The Outlaw: No Heroes

by Alan Janney

  I awoke at five the following morning in the same pew with a blanket covering me.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday, September 14. 2017

  On Friday the football team and the cheerleaders crammed onto two buses and drove northwest to play the San Fernando Falcons. Cory and I sat together and played video games against each other using our phones. The central topic of conversation among the football players was that a linebacker for the Patrick Henry Dragons had twenty solo tackles last week, including five sacks. That number sounded impossible.

  Hannah sat three seats ahead of me and I studied her when she wasn’t looking. I tried to figure her out. She appeared to be a girl that the other girl’s deferred to. When she spoke, they listened. She received more compliments and attention. However despite her position in the cheerleader social hierarchy, she seemed disengaged and rarely exercised her presiding powers. Polite and interested, but only when it directly concerned her. She participated as a mature participant would, with a tolerant sophistication and faint annoyance. When I caught her eye, she gave me a half smile.

  I quit examining her when she moved to sit next to Andy Babington.

  Andy’s ankle still wasn’t healed. He didn’t even make it through warm-ups before pulling up, almost lame. He fumed and cursed his way to the bench, and I got the start.

  The Falcons had certainly studied our last game because they gave up defending the run completely after I threw only three passes. Their head coach wanted to avoid an aerial assault like we’d launched last week. They ignored our running back, Jesse Salt, and sent everyone after me. I called, “Hut!” and almost fumbled the ball when I saw how many Falcon defenders blitzed. Panicking, I tried to scramble and ran straight into the left defensive lineman who wrapped his arms around me and dragged me to the ground. Another play, another blitz. This time I hurried an incompletion, and we had to punt.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I panted. “That sucked.”

  “Yep,” Coach Garrett said on the sidelines. Coach Garrett had a high forehead, Roman nose, bristle-brush mustache, and always wore glasses against the twilight sun. I couldn’t read his expression.

  “What do we do?”

  “Short passes or dump the ball off to Jesse. We’ll run short slants. That’ll beat their blitzing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Falcons scored a touchdown and we trotted onto the field.

  “Super twelve,” I called at the line, but mostly because I had no idea what the Falcons planned to do. “Hut!” Nine Falcons came swarming, overrunning our offensive linemen. I backpedaled heroically, but I couldn’t see the wide receivers through the approaching mass of Falcon flesh.

  I knew from our passing drills where my receivers should be. The hours with a blindfold paid off and muscle memory took over. I made a blind pass, throwing to a phantom I trusted to be there, and got slammed to the turf.

  Jon Mayweather ran true to his route, caught the ball mid-stride and scampered sixty yards before being tackled from behind. We called the same play again, and we got overran again by the same nine players. I threw the ball to the same place on the field, and Jon Mayweather took off once more. Because the entire team was blitzing me, he only had to outrun two players.

  Touchdown!

  As we celebrated, I noticed Jesse Salt slam his helmet to the ground in frustration. He sat down on the aluminum bench beside Andy Babington and shook his head.

  I expected more blitzes when we got the ball back. The Falcons, however, reversed their strategy and only sent three rushers after me. I had all day to throw but nobody was open in the vast cloud of defenders. So I ran for a first down. The following play, I ran again.

  On the play after that, the game began to take on dream-like qualities. It was happening again: that strange sensation of invincibility.

  I stood in the pocket of protection provided by the giant linemen and fully knew one thing: I could do anything. The game slowed down and shrunk, courage filling me like a great tide of infinite power. They couldn’t stop me.

  I had a surplus of time. I verified the pass protection, located Jesse impatiently gesturing to be utilized, noticed the frustration on the face of the Falcon’s coach, admired Hannah as she watched the play, examined the position of my wide receivers, and eventually decided to run the ball myself. I moved down the field and almost felt sorry for the first defender I met. This Falcon had been weight lifting for years, he’d been running sprints since he was a kid, practiced tackling for countless hours, and yet I went right around him like he was standing still. I might have been flying. In the euphoric state I couldn’t feel my feet making contact with the ground. The second Falcon defender tripped trying to keep up with me. Before I knew it I was running across the goal line for a score. Touchdown.

  “Well, that works too,” Coach Garrett said back on the sideline. He was scrutinizing me as if seeing me for the first time.

  Play after play, the Falcons couldn’t catch me. I ran around, over, and away from them. I ran for two more touchdowns before the half ended. During the break, I scarfed down all the snacks I’d brought and begged others for theirs. I was famished and uncomfortable, tugging at my gear which felt too small after all the activity. In fact, a couple straps on my pads had ripped.

  Blitzing hadn’t worked, and playing max zone coverage hadn’t worked, so the Falcons tried to defend us with a more standard strategy during the second half. That didn’t work either. I threw three second half touchdowns before we left San Fernando with a 49-20 victory.

  On my way to the locker room a camera and microphone were shoved in my face, and I was asked to comment on the game. I was unprepared and had no idea what to say, so I bumbled through the interview sounding like an idiot.

  I climbed back onto the bus, tossed my bag into the pile with all the others, and turned to find my way blocked by a scandalously attractive cheerleader.

