under their helmets, about to come charging toward him? Was he thinking only about the play he had called? Was he nervous? Was he scared to death?
She decided sheâd have to ask him these questions when she met him after the game.
After the game. She forced that thought out of her mind. She couldnât think about that now. She had to concentrate, stay alert, stay on the ball.
She heard Chip call out the signals in his loud, high-pitched voice. Then she saw him take the snap from center. He took a few steps back. He raised his arm to throwing position.
Another step back, his arm ready to throw.
The crowd roared. Bobbi held her breath.
Chip seemed to freeze, his arm cocked, his feet planted firmly on the grass.
He stood there until two Winstead tacklers swarmed over him and pushed him to the ground.
Bobbi realized she had been holding her breath the whole time. She exhaled, turned to the cheerleaders, and called out a clapping cheer.
What had happened to Chip? she wondered, moving in line and clapping. The crowd responded half-heartedly. The cheer was drowned out by muttering and heated voices. People in the stands must be asking the same question, she realized.
Chip had had plenty of time to throw, but he hadnât even pumped his arm. He didnât seem to be looking for a receiver. And he hadnât tried to scramble away when the line came crashing in on him.
Oh, well, thought Bobbi, itâs just one play.
She and the cheerleaders finished the cheer and turned back to the game. Some of the players on the bench had climbed to their feet, so Bobbi had to move closer to see the playing field.
The stadium grew quiet as Chip stepped up to the center, quiet enough for Bobbi to hear the Winstead cheerleaders on the far side of the field.
Again, Bobbi held her breath as Chip took the balland stepped back. It appeared to be a running play. Dave Johnson, the Tigersâ big running back, came crunching forward, his arms outstretched.
But again Chip froze in place. He didnât hand off the ball. Johnson ran past him into the line. Chip stood with the ball in his hands. He didnât run or step back to pass.
âOh!â Bobbi cried out as Chip was tackled hard around the knees and dropped for a loss.
Voices in the stadium bleachers cried out in surprise. The entire stadium seemed to buzz. Bobbi heard a scattering of boos.
She shook her head hard as if trying to force the play from her mind. âLetâs do Go Tigers,â she called out.
The girls lined up quickly. Except for Kimmy, who remained just behind the playersâ bench, staring onto the field.
âKimmy!â Bobbi called.
But Kimmy didnât seem to hear her. She was staring straight ahead with the strangest expression on her face.
âKimmy!â Bobbi repeated. But it was too late to do the cheer anyway. Chip was leading the team out of the huddle for the third-down play.
Again the stadium grew quiet.
The wind suddenly picked up, blowing the flag and the big Shadyside pennant beneath it on the pole, making them flap noisily, the rope clips clanging against the metal flagpole.
Come on, Chip! Bobbi thought, crossing her fingers.
Across the field the cheerleaders in blue and gold were standing in a tight line, staring in rapt silence at the field.
Chip took the ball from the center. Johnson came rolling toward him. But Chip kept the ball. It was a fake run.
Chip backpedaled quickly and started to roll out.
âThrow it!â Bobbi screamed, cupping her hands to form a megaphone. âThrow it!â
Chip stopped.
He froze.
âThrow it! Throw it!â
Chip didnât move. He was holding the ball at his waist.
âThrow it!â
Shadyside players were shouting to him.
âIâm open! Iâm open!â Johnson was yelling downfield.
Chip was frozen like a statue.
Bobbiâs mouth dropped open in a silent cry as she saw the Winstead players close in on him.
Several tacklers got to
She decided sheâd have to ask him these questions when she met him after the game.
After the game. She forced that thought out of her mind. She couldnât think about that now. She had to concentrate, stay alert, stay on the ball.
She heard Chip call out the signals in his loud, high-pitched voice. Then she saw him take the snap from center. He took a few steps back. He raised his arm to throwing position.
Another step back, his arm ready to throw.
The crowd roared. Bobbi held her breath.
Chip seemed to freeze, his arm cocked, his feet planted firmly on the grass.
He stood there until two Winstead tacklers swarmed over him and pushed him to the ground.
Bobbi realized she had been holding her breath the whole time. She exhaled, turned to the cheerleaders, and called out a clapping cheer.
What had happened to Chip? she wondered, moving in line and clapping. The crowd responded half-heartedly. The cheer was drowned out by muttering and heated voices. People in the stands must be asking the same question, she realized.
Chip had had plenty of time to throw, but he hadnât even pumped his arm. He didnât seem to be looking for a receiver. And he hadnât tried to scramble away when the line came crashing in on him.
Oh, well, thought Bobbi, itâs just one play.
She and the cheerleaders finished the cheer and turned back to the game. Some of the players on the bench had climbed to their feet, so Bobbi had to move closer to see the playing field.
The stadium grew quiet as Chip stepped up to the center, quiet enough for Bobbi to hear the Winstead cheerleaders on the far side of the field.
Again, Bobbi held her breath as Chip took the balland stepped back. It appeared to be a running play. Dave Johnson, the Tigersâ big running back, came crunching forward, his arms outstretched.
But again Chip froze in place. He didnât hand off the ball. Johnson ran past him into the line. Chip stood with the ball in his hands. He didnât run or step back to pass.
âOh!â Bobbi cried out as Chip was tackled hard around the knees and dropped for a loss.
Voices in the stadium bleachers cried out in surprise. The entire stadium seemed to buzz. Bobbi heard a scattering of boos.
She shook her head hard as if trying to force the play from her mind. âLetâs do Go Tigers,â she called out.
The girls lined up quickly. Except for Kimmy, who remained just behind the playersâ bench, staring onto the field.
âKimmy!â Bobbi called.
But Kimmy didnât seem to hear her. She was staring straight ahead with the strangest expression on her face.
âKimmy!â Bobbi repeated. But it was too late to do the cheer anyway. Chip was leading the team out of the huddle for the third-down play.
Again the stadium grew quiet.
The wind suddenly picked up, blowing the flag and the big Shadyside pennant beneath it on the pole, making them flap noisily, the rope clips clanging against the metal flagpole.
Come on, Chip! Bobbi thought, crossing her fingers.
Across the field the cheerleaders in blue and gold were standing in a tight line, staring in rapt silence at the field.
Chip took the ball from the center. Johnson came rolling toward him. But Chip kept the ball. It was a fake run.
Chip backpedaled quickly and started to roll out.
âThrow it!â Bobbi screamed, cupping her hands to form a megaphone. âThrow it!â
Chip stopped.
He froze.
âThrow it! Throw it!â
Chip didnât move. He was holding the ball at his waist.
âThrow it!â
Shadyside players were shouting to him.
âIâm open! Iâm open!â Johnson was yelling downfield.
Chip was frozen like a statue.
Bobbiâs mouth dropped open in a silent cry as she saw the Winstead players close in on him.
Several tacklers got to
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