Top Prospect

by Paul Volponi

  “You ready to go up to the casket and pay your respects?” Mom asked me.

  “Another minute or two,” I answered, not wanting to come face to face with Alex’s body.

  “You know, you don’t have to,” Mom said. “We’re really here for Alex’s mother. Maybe we should go see her first.”

  “All right,” I said.

  She was sitting in the first row of chairs, wearing a black veil that came down just over her eyes.

  “Bless you for being here, child,” she said to me.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” Mom said, in almost a whisper.

  I just nodded, not knowing what else to add.

  “Your oldest son was a good friend to my boy. I want you to know I appreciate that,” she said, grasping Mom’s hand and then mine.

  A digital photo frame sat on a small table a couple of feet from the casket. Every few seconds, it flashed to another image from Alex’s life. There was a photo of Alex making a catch in his Gator uniform, one of him celebrating in the end zone, one of him graduating high school, and one of Alex with his mother behind the counter at the sub shop. Then a photo came on the screen from when Alex was much younger, maybe a few years younger than me. He stood next to a tall, lanky man with an athletic build. The two were smiling, and each had a hand on the football between them.

  “That was Alex’s father,” said Carter, coming up from behind me. “His mother told me they were really close. That’s maybe why he didn’t talk about his father much—it made Alex so sad to lose him.”

  That’s when I pulled up all the courage I had and walked over to the casket. Inside, Alex was lying there like he was asleep. He’d been dressed in a dark blue suit. Over that, he wore his blue Gator home jersey, number eighty-eight. On his cheek, there was a small smear of red lipstick, the same shade his mother was wearing. My eyes followed the outline of the two eights on his jersey, tracing each one until they crossed back along the same path.

  “Double-infinity,” I said to myself. “Take care, bro. Wherever you are, I hope you’re with your dad.”

  As I stood back up, Carter came over to take my place in front of Alex.

  Carter’s Take

  Don’t worry, fam. I won’t let you down this time. Not like I did before. It was the biggest mistake of my life—the day you told me you were on PEDs and I didn’t do a thing to stop it. I figured that you could make your own decisions. I talked myself into that, to justify it. But I was completely blind. I didn’t see how much pressure you were putting on yourself, trying to recover from that blown-out knee.

  Now everybody believes you’re a hero. They say that you worked yourself to death trying to make this team better, trying to make us all better. Well, that’s the way it’s going to stay. I promise. I owe you that. I thought about telling somebody what I know. But I couldn’t break that kind of news to your mother. Not after seeing how proud she is. I even thought about telling Coach. But if you really did get those drugs from somebody connected to the program, the NCAA might rip this whole team apart from top to bottom. I know that’s something you would have never wanted.

  Right now, the doctors say it was strictly your heart—that there was nothing else in your system. I know better. We both do. But that’s where it’s going to stay, between you and me and whoever sold you that poison. If that dude was in front of me, I’d beat him into the ground, I swear. But don’t worry. I got your back. No one’s ever going to lose respect for you. No one’s ever going to call you a cheater. Your mother’s never going to feel that shame. Your name’s never going to take that hit. God bless you, fam.

  Chapter 18

  At the cemetery the next day, after the preacher spoke, I stood in a long line of mourners. We were all waiting to toss a handful of dirt into Alex’s grave. Some people dropped their dirt in all at once. Others did it a little bit at a time. When it was my turn, I grabbed the dirt from a huge pile, then stood over the grave with my eyes closed and let it slowly slip through my fingers. Just before we were ready to leave, a work crew of three men holding shovels showed up, getting ready to fill the rest of the hole where Alex was buried.

  Carter left with his teammates, and I drove back with Mom. It was almost noon, and I wanted Mom to take me home instead of school. That’s when Coach Pisano called my phone.

  “Travis, whatever you do, get back here before the end of the day,” Pisano said.

