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“We’re weak,” Gus said.

  Teddy and Cassie followed him back downstairs. Teddy’s dad called after dinner and asked him about ESPN, apologizing for not mentioning it before Teddy left the field. Teddy told him no worries, it was a cool idea and he couldn’t wait. His dad said he would go ahead and set it up.

  “But we only go if we beat Norris on Saturday, okay?” Teddy said.

  Norris was 5–0, the same as the Wildcats. It would be the biggest game they’d played yet.

  “Deal,” his dad said. “Now go study your new plays so you’ll be ready to run them at practice.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  The other guys were starting to call him Coach. There was no reason for Teddy not to do the same. Coach Gilbert seemed more and more comfortable turning over the play calling to his old quarterback during games and adding things to the Wildcats’ offense on the fly. So every few days he’d give the guys a play or two that hadn’t been in their playbooks when the season started.

  While Teddy had been watching the Giants play this afternoon, his dad had stopped by with more new pages to stick in the back of Teddy’s blue binder. It was getting thicker all the time. Sometimes Teddy imagined those pages to be like another new chapter in the story they were writing together.

  Like with any really good story, Teddy couldn’t wait to find out how this one came out.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Norris game was at home, and the bleachers on both sides of Holzman Field were completely full a half hour before the game started. All week long Walton kids and Norris kids had been going back and forth about the game on Facebook—all of it in good fun—as a way of hyping up the battle of the league’s two unbeatens.

  It was 14–13, Walton, at halftime, and so far the game had lived up to all the hype. Teddy had come out on fire, not even throwing his first incompletion until the Wildcats’ second drive. By the time that drive ended, he had thrown for one touchdown and run for another, and the Wildcats were ahead 14–0.

  It turned out, though, that the Norris Panthers had a pretty fancy quarterback of their own named Scotty Hanley. He looked too small to play the position as well as he did, or have the kind of arm that he did. But once his team got behind, he began to show you how much game he had. On the Wildcats’ sideline, Jack Callahan called him a “wizard.”

  “Great,” Teddy said. “So you’re telling me we’re up against Harry Potter?”

  As small as Scotty Hanley was—and he was the smallest player on either team—he wasn’t just playing big. He was playing huge, throwing the ball short and long, hiding it on fakes, running like a streak of light when he got into the open field.

  “Pay attention to this guy,” Teddy’s dad said on the sideline. “You can learn from him.”

  “I thought I was trying to beat him,” Teddy said.

  “You will,” his dad said. “Doesn’t mean you can’t pick up a few pointers along the way. He’s having so much fun it’s like he’s playing touch football in the street with his buddies.”

  “And watching him do it is supposed to be fun for me?”

  “It’s your best against his best today,” David Madden said. “What can be better than that?”

  • • •

  Scotty Hanley got the ball first in the second half, and the whole drive was like a clinic on how to play quarterback when you were twelve years old. Or maybe at any age.

  A few plays into the drive Scotty sold a fake to his halfback so well, and got to the outside so fast on a bootleg, Teddy thought he was going to run sixty yards for a score. But as fast as he was, Gregg Leonard was faster, and brought him down from behind at the Wildcats’ fifteen. Two short passes later Scotty got away from what looked like a sure sack, scrambled to his left, then threw back across his body to his tight end. The touchdown made it 19–14, Norris. Scotty then surprised everybody by running a simple quarterback sneak for the conversion, and it was 20–14.

  “He’s not going to give this to us,” Teddy said, snapping his chin strap, ready to get after it.

  “Who wants him to?”

  “You’re right,” Teddy said. “We’re just gonna take it.”

  “Ball fake on first down to Jake, then throw it as far as you can to Gus.”

  “Love it,” Teddy said.

  “Let’s show the little wizard who’s got more tricks up his sleeve,” his dad said.

