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OLIVER

C oach Gregor’s voice was low, almost reverent. “Boys, we are but a game away from creating Owl’s history. Let us remain humble, dedicated and focused on the goal. Let’s get the job done. Now is our time.” He pumped his fist in the air and everyone copied and shouted, “ Now is our time! ”

I yelled it out with my team even though I was reduced to a spectator.

The events of the past few days had spun my world around. My reactions hadn’t been as quick as they needed to be when, too late, I saw the car coming toward me. No time to swerve or even adjust the steering wheel and when my door was rammed, I worried more about the damage to my car than my injury. But when it hit me that the pain in my leg was quite bad, my first thought was whether Dad would still make me play in the final. And even when the paramedics said it was probably broken, apparently I asked if it would heal by Friday.

I didn’t remember much, not after the pain meds kicked in but I do know Dad had been distraught—on the phone to Coach Gregor in a flash. Even before calling my brothers or grandparents.

Mom had been there when I woke up after surgery, explaining that a rod and screws now held my tibia together and I would be in a cast for up to twelve weeks with full healing taking as long as four to six months. I’d been weirdly calm, so I presumed I hadn’t completely registered that I’d miss the game for the championship title.

Dad came in early the next morning, his level of agitation as great, if not greater than the night before. The driver of the other vehicle—they were going to pay, he ranted and raved to me and Mom. He’d sue them for all they were worth, make sure there was a reckless driving conviction and hoped they’d get prison time. Didn’t they know they’d ruined a young man’s opportunity for greatness?

“You were on the cusp of legendary status for the Owls and now, now you’re nothing, you’ve lost it...it’s gone, it’s been snatched away from you,” he blustered, his cheeks red and his face ugly.

“Jed,” Mom stormed. “Jed, stop it! How dare you tell Oliver he’s nothing. He’s done everything for the team, now it’s up to them to finish the job. You need to leave.”

“You don’t know the impact this will have on his future,” Dad wasn’t backing down, his voice booming. “The football scholarships will dry up now. No one wants an injured quarterback.”

I didn’t know if it was the after-effects of the anesthetic or the pain medication or the general shock of the past twelve hours, but Dad’s words passed by me in a haze. I should’ve been upset over what he’d said, or full of rage that this driver had altered the course of my life, but the calmness remained. Or was it numbness?

You see, although I’d been working hard toward this goal and the Owls had reached the pinnacle, I somehow wasn’t fazed or rattled or bitterly disappointed that I was about to miss the game. Instead, a mantle of pressure was stripped off of me and it’s like I could breathe freely.

And up until that point, I hadn’t realized just how much stress I’d been under. The pressure to perform, to focus on an outcome, to make Dad proud, to win a trophy for Coach Gregor had overridden my love for the game itself.

Maya had asked me who I was aside from a football player—and I’d barely known. A peculiar feeling of excitement stirred deep down as I wondered just who I was without the quarterback jersey.

It was Mr. Shelton who had said something while we’d watched the game replay: Remember it’s the journey, football is more than just the destination. A championship title is the icing on the cake, but it’s how you get there that counts.

“Wow, you sound so wise, Dad,” Maya had joked at the time.

But that’s what I was thinking about now, my teammates were all dressed up and ready to go out and play, but my physical journey had ended, yet I was still here, part of the team.

“Okay, last words,” Coach Gregor said, and he gestured to me, “We’re mighty sorry you aren’t playing tonight, Oliver, and we’ll miss you out there, now...”

I cut Coach off, knowing he’d babble for too long. “Hey, guys, we got this. All the way now! Owls play with heart...”—I thumped my fist against my chest—, “play with pride, play fair. That’s how we do it. Let me hear it!”

The boys shouted along with me, “Owls play with heart, play with pride, play fair!”

And for a moment, my heart was heavy—yeah it sucked that I couldn’t be there facing Preston Park in the final, but my disappointment evaporated when Connor Richmond, the new starting quarterback came up to me.

