The kickoff returner for Holy Cross knelt in the endzone after Salmon kicked it to him, and the ball was brought out to the twenty-five-yard line. Tytus immediately went out on the field along with Broussard, Theriot, and eight other players, the crowd roaring so loudly that Atticus could barely hear Coach Hamilton’s playcall for the defense.

Edna Carr was in a nickel package (three defensive linemen with Tytus lining up at the defensive end position, three linebackers - two on the edge, one in the middle - and five defensive backs in the secondary) showing Cover 2 man with both Broussard and Theriot shadowing #21 - LaQuan Rogers - even when he was put in motion.

The first play was a run left with Holy Cross’s stud junior running back, Edwards. It was well away from Broussard and Theriot, and Holy Cross’s offensive line buried everyone on the first and second levels…except Tytus, who used a quick move to get past the left guard and wrapped up Edwards for a loss of a yard.

“Yeah!” Atticus shouted. “Yeah, Ty!”

Tytus, somehow hearing the shout through all the noise, nodded back in appreciation. Holy Cross lined up quickly. A run up the middle. Tytus was immediately buried to the ground, pancaked by the left tackle and left guard, the former of whom quickly moved up to the second level and easily leveled the junior left edge rusher, Blalock. Edwards broke through the chaos for a twenty-eight-yard gain before Theriot and Broussard chased him and brought him down together.

Now Holy Cross’s team was shouting with excitement as the Edna Karr crowd tried to muster more noise. Another run with Edwards to the right (with Rogers somehow blocking both Broussard and Theriot), an eleven-yard gain down the sidelines until the senior strong safety, Johansson, knocked him out before he could gain more.

Now Atticus was nervous. Forty-one yards stood between Holy Cross and a touchdown. Their quarterback, Doherty, snapped the ball. A pump-fake, then a long pass to Rogers, who brought it in with both hands, in spite of the double coverage all over him.

Eighteen yards before they get a touchdown, Atticus thought. Come on, D, get a stop…

Holy Cross ran it with Edwards again, this time up the middle, but Tytus and the senior nose tackle, Forret, immediately sniffed it out and stuffed him for no gain. Then a trips formation, a bubble screen to Rogers…which both Broussard and Theriot defeated the blocks and tackled him simultaneously for another play with no gain.

Third down, a dime package with three linebackers (two edge rushers and the middle linebacker), two defensive linemen (Tytus and Forret), and six defensive backs. Atticus noted Tytus lining up close to the center along with Forret. The ball was snapped. The coverage was outstanding…and Forret took on the center and right guard, leaving Tytus able to break through the right interior on a stunt, Blalock rushing from the left side, and they brought Doherty down at the twenty-five yard-line before he could throw the ball.

“SACK!” Hendrickson roared, along with the crowd and the Edna Karr sidelines, Atticus included.

Fourth down, and the Holy Cross field goal team went out, along with the other special teams players for Edna Karr. Tytus went back to the sidelines, Atticus giving his helmet a tap before they did their special quick handshake: front, back, front, back, bottom and top fist, and an armlock to finish it off.

“Fuck yeah, Ty!” Atticus shouted, before putting on his helmet, getting his chinstrap buckled right, giving a helmet tap to all of the defenders.

Holy Cross’s field goal attempt was good. The drive had taken four minutes and eight seconds off of the twelve minute clock.

Plenty of time to score a touchdown, Atticus thought as the returner brought it out…and was stopped at the eighteen.

Atticus went out with the offense. Rogers was on the field, covering him. Atticus knew it was press-man by the way Rogers was lined up with Holy Cross in Cover-3 (with both safeties and a corner in zone).

The crowd seemed even louder than it was when Edna Karr was on defense, and Trosclair moved before the ball was snapped. Whistles blew and yellow flags were flung by the refs.

“False start,” the head ref said in the microphone on his shirt for all to hear, the call causing the Holy Cross supporters to scream with excitement, “offense, number 67, five-yard penalty, still first down!”

The crowd was booming, Hutchinson was shouting the play, but nobody heard him…and then Thibodeaux jumped early. More whistles, more flags.

“False start, offense, number 70, five-yard penalty, still first down.”

The noise was too much; Hutchinson was doing a silent count, Atticus staying shock still until the ball was snapped. Rogers backed off from him; the corner was obviously in zone, and the receiver ran a slant over the middle - quite dangerous with a linebacker potentially waiting for him.

Atticus immediately turned to see the pass headed for him. He snagged it with both hands and when he was sure it was secured, turned up field, pinballing off of the linebacker's tackle by going lower; the linebacker was attempting a kill shot instead of wrapping up, which only helped the sturdy receiver. Atticus saw the safety next, bowling him over and leaping over the outstretched hands.

Then someone hit him hard in the chest, with the crown of their helmet on the ball. It took everything in Atticus’s power to barely hang on to the football, going down immediately from the hit, losing his breath as he hit the ground on top of the ball. He rolled on his back, winded, and looked up to see Rogers walking back to the huddle, smirking and shaking his head at Atticus, as if to subtly say “No, no, I’m the one who’s gonna make all the plays, not you”, having made the tackle (the refs penalized everything unsportsmanlike in high school rules, even a first down signal, so that was as close to a celebration as one could get). Atticus forced himself to pop back up on his feet, despite the loss of breath (no weaknesses or signs of pain - unless it was major - were shown on the field amongst football players, even at the high school level), handing the ball back to the ref.

He had gained all but one of the yards that they had lost from the penalties.

Second down. The crowd was still roaring loud enough for Hutchinson to use a silent count in a shotgun formation.

