LEIGH
I came downstairs for cereal. One of those lazy after-school cravings that hits around 4 p.m., when the house is quiet and the sunlight slants just right over the kitchen tiles.
Halfway through pulling out the milk from the fridge, my eyes caught Ava out in the backyard, wearing my helmet and pads, looking like the most adorably uncoordinated linebacker in America.
My appetite to eat something took a pause, outweighed by the strangest entertainment outside.
Ava was lying in the grass, and that was the confusing part.
But the more seconds that passed, the more I realized what she was doing. Only I don't understand why, because she was throwing herself down on purpose, cradling the football between her arm and her side like she thought she was on ESPN, boxing an invisible opponent
