“REY-ES! REY-ES!”
My body shoots higher toward the sky with each syllable.
“REY-ES! REY-ES! REY-ES!”
Aloft on Chris and Andy’s shoulders, I hold the trophy over my head for the world to see. The crowd yells their support.
“AH-WOOO!”
“WOLFPACK!”
“AH-WOOOOO!”
I know it’s stupid, but I find myself searching their faces for Jo. Seeking her out, despite every instinct in my body shouting at me to stop.
She’s not howling with the Wadell twins.
Not jumping with my parents.
Not anywhere.
My smile is slightly strained as I’m brought back down to solid ground. I fight the urge to pull my hat brim down over my eyes when a reporter with aBoston Globepress lanyard hanging from his neck shoves a microphone into my face. A cameramen stands beside him, filming the celebration.
“Archer!” the reporter yells over the din. “Congratulations on your undefeated season. How are you feeling right now, after leading Exeter to a State Championship title?”
“This trophy doesn’t just belong to me — it belongs to every guy on this team. I’m proud of the work we’ve done together. We had an unbelievably talented roster this season. Not to mention an amazing coach.”
I turn toward Coach Hamm. His eyes are glassy with emotion as he holds out his hand for me to shake. I clasp his palm firmly against mine as cameras flash all around us.
“Coaching you, Reyes…” His chest swells. “It was an honor.”
“Honor was mine, Coach.” My Adam’s apple bobs as I work to clear the lump in my throat. “I’m going to miss being an Exeter Wolf.”
The reporter leans in, microphone extended. “Archer, you are currently the top-ranked high school pitcher in the country, but you have yet to confirm where you’ll be playing next year. Do you have any plans to announce your decision? Or are you going to leave us in suspense all summer?”
Dropping Coach Hamm’s hand, I turn to look directly into the cameras. “I consider myself supremely lucky to have had so many amazing offers. It would be an honor to play for any collegiate team. But I’m ready to announce my decision.”
A hush falls over the crowd.
People jostle closer, straining to hear.
“Have you signed your National Letter of Intent?” the reporter asks.
I nod. “Signed, sealed, delivered this morning.”
“Where are you headed, Archer?”
I take a breath, conscious of the many eyes on me. Trying to savor the moment — cameras rolling, press waiting breathlessly for an answer.
One day, in the not too distant future, they’ll be taking my statement for the Globe’s Sports section after I pitch a no-hitter at Fenway.
“Come next spring, I’m proud to say I’ll be putting on the black and gold Bulldogs uniform at Bryant University.”
Everyone applauds, clapping and cheering for me in a wave of sound that makes my eyes sting.
“Any reason you chose Bryant in particular, Archer?”
I swallow hard. “I want to be close to the people I love most.”