  “Hey handsome,” Hannah purred, and nodded towards the open seat. “Sit with me?”

  I sat next to the window and she lowered herself beside me.

  “Nice game,” she said.

  “You too.”

  “You noticed me?” she asked.

  “I always do,” I said, and she blushed.

  As the bus lumbered out of the parking lot she asked, “Are you sore?”

  “Yeah, a little. I got tackled a lot more today than I did last week.”

  “What hurts?” “Mostly my thighs,” I replied.

  She smiled mischievously and said, “I’m not massaging your thighs, hotshot.”

  The bus motored south on Interstate 5 through the dark night, and gradually the celebrations inside became subdued and changed into murmurs that melted into the drone of the engine.

  “You’re a hard man to figure out,” Hannah yawned, and she laid her head on my shoulder. I froze. No idea what to do.

  “How’s that?”

  “You are oblivious to girls,” she smiled.

  “I’ve heard that,” I said, thinking about Katie.

  “You don’t notice the looks you get in class or the halls. It’s like you don’t care,” she sighed. “Plus, we’ve been spending time together. And I’m used to guys asking me out, but you haven’t.”

  “I suppose I’m too busy to date.”

  “Me too,” she yawned again. “What about the pretty Latina girl?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did you two ever…?”

  “No. She’s not interested in me that way. Plus, I think she likes some other guy now. I don’t even know how to ask someone out,” I said, frowning in thought. And I didn’t. I’d never done it before. This was the first time I’d ever thought about being with someone other than Katie. But maybe I should start, try to move on. If I was really honest with myself, I wanted more from Hannah than just study sessions. Is that how guys know when to ask a girl out? No one ever taught me.

  “You should try,” she said, and poked a finger into my ribs. “Every girl at our school would say
yes.”

  “Every girl?”

  “Every one,” she said, and her hand slid down to rest on top of my mine. “Just don’t take too long.”

  The traffic at eleven on a Friday night should have been light, but an accident congested our route. Hannah soon fell asleep, facing me with her knees drawn up and partially resting in my lap.

  The cars kept inching forward around us. I was close to drifting off when my pocket buzzed. I pulled out my phone. Nothing. Right, the other phone in my pocket! The pink phone.

  A new message from Natalie North!

  >>Don’t apologize for the phone mix-up. You saved me.

  Hannah stirred beside me and then went quiet again.

  Another message.

  >>I’m glad you have my phone, actually. Keep it. Earlier today I paid the bill for that phone through the end of September.

  I clicked her device off and put it in my pocket, and as I did a dark figure stopped at our seat. He leaned over across Hannah until I could see the face belonged to Jesse Salt. Had he been crying?

  “Two carries for eleven yards,” he said, his soft voice feverish. “And two catches for nineteen.”

  I nodded, confused.

  “Last year I averaged more than a hundred and forty-five total yards a game. Now I’m at thirty,” he said, jabbing at the cushioned seat. “Do you think I’m going to keep getting college scholarship offers like this? Cause I don’t,” he snapped and trudged back down to the recess of the school bus.

  Great. Now I had to get Jesse into college.

  Finally, we pulled into a parking lot populated with parents in idling cars. I led a sleepy Hannah off the bus by her hand and went to get our bags. She waved goodbye to friends and wrapped her arms around my waist, buried her face into my chest and leaned me against her car.

  I couldn’t remember the last real hug I’d had from a girl other than Katie. Maybe never? Hannah had never been so small as when I rested my chin on her head and put my arms around her shoulders.

  This hug was special. This hug was almost magical. She smelled nice and feminine. She felt soft. The stars were out, and the night was comfortable. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it seemed like hours. All night wouldn’t have been long enough. But I do know that I could still feel her pressed against me as I tried to fall asleep that night.

  The only thing keeping the hug from being pure magic was that it came from the wrong person.

  Chapter Ten

  Saturday, September 15. 2017

  >> So, you are some sort of super hero?

  I stared at Natalie North’s message before getting out of bed. Ooowww. Football injuries were piling up. I was pretty sure super heroes don’t get this sore.

  I replied, Not a super hero. Just helpful.

  >> How do you like your moniker, Outlaw?

  I prefer ‘stereotypical stage coach robber.’ >> You saw my interview?

  Yes.

  >> What’d you think?

  You looked very pretty, I typed and immediately regretted it. I turned off the phone to stop the message from going through but I was too late. “I’m an idiot,” I said. “Now she thinks I’m a creep.”

  I got breakfast and tried watching SportsCenter, but I turned the phone back on when I couldn’t bear the curiosity.

  >> Thanks, she’d replied.

  >> I didn’t mean for ‘Outlaw’ to catch on.

  I like it, I replied.

  >> Do you often fight crime?

  You’re chatty in the morning.

  >> Were you up late saving damsels in distress?

  None since you.

  >> I’m a morning person. I’m asleep by 10 most nights. When I go out to dinner with friends and stay up late I get mugged.

  Let me know beforehand. I’ll show up earlier next time, I typed. That was smooth. Nice one.

  >> LOL. Are you enjoying your fame?

  Do you enjoy yours?

  >> Hardly ever. At least you get to wear a mask.

