Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Beth gave a nervous, but warm sounding laugh. “Um . . . sure.”
One shade of color returned to his face. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to talk to you, too, but . . .” Her voice faded and a blush crept over her cheekbones. “But I’m, like, kinda awkward?”
“Oh, I’m super awkward!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, he really is,” I added.
The crowd cheered as the clock struck zero, and I snaked my way out of the band as they lined up for the halftime show.
I huddled with the other cheerleaders up against the wall to shield us from the wind as we watched the marching band perform. After they finished their show, they played our fight song and moved into a new formation, which had to be Script Ohio. The high-stepping drum major led Chuck across the turf to his spot, and broke off, leaving my friend alone as the dot. He turned in place, and did the traditional deep bow, swinging the bell of his heavy sousaphone all the way down to the ground. He moved as if it weighed nothing.
I was so proud of my friend and damn excited for him.
It was easier to focus on Chuck than the game or my current feelings for Michigan’s number eighty-eight, so I chose to do that until halftime ended and the teams came out of the locker room. I grabbed my pom-poms, shook out the tension in my shoulders, and slathered a bright smile on my face.
The third quarter got off to a slow start for the Wolverines, and Michigan was forced to punt. The ball hung in the air and came down into our punt returner’s hands, and my sixth-sense tingled. We were always the most dangerous when we fell behind on the score.
Our punt returner took off as if shot from a cannon and danced around Michigan players. He sidestepped a blue and yellow jersey, cutting around the opponent and staying on his feet as he bolted downfield. My heart beat in my throat as I watched him scramble past more players. Only the kicker was left.
The poor attempt at a tackle glanced off our returner, and his legs carried him into the end zone. The cheerleaders and I went ballistic as the majority of the crowd was painfully silent. Our punt returner knelt in the end zone while his teammates ran to catch up and pile around him, cheering.
“Touchdown, Ohio State,” the announcer stated.
Finally. We were back in the game. After the extra point was good, I sank down into the pushup position with the rest of my squad and hammered out seven pushups. I’d never been a fan of them at practice, but I freaking loved the tradition of doing them on gameday. There was nothing better than sitting at the Buckeye Bar with my family when my arms felt like rubber from the sixty or more pushups I had to do throughout the game.
The score hung out at 14-7 all through the third quarter, though.
Neither team could make any big plays, and time marched along. The quarter ended. More time ticked by, and hope continued to dwindle. With under three minutes left on the clock, my worry solidified into a hard, crippling knot.
The rowdy Michigan fans mocked us and threw garbage, causing security to go into the aisles. In the stands in front of us, there were four OSU guys who were shirtless, spelling out Ohio with chest paint. Watching them shiver made me even colder. The temperature was below freezing now, and I kept moving, doing routine after routine mostly to stay warm.
“Come on, defense!” I yelled. “D-fence!” The rest of the cheerleaders joined in, but they weren’t as energetic as they could be. Like me, they could feel it slipping away.
The sun had set more than an hour ago, and the bright lights of the stadium lit every blade of turf grass. On the field, Jay got set at the line. He’d struggled right along with the rest of his offense. All three times Radcliff had sent the ball Jay’s direction, Tariq had broken up the pass.
They’d have to try a pass now. It was third and ten, and our defense had their run game all figured out.
It was a bad, high snap to Radcliff, and he lost valuable time hauling it down. Whatever throw he wanted to make seemed to disappear and he scrambled to his left, rolling toward Jay. I wanted Radcliff to throw it to eighty-eight, but not if it was going to be a bad decision, and everything about his posture screamed he was rushed and off-balance.
Michigan’s QB unleashed a spiral toward Jay, but it was underthrown, forcing him to cut his route short and come back to the ball. He couldn’t make it in time. Tariq didn’t even slow down as he slid into the path of the ball and intercepted it.