They can kill you, but the rules say they aren’t allowed to eat you.

Pete's Vagina
74. Return
by Erin Halfelven

As defensive team co-captain, I lined up with Jake and our other captains to witness the coin toss. I must have looked tiny standing between Luther Bengally, our massive offensive center and defensive line captain, and Upsteen, the tallest boy on the squad at about six-five. Ups was our leading receiver and offensive team co-captain — and a bit of a smartass.

“Oh, boy,” Ups whispered to me as we looked the Wolfpack over. “One thing to remember, Kitten.”

I frowned at him. I liked that nickname less and less every time I heard it. “What?”

“They can kill you, but the rules say they aren’t allowed to eat you,” Ups said, grinning. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing,” he finished.

I was tempted to step on his foot in retaliation, but the Wolfpack captains did look hungry. And three of the four of them could have been Luther’s brothers, though none of them were as tall. Same straight black hair, high cheekbones, and piercing dark eyes atop big-boned frames. I remembered learning somewhere that the Apache are essentially Navajo cousins, kind of like English and Dutch.

The one white guy in their set was an Upsteen look-alike, long-faced with blue eyes and a shit-eating grin. I showed him my own teeth. This Kitten bites, I reminded myself.

The visiting team captain got to call the coin before the toss, shouting “Tails!” when the referee nodded at him. The coin, a Kennedy half-dollar, landed on the grass, eagle side up. The Wolfman chose to receive, giving Jake the pick of goal to defend in the first half. It was a strategic move; the Wolves were known for winning by running up the score early.

Coach called us all into a quick conference on the sideline. “These guys are tough. Remember the last time we played them? They scored twenty points in the first half.”

“Then we shut them down and scored 23,” put in Dave, excitement in his voice.

“That’s right,” said Coach. “They’re big, they’re mean, but we play better football.”

“Rah! Lions!” Who…. Oh, that was me. Okay, I was excited, too.

Coach grinned at me, but went on. “They’re planning to run a wedge with this kick return, try to do the locomotion on our butts and score on the first play. It’s what they always do. We’ve all seen Lee’s movies of them playing us, the ‘Dogs and the Eagles.”

Nods and murmurs around the group. Upsteen looked pained. He’d gotten hurt on a reception when we played these guys two months before. A second Wolfman had hit him after the whistle on the play. Fifteen yards, but that’s a tough way to make yardage.

“But we’re not going to play their game. They run their wedge, and we’re going to break it. All our biggest, heaviest guys on the field for the kickoff and charge the Wolves. Make them break their wedge. Get the tackle. Don’t break any rules, but get the job done.”

Real lions couldn’t have roared their approval of this plan louder than our guys.

“Friendly Pride!” I screamed, and they all responded with a rousing, “Rah! Lions!” I didn’t have pom-poms to shake, so I used my fists. Football is the best!

Coach quickly made his final choice of who would be on the kickoff team —all of our big, heavy seniors and most of the bigger juniors. “Ned Feuer and Evan Moore,” he finished up. “That makes eleven.”

Jake shouted, “Okay, guys, helmets on, mouthguards in. Let’s go!” He led them onto the field with cheers from the stands.

I started to follow, but Coach had hold of my hand.

“Not you, Pete. Not this play.”

“Coach!” I protested. “I’m always on the kickoff squad. I can get downfield faster than any of these guys!” I waved in their direction.

“Yeah, no. Not now. You do outrun them, but then you’re alone. You can’t break the wedge by yourself.”

“But when it does break, I’m there and I’m in and I tackle the ball carrier! I did it against the ‘Dogs. Twice!” I protested.

“Then you stepped on that guy’s ankle,” someone on the bench commented.

“That never happened!” I snarled.

Then it was too late. I heard the ref whistle for the kick. The stands erupted in cheers, though cheering a kickoff is sort of…huh? What do you think is happening? As soon as it’s in the air, it’s the other team’s ball.

Standing there, my eyes burning, I watched the play. I didn’t sit on the bench. Lee was there with his cameras, not fifteen feet away, and I went to him. I didn’t want anyone else to see me when I felt like crying.

Football sucks.

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