“You got this,” I said, bumping his fist.

“Thanks man, I won’t let you down.”

“The team,” I said, “don’t let the team down.”

Maya and I had joked about sitting together on the sideline, but I really did need a wheelchair. The doctors preferred I stayed in the hospital another night, but there was no way I could watch a livestream from the hospital bed. George pushed me down to the sideline and though I couldn’t move, I could cheer and motivate. And look across the field to where Maya was with the cheer squad. She’d ditched her crutches but was still wearing a boot, and she was waving a placard while sitting down.

For the first time, I got to view the game from the sideline. It was so different from being on the field and now I understood how Coach got so frustrated. The first half was a hard watch, with error upon error. I wanted to scream at Connor, at the offensive line, at the defense. Yet, we’d always prided ourselves on the second half, and being only seven points down, I hoped the boys could keep their composure and not panic.

“Stay together, play together, play fast and good things will happen,” Coach said, trying to rev up Connor, who had been kinda shell shocked for the first half.

“Yeah, boys we’ve done the prep, we’ve done the hard work. We got this!” I chipped in.

But it wasn’t until the fourth quarter that we broke through to tie the score at 7-7 with Connor’s pass falling beautifully into the hands of CJ, our wide receiver. From then, we seized momentum. Our defensive line made some big tackles, and with only five minutes on the clock, Connor stepped up again and we took the lead with a 6-yard touchdown pass to a leaping Darwin in the back corner of the end zone.

It was then a matter of everyone on the sideline crossing their fingers and counting down, waiting for the final whistle to blow.

Total chaos ensued as everyone celebrated. Connor, Darwin and CJ were hoisted in the air, heroes of the day. From my wheelchair, I couldn’t do much more than yell and clap and beam with pride.

“Would’ve annihilated them if you’d been out there.” Dad appeared at my side with a clap to my shoulder.

“I think Connor did a great job,” I said.

Dad snorted. “We should’ve gotten at least three more touchdowns.”

“We didn’t need them,” I said, my hackles rising.

“It should be you out there getting the glory,” he scoffed, his voice a tad too loud. “Owls wouldn’t even be in the final if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dad, we’re a team,” I said, rueing the fact that I couldn’t hurry away. I wanted to tell him there was no ‘I’ in team, but figured it was pointless—he didn’t want to hear it. He was still in the mindset that I was a victim of a hapless tragedy and the perpetrator deserved no less than some form of medieval torture. Hung, drawn and quartered was mentioned.

“It’s an outrage,” Dad muttered, his eyes set on Connor who was being paraded around like a hero.

“Shut it, Dad,” I hissed, looking around for George, wishing he could take me away, but he was off catching up with old friends. But across the way, I saw Maya watching me, and without hesitation, I beckoned her over.

“Hey, you doing okay?” she asked shyly, glancing at my Dad who was striding around with his hands in his coat pockets.

“I am now,” I said, holding out my hand for a high five. “Can you get me out of here?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

I gestured to my Dad, who’d cornered Assistant Coach Clarkson and was waving his arms around, “Away from him.” I released the brake on the chair. “Ah, can you push it? How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine, I can do it,” she said and she directed the chair away from the grass and onto the track where it was easier to push.

“Great game, huh?” I said.

“I think it was all due to me waving my placard, right?” She stopped the wheelchair on the track, some distance from my father and stood beside me.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I barely watched the game, too distracted by you.”

She scrunched her nose up and sneered in a cute way. But then her voice softened as she crouched down to my level, “Are you okay, Oliver? I know it’s hard that you weren’t out there today.”

I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You know what? It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I really didn’t mind. You know, I’m proud of the boys, they deserve the win. But I realized that I truly don’t wanna play college football.” Maya squeezed my hand harder. “The only thing I regret is kind of not knowing that last week was my last high school football game. I might’ve gone out with a bit of a bang if I’d known.” I attempted a smile but it was more a grimace. “So, now I have to tell my Dad. And he’s already livid.”