  Natalie North isn’t a mask?

  I glanced curiously at my thumbs. What a thoughtful thing to type. That was the first intelligent thing I’d ever written. She took a long time answering.

  >> I suppose it is.

  I waited for my thumbs to say something else brilliant but nothing happened.

  >> What if I called you?

  I froze. I’m seventeen, you’re a movie star, you can’t call me. Panicking, I turned the phone off again. I sat there for a long time. My life had grown strange. Natalie North wanted to call me.

  “Guess what,” I said. Dad looked up from his iPad. “I think a cheerleader likes me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s pretty.”

  He nodded and asked, “Did you win?”

  “Of course we won.”

  “How did you play?”

  “Well,” I answered.

  “How well?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Give me your stats.”

  “Oh. I have no idea.”

  “Well, think, genius,” he said and went back to his iPad. Dad has a minor in math and plays fantasy sports. Numbers matter.

  “I threw one touchdown and ran for two more,” I said.

  “How many yards?”

  “Wait! I threw two…or three touchdowns. I think,” I said, screwing up my eyes in concentration to remember a game that had been obliterated into obscurity by Hannah.

  “Which? Two or three touchdowns?”

  “Two?” I wondered. “I’m not sure. But I ran for three.”

  “You just said two rushing,” he argued.

  “I think it was three. I forget. But she is really pretty.”

  “So…five touchdowns total?”

  “Probably,” I sighed.

  “That’s really good. I’ll research your yards online.”

  I nodded and ate some more toast.

  “Patrick Henry won again,” he said.

  “How bad?” I asked. I hated Patrick Henry.

  “Not sure. Saw the news last night. They are really good. Their middle linebacker had twenty-one solo tackles and four sacks. You must be hungry, kid. That’s your fifth bowl of cereal.”

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, looking at my bowl. I had been hungry a lot recently.

  “Fine. Stop asking.”

  I’d stop asking after he got back to the doctor and received additional treatment, which reminded me about the stolen five hundred dollar ruby locket. I needed to decide quickly if I was going to attempt retrieving it before it was relocated.

  The sliding-glass door leading to our porch was off track, so Dad and I fixed it before lunch. Then we played chess and I put cream on every part of my body that hurt.

  Before taking a nap, I powered on Natalie North’s phone.

  >> No phone call?

  >> Okay then, how about a video chat? Could be fun. =)

  Video chat? No way. No chance. Even though…that sounded…awesome.

  Before dinner I decided to visit Katie. She was my best friend and I felt perpetually drawn to her out of habit. Plus, I missed her. Her mother was outside working on the apartment garden when I arrived. She stood up and wiped her forehead with her sleeve.

  “Hi Chase! You just missed Sammy,” she smiled.

  “Who’s Sammy?”

  Her eyebrows raised and she said, “You don’t know about Sammy?”

  “I guess not. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, gracias. How’s your head?”

  “Haven’t thought about it in a week.”

  “Good! By the way, have you gotten bigger? You look bigger.”

  I entered Katie’s room to find her putting toenail polish on. Since when does she wear toenail polish? Her laptop’s screen saver was active, which was a dissolving collage of Outlaw photos from the ATM video. “Who’s Sammy?”

  “It’s nice to see you too,” she smiled. Katie’s smile could change the world. “I heard we won.”

  “We did. Killed th
em. Who’s Sammy?”

  “Sammy is a guy I’m talking to,” she replied nonchalantly.

  “Talking?”

  “You know,” she frowned, her cheeks coloring a little as she busied herself again with her polish. “Talking.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He’s…Sammy. He’s in AP History with me. He plays lacrosse for the school.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’ve seen that guy. He wrestles too.”

  “Right!”

  “He’s a stud,” I said.

  “You think?”

  “I mean, he’s a short stud.”

  “What? No he’s not,” she protested.

  “Yes he is. He’s really short.”

  “He’s like five ten!”

  “I don’t like him,” I said.

  She inspected me for an uncomfortable moment and asked, “Why not?”

  “Are you going to date him?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t think he’s good enough for you,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Katie…shut up. Because you’re perfect. No one is good enough for you.”

  “That’s sweet,” she smiled. “But you’re a doofus.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Sweetie,” she said poignantly. “You’re jealous. That’s the problem.”

  “What?” I stammered, feeling like she’d thrown a live grenade into the room. But I LIKED it when she called me Sweetie!

  “Maybe not romantically. But you’ve always been the only guy in my life. And now you’re not. It unsettles you. Besides,” she continued with a coy smile. “It’s okay to be jealous. I’m jealous. Of Hannah.”

  “Really?” I asked, and her confession stirred butterflies in my stomach that had lain dormant since last night. Katie was jealous???

  “But I’m also starting to realize that I was too attached to you.”

  “No you’re not. We’re great the way we are.”

  “I’m sure that’s the way it seems to you,” she said. “But not for me. For two reasons.”

  “Tell me the reasons.”

  “First, I’m going to lose you. To the world. I don’t blame Hannah, and the team, and the student body, and the whole community for loving you. You’re perfect. I’m just jealous because I had you to myself for so long.”