Whatever It Takes

I reckon if you were to ask me about my place- that one place where you know you're supposed to be, no matter what, through thick and thin- I'd tell you I belong right here.

"De-de-de-defense!" I cheer with the girls, running through the paces with a watchful eye on the field. "Get-get-get-that ball!"

I belong right here, I wager; right here with the excitement. I belong right here, right with this excitement; right on this field. There's something about it that ignites your spirits: the hope, the excitement, the optimism. The second you step foot into Ratliff Stadium is the second you understand that Football is what we're all about.

Look to your right and you'll see the elementary school boys in their Permian jerseys taking notes from our starting line up as they run their plays. Look to your left and you'll see The Boosters and scouts schmoozing their way into another Jumbo-tron; maybe the extension of Ratliff Stadium into our school? Lord knows they would if they could.

"Alright girls! I wager we can take a bit of a break. Ten minutes, and we'll start it up when the boys start their try-outs." I smile, waving them off. "Be back in ten!"

It's hot tonight, but they won't wander off too far; most just stick around and keep their flirty eyes on the footballers.

Sometimes this town is too predictable for my taste.

There's something about living 'round these parts that makes it seem as if we're living for nothing. Think about it: thousands upon thousands of people putting their stock into Varsity athletes. Nothing ever changes around here: On the morning news we talk about Mojoball, during the day we talk amongst ourselves about Mojoball and in the evening, if we're not watching them practice, or working out cheers, we're organizing betting pools or making state predictions.

"I'm serious! I used to play Quarterback in Vegas!" A voice laughed beside Coach as he made his way to the field. "I love football, Darren, just let me try-"

"Well that's awful cute, sweet pea, you'll fit right in." His eyes finally glanced her way, a small smile playing across his lips. "Could you make yourself useful for my State Champions? Grab me Coach Johnson's playbook."

The sun beats down on Ratliff Stadium as our boys take over the field, loud cheers and a lively band seeing them off the track. Wide-set shoulders and a confident gaze wander past the cheerleaders, ignoring the way they wink and smile for our "all-state" wide-receiver. Instead, Alejandro rests his hands on his hips, turning his eye to mine with a small smirk.

He stops on the track to chat up the girls, but it isn't as if that's a surprise. I still hate that he does that. I know he loves football and I know he's stressed about the beginning of the season, because he used to talk to me about that stuff. These days Alejandro "The Assassin" Barbosa is a little too drunk on the fame that comes with being a Mojo starter.

It ain't something I like to think about.

"Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Get me out of here." The coach's assistant pleads with the wall, closing her eyes and clasping her hands together. "If there is a God, I swear I won't ask you for anything else... If you just teleport me, or send me somewhere in your time machine. Anywhere but this stupid hick town."

This stupid hick town. This stupid hick town that turns these boys into celebrities. This stupid hick town that gives them better grades for studying football than studying anything academic. This stupid hick town that drains all of its resources: it's money, it's time, it's effort into this stupid game.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

"Would you take me with you?" I find myself speaking, leaning up against the storage room door for a hint of shade. Her eyes shoot over to me, startled by the sudden company, but eventually she comes to share my knowing smile. "I wager we're thirsty is what we are. These parts haven't seen a national title for almost twenty years. Tryouts haven't even started and people are already predicting a state championship at the very least. People expect a lot from these boys, but I reckon that's something you'll learn as Coach's assistant."

"Darren Allman's personal assistant." She laughs out, shielding her eyes from the sun with a squint. "I'm actually his niece, but he'd turn me into just about anything to avoid playing football."

This girl isn't from around here and it wasn't only the city-girl accent that gave it away. Long, brown hair and bright green eyes stare at me, stunning to look at, but standoffish for the time being. She doesn't sound like one of us- shaking her head at Sparks as he warms up his arm.

"I only need a chance. One chance." She shakes her head as our Quarterback launches a pass. "Is that guy really your first-string quarterback? I could destroy that play, but no one in this damned hick town will give me the chance to prove it!"

