by Alan Janney
I drove home with shaking hands, crying, praying, and laughing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Friday, October 12. 2017
The Hidden Spring Eagles traveled to Santa Monica High School for our sixth game and took the field as a fractured unit. Our quarterback controversy affected us from the initial coin toss, during which our two team captains got into an argument. The Santa Monica Marauders scored a touchdown on the opening drive because of defensive confusion, and the defensive coordinator had to separate our two safeties before they resolved their dispute with their fists.
During our opening possession, Jon Mayweather dropped an easy pass and then Jesse Salt fumbled the football. Santa Monica scored again. On our next possession the offensive line opened up like a broken sieve. I got sacked twice and Jon Mayweather dropped another pass. We had to punt. We were imploding on both sides of the ball, and the sabotage was obvious.
At half-time, the scoreboard broadcast our futility, 35-7. I hadn’t played great, but I hadn’t played badly either. The score was my fault, though. I had split the team. Our players were flat and lifeless, resigned to the game’s fate. They fell into the chairs like they’d rather be getting on the bus than fighting for a victory. The revulsion I felt for them tasted bitter in my mouth.
“Okay, gentlemen, we need to make some substitutions,” Coach Garrett said in the locker room at half-time. That raised some eyebrows. No anger? No fury? No inspirational talk? “We are getting outplayed and beaten on every down. So I’m making some personnel changes to see if that helps.”
We all waited to hear whose names he’d call, knowing we deserved being benched. Mine would be on that list. His only hope of winning the game was to put Andy back in and see if that healed the team. And I didn’t blame him.
“Listen up. Chase, Cory, Adam, Trey…” he rattled off a list of fourteen players. I knew he had to bench me, but Cory?? Unbelievable. His play had been as exceptional as always. “Okay, if I just called your name…you’re staying in the game. Everyone else, you’re getting beaten too badly. I’m going to let your replacement try. Next man up. I’m sure you understand that I’m doing this for the good of the team.”
He wasn’t benching me. He was benching the saboteurs!
Comprehension affected the team in two different ways. The saboteurs knew that they’d misplayed their hand; they thought they could bluff and bully the coach into playing Andy, but instead they’d gotten sent to the sidelines. The reserve players (the second string) registered the news like they’d been hit with a bolt of electricity. They were going to play. Enthusiasm and life began to spread through the room. Hope was still alive, and so was the promise of opportunity and potential.
The maneuver Coach Garrett just pulled off became more brilliant the longer I pondered it. If he'd played Andy and the rest of the starters, he might have a better chance winning this game, but he would’ve lost ownership of the team. Ultimate leadership would have been placed squarely in the hands of Andy Babington, and the inmates would be running the asylum. Instead he served the mutineers notice. Play hard or don’t play. He threw the ace up his sleeve, betting that the team of kids would choose playing time over fealty to Andy Babington. We may lose this game, but he was gambling on saving the rest of the season.
Lightening had struck the locker room, and, just like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster, the dead began to rise.
We were outgunned. I realized that on the first play in the second half. These guys were second string for a reason, and the Marauders hit our line like a sledge hammer, battering our smaller and slower backups. We played with heart and determination and stood our ground, but I was still under fire every play, and our substitute running back was getting nowhere.
I called for a timeout on a third down at the fifty yard line. The equipment managers ran onto the field with water bottles, but I grabbed Cory by the arm and pulled him with me to conference with Coach Garrett, who was watching me with bemusement.
“You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you?” I asked the Coach between gasps. I’d been running for my life every play.
“Are you an elite quarterback, or are you not?” he asked me, grinning around his gum chomping.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” I said. “Cory’s the best player on the field. I’m going to start calling nothing but quarterback sneaks, and I’ll follow him up the field. Unless you have a better idea.”
“I like it,” he said. “Mind if I mix in some option plays? And after we soften them up, we’ll hit them deep. Sound good to you, Cory?”
Cory shrugged and we returned to the huddle. Jesse Salt and Andy Babington and Jon Mayweather and the rest of the starters on the bench were watching us with both shock and murder in their eyes.
Five straight plays in a row I tucked up behind Cory as he blew holes through the Marauder defense like a bulldozer. He was the snow plow and I just followed in his wake as long as I could. On the fifth play, I was tackled in the end zone for a touchdown.
