Read Goal-Line Stand for Free Online

Saturday afternoon. He recalled the pained expression on Knight’s face. He’d seen that look at least a hundred times when an innocent question led to an unexpected answer. Each time it happened, he feared the feeble dam that was holding back a lake of tears would give way.
    Sometimes it did. He’d already made three trips to the nurse’s office, and it was only a month into the school year. As he scanned the field for someone to block, he wondered how long the excuses of stomach aches and headaches would work. He wondered ifsomeday he wouldn’t make it out of a classroom before the tears escaped, before his cover was blown.
    Cody was imagining what Andrew Neale would say in such an instance when a Mill Creek defender drove a shoulder into his stomach. The impact was so severe that he felt his teeth sinking deep into his rubber mouth guard. For a moment, he feared he might bite through it. Then he noticed that he was airborne. At first it was a peaceful feeling. He noted small tufts of clouds in the sky as he fell backward.
    Then the clouds were gone. It was as if he were watching TV and someone yanked the plug out of the wall. He felt his head bounce on the turf. Everything clicked to black.
    Cody opened his eyes. The array of helmets, arms, and legs above him seemed out of proportion, as if he were looking in a fun-house mirror or having one of his pepperoni pizza-induced wild dreams. Instinctively, he tried to scramble to his feet, but his body didn’t seem to be under his complete control.
    He felt like a novice puppeteer trying to maneuver a complex, unfamiliar marionette. A guy from Creek appeared above him. He pulled his U-shaped guard from his mouth. “How’d you like that hit, forty-one?” he spat. “You gonna go cry to your mama now?”
    Cody blinked his eyes and tried to decipher the meaning of his opponent’s taunts. He felt like he shouldbe angry, but no anger burned inside him. “What?” he said in a bewildered voice. “What did you say?”
    “I called you a mama’s boy! What—you got sod in your ears?”
    Cody blinked some more. “Mama’s boy,” he said softly to himself. Then he felt his anger heating up.
    It’s time to get up and clock this guy, he thought.
    Cody lifted his head from the field. It felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Frustrated, he lowered it back down.
    As soon as I can move again, you’re a dead man, number 53, he vowed. If I can move again.
    Now one of the three referees was bent over him. “You okay, son?” he asked.
    The next thing he knew, Cody was on his feet. Pork Chop’s hand was on his back, steering him toward the sideline. He wondered if he had answered the ref’s question.
    Coach Smith was waiting for him, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “Martin!” he snarled. “For heaven’s sake, get your pickin’ head in the game! What’s wrong with you? I thought you were a man. But if you’re gonna play football like a little kid, I suggest you turn in your gear and go find a swing set!”
    Cody stared at his coach for a moment. He was shocked by the possible responses that were echoingin his head. Any one of them would get him kicked off the team for sure.
    Dear God, he prayed fervently, please help me keep these words that are inside my head right now inside my head!
    When Coach turned his attention from Cody to argue an offside call with one of the refs, Cody grabbed the opportunity and slipped away to the end of the line of Raiders who stood watching the game, standing side by side between the twenty-five yard lines.
    As the static in his head dissipated, Cody looked across the field, trying to find number 53. As he blinked back tears, uninvited words flashed in his mind in large, capital, movie marquee letters: MAMA’S BOY. LITTLE KID. SWING SET. WEAK. BABY. SOFT. PUNK. He tried to force them out of his head, but they only loomed brighter and bigger, taunting him.
    He unsnapped his chin guard and removed his helmet, hoping that would clear his mind.