldn't see. Past his size. Or past somebody else's size. Whatever. Sometimes they couldn't, sometimes they just plain didn't want to.

But if Wildcat Ben was the best he could do, he'd have to roll with that. And keep his mouth shut about it. If he was going to talk up being a team guy as much as he did, well, he'd better walk the walk, too. That was the deal.

When he got home, he changed into a T-shirt and shorts, finished his homework, walked out to the swings by himself.

It was getting dark on McBain Field, but not too dark, the lights of the houses at this end of the block looking brighter by the minute.

Running the Wildcat for five or six plays a game, the number Coach was talking about, wanting them to use it for the element of surprise, he said, wasn't everything Ben wanted. But at least it was
some
thing. And maybe Coach was right — even if he was dead wrong about Shawn — maybe this was the best of both worlds for the Rams. Now Ben could run the ball some, catch it some, throw it some, all in the same game. If that was going to be his job the rest of the season, if that was his best and only way to help his team get to the championship game, it wasn't as if anybody needed to throw him a pity party.

Ben McBain knew this about himself:

Most of the time he was about as good at feeling sorry for himself as he was being a good loser.

He rocked gently back and forth on the swing. Trying to give himself the kind of pep talk he was sure Lily would be giving him if she were on the swing next to him. Lily never got down about anything, at least not that Ben ever saw or heard. Had as good an attitude about sports and everything else as Ben did.

Maybe that's why the two of them were …
Ben and Lily
.

He stayed out there until it was dark, the living room light from the Sheedys' house across from him hitting Ben just right, the way a spotlight would. Ben hopped off the swing then, started running down the middle of the field his buds had named after him. Imagining him running away from the defense the way he had in the fourth quarter on Saturday.

Stopping suddenly as he drew even with his own house, reversing his field, planting his back foot, throwing an imaginary bomb, picturing a perfect spiral flying all the way through the night air, all the way to Sam Brown's house three blocks over.

Like Ben was the one making the Flutie pass to his own best friend. Maybe a pass like it could still happen this season now that he was Wildcat Ben.

Ben stopped now and looked up into the night sky, the way his mom had been making him look up there, at what she called the “big sky,” for as long as he could
remember, telling him to never look up there without making a wish.

He pictured Sam waiting for the ball to come out of the sky, pressing it to his chest, falling back into the end zone.

Before he crossed the street to his house, Ben wished on
that
.