  Teddy sold the ball fake to Jake the way Scotty Hanley had been selling fakes like that all game long. Then he stepped back as Gus blew past the cornerback covering him, and he let the ball go. By the time Gus caught it, he was ten yards clear of the cornerback, who would have needed a fast car to catch him. It was 20–20. Jake tripped over Charlie Lyons’s foot as he tried to break through the line on the conversion.

  So the game between the two unbeaten teams in the league stayed tied, all the way until there were five minutes left in the fourth quarter and Teddy got hurt.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  It wasn’t even that bad a hit.

  Teddy tried to hold the ball a second too long even though he could feel the rush coming from his left. When he finally did release the ball, he overthrew Nate, and badly, on the right sideline.

  As soon as he did, he got launched sideways, and when he landed, it was on his right shoulder. He felt as if he’d been dropped out of his bedroom window, and he stayed down, the pain shooting through him.

  When he finally rolled over, he saw his dad and Coach Gilbert and Dr. McAuley staring down at him.

  “Where’s it hurt?” his dad said.

  “Behind the shoulder, pretty much,” Teddy said. “But I’m fine.”

  He sat up.

  “How about we let Doc tell you whether you’re fine or not?” his dad said.

  “We’re going to get you over to the sideline so I can take a closer look,” Dr. McAuley said. “But before we do, I want you, as gently as possible, to make a big circle with your right arm. And if the pain is too bad, I want you to stop.”

  Teddy tried, and couldn’t help himself from making a face as he followed through. His dad noticed. They probably all did.

  “You’re coming out,” his dad said, as if he were acting as the head coach in that moment.

  “No!” Teddy said. “I got dinged is all. It happens to guys on every play in football. Coach Gilbert, you tell us that all the time.”

  Coach nodded. “Let’s just get you over to the sideline so Doc can do what he wants and check the damage.”

  “There is no damage!” Teddy said. “It was just a hard hit. Please don’t make me come out.”

  “Just for now,” Coach Gilbert said. “If there is something wrong, I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “You mean like I did,” David Madden said to him.

  They all helped Teddy to his feet, even though he told them he didn’t need help, and walked him off the field. Teddy was aware of the cheers coming from the Walton side of Holzman Field. He watched from the sideline as Jake, who’d gone in for him at quarterback, tried to get the first down on a quarterback sweep. But Norris’s middle linebacker read the play beautifully and dropped Jake for a five-yard loss. Gregg Leonard, the Wildcats’ punter, got off a great kick, one that went over the head of the Norris kid trying to return it and finally came to rest at the Norris ten yard line.

  Four minutes and one second left. Game still tied at 20-all.

  Dr. McAuley had Teddy sit on the bench and put him through a bunch of range-of-motion exercises. Gus stood right there and watched. So did Jack, his eyes big, probably wondering if the same thing that had happened to his shoulder—and his season—had just happened to Teddy.

  But it hadn’t.

  When Doc was finished, he turned to Coach Gilbert and Teddy’s dad and said, “I think the boy made an excellent diagnosis. I think it’s just a stinger.”

  “He should get an X-ray, just to be on the safe side,” Teddy’s dad said.

  “You’re not a doctor!” Teddy said.

  “I’m your dad,�
� he said. “And I used to be a quarterback, until I thought I was good to go after a hit like that. It wasn’t a sack with me. I got downfield ahead of a ballcarrier and tried to throw a hero block. As soon as I did, I knew something was wrong. But it was a close game like this one, and I told myself I could play through it. And you know what happened? Before long I was going, going, gone.”

  “You got hurt throwing a block?” Teddy said. “You never told me that.”

  “Even though I was a quarterback, I wanted everybody to know I was a player. So I tried to play through an injury, and before long my career was over. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  “But there’s a difference between getting hurt and being injured, right, Doc?” Teddy said.

  “I’ve never heard it put exactly that way,” Dr. McAuley said. “But yes, there is a difference.”

  “If it was Brian, would you let him keep playing?”

  “I would.”

  Teddy’s dad, his voice loud, said, “Well, this is about my son, not yours.”

