“That’s not happening.”
“Why not? Shit, I saw her checkin’ you out at the parents meetin’.”
Rick shook his head and walked away from Bob, toward the team. As soon as the team finished warm-ups, Coach Rick Barnett said, “First O, on the ball. Second D.”
Shane lined up in the shotgun. On “Go,” the center snapped the ball. Shane caught the snap, faked the handoff to the running back, reared back, and threw a bomb to Lance. Shane’s favorite target caught the pass for a touchdown. It went on like this for half an hour. The first-string offense scored at will, asserting their dominance over the smaller and slower second-string defense.
After the drubbing, Rick said, “First D. Second O, on the ball.”
The cycle began in reverse. This time the defense was bigger, faster, and stronger, leading to defensive linemen tackling the running back in the backfield several times. The second-string quarterback, Jamar Burris, dropped back to pass, but, before he could throw, three defenders planted him to the turf.
The next play, Jamar dropped back to pass again, this time sprinting out of the pocket to avoid the pass rush. Caleb Miles was wide open fifty yards downfield. Jamar threw a rocket right on the money. The football hit Caleb in the hands, but he dropped it.
The defensive back that Caleb had gotten behind laughed. “Butterfingers.”
Coach Rick Barnett approached the defensive end that Jamar had run around. “Do not let the quarterback get outside of you. You do that next Friday, and we’re gonna get killed. You understand me?”
The boy nodded.
The next play, Jamar had the pass rush in his face again. He scrambled to his left to find a wall of defenders. Jamar reversed course, giving ground, and sprinted to his right. Another wall of defenders but with a small seam up the middle. Jamar stuck his cleat in the turf and streaked through the opening, leaving the entire defense in the dust. Touchdown.
Rick shook his head, a crooked grin on his face.
* * *
After practice, the players carried their helmets and walked to the locker room, joking and laughing as they went. Head Coach Rick Barnett stood on the practice field with his Offensive Coordinator, Bob Schneider.
“Jamar’s pretty good, huh?” Rick said.
“He’ll be good next year,” Bob replied.
“He might be better than Shane now. And he has a much bigger upside.”
“He doesn’t know the offense.”
“He’s a smart kid. If he was getting the reps, I’m sure he’d pick it up.”
“What are you sayin’?”
“If Shane falters, we shouldn’t be afraid to go with Jamar.”
“It’d be a mistake. He’s only a sophomore. We have a proven commodity with Shane. It’ll split the team. The seniors’ll be pissed. Shit, Shane’s mother’ll be pissed. You know how she is.”
Rick blew out a breath. “I don’t give a shit about who’s gonna be butthurt. The best kid plays, period.”
“And you think that’s Jamar?”
“Maybe. We’ll see how they do in the scrimmage tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
Janet and the Connection
Janet paced in the kitchen, her bare feet on the tile floor, her cell phone to her ear. She wore yoga pants and a tank top, her sports bra stretching to contain her ample bust.
“It’s an old boys’ club,” Janet said into her phone. “I’m tired of it. The district deserves better.”
“It’s been that way for as long as I can remember,” Cliff replied.
“Your apathy is part of the problem.”
“Come on, Janet. I’m one of the good guys. Things’ll get better. You just need to wait your turn.”
“Pruitt needs to go now. He does nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve been doing his job for years.”
“And you think you should be his replacement?”
“Damn right I should. I’ve been vice principal for ten years, and I’ve done an excellent job under difficult circumstances. Plus I live in the district. I care about this community. Pruitt doesn’t even live here. He lives in Palmyra.”
“I heard he’s planning to retire in five years,” Cliff replied through the phone. “You’ll be a shoo-in then.”
“Matthews is retiring in three years. If Pruitt’s still the high school principal when Matthews retires, and the school board members don’t change, they’ll hire another one of their cronies to be superintendent, and we’ll be stuck with this same shit. Now’s the time to make a change. The school board doesn’t even have to fire Pruitt. Just force him to retire early.”
Cliff sighed. “It’s happy hour, honey. How about you and I go out for a few drinks?”
“Don’t you honey me.”
Cliff chuckled.
“This is serious, Cliff. We’re one board member away from a majority. If we can break the old boys’ club, we can get rid of Pruitt, and we can turn this district around. Don’t you care that we have the third-lowest test scores in the county?”
“The five have a strong base in the community. They’ve been on the school board for damn near twenty years. Who’s up for reelection in November?”
“Daub and Pastor Goode.”
Cliff paused. “They’ll be tough to beat.”
Janet stopped in her tracks. “You hesitated. You know something about them, don’t you?”
Cliff chuckled again. “I’ve known these men my whole life.”
“Then you must know how to beat them.”
“I might.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not that easy. I could be persuaded to talk about it in person. It is sensitive information. What do you think, beautiful?”
Janet pursed her lips. “Where?”
“Days Inn in Hershey.”
Janet giggled, but her laughter faded with Cliff’s silence. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Would this be a friendly meeting … or a more-than-friendly meeting?”
“What do you think?”
Janet sat at the kitchen table, her forehead creased. “Seriously, Cliff?”
