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  Copyright © 2017 by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

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  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

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  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

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  The images in this book are used with the permission of: © pattern line/Shutterstock.com (scratch texture); © Eky Studio/Shutterstock.com (metal bolts); © Kriangsak Osvapoositkul/Shutterstock.com (rust texture); © Beto Chagas/Shutterstock.com (player walking away); © Betochagas13/Dreamstime.com (front player and stadium).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.5. Typeface provided by Adobe Systems.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  The Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Signing Day is on file at the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-5124-3983-0 (lib. bdg.)

  ISBN 978-1-5124-5355-3 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-1-5124-4872-6 (EB pdf)

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-42232-25781-3/28/2017

  9780778725701 ePub

  9780778725718 mobi

  9780778775041 ePub

  This book is dedicated to Landon James Cole Mitchell.

  Chapter 1

  Coach calls for a time-out. There are just four minutes left on the clock. The North Shore Sharks are beating us by fourteen points. If we win, we go onto the state championship. If we lose, our season is over. Done. And it might be the last time I ever play.

  It’s my senior year, and I haven’t gotten any offers to play college football. Last year I got some letters of interest, but college coaches didn’t come knocking on my door. Time is running out. Playing at state is my last chance to get noticed. I’m determined to find a way to win this game.

  “Iggy!” Calvin jogs over. We head across the field together. “We need to tie up this game.”

  “We need to do more than that,” I say. “We need to win!”

  “Then let’s get it done,” Calvin says. His face is serious and focused.

  I know he feels the pressure too. He hasn’t gotten any offers either, and he’s a fantastic wide receiver—tall and fast with Velcro hands. But it’s hard to get noticed when your school isn’t known as a football powerhouse, and you live on an island 2,400 miles from the rest of the United States.

  “It isn’t over,” Calvin says.

  “Until the clock says zero,” I finish, giving Calvin a somber smile. He’s probably one of the few people who lives by that phrase—my dad’s favorite phrase—as much as I do.

  It’s what my dad said after the doctor told him he had end-stage cancer and only a few months to live. He shook his head and said those words: It isn’t over until the clock says zero. He proved that doctor wrong and lived another two years. But that was almost ten years ago.

  “We need two more touchdowns,” Calvin says with a smile. “How about I get one and you get the other?”

  “Deal,” I say as we jog over to Coach Kainoa. He’s working furiously on his tablet and only looks up when we’ve all gathered around him.

  “We need to throw them off,” he says. “Do the unexpected.”

  I look over at Coach and then at Ty Gleason, our quarterback. “I have an idea,” I say. “It’s crazy, but it might work.” Coach and Ty exchange a glance and nod at me to continue.

  When I’m finished, Coach gives me another nod and says, “Let’s do it.”

  He turns to me and grabs my helmet. Looking me straight in the eyes, he says, “You can’t let the Sharks see what’s coming. Don’t look for Calvin until the last second.”

  I nod and we run back onto the field. When the ball is snapped, Ty laterals it to me. The Sharks expect me to run the ball up the middle like I’ve done all game, but this time I cut left. I stop near the line of scrimmage and dig my back cleat into the turf. As soon as I spot Calvin wide open at the twenty yard line, I launch the ball high over the Sharks’ heads. They turn and run, but it’s too late—Calvin catches the ball, cradles it, and runs it in for a touchdown.

  The crowd goes wild.

  “Iggy!” Calvin yells to me over the roar of our fans as we head off the field. “You should be playing quarterback!”

  “Nah.” I shake off the suggestion. “Then I wouldn’t get to run as much.” And that’s what I love most—getting the ball, blasting through a line of players and into the open, and running as hard and fast as I can. My father was a running back too. He played for Branford University. My mom says he could’ve gone pro if he hadn’t joined the navy instead.

  I turn around and glance at the clock. Two minutes and twelve seconds remain. A lot can happen in that time.

  As Calvin and I approach the bench, Coach Kainoa’s usually hard expression breaks into a grin and he shouts, “Flawless! We’re in striking distance now! Keep it up!”

  He’s excited. We’re all excited. I can feel the energy not only on the bench but also in the stands. The Regent Warriors have never made it to state. This is the first time in over twenty years we made it to the state semifinals.

  Coach sends Louie, our kicker, onto the field for the extra point. Calvin and I stand together on the sidelines and watch the special teams head out. Louie is one of the smallest guys out on the field—only a sophomore and new to our school—but he’s had a pretty good season.

  The Sharks send out one of their best players—Rain Bok. The guy is huge and tough. He’s an all-around player, taking the field for offense, defense, and even special teams, but his main role is running back. I’ve heard Rain is being recruited by a bunch of Big Ten colleges. He’s a hot name among college coaches.

  The Sharks’ coach has connections from his early years coaching college ball and has contacted some old friends still in the business. Word has it that it’s gone to Rain’s head, and he’s a pain to play with now that he’s gotten all the attention.

  In a loud, rumbling voice, Rain yells something at Louie to try and rattle him. It seems to work. I see Louie lose his focus and yell something back.