  “But it’s still my team,” Coach Gilbert said. “And on my team, we go by what the doctor says. And if the doctor says Teddy can play, he can play.”

  That didn’t just shut up Teddy’s dad. It shut up everybody until Teddy said to Coach, “Can I talk to my dad for a minute?”

  The other adults walked away. So did Jack and Gus. Now it was just Teddy and his dad, sitting next to each other on the bench.

  On the field Scotty Hanley had just been chased out of the pocket and had thrown wildly on third-and-long, which meant that the Wildcats were about to get the ball back.

  “Before you say anything, hear me out,” Teddy’s dad said.

  “Talk fast,” Teddy said, “because I’m going back in.”

  “It’s your arm,” his dad said.

  “You’re right, Dad,” he said. “It is my arm.”

  He got up and walked over to Coach Gilbert as Jake was calling for a fair catch on the Panthers’ punt, and said, “I really am good to go.”

  Coach turned and shot a quick look at Teddy’s dad. Teddy turned and saw his dad hesitate, then nod.

  “You get hit like that again, you’re coming right back here,” Coach said.

  Teddy grinned. “The only place I’m going is there.” He pointed toward the Panthers’ end zone. Now Coach grinned.

  “You know,” he said, “you might be more like your old man than you think.”

  • • •

  They started at the Panthers’ thirty-nine yard line. When Teddy got to the huddle, Gus said, “Can you throw if you have to?”

  Teddy said, “Can you catch if you have to?”

  He handed the ball to Jake on first down. Jake got four yards, off right tackle. Then Brian got two more on second down, running to his left. While Teddy waited for Nate to come in with the next play, he checked the clock. Two minutes and ten seconds left. If they could get a score in that time, they would be the only undefeated team in the league.

  He rotated his shoulder without making a big show of doing it. It still hurt. He wondered if they were going to let him throw on third-and-four. Or if they were going to run it twice if they had to.

  Jake said, “Tight end curl.”

  Teddy nodded. It was a ten-yard pattern. Coach Gilbert and his dad were going to find out right here if he could make a good throw that far.

  He went with a quick count, faked a handoff to Jake, set himself in the pocket, didn’t even wait for Mike O’Keeffe to turn around before he brought his arm forward. He felt a twinge as he did. But he didn’t baby the throw. It was a spiral, right on Mike O’Keeffe’s number 88. Mike secured the ball with both arms right before he got hit by both a safety and a linebacker. First down, Panthers’ twenty-four. Under two minutes.

  When Mike got back to the huddle, he nodded at Teddy and said, “Boy can play hurt.”

  “Boy can play, period,” Gus said.

  “Let’s close this deal,” Teddy said.

  But he got buried on the next play, what was supposed to be a pass to Gus. The Panthers came with an all-out blitz, including one of their safeties, right up the middle. Teddy had no time to even throw the ball away. Or get away from the rush. He managed to cover up, but the kid coming from his right landed on his throwing shoulder.

  Teddy wasn’t sure, but he thought the kid gave him a little shove as he started to get up. When he did, it was Teddy who was popping up off the ground and rolling the kid, number 58, off him.

  “Hey,” the kid said.

  “Hey what?” Teddy said, taking a step forward. “I’m not your mattress.”

  Number 58 took a step toward him now. But Gus was there to walk Teddy back to the huddle.

  “Feeling something on the shoulder?” Gus said.

  “Just feeling it,” Teddy said, still eyeballing number 58.

  “Like you said,” Gus said. “Let’s close this deal.”

  “You’re right,” Teddy said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

  But he felt himself smiling. Sometimes getting knocked down just made it feel all that much better when you got up. He looked over at the sidelines. Coach Gilbert and his dad were still about five yards out on the field, as if wondering how he was after taking a shot like that.

  Teddy just waved them off.

  Forty-five seconds left. Second-and-sixteen. Teddy faked to Jake again and threw a dart to Gus on the left sideline for ten yards. Third-and-six. The clock stopped.