  “Why, Coach? What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  “It’s your math teacher, the lovely Mrs. Harper,” said Pisano. “I’ve been through this with her before. You’re not supposed to play in the game tonight if you’re absent, and Harper’s a stickler. As soon as you missed her class this morning, she sent a note to me and Principal Ross.”

  “All right, I’m coming there now.” I pressed End and then turned to Mom, saying something she probably never dreamed would come out of my mouth: “Hurry up. Get me to school as fast as you can.”

  I got there for sixth period, still wearing my suit. I didn’t even have a notebook with me, so I borrowed a pen and paper, prepared to sit through the rest of the school day. Eighth period was my final stop: PE with Coach Pisano. He told me to sit on the side and study up on our game plan rather than change into my gym clothes.

  “There’s going to be a meeting about this Harper nonsense in the principal’s office right after class. I want you dressed just the way you are now. Don’t even loosen your tie,” Pisano said.

  When Coach and I got to the office, Mrs. Harper was already there. She stopped talking to the principal the second I walked in. Ms. Orsini, my history teacher and guidance counselor, came through the door after I did.

  “Travis, I was just on the phone with your mother. How are you coping?” Ms. Orsini asked. “Funerals are never easy. They can make us feel very uncertain about lots of things.”

  “I’m hanging in,” I answered, realizing that she was the only teacher so far to ask me something like that.

  “Is that where you were this morning, Travis? At a funeral?” Principal Ross asked.

  “Yes, sir. For Alex Moore, the Gator who died. He was my brother’s roommate. I trained with him all summer on the Gainesville campus,” I said, feeling the sadness well up inside me.

  Ms. Orsini took a tissue off the principal’s desk and tried to hand it to me. But I wouldn’t take it, not in front of Coach P.

  “His lateness seems legitimate,” Principal Ross told Mrs. Harper. “I don’t see a reason he should be made ineligible for the game.”

  “I disagree,” said Mrs. Harper. “This isn’t about a funeral. It’s about Mr. Gardner acting like a scholarship athlete instead of a high school student. It’s another excuse for football over academics.”

  “Is she kidding?” Pisano asked the principal.

  “This wasn’t even a relative of Mr. Gardner,” Mrs. Harper said.

  That’s when I couldn’t hold back anymore.

  “Alex was family to me!” I snapped, with tears starting to stream down my face. “Maybe you don’t care about yours, but I do!”

  The room paused around me as I struggled to catch my breath.

  “You can wait outside now, Travis,” Principal Ross said in a soft tone.

  Ms. Orsini came with me, bringing more tissues.

  I pulled myself together as fast as I could.

  “Sometimes it’s better to let it all out,” she said to me in the principal’s outer office.

  “Not for a varsity quarterback, it isn’t,” I said, wiping the last of the tears from my eyes.

  Pisano walked out next and said, “You’re playing tonight. Just make up the work you missed in math today.” Then he turned to Ms. Orsini.

  “I appreciate your help in there,” Pisano told her as he pulled me into the hall.

  “I wasn’t helping you or the football team,” I heard Ms. Orsini say from over my shoulder. “I was there for Travis.”

  * * *

  When I walked into our locker room before the game, I noticed
Aiden Conroy’s name and uniform number had disappeared from over his locker.

  “Talk is he transferred to Citrus High. To try and be the starting quarterback there,” Damon told me. “Guess you crushed all his hopes with that big game you had last week.”

  “Too bad,” I said, trying to downplay it. “That’s one less good athlete on our team. Hurts our depth.”

  But on the inside, a surge of satisfaction ran through me.

  Other players weren’t being so nice, especially Cortez.

  “He’s a traitor and a punk,” Cortez said, lacing up his cleats. “He put himself ahead of this team and his school.”

  Most of our guys on defense were already planning to pay Aiden back with pain when we played Citrus in a few weeks.

  I stopped into Pisano’s office to talk about it.