The strange thing about it is that I believe her. I believe that she loves football, that she wants to play and that she can play. But it's not as if that matters. Somewhere between the beat of the marching band and the stands of cheering fans it hit me: If they're not willing to give her a chance, the only choice she's got is to take matters into her own hands and I'm going to help her do it.

"You know, those uniforms have an awful lot of padding." I speak, watching her eyes turn from the field to my open-ended statement. "If you want your chance, city-girl, I wager all we need to do is get you into one of those uniforms and onto that field."

An amused smile slowly spreads across her lips as I slip through the storage room door.

"Alright, cheerleader." She grins, rolling her eyes before following me through. "But who's to say we'll find the uniform-"

The black and white jersey I throw in her face silences her each of her last second-guesses. Under armour, shoulder pads, hip pads, knee pads, thigh pads, and a helmet in hand transform a slim, young girl into a Mojo footballer. A believe-able Mojo footballer at that.

"At least there's one hick out there who believes in you, Kherington." I drape a towel around her neck, grabbing at an extra one with a quick glance down at the only part of her body that might will need a little tweaking to look convincing.

"I wager y'all are gonna see Mojo take a national championship this season." She mimes a horrible accent, stuffing the towel down her suit. "Round these parts football is a big deal, you hear? I ain't playin', cheerleader."

"Get yourself out of here, city-girl!" I nudge her down the hall with a loud laugh. "Follow it out onto the field and give 'em hell."

I don't know why this feeling in the pit of my stomach shakes me as if we're really about to do some damage to this town, but the nod she casts as she wanders off down the hall most definitely puts a grin on my lips.

"Give them hell?" She smiles, letting the words sit on her lips for a moment or two before jogging off. "Consider it done."

I wager we're going to be good friends someday.



Have you ever felt as if you’re standing in the middle of something great? It’s intimidating because it’s risky, but that’s what makes it so tempting. You could win or you could lose and no matter how much you put on the line, what it comes down to is how much you give.

All that it really comes down to is me against you; us against them: teamwork. We could fight for it with all of our hearts, but none of it would be worth it unless it all came together- everyone's drive, their intentions and their skill.

None of the things worth fighting for are effortless. Look it up.

I was the last one in the locker room- the last one who made it to the locker room long after the Panther potentials had made it out. I can't tell whether or not I'm shaking with nerves or excitement, but I know that this is something I have to do.

Ector County isn’t going to stop me, this football driven hick town isn't going to stand in my way, Darren isn’t going to shut me down and neither will a locker room full of sweaty boys. I can damned well play football and I can do it just as well as any jock jacked up on testosterone.

Pride. Relentless. The words were written down the pillars as the team's mantra. Toughness. Discipline.

Scrambling around the intimidating locker room proved hard enough, picking out the last of the dingy, red pinnies to mark myself a rookie.

I couldn’t help the grin that played across my lips as I surveyed the nameless jersey that hung a size too big. In full gear, I didn’t even look like a girl- something that prevented me from cutting my hair and manning up my look. Posing in front of the mirror I was a scrawny boy at worst. Not too shabby for a-

“Rookie!” An agitated assistant yelled into the locker room, nearing me with a critical glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop checking yourself out and get on that field! This is football, not cheer club, son! Get your ass on the field now! Let's move!”

He didn’t treat me as if I conveyed the slightest hint of femininity, but I knew my voice would give it away so I nodded silently, bolting from the locker room without a second glance back.

A familiar cheerleader glanced up from her attendance sheet, casting me a large smile and a wink as I passed. She screamed with laughter as my towel snapped against the back of her skirt, waving me over to the field with a light push.

“Alright, Coach,” The man called across the field, signalling to Darren with a nod. “That’s everyone.”

“All right boys, grab a knee!” Darren smiled, running a pen down his clip board thoughtfully as a good hundred players stood before him in the hot, June air.