  Brian brought in the play: quarterback option roll. It was one of the new plays his dad had put in for this game. Teddy had the option of making a quick slant throw to Gus or pulling the ball down and running for the chains himself.

  As they broke the huddle, Teddy said, “Like I asked you before: Can you catch?”

  “Try me.”

  But the Panthers’ middle linebacker, who’d made smart decisions the whole game, made another one now. He read the play perfectly, jumping Gus’s route as he came across the field from the left slot, almost daring Teddy to throw into his area.

  He almost did. His arm was already coming forward when he spied the middle linebacker. But his big right hand saved him again and turned what was going to be a throw into a world-class pump fake, the kind Scotty Hanley had been making for his team all day.

  Teddy decided to run for it, putting a good move on the Panthers’ outside linebacker and getting a step on him to the outside, realizing he didn’t just have a chance for a first down now, he had a chance to score.

  He was at the five yard line by then and could see the middle linebacker who’d taken the pass to Gus away from him coming hard from his left, trying to cut him off.

  Teddy didn’t hesitate. He took one more long stride and then dove for the orange pylon, flying through the air with the ball in both hands, trying to make the same kind of play Jack had been trying to make when he wrecked his own right shoulder.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the middle linebacker launch himself at the same time.

  No fear from him, no fear from Teddy Madden. He was trying to win the game right here, and the other kid was doing anything he could to stop him from doing that, even if it meant a midair collision.

  But this time the other kid missed. He landed behind Teddy. Teddy landed a couple of yards past the pylon, in the end zone and inbounds.

  He didn’t land on his shoulder this time. Just the football. It knocked all the wind out of him. He didn’t care, because he knew in that moment he’d basically knocked the Norris Panthers right into second place.

  Yeah, Teddy thought.

  Yeah, he could play hurt even if he couldn’t catch his breath right now.

  When he got to the sideline after Brian ran in for the conversion, his dad came up to him and started to slap him on the shoulder, but he stopped himself just in time.

  “That shoulder must be made out of rock,” his dad said.

  “Nah,” Teddy said. “Just my head.”

  “Now that,” Coach Gilber
t said, “does run in the family.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The trip to ESPN on Sunday afternoon turned out to be a lot of fun.

  They walked around what was known as the “campus” and really looked like one. They toured the sets where the network had done their NFL shows in the morning and would do them again later at night. They also saw the sets for the Baseball Tonight show, and SportsCenter, and where they did the Mike & Mike show during the week.

  Teddy’s dad showed them a couple of control rooms for SportsCenter, where he said the producers and directors and the technical people sat. There was another huge room, what looked to Teddy to be the size of a football field, where researchers, some of them not looking all that much older than Teddy and his friends, sat staring at computer terminals.

  “What are they all doing, looking up the same stuff?” Gus said.

  “No,” Teddy’s dad said. “They’re trying to find stuff that nobody else has, before somebody else finds it first.”

  From there they walked past a cafeteria and down a long corridor to the studios for ESPN Radio. Teddy’s dad pointed out where the host was sitting on one side of the glass, and where the producers sat on the other.

  Teddy could see his dad thoroughly enjoying himself, acting as their tour guide and an expert on everything they were seeing. But Cassie was enjoying this tour the most, asking the most questions.

  At one point Teddy whispered to her, “It’s like you’re trying to memorize this place.”

  “I want to know my way around when I come back someday for work,” she said.

  “So you’re going to be the second coming of Hannah Storm?”

  “No,” she said. “Just the first Cassie Bennett.”

  “Hey,” Teddy’s dad said, “you might be working for me when you do.”

  “You looking to be a boss, Dad?” Teddy said.

  “How great would that be?” his dad said. “Someday I’m gonna be the one calling the plays around here.”

  Teddy’s dad led them back outside, to the middle of the campus, where there were signs telling them how many miles away places like Wimbledon were. Cassie poked Teddy with an elbow and said, “Thank your dad for doing this.”