Atticus and Rogers both knew that the ball was coming to him; the corner was in press-man coverage. Atticus had just started breathing normally after the hit, while Rogers was still smirking at him. All the while, the receiver thought of his mantra.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The ball was snapped. It was perfect technique by Rogers, pressing his hands into Atticus’s chest…but the Edna Karr receiver had been trained by Coach Wallace Hamilton, the master of everything that any football player could ever need. He swiped away the outstretched hands of Rogers, who began to trail him as Atticus ran the dig pattern across the middle of the field, snagging the high pass from Hutchinson with one hand, making sure to bring it back to his body - there was no way in hell he was dropping it - and then turning up the field and sprinting down the right sideline as fast he could, looking behind him occasionally to see if anyone was close, to the roar of the crowd…but this time from Edna Karr’s supporters as he raced eighty-three yards to the endzone, and not even Rogers was fast enough to catch him, the two-way player being two yards behind when the receiver hit paydirt.

The sidelines erupted for both sides; Atticus could hear Holy Cross’s coach swear, and Edna Karr’s sideline explode with shouts of glee. He threw the ball to the ref, breathing heavily and raced to the sidelines where his teammates - with the lone obvious exceptions of McGee and his two lackeys - mobbed him, giving him helmet taps, and screaming a cacophony he didn’t even hear with the cheering of the crowd. Atticus continued concentrating on breathing as Salmon nailed the kick. Then the handshake with Tytus, despite being damn near out of breath from the long run and being winded before, as he saw Josiane lead the cheerleaders with their cheers, saw Damian filming the whole thing on the Edna Karr sideline at midfield.

7-3, Atticus thought as he panted, almost like a dog. Get a defensive stop or two, another touchdown, and we can run away with this.

The ball was kicked by Salmon, and Holy Cross’s returner didn’t return it, putting the ball at the twenty-five.

Holy Cross was back on offense, and it took them two plays to get a touchdown and retake the lead. First, Edwards ripped off a huge run on the right side on a stretch run - away from where Tytus and both senior corners were lined up - on first down, sprinting all the way down to the seven yard line with Broussard barely hanging on, until Theriot and the senior free safety, Baldwin, got there and managed to bring the powerful running back down and save a touchdown. Unfortunately, the very next play - with Edwards off of the field to take a breather - was a pass to Rogers, somehow lined up in the slot against the senior nickelback corner, Barnett, using a well-run whip route and getting in untouched.

Atticus put on his helmet, the game clock reading 5:14.

The ball was kicked and the returner didn’t bring it out. Atticus lined up at the twenty-five-yard line, the Holy Cross crowd screaming.

McGee committed a false start (as he moved the ball without snapping it, the ref calling out “false start, offense, number 69”) next, and the ball was backed up to the twenty. A draw play to the junior running back, Gomez, went for four yards as Atticus attempted to block the bigger, stronger Rogers, who easily knocked him to the ground before helping gang-tackle the running back.

“Stay down, white boy,” Rogers whispered with a smirk as he walked back.

Atticus popped back up; he would show no weaknesses to anyone, not even the top two-way athlete in the nation. He didn’t respond; his play would do the talking, going back to the huddle. The next play would be play-action - a fake to the running back for Hutchinson to throw it, likely to Atticus, who was lined up alone on the left side.

Rogers didn’t bite on the play action, but the receiver ran the corner route perfectly. The corner attempted to undercut it and time the play for an interception, but Hutchinson had thrown another high ball, and the receiver snagged the ball away from Rogers and finished with a toe tap and drag before tumbling to the ground on Holy Cross’s sideline near the Edna Karr forty.

He thought he heard someone on the opposing sideline say, “Who the fuck is that white boy?”, but he tossed the ball back to the ref without a word, lining up outside again.

This time, Rogers wasn’t lining up against him, and was in obvious man against the second receiver, a senior named McAllister, in the trips formation with Atticus alone on the left side again. With the noise, Atticus knew that Hutchinson wouldn’t notice Rogers, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew exactly what would happen.

True to his fears, Rogers immediately raced past the attempted block, stepped in front of the bubble screen, and picked it off, with Atticus and McAllister immediately pursuing the corner to get him down.

Both receivers were fast, but Rogers was fast as well, and he had a head-start; the pick turned into a pick-six.

17-7, he thought angrily as he went back to the sidelines. Hutchinson, why the fuck didn’t you call timeout? Fuck…at least we’re coming right back out on offense. Next play, short memory.

Coach Hamilton was firm, but fair; he was giving critique to Hutchinson who was nodding in shame, and Atticus patted the quarterback on the head, hoping to reassure his teammate, while Holy Cross hit the extra point. The kickoff wasn’t returned again, and they went back to the twenty-five. The crowd was especially deafening, and McGee committed another false start by moving the ball again, to the further screaming of Holy Cross’s crowd, moving them back to the twenty.

Atticus drowned it out. He was going to run a post, and he was going to do it perfectly. He stood shock still as Rogers smirked, ready for an off-man trail, to the receiver’s discerning eye, seeing the safety start to shadow him.

The ball was snapped with play-action. Atticus faked the out route, and Rogers and the safety were fooled, both biting on the coverage, and Hutchinson threw a perfect pass to him. Eighty yards later, the score was 17-14, and all Rogers and the safety could do was shake their heads in disgust.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING SHADOW 88, DAVIDSON?! AND ROGERS-” he heard the Holy Cross coach bellow furiously, but he merely tossed the ball to the ref and went back to the jubilant Edna Karr sideline, to Tytus’s handshake.

17-14. Come on, D…

Atticus saw the last seconds of the first quarter end when Holy Cross’s returner brought the ball out to the twenty-seven before being tackled by a group, led by Barnett.

The clock of destiny was counting down, and he had no clue that soon enough, the clock would strike midnight…and he could kiss his normal life goodbye.