“I hope he understands,” Maya said and she kissed me gently on the cheek. “I’m here for you.”

“Hey,” I teased, “you can do better than that, can’t you?” I pouted my lips. “State champions, I think I deserve a real kiss?”

Maya frowned, like I was being a jerk, but in my peripheral vision I could see Savannah and a bunch of cheerleaders. I guessed she could see them too.

Savannah hesitated, but left the squad to approach us. Maya tensed and removed her hand from mine and held the back of the wheelchair like she was ready to push me somewhere.

“Hey, Ollie,” Savannah said, her eyes flitting to Maya. “Hi Maya. Uh, thanks for helping the squad today. I know it can’t have been easy with your sprained ankle, but we appreciate your contribution.”

It sounded like a rehearsed statement, but Maya, gracious as ever, replied with a bright, “You’re welcome. It was a great result.”

I wasn’t quite so accommodating, my hostility rampant. “You tried to sabotage our relationship.” I wasn’t holding back. “You made it look like we were together again after I told you we were done.”

Maya’s fingers brushed the side of my neck, a subtle motion that immediately calmed me. Here and now wasn’t the time to have a go at Savannah.

It was Rose who had told Maya that Savannah had doctored the pictures of us to make it look like we were together. She’d taken the photos from the week before, changed the background, used the Olivannah hashtag and made it look as if we were hanging out, making Maya and the whole cheer squad believe we were back together.

I doubted I could ever forgive her for that.

“I...I...I’m sorry,” Savannah said, unable to make eye contact with me. She shrugged, for once in her life not full of confidence. “I didn’t mean to...”—she broke into a mumble—“and I’m sorry you couldn’t play today.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said in a dismissive way. I was done with Savannah and I didn’t want to dwell on the past anymore. I wanted to move forward. The trajectory of my life had changed and I was filled with the raw energy of facing the unknown, though aware that I had to weather a storm first—the rage that was my father. It was not something I was looking forward to, but I hoped with my brothers around, it might be easier.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” George came bounding toward the wheelchair, but his eyes were fixed on Maya. “Maya Shelton? Lizzie’s little sister? Hey! Wow!”

George ignored me and hugged Maya like she was a long lost friend. “Haven’t seen you in years. When we moved from Cherry Lane? When was that? Four or five years?”

“Four,” I piped up, feeling invisible and overlooked in my seated position.

George interrogated Maya on all things Lizzie, disappointed to hear she hadn’t come back for the game and was dating a guy called Keiran.

That’s when he turned to me. “You must be tired, Ollie? You ready to go?”

“Yeah, my leg is sore,” I said, pain and fatigue settling in. It had been a long day and I was starting to think I should’ve listened to the doctor. “Maya, do you need a ride, or are you going back on the bus?”

“Yeah, I came on the bus. It looks like I should get back to the team,” she said.

“You guys have fun,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Maya nodded and we smiled at each other, and I wanted to kiss her but with George standing right there, I knew he’d be a jerk and make fun of me. Maybe it was just as well Rose came over and whisked Maya away.

“So? Maya Shelton?” George grinned before he started pushing me. “Who would’ve thought?”

“She’s pretty great,” I said, my heart swelling with pride, though everything about my leg was hurting.

“Yeah, well, gotta admit I was pretty surprised when Mom told me,” George said, turning pensive. “I miss that house in Cherry Lane. It was cool living there. The stark white walls of Maple Heights just don’t have that homely feel.”

“But the granite kitchen counter top is pretty amazing,” I said.

“If cooking’s your thing, I guess it is,” he said.

And with a remark that was both rushed and random, I said, “I think I wanna be a chef.”

“I don’t think a broken leg is necessarily an end to your football career,” George said with a laugh. “You’ll be fully healed before you know it.”