  A whistle blasts. Everyone on the field lines up.

  Just let it be good, let it be good, I think as Louie takes three stiff steps, but before the ball even leaves his foot, I know it won’t be good.

  The ball doesn’t get the height it needs and Rain leaps into the air and blocks it. The ball falls to the ground.

  Louie’s shoulders crumple as the Sharks’ fans cheer.

  Chapter 2

  There are less than two minutes left on the clock.

  “We don’t stop,” Coach says, gathering us around before we take the field again. “We don’t give up. We get the ball back and march it down the field. We score again.” He looks over at Louie. “We need an onside kick. Just pop the ball ten yards—get some air under it and angle it to the left. We need to gain possession again.”

  Louie looks hesitant, like Rain’s block is still getting to him.

  “We need you back in the game,” Coach says to Louie. “We need you to do this.” He turns to look at me and Calvin. “I’m sending you two out there. Your job is to recover the ball. Get it and run. Run as far and as fast as you can. And whatever you do, keep going. Every second counts. Got it?”

  Calvin and I both nod at this. We jog onto the field with Louie and the rest of special teams.

  The Sharks look fierce. I can see by the way they
’re positioned that they’re ready to attack.

  Louie’s kick is perfect. Magical. It drops down only fifteen yards away. I run and get under it, scoop it up, and take off down the field.

  Calvin is in front of me, shoulders down, channeling an inner-fullback I didn’t know he had. He takes down a North Shore player, and I run around them, up the middle as fast as I can.

  Two more North Shore players come after me, but I stiff arm one of them, spin out of the way, and run to the sideline. Heart beating, legs burning, I don’t stop. Balancing along the green grass next to the white line, I move down the field. No one is in front of me. I make it to the Sharks’ forty yard line, then the thirty. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rain Bok coming after me. I step out of bounds, but Rain hits me anyway. I fly through the air and land hard on the ground. It was a cheap hit—a late hit. But I’m not going to let it get to me.

  Shake it off, I think. Stay focused.

  “Just give up now,” Rain yells at me as I cross the field, trying not to show him I felt that hit. I’m sure I’ll have a bruised rib, but I walk upright and don’t let him know I’m in any pain. “There’s no way you and your loser team can win.”

  “It isn’t over,” I say with a nod to the scoreboard. “We still have time.”

  “It’s over,” he says, getting in my face.

  Suddenly Calvin steps between us.

  “Don’t waste a second on him,” he says. “Stay focused. Let’s go.”

  We line up again.

  The plan is for Calvin to get open in the end zone, and for Ty to throw him a pass. But the Sharks swarm as soon as the ball is snapped. They’re all over Calvin and rush to take Ty down.

  Ty doesn’t have time to throw to Calvin, so he tosses the ball to me. I’m not ready for it and barely catch it in my fingertips.

  There is a wall of players in front of me. I tuck the ball under my arm, put my shoulder down, and plow through the defense. Arms and bodies try to bring me down, but I twist and turn and keep going.

  Touchdown!

  We don’t celebrate. We just need a two-point conversion to tie the game. There are five seconds left on the clock. I look at Calvin, and he looks at me.

  This is it.

  The ball is snapped.

  Ty catches it.

  The Sharks descend.

  Four.

  Three.

  “Throw it,” I yell.

  Calvin is open.

  Two.

  Ty takes a step and throws it.

  One.

  Rain Bok picks it out of the air.

  The game is over. Our season is done.

  Chapter 3

  The locker room is quiet. We’ve lost games before, but this loss is different. We all played our hearts out. We all thought we had a chance of making it to the state championship this year.

  I notice Louie sitting on a bench, head down. I hit Calvin on the arm and nod to Louie. The two of us get up and head over to him. I sit on his left and Calvin sits on his right. Louie looks at us as if we’re about to beat him up or something.

  “I lost the game. I messed everything up,” Louie says.

  “Hey, it happens,” I say, looking at him. “Sometimes things get messed up. We’ve all been there.”

  Louie doesn’t seem to buy it.

  “When I was a sophomore . . .” I say, looking at Calvin, who starts to smile. He knows the story I’m about to tell. “I ran the ball the wrong way down the field.”

  “He got hit by two defenders.” Calvin takes over the story. “Got spun around, but managed to stay on his feet and hold onto the ball so he kept running—just didn’t realize he was going the wrong way.”

  “Calvin had to dive after me and grab me by the ankle to try to stop me,” I say.

  “And he shook me off,” Calvin says, grinning wide now. “He kept going.”

  “Until I heard Coach yelling his head off from the sidelines to stop and turn around. When I realized I was going the wrong way, I made a sudden U-turn—”

  “And ran into me,” Calvin laughs. “Now that was a messed up play. We lost that game big time.”

  Louie gives a half smile at this.

  “You’ve got next year to redeem yourself,” I tell him. “You’ll be okay.”

