It’s not that I don’t want this win. I do.

I always want the win. There is pure magic in that moment when you look back and see what you did, sometimes against all odds, to come out ahead. Day in and day out, we struggle: with homework, with test scores, with parents, with teach-ers, with girls, with friends — some days, it seems, with everything. And we are usually alone in those daily struggles.

But on the field, when we struggle, we do it together. There is no greater feeling than knowing you have a team that is behind you one hundred percent. All working toward the same thing. All playing with heart and grit and passion, to make it through the crap and to come out the other side successful.

I love this team. I love what it feels like to be part of this team. When I’m on the field playing, most of the time, whatever’s going on in my brain takes a backseat and the desire to win for my team takes over.

Tonight, I’m trying so hard, and yet, Benny’s absence is there, following me like a shadow. It’s worse than any defense coming my way. Nothing’s going right. I’m a step ahead or a step behind, and once, I even let the ball slip through my fingers.

“Shake it off,” Temple says to me when we huddle up in the third quarter. He slaps my helmet. “You can do this. We can do this. All we need is a first down. Focus on that right now.” He calls the play; we clap and break.

As the football spins toward me, I see an image of Benny that day in my yard, tossing the ball around. It was a time when possibilities seemed endless and things were just as they should be.

The defender comes out of nowhere. My sixth sense must not be working, and when he intercepts the ball, it’s another missed opportunity.

Another moment I can’t get back.

Another thing taken from me.

I leave the field, disappointment swallowing me whole. Right now, troubles seem endless and things are not as they should be.

The question, of course, is what am I going to do about it. I know I’ve got to find something to hold on to. When I look up into the stands, I take a deep breath.

Because maybe, just maybe, I’ve found it.

I saw her in the stands. Lauren. The girl I wanted to get to know better until my world shattered into a million pieces.

After the interception, as I headed to the sidelines, I glanced up, and there she was. She and her cousins were hard to miss in their matching blue-and-gold hats near the front of the crowd.

Maybe I should have talked to her when she stopped me in the hall that first day, but when your heart is so full of pain and sadness, it’s hard to make room for anything else. So I told myself to let her go. Besides, she didn’t need me bringing her down.

But as I sat there on the bench, cooling off, I thought about our day together. About our walk back in time at the covered bridge. About our swing from the rope. About what she’d said.

Maybe if you score a touchdown for me, I’ll come.

I told myself if I got another chance, if I got back in the game, I’d do things right. I’d think about her, believing in me enough to dare me to score a touchdown not just once, but once every game.

And then I realized she wasn’t the only one who believed in me that way. Benny did too. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start being the kind of person he’d want me to be.

Seeing her there . . . it helped. It helped me a lot. It gave me the push I needed, and thankfully, I caught the pass when it really counted.

After the game, as I’m walking toward the team bus, Coach pulls me aside.

“I’m sorry,” I say before he has a chance to get a word out. “About how I played most of the game.”

“Son, I don’t want your apology. What I want is the dedication and commitment you showed on that winning catch every minute you’re on the field.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your heart is heavy. I understand that. But when it’s game time, you’ve got to find a way to leave it all behind and make the game the priority. There will be times in your life when things happen and you wish you could stay in bed for days, but you can’t because people count on you. This is one of those times. Your team is counting on you now. As hard as it is, you’ve got to trust me that making you get out there and play is the best thing I can do for you right now.”

“I know.”

He slaps me on the back. “Enjoy your weekend. And son, if you need anything, you be sure and let me know, all right?”

“Thanks, Coach. That means a lot.”

“Well, you mean a lot to this team. Remember that.”

Once I’m on the bus, I put on my headphones, sink back into my seat, and close my eyes. Game over. Week over. My feelings for Lauren? Obviously, not over.