“I have friends and good friends. My good friends do things for me, and I do things for them. That’s the way of the world.”
Janet cringed, imagining Cliff’s hands all over her. “I don’t know.”
“You let me know when you do.” Cliff’s tone became much more upbeat. “So, what do you think of the team this year? Think they’ll win the district title?”
“I think they’ll win state. Shane’s excited,” Janet said.
“So’s Lance. They make one helluva connection.”
CHAPTER 5
Gwen and the Leprechaun
Gwen sat at her desk, reviewing her lesson plans on her laptop. Her mind wandered to Brian. It had only been six days since he’d produced the divorce papers. She’d signed because he was right. Intellectually, she knew he was right, but it didn’t feel that way. Her life had been consumed by him and the appeals. But moving on felt worse. Even though he was in prison, at least she got to hear his voice, to see him, to hug him and to hold his hands. And now she was just supposed to let him go? Forget all about him?
She sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the box on her desktop. She dabbed the corners of her eyes. Gwen felt like she’d been fired by Brian, which was weird because she’d recently been hired, her first teaching job in almost four years. It had been her first week at her new school. No students yet. The teachers were expected to return a week before the students for trainings, orientations, and preparation. The only kids around campus were the student-athletes on the sports fields. Otherwise, Monday would be the first day of school for the kids.
A knock came from her open door. She looked up to find a short man with platinum-blond hair and reddish-white skin standing on the threshold. His face was smooth and youthful.
“Knock, knock,” he said, smiling.
Gwen stood from her desk and returned his smile.
He approached with his hand held out. “I’m Lewis Phelps, across the hall from you—history.”
Gwen shook his hand. “Gwen Townsend, ELA.”
Lewis glanced around her colorful classroom, complete with a purple-carpeted reading area, beanbag chairs, motivational posters, and stacks of clear plastic containers filled with books and organized by genre. “Your room looks great. You must’ve been an elementary teacher.”
“I taught third grade right out of college.”
“I can tell. My room looks like a jail cell compared to yours.”
“I think I may have overdone it. I guess I want to make a good first impression.”
“Is this the first time you’ve taught high school?”
“No, I taught high school English at my last school.”
“Where did you teach?”
“I was in Philly.”
“Whoa.” Lewis grinned. “The inner city. Now you’re in this rural backwater. Talk about a change.”
“I guess it was time.” Gwen looked down for a moment.
“So, how was the new teacher orientation today? That was today, right?”
“Yes, today. It was good.” Gwen didn’t sound enthused.
Lewis grinned. “It was boring. You can say it.”
“It was a bit bland.”
“I’m pretty sure I fell asleep during mine. Principal Pruitt droned on for like five hours. He did capture my attention with his presentation on school shootings. He talked about improvised explosives and said we didn’t have to worry about bombs because we don’t have any Muslim students.”
Gwen cringed. “He didn’t.”
“Oh, he did. Then he made a joke. He said something like, where do suicide bombers go after they die?” Lewis paused. “Everywhere.”
Gwen covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. “That’s unbelievable. I’m surprised he still has a job.”
“The school board and the administration still think it’s 1955. We have teachers who still give the same worksheets from when I went here. Last year, I found a grammar worksheet left on the copier that referenced President Reagan.”
Gwen giggled again.
“That was actually your predecessor.”
“Those poor kids.”
“I’m not sure the younger teachers are any better. Everyone’s so apathetic around here.” Lewis gestured to the classroom windows and the view of the parking lot. “Did you see the Indy 235?”
“The what?”
“Every day at contract time, the staff rushes out of here at 2:35. I call it the Indianapolis 235. It drives me crazy. Everyone loves to bitch, but they’re not willing to put in the time to make things better.”
“It is Friday.”
“It’s like that every day. You’ll see.”
Gwen nodded. “How long have you been teaching here?”
“This’ll be my sixth year. I started here right after grad school. What about you? You look like you’re about twenty?”
“That’s why you’re my new best friend. I’m thirty-two. You look pretty young yourself.”
Lewis smirked. “Yeah, but, when you look young as a man, people disrespect you. It doesn’t help that I’m as tall as a leprechaun.”
“You don’t look that short to me.”
“You are too damn nice. I used to be nice too. This school will fix that. You’ll be cynical like me by Christmas break.”
“Now you’re making me nervous.”
“I’m just kidding … mostly. You’ll be fine. Do you know who your evaluator is yet?”
“Principal Wilcox.”
Lewis winced. “Janet, the Destroyer of Worlds.”
“She seems okay.”
“She’s very political and very out for herself. If you fall in line and align yourself with her, she’ll be your best friend. If you don’t, watch out.”
Gwen sighed. “I really don’t like office politics. I just want to do my job.”
“Just don’t go out of your way to oppose her, and watch your back. Don’t give her any information that she can twist and use against you.”
Gwen chewed on her lower lip.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine, and, if you get into trouble, I’m right across the hall.”
“Thanks, Lewis.”
“That’s what neighbors are for. Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m about to head out. Looks like you’re the last man standing.”