Our defense played with new vigor and vitality, running around the field like wild dogs. The Santa Monica stadium was shocked into silence when we intercepted the ball. Three plays later I fell forward into the end zone for another touchdown.
Eagles – 21, Marauders – 35.
They were ready for our hyper defensive this time, and they used our backups’ enthusiasm against us. Santa Monica pump-faked and cut-back their way down the field and scored a rushing touchdown as the third quarter ran out.
Eagles – 21, Marauders – 42.
Our backup running back’s name was Gavin, and he and I started running the option behind Cory. Usually I’d have to pitch it to Gavin, who would rumble forward behind our blocks, and we ate up the ground slowly. After the sixth successive running play, Coach Garrett called for a play action pass. I faked the handoff to Gavin and threw a touchdown pass to Adam Mendoza, who was so open I almost missed him.
Eagles – 28, Marauders – 42.
Our defense held and got us the ball back. Gavin and I ran the ball some more, but we started alternating sides so Cory could breathe. With only four minutes left in the game, I scrambled thirty-five yards for another touchdown to pull us within one score.
Coach Garrett’s plan almost worked, but the Santa Monica team mustered enough resolve to pound the ball against our backups long enough to kill the clock. The game ended and we lost by seven points.
Our first defeat.
“I’m proud of you boys,” Coach told us as we dressed. “You dominated the second half. Very impressive. Come Monday, we’ll be making a few of these roster changes permanent to help improve our chances of winning the district.”
“We ain’t gonna win the district,” Jesse Salt spat. “We lost, Coach. And the Patrick Henry Dragons ain’t gonna lose.”
“I agree, Mr. Salt, I agree. The Dragons will not lose. Until they play us.”
“So?”
“So if we win our game against them, then we will have lost one game and they will have lost one game. And their loss will have been to us, which would give us the tie breaker. Our season is not over. In fact, it’s only just starting.”
We boarded the bus, a melting pot of emotions. I received two text messages on the bus ride home.
The first was from Natalie North. >> Protestors vandalized my apartment building. Because of me. =(
The second was from Katie. >> I don’t think the messages are from the Outlaw. I blocked the number but now he’s texting me from another phone. I’m scared.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monday, October 15. 2017
The school week began badly. Our morning news report highlighted the football team’s defeat, and Mr. Ford handed back a quiz and gleefully announced that I’d received a D on it. Plus, I could tell Katie was extremely worried about the new text message she’d received. We didn’t get a chance to discuss it because we had to take a Spanish test. If I made a ‘C’ on the text then I’d consider myself lucky. I’d forgotte
n all about it.
At lunch, Cory, Lee and I gathered around Katie.
“He texted me again,” she said, and it was obvious she no longer thought of the messages as a game.
“What’d he say?” Lee asked.
“He wants to know why the Outlaw returned my phone but not anyone else’s,” she explained.
Lee asked, “Well? Why did he?”
“I don’t know!” she said in a high pitched squeak. “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he does this a lot. How should I know?”
I asked, “Is that all the text said?”
“No,” she said. “He said that I shouldn’t make him angry. I never should have texted him back in the first place. You were right, Chase. Maybe he would have left me alone if I hadn’t replied.”
“Did you tell your mom?” Lee asked. Our lunches sat untouched.
“Yes. But the number is blocked, so we’re not sure what to do. Apparently this isn’t bad enough to be considered harassment,” she sighed. “Chase, do you still think it’s from the guys that mugged us?”
“I do,” I said.
“What should I do?”
I had no answer, but her scared eyes broke my heart. I had no answer, but for Katie I’d find one.
“I wish we could tell the Outlaw about this,” Lee said, punching his palm with a fist. “Dude. If only he’d respond to my messages…”
“Messages?” I asked and I laughed at the absurdity. “You send messages to the Outlaw?”
“You know, bro. On Craigslist,” he frowned defensively.
“Craigslist? What are you talking about?”
He rolled his eyes. “I told you about this. You must have been off in la-la land.”
“Yeah,” Cory nodded. “Chase been doing that a lot.”
“Tell me about it,” Katie groaned. “All the time.”
