Read Catching Jordan for Free Online

him. “I can’t wait for your game on Saturday. You’re gonna kil the Gators.”
    Mike waves a hand, but he looks pleased. “Thanks. We’ve got it. As long as we play good.”
    “Mike, Jordan, Jake! Dinnertime,” Mom yel s from downstairs.
    “Don’t tel Mom and Dad about Ty,” I warn Mike.
    “But they’l be so glad to hear you aren’t gay!”

    •••

    You know those scenes on the news where people from “Food for Peace” take big bags of wheat to starving children in Somalia? Hundreds of people crowd around the trucks and knock each other down to get one bag of corn.
    That’s what dinnertime is like at my house. When I sit down at the table, I’m like a stealth bomber as I secure four pieces of bread, because if I don’t do it now, I won’t get any later. Mike and Jake spoon big globs of mashed potatoes onto their plates, and I take three chicken legs. We won’t start eating until Dad gets his ass in here, but we’re al poised to dig in.
    Mom brings in a pitcher of lemonade and pours me a glass. She looks at al of us and sees Henry’s empty chair. “Where’s Sam?” Mom asks.
    “He had a study date,” I reply.
    “A date date?” Mike asks, narrowing his eyes.
    “I guess.”
    “With who?”
    “I dunno…some cheerleader. Marie Baird.”
    “I figured he’d get back together with Carrie,” Mom says. “The other day, he told me he was going to ask her out again.”
    “I dunno. He didn’t mention it to me when I suggested that,” I say, focusing on my chicken leg. I can’t wait to eat this thing. Mike glances at Mom, who shrugs. Why are they so interested in Henry’s love life? Or should I say sex life?
    In more important news, I’m dying to dig into dinner. Al this thinking about Ty has made me ravenous. I didn’t know crushing on a guy would require me to up my caloric intake.
    The great Donovan Woods final y comes in and sits down at the head of the table. He plops a bottle of Gatorade next to his plate and grabs his napkin.
    I can tel from the scowl on his face that Dad’s in a horrible mood, so I wonder if Titans practice sucked or something. When he final y picks up a fork and starts eating his salad, the rest of us start shoveling food into our mouths as if we actual y are those poor starving Somali children. A minute later, Dad drops his fork onto his plate. Everyone looks over at him.
    “Don?” Mom says.
    Dad ignores Mom and focuses on me. “Jordan, I seriously think it’s time for you to consider quitting footbal .”
    “Dad, come on,” Mike says. Jake picks up his silverware and napkin and sits on the edge of his chair and stares at Dad, almost as if he doesn’t want to witness this, but can’t help but stay and watch.
    “Mike, keep out of this,” Dad says, focusing on me again. “Joe Carter cal ed to tel me his son hit you hard today.”
    “It was no big deal,” I say, pushing my salad around on my plate with a fork.
    “But it could’ve been a big deal, Jordan. I don’t think you understand how dangerous this sport is,” Dad says with a shaky voice. I hope he doesn’t use that tone in front of his teammates, because it makes him sound like a complete pansy.
    “Dad, I’ve been playing for ten years!”
    “Joe Carter weighs 250 pounds. You weigh 170. You’re lucky you didn’t get knocked out.” Dad starts cramming salad into his mouth. Mike bites into a chicken breast like he’s a vulture or something and shakes his head at Dad.
    “Wel , nothing happened,” I say, “and I’m not quitting.”
    Dad rubs his eyes. “What exactly do you want to do with footbal anyway? No women have ever been in the NFL, ’cause they’d get kil ed.”
    “I don’t know, Dad. Right now, al I want is to play in col ege, and see what happens there.”
    “You could seriously get hurt. The guys in col ege play at a total y different level than high school.”
    “Don’t you know how good I am?”
    “You shouldn’t be playing a sport with guys who are twice your