The Playcall

Inside the booth, Iris was packing up boxes. She wasn't watching the game. She had the monitors turned off.

The pounding on the door was relentless.

"Go away!" she yelled.

"Iris, please!" Caleb’s voice was muffled but desperate. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Iris stared at the door. She wanted to leave it locked. She wanted to let him fail. It was the logical consequence of his actions.

But she remembered the boy who had tried to play guitar in the 8th grade. She remembered the boy in the truck who had looked at her like she was the sun.

She unlocked the door and shoved it open.

Caleb stood there, panting, sweating, grass stains on his knees.

"What are you doing?" Iris hissed. " The second half started two minutes ago. You're losing."

"I don't care," Caleb gasped. He stepped into the booth. "I don't care about the game. I don't care about the scholarship."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm a coward," Caleb said. The words tumbled out of him. "I was a coward in the film room, and I was a coward in the locker room. I let them think you were nothing because I was terrified they’d realize you were everything."

Iris crossed her arms. "That’s a nice speech. Did you rehearse it?"

"No," Caleb said. He reached out, but stopped himself before touching her. "I'm here because I can't see anything without you. Not just the safeties. Everything. The whole world is just static when you're not talking to me."

He looked at her, his hazel eyes wide and terrified.

"I love you, Iris," he said. "I've been too stupid to say it, and too scared to show it. But I love you. And I regret every single second I spent pretending I didn't."

The silence in the booth was absolute. The noise of the crowd outside was just a distant hum.

Iris looked at him. She analyzed the data. His pupil dilation. His respiration rate. The raw, unfiltered honesty in his face.

He had abandoned the biggest moment of his life to tell her this.

Her anger, which had been a fortress, crumbled.

"You're an idiot, Hart," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"I know," Caleb nodded vigorously. "I'm the biggest idiot in the state. Please. Just... tell me you don't hate me."

"I don't hate you," Iris sighed. She stepped forward and grabbed the front of his jersey. " But if you lose this game, I might be mildly annoyed."

Caleb let out a breath that sounded like a sob. "I don't know the reads, Iris. They're switching coverages."

Iris glanced at the blank monitor. She didn't need the monitor. She had memorized the Spartans' tendencies weeks ago.

"Listen to me," she said, her voice snapping into command mode. "Their free safety has a tell. Before the snap, if he drops his right hand, he's blitzing. If he keeps it on his thigh pad, he's dropping into coverage. But here is the cheat code."

She pulled his facemask down so their eyes were level.

"On the weak side," she said. "Their cornerback cheats inside. Every time. He gambles. Pump fake the slant, and the streak will be wide open. Every single time."

Caleb stared at her. "Pump fake the slant. Streak is open."

"Go," Iris said. "And Caleb?"

He paused at the door.

"Don't apologize to the team," she said. "Make them apologize to you."

Caleb grinned. It was the first real smile she’d seen on him in days.

"Yes, ma'am."

\---