12
Quinn
Blood pumped fanatically through my veins as I a dodged a linebacker and hurdled a fellow teammate who’d wiped out in front of me. Tucking the pigskin more snugly against my ribs, I sprinted up the field, free of the entire defensive line. Feet pounding behind me told me there were more on my heels, though. With fifteen yards left to go before making a touchdown, I bowed my head and plowed forward.
The cheering of my practice scrimmage team told me when I’d crossed into the end zone. A piercing whistle split the air.
“Good job, Hamilton,” the coach’s voice boomed, only to start yelling at the defense for letting me slip through.
Sweat clouded my vision as a hand pounded me on the back. “God damn, Ham. You’re in rare form. What’d you eat for breakfast? Or should I say...who? I