"Stay away from Santana, you hear?" A low voice spoke, nudging me out of my fixed gaze. "Do you hear what I'm saying to you, rookie? Stay the hell away from my girl."

It took me a moment to realize that his spite was aimed at me, seeing as I'm not normally accused of hitting on some asshole's girlfriend. Somehow I find it hard to believe that a chipper girl like that cheerleader would ever feel so inclined to date an asshole like this. It just oozes from him. I'm pretty sure he was the one talking to those cheerleaders earlier about how all he needed to do was "show up" to win a game.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes, turning my gaze back to Darren's words and the hundreds of cleats that dug into the green.

I look at every one of them. Every single one of their hardened gazes; each and every one of their cocky eyes- looking like they could take anyone down at any moment. But I look at their cocky disposition with a smile that no one could place if they’d wanted to. I couldn’t contain the grin that graced my lips as I convinced this testosterone packed field that I fit in with them so well. I smiled because I knew that despite the majority of their standoffish glares, that I would break their line.

I just know.

"Think you can ignore this, rookie?" His disdain provoked me for something more. "Do you know who I am? You really don't want to fuck around with Alejandro 'The Assassin', so stay the fuck away from my girl. No-talent-rookie."

I’ll break their line, I’ll intercept their passes, I’ll dodge their tackles and I’ll take it with more strength and grace than three quarters of the field, because I’ve got something to prove to this team. I’ve got something to prove to Darren and I’ve got something to prove to this town. This is about more than who can score the most, who is faster or stronger. It’s worth more than that to me.

I want to play football.

“What are you looking at, rookie?” Another thick growl shook me from my thoughts.

But I'm not going to let these assholes push me around.

“Nothing I can’t take care of.” The saucy smirk that crosses my nameless lips is something I doubt he expected to see.

What I’m fighting for is worth all kinds of the hell I’m about to give this team.

“Rookie talking smack to Sparks?” Another snickered, “Ready to back your shit up?”

"Please." An inward laugh sifts through their circle of glares, my smile doing nothing to ease their hatred as I toss all of their words right back. "Sit down and shut the fuck up before I come over there and take you down a notch."

"You just got told!" One of the returns laughed out, pounding my fist with a grin. "Hope you throw down as hard as you shit talk, rookie."

"Shut up, man." Barbosa glared, mulling in his anger as Coach glanced over at us.

I don’t know how I've managed to make enemies before the beginning of tryouts, but I won't deny that I have a knack for starting shit with people. It's a part of why I love this sport. You can go out there with all the talent that you want, but- at the end of the day- the player who runs their game like someone hit their mama with a two by four is the footballer that'll come out on top.

The way they've got this divvied up isn't fair either, rookies against the returns; those asshole shit-talkers who lounge around like they're God-given pieces of talent. Talent is talent, but if you're not willing to back it up on the clock, I reckon you deserve to be taken down a notch.

“Now, gentlemen.” Darren glanced across the green, lowering his clipboard for a moment as he addressed the kneeling ranks. “Who’s ready to bleed some black and white this season?”

Let's hope they're ready to be served.



I'll hand it to the first-string Quarterback; the guy's got some speed.

“Sparks, go!” Coach Allman hollered, pounding his clipboard with a growing intensity as he whipped around the last of our defensive line.

It was this touchdown, this break away that would end this drill and win it for them. He holds the ball so tight under his arm, I know it'll take a real hard knock to throw him off. The burning in my legs kills as I sprint down the field after him, whipping past defensive ploys that will bring it home, but I need to catch him.

He cannot win this.

"Mojo returns have this shit on lock!" Barbosa laughed as I gave chase. "All night long, baby. All night long."

I hear Barbosa and the returns cheering, but I can't see anyone else running. My throbbing feet, my burning legs and my breath trodden chest have to be yards ahead of any other red-pinnie-rookie out there. I wager I'm only racing against myself to catch him right now, racing against the silence and the inevitable victory that needs to be shut down. I focus on the fast-approaching end zone, the posts and the end of this drill session. I focus on this victory, on the only person who took a chance on me and how this is the time to take it.

