Jake saw the center move the ball back between his legs to the quarterback. Jake lunged forward, knocking Tony DeSantos aside, and began to run downfield. He ran ten paces and cut sharply left, turning to see the ball flying through the air. A good, rifled pass, a little high but within easy reach. Jake reached. The ball flew through his outstretched fingers and hit the dirt five yards away. “Dammit, McRoyan!” Jake heard the sound of his coach’s voice on the sidelines, an angry whine like a hornet. The practice was not going well. He headed back toward the line of scrimmage. The quarterback, a fellow senior named Fitzhugh, shook his head. “You want me to just walk down-field and hand it to you next time, McRoyan?” “You overthrew.” Jake pulled off his helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Bull. Try paying attention next time. I’m not throwing passes just for my own entertainment. I was thinking we’d try to actually win our homecoming game for the first time this century.”
