K. R. Coleman - The Late Hit

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 meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

Darby Creek

A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

241 First Avenue North

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); Volodymyr Melnyk/Dreamstime.com (players in 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

Names: Coleman, K. R., author.

Title: The late hit / Karlyn Coleman.

Description: Minneapolis : Darby Creek, [2017] | Series: Gridiron | Summary: In small-town football players push through injuries. But when a concussion rattles the starting quarterback, should he risk his own safety for the good of the team? Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016043424 (print) | LCCN 2017006408 (ebook) | ISBN 9781512439823 (lb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512453522 (pb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512448719 (eb pdf)

Subjects: | CYAC: FootballFiction. | BrainConcussionFiction | Best friendsFiction. | FriendshipFiction. | High schoolsFiction. | SchoolsFiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C644 Lat 2017 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.C644 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016043424

Manufactured in the United States of America

1-42231-25780-1/4/2017

9780778723134 ePub

9780778723158 mobi

9780778723219 ePub

This book is dedicated to number 50
on the Solomon Gorillas football team.

Chapter 1

A nton and I are the first ones out on the field for practice. Its one of those perfect October days. The air is cool. The maple trees are lit uporange and red and yellow against a bright blue sky. Ive waited all day to get out on this field. Im not good at sitting still in a classroom. Im at my best when Im moving around and forced to think on the fly.

Anton and I throw a football back and forth while we wait for the others to come out. I can tell his mind is somewhere else, but even though hes only half concentrating, he still throws a perfect spiral. It lands right in my hands.

I throw the ball back, but I dont have an arm like his. No one on our team does. Hes the best QB the Warren High Wolves have had in years, and the kid didnt even know a thing about football until we became friends in the fifth grade.

Anton was new to our school that year. His family moved to Warren because back then the mines were still open and paying well. I remember at recess how he used to just stand against a chain-link fence and watch the rest of us play touch football on the asphalt parking lot.

One day I threw him the football and told him to join the game, but he just tossed the ball back, shook his head, and walked off.

You should play, I told him later as we were heading up the stairs to our classroom. I felt bad for him, standing there alone.

I dont know how, he mumbled looking down at his feet as we headed down a hallway. Ive never played before.

What? I was stunned. You have to learn! Even back then, I loved everything about football. Watching it. Playing it. Reading about it in the paper.

I invited Anton over to my house that Sunday to watch the Packers game. Afterward we went out back and my dad and I taught Anton how to throw and run the ball. He has come over to my house every Sunday since. Well watch football on TV or play our own game in my backyard. It didnt take long for Anton to develop the best arm at our school. Soon he was the player everyone wanted on their team at recess.

The Titans have some big defenders, I say, trying to pull Anton out of his own thoughts. Usually hes talkative and upbeatexcited about the upcoming game.

Busby, Anton says, throwing the ball hard and fast. We cant lose this game.

I know, I say, catching it against my chest, surprised by the intensity of the throw. Its a big game. We win, we go onto playoffs. We lose, our season is done. But we can beat the Titans. We have a better passing game.

You dont understand. We have to win this, Anton says moving across the white lines toward me. When he is a few feet away, he looks back at the doors to the school to see if Coach has come out, then says: The school board is thinking about closing down Warren High.

I think hes joking, but then I see his face. Hes not making this up.

Chapter 2

W hat?! I feel like Ive just taken a hit by a linebacker twice my size. I dont understand.

I heard Ms. Jenkins and Mr. Leonard talking about it after school. They didnt know Ciara and I were standing outside the door.

Why were you with Ciara? I ask, distracted by the thought of her, but trying to sound casual. Anton knows Ive had a crush on Ciara Johnson for yearsIve never been good at hiding anything from him.

Dude! Anton looks at me, shaking his head. Ciara and I both had to make up a quiz, but thats not the important part of this story. Didnt you just hear me? They want to close down our school!

Right, I say, getting back on topic. Why? Why do they want to do that? I look past the goal posts and up at our school. The red brick building sits on top of a hill. It isnt a great school, but it isnt bad. My parents went here and my grandfather too. It has withstood a fire and a century of harsh winters. Its an anchor in this town. I may not love school, but I cant imagine going anywhere else.

The school needs too many repairs, Anton says. And there isnt any money in this town to fix it upnot since everybody lost their jobs at the mine.

Three years ago the iron ore mines just outside of town shut down. The company keeps saying theyll reopen, but they havent. There are a lot of families struggling to make ends meet. My dad left to work in the oil fields until the mines reopen. Its a twelve-hour drive from here, and he lives in camper attached to the back of his truck. We only see him one weekend a month. He says its just temporarythat its just a matter of time before the mines reopenbut its been over a year now.

I hold the football tightly between my two hands.

Theyre just going to close it down? What are we going to do next year? Our senior year? Where are we supposed to go?

Anton kneels down to tie his cleat.

I heard Ms. Jenkins say half of us will be sent to Caulfield High and the other half to Pine Falls.

Send us to different schools? Split us all up? The words tumble hard and fast out of my mouth. Thoughts of having to spend my senior year at either one of those schools make me feel sick. I cant imagine walking down a hallway and not seeing half the faces I knowfaces like Antons and Ciaras.

The rest of our team comes out on the field.

What about the Wolves? What about Coach Quimbley? I ask.

Anton shakes his head. This could be it for the Wolves.