CHAPTER 6
Caleb and Ragu
Shane and Lance cheered from the sideline, their helmets in hand. The first string of the West Lake Wolf Pack had dominated the Dauphin Rams during the first half of the scrimmage. Shane had played well, throwing two touchdown passes to Lance, but he’d also thrown an interception. The second string was in now, vying for positions as backups. Caleb had slipped to the third string, his red-and-white uniform still sparkling clean.
On the field, Jamar took the snap and fired a frozen rope, hitting a backup wide receiver for the first down. Caleb thought about how that should’ve been him. He’d been Jamar’s favorite receiver when they were freshmen, but Caleb had dropped too many passes lately. For some reason, Caleb had been nervous. He had trouble concentrating, especially when it mattered the most.
On the next play, Jamar dropped back to pass. He sidestepped the rush and threw a bomb, a perfect arcing spiral into the outstretched hands of a West Lake receiver. Touchdown. The West Lake sideline and stands cheered.
Lance razzed Shane. “Nigger wants to take your position.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Shane replied, shoving Lance.
The defense recovered a fumble, and Jamar took over again. This time he faked a handoff to the running back and sprinted around the left end, making a little jump cut that froze the defensive end just enough for Jamar to slip past. Two tacklers converged near the sideline, but Jamar planted and spun 360 degrees, leaving them grasping for air as Jamar galloped for a fifty-five-yard touchdown run.
The West Lake sideline erupted again, cheering and shouting. Judging by the level of excitement, Caleb’s teammates were more impressed with Jamar’s two touchdowns than Shane’s pair. Judging from Shane’s frown, he was fully aware of that fact.
Lance nudged Shane. “You gotta admit, that was badass.”
“Big fuckin’ deal,” Shane replied. “He’s playin’ against the second string.”
* * *
After the scrimmage, Caleb undressed and dressed quickly, not making eye contact with anyone and avoiding the shower altogether. He hurried from the locker room into the hot afternoon sun.
“Hey, Caleb,” Jamar called out.
Caleb turned back toward the locker room door. Jamar stood just outside, still wearing his football pants and a sweaty T-shirt, his feet bare. Jamar was nearly six-feet tall, trim and wiry, nearly every muscle visible through his skin.
“Good game,” Caleb said.
“Thanks, man. Why are you in such a rush?”
“I have some stuff to do at home.”
“If you gimme a few minutes, I’ll walk home with you.”
“I really have to go, … but thanks, Jamar.”
“Check you later.”
Caleb walked on the narrow shoulder of the asphalt road. He walked beyond the school, along cornfields with massive cornstalks. Sporadic traffic passed him—mostly pickup trucks. He heard the rumble of knobby tires on asphalt. Shane’s lifted Chevy pickup approached close to the shoulder. Caleb stepped closer to the corn. A handful of guys stood in the truck bed. They pointed at Caleb and pounded on the roof of the cab as Shane drove past. Shane reversed the truck and stopped next to Caleb. Lance hung from the passenger window.
“Hey, you need a ride?” Lance asked.
Caleb shook his head. “No, … thanks.”
“That’s good, because we don’t pick up faggots.” Lance threw a mostly empty plastic bottle at Caleb, striking him on the top of his head.
The peanut gallery standing in the truck bed laughed
and threw their beverages at Caleb. Soda cans and Gatorade bottles flew through the air. Caleb raised his forearm, shielding his face. Most of the bottles and cans bounced off him, impotent. One full can of soda hit him in the knee, causing Caleb to drop to the ground. The boys laughed, and Shane gunned the engine of his lifted truck, leaving Caleb in the exhaust.
Lesson learned; stay away from the road. Caleb picked up the full soda and cut through the cornfield. He limped a little, his knee already swelling. It was probably just a bruise. He walked between the cornstalks, invisible to the world, the world invisible to him. He was nothing. Nobody. Actually, he was less than nothing. If he was just nothing, they’d leave him alone. He stayed in one row, knowing if he stayed true, he’d eventually reach the end of the field.
Twenty minutes later, he made it to his neighborhood of vinyl-sided ramblers, double-wide trailers, and prefab colonials. His house was a double-wide trailer, with an attached carport, large enough for only one vehicle. His mother’s car was gone, but Ashlee’s Jeep was parked in the street. She’d gotten it a few months ago for her sixteenth birthday. Her dad wasn’t around much, but he did buy her the Jeep, and his child support not only paid for Ashlee but most of the household bills. Caleb’s father was another story entirely. Caleb pushed inside, walked past the living room and into the kitchen. He put his soda in the fridge, then stepped down the hall, toward the bedrooms and bathroom. He heard voices from his sister’s room.
“You’re not coming?” Ashlee asked.
“I can’t, babe. I barely have time to talk,” Ryan said through Ashlee’s computer.
“You could come get me. We can spend the weekend in State College.”
“If I barely have time to talk, what makes you think I can come pick you up? It’s a three-hour drive one way.”
“I guess I could drive up there.”
“But I don’t have time to hang out.”
“Then we’re never gonna see each other.”
“I’ll be home at Christmas, … unless we have a bowl game.”
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