Read Reality Check (2010) for Free Online Page B

we need," he said, dripping sweat even though he was doing nothing harder than fanning himself with the playbook: "Toughen you up. Case you haven't noticed, we ain't the County Creampuffs. What are we?"
"Rattlers," they'd all shouted. Coach Huff had cupped his hand to his ear and they'd shouted it again, this time at the top of their lungs, their faces all red, practice uniforms soaked right through, vomit patches fermenting here and there on the turf. Cody was so whipped at the end of each day that his mind was completely blank, which was fine with him. He hardly thought about Clea at all.
    The last Saturday before school, they took the bus up into the mountains to play Foothills High, their oldest rival and Thanksgiving Day opponent. Even though the starters were all out by the end of the third quarter, they still won 43-6. Hey! They were good. No one said it, of course: Saying anything like that meant laps, and lots of them. Cody had scored one touchdown on a ten-yard keeper, pitched to Jamal, a senior and star of the team--from Texas, but his father had been posted to the base in Little Bend the year before, maybe the happiest day in Coach Huff's whole life--for three more. College scouts came to watch Jamal play; even at this preseason scrimmage, there were at least three or four. One of them approached Cody at the end of the game, as the players walked off the field.
"Hey, Cody, Tug Brister"--or some name like that--"from
    Penn State."
"Uh, hi," said Cody. They shook hands.
"Like the way you play football, son."
"Um," said Cody. "Uh."
"Ever been to Pennsylvania?"
"Uh-uh," said Cody. "No. Sir."
"Prettiest state in the whole union."
Cody hadn't known that, knew very little about the state
of Pennsylvania. But Penn State--that was different. He knew lots about Penn State football.
    "Keep doin' what you're doin," said the scout. "Might be able to arrange a little meet-and-greet in the spring."
"Meet-and-greet?"
"A visit, like," said the scout. "To State College, all expenses paid."
"That would be . . . nice." Nice? Couldn't he have done better than that? A trip to State College, meaning he was being recruited by Penn State, would be awesome, fantastic, incredible. But too late: They were already shaking hands again. That night despite how tired he was, Cody lay awake for hours, thinking about Clea's college plan.
    Foothills High was their oldest rival, but Bridger was the biggest school in the conference and had fielded the best teams for the past four or five seasons, even going to the state championship the year before. They had huge linemen, an all-state quarterback who could really throw, and a tailback and linebacker named Martinelli, bigger than Jamal and just as fast, who ranked number seventy-one on ESPN's list of the top one hundred high school players in the country.
    The game was at Bridger, big crowd, first Friday night of the season, lights on but overwhelmed at the start by a wild western sunset, the sky all red and gold. The Rattlers, in their white road jerseys and blue pants, gathered around Coach Huff. "Team," he said. "Play as a team and you'll win." He held up his hand. The Rattlers all reached for it, coming together. "Run it down their fuckin' throats," said Coach Huff. The Rattlers roared.
    Bridger won the toss and the Rattlers kicked off. Bridger marched right down the field, running Martinelli on sweeps, sometimes passing to number 80, a tall tight end, right over the middle. Cody played safety on defense, meaning right over the middle was his responsibility. Number 80 would slant in, taking three big strides, then turn and the ball would be there. All Cody could do was hit him right on the numbers as hard as he could, hoping to jar the ball loose. But the ball never came loose; number 80 didn't fight for extra yardage, was content to go down, both arms wrapped around the ball, reeling off six or seven yards a pop. The opening drive took half the first quarter: Bridger 7, Rattlers 0.
    Dickie ran