Page 38 of The Golden Receiver

Things were starting to look up.

Kind of.

I was getting along better with Evander, mostly because we kept getting off with each other. It was translating to us playing better on the field. I still thought he could be annoying at times. He talked too much, and there were too many times where he kept poking and prodding when I didn’t want to answer a question. But I was starting to get used to these tendencies of his. I was even starting to find them endearing.

My classes were going well, too. I might not have had the best social life on campus, but I had created a good schedule to keep up with my coursework. I’d even helped Marlon figure out a study schedule too when he was bitching and moaning about failing a test in his math class. He’d been having a hard time balancing the requirements of the football team with his classes, and he was like me. He cared about his grades. I took the fact that Marlon had come to me for help as a sign that things might be going better on the team.

At least I had one friend that wasn’t Evander on the field.

It was on the field where I was finding most of my problems. It wasn’t my performance. I was playing really well. It wasn’t me being full of myself saying it. Coach Erikkson had pulled me aside to tell me how proud he was of my performance, and I chose to take his word as truth. However, it seemed like the better I was playing, the more I noticed some problems with the rest of the guys on the field.

Okay, it was Evander that noticed it first. He’d noticed that Zak Reyes, the tight end, and Damien Willis, the wide receiver who was behind me on the depth chart, kept their heads together a lot on the sidelines. He claimed that he’d heard my name coming from their lips a few times. I didn’t think much of that. After all, why would I? I hadn’t made myself popular with the team, and I figured it was a case of sour grapes for Willis. He wanted to be on the field, same as I did. I wasn’t going to fault him for that.

But it made what happened the Thursday before our first away game a little suspicious. Eric called out a play that meant that I’d be the most likely target. I managed to break away from the other team’s defenders, and I had a wide-open field. Reyes was nearby, and I looked over my shoulder in time to see the ball coming my way. I caught it, and it should have been a touchdown. I had an almost empty field between me and the end zone. I had Reyes nearby, and he should have picked up the block from the safety coming toward me.

He didn’t.

I hit the ground almost immediately after catching the ball. I didn’t even make a yard after reception.

I tried to tell myself that it was just a coincidence, but there was something in Reyes’s eyes that had me thinking there was more going on.

Winning Saturday’s away game didn’t make things better.

In fact, it seemed to make things worse.

On Monday, during eleven-on-eleven drills, the right guard was supposed to be catching a defender so I could get around and be open to run a route almost parallel to the one Evander was running. The guard made a half-ass effort, and I got knocked down before I could even make it past the initial line of scrimmage. During another play, Reyes bumped into me while we were both running down the field, and I missed a catch entirely. On the other side of the field, Evander wasn’t having any of these problems.

I was starting to think that maybe I wasn’t just being paranoid. This had to be more than just a coincidence.

Especially when the same shit happened during Tuesday practices. I noticed Coach Shaw and Coach Erikkson talking over their clipboards and my stomach dropped. If practices kept up like this, then I was going to find myself riding the bench while Willis took my spot. Especially because he wasn’t having problems on the second team. Instead, he was showing off, making impressive catches, and probably proving that he should be getting reps on the first team.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it started happening, the way things were going. It kept me up all night Tuesday, thinking as I tossed and turned and tried to sleep.

To no one’s surprise, I was not in the best mood when I met up with Evander Wednesday morning for our run.

I basically bit his head off when he said good morning. It had been the first time in about a week I’d gotten snappy like that with him, but he had the good sense not to poke and prod about it. I didn’t know he had it in him. We just walked in silence across campus to the first trail we’d ever run. I felt bad about snapping at him, but I appreciated the silence. I appreciated him backing off and letting me stew. We took off running down the trail without a word. About halfway down the trail, he slowed down to a light jog. When I went to pass him, he reached out and tugged at my arm to get me to match his pace.

“What’s going on?” he finally asked as we jogged along the dirt trail.

I sighed. I had to know him being quiet was too good to be true. When, in all the time I’d known him, had he ever just left well enough alone?

“Didn’t sleep well.” I knew that wasn’t the whole truth, but I didn’t need to bother him with what was eating me alive. All he was going to do was tell me that I was thinking too much. He’d probably roll his eyes and claim I was overreacting or something. I wasn’t in the mood to be told that I was paranoid.

There was just enough light from the moon filtering through the trees that I could see Evander raise one of his pale eyebrows at me. “Did you know that werewolves have a really good sense of smell?” he asked.

What the fuck did that have to do with anything? “Interesting fact?”

Evander nodded. “You’re right. It is an interesting fact, but that’s not why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because I’ve learned something about you. Because of the really good sense of smell thing.” When I didn’t say anything, he rambled on. “Did you know that when you get anxious about things, you smell sour? Not like lemon or lime or anything. In fact, I can’t really explain what it smells like. Just, I don’t know, sour.”

What in the hell was he talking about?

“You smell sour right now.”

Oh.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he called out as he slowed to a stop. I could have kept jogging, but I knew that wasn’t going to stop anything. He’d just speed up or tackle me down to the ground so he could say his piece. “So, I’m going to ask again. What’s going on?”