  “Conroy has an aunt who lives in that school district. His parents signed a notarized letter claiming he’s moved in with her,” said Pisano. “Our problem is that he knows our entire offense. He’ll tell their coaching staff everything. We’ll have to make changes when we play them.”

  “Not a problem. I can handle it.”

  “Good. I wanted to speak to you before the game anyway,” Pisano said. “You’ve shown plenty of poise for a freshman so far. But coming off that funeral, I want to make sure you have a handle on your emotions tonight. Don’t get too high or too low. Concentrate on your fundamentals.”

  “Calmness and execution,” I said. “That’s what Coach G. told me about quarterbacking the first day I met him.”

  “I like that,” Pisano said. “You know, he’s the reason I gave you the starting job.”

  “Because he saw something special in me?” I asked.

  “I suppose that’s part of it, sure. For a freshman you’re terrific, very advanced. Travis, I’m hoping to develop you over four years here. That’s about the time I’m looking to retire from the high school ranks. I wouldn’t mind being rewarded by Elvis Goddard with an assistant coaching job on the Gators’ staff. Sort of a thank-you for delivering his top prospect right on schedule.”

  I nodded my head, and left his office feeling a little bit like a piece of meat.

  Chapter 19

  Four hours after my talk with Coach Pisano, I was gearing up for our game against Eastside High. I pushed Alex’s death behind some dark curtain inside my head and concentrated on football. That had always been one of the best parts about being on the field: there weren’t any outside problems. Right then, only the game mattered. Everything else just vanished. It was like I didn’t have parents who were divorced, an older brother to compete with, or headaches over grades at school. For sixty minutes of game clock, I didn’t have a single worry in the world, not as long as I was playing quarterback.

  Before I took the field, Cortez came up to me.

  “Hey, you showed up big last week. But it was all Bobcats from start to finish. Nobody rocked you,” he said. “New game tonight. If things begin to go wrong, make sure you don’t pull that disappearing act I warned you about. Don’t become an empty uniform out there.”

  “I’m solid,” I said, tapping my chest. “And I’m hungry for another win.”

  “You’d better be. That Eastside D is thinking freshman means fresh meat.”

  On my first series of the game, I had a Bobcat receiver ready to run a deep route down the far sideline. The Eastside defense was covering us man to man. At the snap of the ball, I looked to the other side of the field, freezing the safety in the middle and stopping him from sliding over to help out. Then I turned back to my receiver running that deep route.

  His defender ran with him stride for stride, covering him like a blanket.

  My receiver had a few inches on the guy. So I had thoughts of throwing it up for grabs and giving my guy a chance to win a jump ball. But as the football was about to leave my hand, I saw my receiver’s eyes start to turn toward me.

  Within a fraction of a second, I read the move. That’s when I purposely threw the ball toward his back shoulder instead of leading him down the field. Two strides later, my receiver slowed up just enough to let his defender run past. Then he reached back for the football, snagging it for a long gain.

  A few snaps after that, we had a broken play. Two of our receivers nearly collided when one of them ran the wrong route. I scrambled, looking for somewhere to go. As I prepared to throw the ball away, out of bounds, I recognized the body language of our tight end. He gave his defender this little shifting move, something I’d seen him do at practice a bunch of times. So I had the ball heading to him before he made his cut to be wide open in the end zone.

  It was like my receivers and I were thinking with the same brain. Totally in sync.

  I even took my first sack on our following offensive series. A heavyweight Eastside lineman beat our O-line clean off the snap. He came lumbering at me in our backfield. I lost my footing and got stuck in his sights. I ducked down, like I was trying to dive beneath a monster wave at the beach. He pounded me pretty hard. But I went with his momentum and didn’t try to fight his force. I bounced up off the ground right away.

  That called for eye contact with Cortez on our sideline. I gave him a nod to show I could take a real hit. The guys in my huddle had their eyes on me too. I took the play Pisano sent in and found it on my wristband. Then I called it out for them, loud and strong, before I stood tall in the pocket and completed my next pass.