He's tired, I can see it in his paces, uneven and desperate for the end zone.

"Where do you think you're going?" My unexpected yell pulled him from the five yards he had left.

I could tell that the sharp tackle I spearheaded him with caught everyone completely off guard, a ruthless scream throwing him to the ground before he could so much as place it. The second he felt it I could feel him fighting it, hoping that one last leap of resistance would push him through the end zone. No such luck, because we fight for different things.

He fights for a touchdown, but I fight for the chance that I had to steal to earn. I fight against a system that's so corrupted that it takes a certain kind of person and rejects the rest. He may fight for the team, but I fight for football. I fight each of his last paces for the chance to play this game.

"Give it up, rookie!" He grunts, fighting me off with a strong arm.

Despite his struggles, I pin him down thinking of the coy grin that sparked Darren's lips when I told him of how much I loved the game- how hard I worked to nail each play. With each of his struggles, I fight him back to the ground, thinking of Darren's laughter, how he underestimates me; how all of these players underestimate me because I am a girl.

"Cut the crap, QB1." I smile despite his anger, casting him a small smirk. "I've got you on lock and I'm coming for your spot. You'd best pull your shit together."

See what I fight for is worth more than some measly touchdown. It's worth every moment in this hundred-and-ten degree heat and every pang of sharp pain that flies up my leg. It's worth every tackle, every cuss and every one of the insults these Mojo returns throw my way. It's bigger than all of them.

The ref neared our heap with a pause, frowning as he came closer to make the call.

“It’s not in.” He shook his head, and only then did I allow myself to think about anything other than my fight, glancing towards the ball in his outstretched arms that fell inches from the end zone. Inches.

"Case and point, QB. Better watch yourself." I hopped up, dusting off my hands, the only thing better than the stunned silence of the stands was the indignant yell that quarterback gave as I wandered away, launching the ball at the ground so angrily.

"Don't sweat it, Sparks." Barbosa nudged my shoulder hard as he passed. "It was just a lucky tackle."

"Don't go giving me that bullshit. Don't you dare give me any of that 'lucky tackle' bullshit! Does it look like a first-string quarterback can afford to lose on someone's 'lucky tackle'? Is that what it looks like to you?" He yelled, driving his cleat into the ball angrily.

I wander on with a smile, fanning my face in the midst of this heat wave.

"That's rough, man." Another neared with a shake of his head, eying the five inches of green between the ball and the end zone.

I knew one of them would make to jump me out of pure anger, but my eyes were set on Darren's gaze- his inquisitive, yet alarmed gaze that hastily made its way down his attendance sheet and up to me as if putting a name to my face would sort everything out.

Believe you-me, I will limp across this entire field and put a name to my goddamned face for him so he can bask in his wrongs.

"That was a nice tackle son." A few coaches nodded, shaking themselves out of their surprise.

Everyone acts as if their Quarterback is untouchable. What a joke.

Coming to a short stop in front of Darren, I didn't hesitate to whip my helmet off and stare him dead in the eye as the recognition sank in.

"Kherington." My name fell so quietly from his lips, as if he couldn't remember telling me over dinner that my aspirations for football in this town were impossible and completely unrealistic.

The red faced mix of shock, anger and disbelief as I kicked my helmet aside would have intimidated anyone, including myself, but not right now. Not right now when I can mirror his anger for underestimating my abilities. All because I'm a girl.

So what if I'm a girl? I can play football and there is your proof. All of the gasps, the angry yells and confused murmurs in the stands and on the field, searching for an explanation, can take that proof and choke on it.

"How's that for 'cute', Coach?" I whipped past Darren's red-faced anger, wandering off into the change-room and right past the only other person in all of Ector County grinning from ear-to-ear. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Cheerleader."

I know I said I'd live here for a year, but I didn't say a thing about playing by their rules.