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bitter cold field. Cody didn’t want to be rude, so he followed.
    The temperature had dropped and the clouds were dark and building fast. Forget a light snowfall … a blizzard was about to break loose. Cody anchored himself on the sidelines and watched. The outdoor practice was more of the same: Coach Oliver barking and snapping while the kids walked through a series of passing drills. By the time the coach blew the whistle for the last time, Cody was ready to chock up the entire afternoon to nothing more than experience. A lesson in what he didn’t want to do and where he didn’t want to work.
    “There you go, kid.” The coach shrugged again. “Take it or leave it. That’s Lyle.” He walked off with his clipboard and whistle before Cody could respond.
    That’s that,
he thought. He was about to find Ms. Baker and decline the offer when he spotted a player headed toward the opposite end zone. The guy stopped at the forty-yard line — or what looked like roughly the forty. He froze in a receiver’s ready position and sprinted across the field. Once he crossed into the end zone, he turned around, jogged to the other forty, and did the same sort of sprint across that part of the field.
    A couple stragglers stopped and one of them shouted. “Smitty, you’re crazy! Ain’t no runnin’ gonna help you catch the ball.” The player was a short redhead. He laughed out loud. “You don’t get it.”
    His buddy chuckled too, and then both of them walked to thelocker room. As they passed Cody, they gave him a curious look and a distant kind of nod. The kind players might give each other when they want to look tough.
    “Gentlemen,” Cody said. He made eye contact with the guys, but only for a moment. Then he turned his attention back to the kid on the field. The player was running another sixty-yard burst, and this time when he reached the end zone he dropped to one knee. He planted his elbow on the other and bowed his head.
    Cody narrowed his eyes. Who was the kid, and why was he on the freezing wet ground? He watched as the guy stayed there for a minute, stood and jogged back toward the building, toward Cody. He was about to pass when he slowed up and squinted. “You the new assistant?”
    “Uh …” A strange guilt flooded Cody’s heart. He hesitated. “I’m … I’m thinking about it.” A second or two passed, but Cody didn’t want the kid to leave. Not yet. He nodded to the field. “You do that … after every practice?”
    “Yes, sir.” The kid crossed his arms. He was black, maybe an inch shorter than Cody, with arms that proved time in the weight room. Something about him reminded Cody of himself, the way he might’ve been in high school if he’d had the grasp of faith he had now. The player stared at the end zone. “I’m dedicating the season to God. Every game … every drive. Every play. Every practice. Trusting God for what’s ahead.”
    Compassion for the kid came over Cody. He nodded slowly. “You were praying?”
    “Yes, sir.” He let loose a lighthearted laugh and gave a shake of his head. “I’m a junior. If you know anything about Lyle, we need a lot of prayer.”
    “I hear.” Cody liked the kid. His leadership and determination. The way he didn’t care about his teammates laughing at him. “What’s your name?”
    “DeMetri Smith.” He smiled. “Guys call me Smitty.”
    “Coach Coleman.” Cody reached out and shook DeMetri’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
    “You, too.” DeMetri grinned, gave a quick wave and jogged off.
    He wasn’t too far away when Cody called after him, “DeMetri.”
    The player stopped and turned. “Sir?”
    “What were you praying for today?”
    DeMetri’s smile filled his face. “You’re here because of the job, right?”
    “Yes.” Cody paused, but only briefly. “Yes, I am.”
    “Then that’s easy.” He started jogging again, his eyes still on Cody. “I was praying for you.” One last grin and he turned and finished the trek to the