  Everything was going great. We had a thirteen-point lead. Cortez even sacked the Eastside QB, glancing over at me afterward to return the nod.

  Then, early in the third quarter, it happened.

  I was on the sideline, sipping from a cup of Gatorade.

  The Eastside quarterback threw a high spiral down the middle. His receiver cut across the field, leaping up to catch it. One of our D-backs absolutely drilled him, burying his shoulder pads into the receiver’s chest and causing the loudest pop I’d heard in a long time. I could almost feel the hit from where I was standing. I thought that receiver might not get back up. Eastside’s trainer probably figured the same, because he was already running onto the field toward the guy.

  But that receiver jumped to his feet, shaking off the hit like it was nothing.

  That’s when I saw he was wearing number eighty-eight, Alex’s double-infinity.

  The receiver spun the ball onto the ground with one hand before pounding a fist to his chest. I swear, he was looking straight at me as he shouted, “Nothing in this world can break me! Nothing!”

  A wicked chill ran through my body.

  All my inner defenses disappeared. That dark curtain I hid things behind was torn to shreds. I couldn’t keep the thought of Alex’s death from creeping into my mind. And I couldn’t watch Eastside on offense for another play, all because I didn’t want to catch sight of that receiver again.

  Back on the field, my concentration started to slip away. No matter how hard I tried to hold my emotions back, I could feel the flood taking me over.

  I got sacked again. Only this time, I rose up feeling battered and numb.

  My accuracy suffered for the rest of the game, with passes drifting off-target.

  I had a tough time finding the plays on my wristband too. The distraction even caused a pair of delay-of-game penalties.

  “Keep your head in the game, Gardner,” Pisano barked. “Everything’s in front of you, not off to the sides.”

  Somehow, though, I managed to hold myself together through the fourth quarter, completing a couple of passes, and we beat Eastside 23 to 18.

  Walking off the field, Cortez looked me up and down. “You got rattled, but you’re still here. That’s more than I can say about our former QB.”

  @TravisG_Gator Bobcats win, 2-0. As a starting QB, after the final whistle, I threw 1 more pass deep dwn field for Alex Moore, RIP Fam!

  While the Gators were dressing for their game on Saturday, one of Alex’s jerseys hung inside his open locker. Players passed by it and crossed themselves or bowed th
eir heads, like it was a sort of shrine. They’d drawn 88 on their cleats with Sharpies too. I reached inside the locker and ran my fingers over the fabric, trying to feel Alex’s spirit.

  “Dad call you this week?” Carter asked me, from his locker next to Alex’s.

  “Yeah, late last night.”

  “Talk about anything special?”

  “My game, a lot about Alex’s funeral and stuff,” I answered.

  “What he say?”

  “What you’d expect. That dying is part of life. Accept it and move on.”

  “Know what he told me?” Carter said. “I should tell the dean of students that my roommate dying is going to make it impossible for me to keep my mind on studying. He thinks the school would probably give me straight As this semester because of it.”

  “Really? I never heard of anything like that.”

  “I told him I didn’t want a free ride on Alex’s death. That I didn’t deserve it.”

  “What’d Dad say?” I asked.

  “That I shouldn’t take things so personally.”

  “Like when he threatened to take Mom to court, to lower our child support payments?”

  “I still love you boys. It’s just the way the system works,” said Carter, with a near-perfect imitation of Dad’s voice.

  I stared back at Alex’s jersey and asked, “Ever feel like we’ve been halfway cheated out of having a dad? I mean, with the divorce and him moving to California?”

  “I feel just like you do, Trav,” Carter answered, putting on his pads. “Just hope neither one of us ever feels like we were halfway cheated out of having a brother.”

  A moment later, Coach Goddard stepped out of his office. He took Alex’s jersey from the locker and handed it to me.

  “I want this on our sideline tonight for inspiration,” Goddard said. “Travis, it’s your job to make sure it never touches the ground.”