  I head back to my locker and pull off my jersey. The writing on the back is slightly faded: Jones, 27. My father wore that same number when he played for the Branford Bears in college. I told this to Coach Kainoa after I made the team three years ago, and he made sure the number was mine.

  We shower, get dressed, and pack our bags. Coach lets all the seniors keep our jerseys, but our helmets go on a shelf. I place mine next to Calvin’s and think how, more than anything, I’ll miss the two of us playing together.

  We’ve been through a lot, and Calvin is practically family. We’ve been friends since we lived across the street from each other on the base. Both our dads served as naval officers, so we got close pretty quick. Even after my dad died and we moved off base—a few years before Calvin’s dad retired from the navy—Calvin was always there for me.

  Last year, when my mom got an offer for a great job in DC, she considered turning it down so that I could stay in Oahu for my senior year. But Calvin’s parents agreed to take me in for the year, and it’s only made us closer.

  Coach Kainoa walks into our locker room and writes our final stats on a huge whiteboard that hangs by the door. Next, he gathers us around.

  “Good game,” he says. “Amazing plays. Every single one of you played with heart and determination out there. You made me proud. It was a great way to cap off the season. Now bring it in.”

  We all circle around him, hands in the middle.

  Coach points to the locker room door and says, “When you step through that door, take what you’ve learned from the game, from your teammates, from your wins and your losses, and use it to guide you forward. Don’t look back—look forward. And seniors, listen up, this isn’t the end. It’s a new beginning for all of you. There’s so much more to do and see and be. Tomorrow we’ll celebrate. Meet at the beach for a little end-of-season blowout. You boys can hang out on the beach, and I’ll catch us some fish for dinner. You’ve had an amazing season, but there’s more to life than football. There’s ocean and sky and families and friends and food.”

  Coach turns to me.

  “Iggy, take us on out.”

  “One, two, three!” I shout.

  “Warriors don’t give up!” my teammates yell.

  The words echo in the room.

  This is it, I think as I head to the door. Even after everything Coach has just said, it feels weird not to be playing next year. I’ve played football since I was six. It was something my dad and I loved, and it made me feel closer to him after he died.

  As I step outside, I see my mom standing beneath a palm tree and I head over to her. I know she works very hard, and I can’t ask her to do more, but I need to think about my future. I want to focus on getting into a good college, but I need to figure out a way to pay for it. My dad’s illness drained my parents’ savings, and we never really dug ourselves out of that hole. We were barely getting by before my mom got her new job.

  My mom gives me a huge hug. She’s flown all the way from DC for this game. I’m glad she could be here.

  “You played strong out there,” my mom whispers in my ear. “Your dad would be so proud of you. You didn’t stop until the clock said zero.”

  I nod at this and try to imagine my dad standing here next to my mom, but as the years have passed, it has become harder and harder to picture him clearly. My mom brushes my bangs out of my eyes.

  “I bought a ticket for you to come stay with me at Christmas,” she says. “I’ll show you around DC We’ll talk about next year. Hang in there. Everything will work out.”

  We talk for a couple more minutes before Mrs. Gibson, Calvin’s mom, pulls up to take my mom to the airport. She’s taking a red-eye back to DC It was the cheapest flight she could fi
nd. “I’ve got to go,” she says.

  “Text me when you land,” I say.

  “I will.” She gives me another quick hug and gets in the car.

  Mrs. Gibson rolls down her window. “I’ll meet you all at home. I’m going to pick up a pizza on my way back.”

  I watch them drive off before I head over to where Calvin and his dad are waiting.

  “You two did everything you could out there,” Mr. Gibson says. “Made some really great plays.” He clicks the key fob to unlock the doors on his truck. Just as I reach for the door handle, a man approaches us.

  “Ignatius Jones and Calvin Gibson?” the man says.

  Calvin and I both turn. No one I know calls me Ignatius, not even my mom.

  “I’m Calvin’s father,” Mr. Gibson says, stepping forward.

  “I’m Wallace Henry,” the man says. The name is familiar, but I can’t place it right away.

  Then it clicks. Wallace Henry. My dad and I used to watch him play football on TV.

  Chapter 4

  “ You used to play tight end,” I say.

  “Yes, I did,” he says with a grin. “Can’t believe you know that. I only played pro for two seasons before I screwed up my back.”

  “You played at UCC,” I say. “My dad played against you at Branford. He knew who you were. I remember him pointing you out when you played.”

  “I’d love to talk to your dad. Where is he?”

  This moment is never easy. I know it always makes people uncomfortable. When I tell Mr. Henry my dad is gone, he looks me in the eye and says, “I’m sorry—I hadn’t heard.”

  After an awkward pause, he takes a silver case from his pocket and pulls out two business cards.

  “I work for UCC as a recruiter now,” he says. He smiles at me and adds, “I know, I know, Branford’s biggest rival, but we’re not that bad.”

  I smile too. When my dad and I would watch the Branford Bears play the UCC Titans, he never booed the Titans. He respected them as a team, even though he cheered like crazy for the Bears to beat them.