“I don’t want a football career,” I said.

“Huh?” George stopped pushing and I tilted my head to try to look behind at him.

“I’ve never wanted a football career.”

“But you—”

“Dad wants it. I don’t.” The words came off of my tongue with a brutality not meant for George, but he copped it nonetheless.

“Dude?” George abandoned the chair and stood in front of me, startled.

“I love football but it’s not what I want to do,” I said.

“But...Dad is always saying how great you’re doing and how many colleges are interested.”

“Yeah, it’s his dream, George. It’s never been mine. It’s just that you, Ryan and Lance never took that path so he pushed it onto me.” It was a relief and a release to have gotten it off of my chest, like I’d been dying to say it out loud.

“Okay, okay,” George placated, spreading his hands in a gesture for me to calm down.

“It might sound crazy but I’m almost glad I broke my leg,” I said. “You don’t know the sort of pressure I’ve been under.”

“Ollie, why didn’t you say something?” George squatted down, his face in a frown.

I shrugged. It had been one of those situations where the longer you left it, the harder it was to say or do something about it. Sort of like dating Savannah—an on-off relationship because I lacked the courage to leave it. Yeah, that was my problem—I was a coward, scared to stand up for myself.

But because of Maya, I now had some belief in myself, wanted to find my passion—and I was pretty sure it was food.

“Bro, I’m here for you,” George said, holding out his clenched fist. “We’re all here for you.”

“You’ll be there when I tell Dad?” (Yep, I wasn’t that brave.)

“Of course,” George said. “I mean, we’re the Blackwell Brothers, right? We stick together.”

I nodded, a relieved breath whooshing out of me.

“Hey,” said George, returning to push me. “So, Maya Shelton...you guys hit first base yet?”

“Shut it, George. Not telling!”

George chuckled, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Ahh, so you have then.”

MOM HAD BORROWED PENNY Adlam’s van to drive us to the game because I’d been able to extend my leg which was a hundred times more comfortable than bending it. George and Lance drove back with us, while Ryan went with Dad.

I fell asleep as soon as we started moving and Mom and George helped me to bed when we got home. The next morning Mom was the first in my room to open the curtains and to give me my pain medication.

“You sleep well?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty good,” I said, “but I kept waking.”

“Still sore?” I nodded and she tutted. “It might have been a little over ambitious to go to the game yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I had to be there.”

“Rest is more important. You don’t want to compromise the healing process.”

“Well, I’ll happily stay home from school all week,” I said.

Mom smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’ll bring up breakfast, shall I?”

“Sure,” I said, reaching for my phone and scrolling through the many texts and posts congratulating the Owls.

Hearing footsteps coming, I wriggled myself to a more upright position in anticipation of breakfast, surprised to see Dad carrying the tray, followed by George with the coffee pot and Mom with a mug. My heart rate increased substantially, knowing there was some sort of discussion about to take place. It didn’t really take three people to bring me breakfast.

“Good morning,” Dad said, arranging the wooden tray stand in front of me.

“Good morning,” I said chirpily, faking calmness. But I had an instinct that the coffee wasn’t the only thing that would be heated. “Thanks.”

“How’s the leg?” Dad asked.

“Not too bad,” I said, even though it was hurting. Dad wouldn’t like weak.

“You can tell me the truth. Is it sore?” I detected this was a leading question and his supposed serenity was ready to explode.

“Yeah, but I just took some meds,” I said, grateful that Mom and George were witnesses. Well, that’s if they survived, too.

“Your brothers were talking last night,” Dad said, his tone merciless and unforgiving, “and seems I’ve been putting too much pressure on you.”

“You’ve been steering his pathway in a direction he doesn’t want to go,” Mom piped up.

“You don’t want to play college football?” He couldn’t have been gruffer if he tried and there was that split second when I wanted to deny it and comply, fulfil his wish.

George answered for me. “That was your dream, Dad. Not Ollie’s.”

His words stunned us all into seconds of silence, frank and to the point, no rambling but said with kindness.

Dad’s throat tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line, and I stared down at my bowl of oatmeal and the chunky banana slices.

“Is that right, Ollie?” Dad asked, his voice wavering, on the verge of losing composure. “Have I been pressuring you?”

I didn’t want to break his heart, destroy his dreams, be unfulfilled potential...but I also wanted to be me, ordinary Oliver Blackwell who liked orange and green M&Ms and experimenting with flavors and learning about food and making cute candy jars for Maya, and finding my own way in the world.

“Yeah,” I said. “I have felt pressured. Like, I love playing football, but...but I don’t want it to be my whole life.”

Dad’s head bobbed in slow successive nods. And then he ran his fingers through his hair. “I wish you’d told me earlier. More than anything I wanted you to love the game.”

“I do love it,” I countered, “but it’s not my dream to play in college.”

“You have such a talent,” Dad said, “you read the ball better than—”

“Jed,” Mom interrupted, “Oliver has a ton of talents. He’s more than just the quarterback. He has such a way with flavors and his peanut butter protein balls are the best.”

“Wait, what?” George said. “You made those balls in the fridge?”

“Who said you could eat them? My name’s on that container!”

“You mean those balls with the seedy things in them?” Dad asked. “I thought your mother bought them from the grocery store. I ate three the other day. I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“Well, I did,” Mom said, glaring at Dad. “Oliver makes them for his post training snacks. He’s very talented and Penny says he has a real flair for food.”

“Well, maybe he can show that talent around the house a bit more,” Dad said with a wink and a slap to my shoulder.

“Yes, I’m more than happy to have him spend more time in the kitchen,” Mom said. “Now, let’s leave him in peace to eat his breakfast.”

George smirked and in return I pumped my fist as he left. My brothers had come through for me, Mom too.

Dad hesitated, waiting for Mom to leave. He sat on the side of the bed and sighed. “I feel bad that you could never tell me, son,” he said, the threat of tears stinging his eyes. “And I’m sorry that I put that pressure on you. Whatever you decide to study, whatever college you choose to attend, I’m backing you a hundred percent. Like I did with your brothers.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I mumbled.

“You’ll never be a disappointment, Oliver. In fact, I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” We both pretended our eyes weren’t watering.

He rose and stood at the door. “Hurry up and get well. I think there’s only about half a dozen protein balls left. We need you to get back on your feet and make some more!”

I waved as he left and picked up my phone and texted Maya: Just so you know, I’ll be home all day, hint, hint.

MAYA DROPPED BY AFTER lunch. By that time, Mom had assisted me into the shower by wrapping up my cast in a waterproof liner. It wasn’t fun, but I felt much better afterward.

Maya brought a bunch of flowers, a card and a gift bag.

“Hey, this is original,” I joked.

She smiled and I opened the bag. In it was a Mason jar filled with M&Ms, layered in colors, but in reverse from what I’d done for her.

“Okay, so I did favorite colors on top because I’m nice,” she said sweetly, opening the jar. “I’m not being mean and making you wait till the bottom of the jar to get your favorites.”

“Yeah, but after I eat the orange and green ones, I have to force myself to keep eating down to the brown layer.”

“Such hardship,” she stated with a sarcastic smile. “But if you are struggling, remember I’m willing to help.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” I teased, popping the candy into her mouth.

“Absolutely.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, swallowing one myself before touching her chin and facing her toward me. “You really are the real deal, aren’t you?”

“You betcha,” she said, our noses nuzzling together, the tips teasing as my fingers fluttered across the nape of her neck. Our eyes locked as we were so ridiculously close to one another, and her hand threaded through the back of my hair and down to my shoulders like a caress. Our smiles joined, a cackle of laughter escaping before our lips pressed together, soft and sweet and tasting of chocolate, hearts beating as one, our true authentic selves.