“What? No I haven’t,” I said. “Shut up. And tell me about Craigslist.”
“Listen this time,” Lee instructed. “You’ve been on Craigslist, right? Well, they have a section for ‘Missed Connections.’ You can post messages to people that you don’t know how to reach. Like a city-wide bulletin board. But it only works if that person checks the ‘Missed Connections’ section of Craigslist.”
“And you think the Outlaw reads this section of Craigslist?” I grinned.
“I don’t know, dude. I hope so. Everyone else is doing it.”
“I tried,” Katie admitted. “But he never replied.”
I asked, “What do you mean…everyone else is doing it?”
“Go look on Craigslist, man. Nothing but messages for the Outlaw recently. No wonder he hasn’t accepted my offer. There’s so many.”
“A lot of people are trying to communicate with the Outlaw?” I marveled at such an idea.
“Yep.”
I asked, “He hasn’t accepted your offer? What offer did you propose?”
“You ask a lot of questions, bro.”
“I know!” Katie cried. “That’s what I said. Remember Chase? I said that too.”
“Fine,” I growled. “Don’t tell me. I’ll go look myself.”
“I told him he could use my Palm Taser,” Lee said proudly.
“Your Paser?” Katie smiled.
“Yes, the Palm Taser. My Paser,” Lee shouted. “I’m not ashamed of its name.”
“Why would the Outlaw need your taser?” I asked.
“I dunno, dude! Maybe to whoop some ass!”
“Maybe you should call it the Hand Taser,” I suggested. “Then it could be the Haser. Sounds like hazer.”
“Oh! I like it!”
I said, “And maybe you should give Katie a Haser. For protection.”
“No way,” Lee said, his face paling. “She’d kill herself.”
“So you trust the Outlaw with it but not me?” Katie asked, indignant.
“You’re a girl, dude! Two million volts! It almost killed Cory last week! Plus, the Outlaw would know how to work it.”
“He’s never going to answer you anyway,” Katie sighed. “He’s probably too busy with Natalie North.”
Lee nodded, “Right. He’s probably up in her tower right now. I would be too.”
“Natalie doesn’t live in a tower,” I said and got to work on my sandwich.
“You know what I mean,” Lee said. “At the top of that apartment building they’re picketing.”
“Picketing! They’re picketing? I thought the protestors just vandalized it,” I said, alarmed. “People are just hanging outside of it, waiting for her?”
“Protestors and signs, dude, and they’re throwing eggs. They claim she is dating a racist, which makes her a racist.”
“That’s silly,” Katie said. “The Outlaw isn’t a racist.” Cory finally spoke. “Nope. He ain’t. He cool. I decided.”
I said, “The Outlaw is not shacking up with Natalie North.”
“He should! Why wouldn’t he be?” Lee asked.
“He’s…probably busy,” I said. “And he might already have a girlfriend.”
He might already have a girlfriend…that he can’t see because he’s grounded, but she didn’t like to go out anyway.
I looked across the room at Hannah, who was busy doing homework while her friends talked animatedly around her. The sight still struck me as unusual, this gorgeous, popular girl being so devoted to school and cheering that she never participated in the social scene except to reassert her dominance over it. She was so complicated I didn’t know where to start.
When nobody was looking, I retrieved the pink cell phone and texted Natalie North.
Are there protestors at your apartment building?
Her replay came back almost instantaneously, >> Yes! I’m basically trapped. It’s awful.
Coach Garrett allowed me to miss the first part of practice so I could answer questions for the media. I responded via email to questions from Scout.com and Maxpreps.com. I talked on the phone to a local television sports anchor, and we filmed a short clip for our school’s morning show. The team’s radio announcer and I recorded a segment, even though he’d been critical of my play recently. The LA Times high school football section ran weekly spotlights on players, and this week was apparently my turn. The writer came to the school and we spoke for fifteen minutes, although I didn’t say anything new. He told me the article would be in Friday’s football section. Mr. Desper sat with me the whole time, and he seemed placated with my answers because he nodded throughout them all.
On the way home I called Dad’s physical therapy office and caught the receptionist on her way out the door. I sweet-talked her into rebooting her computer and scheduling him for another session of physical therapy, for which I would pay cash. At that appointment I could schedule several more and pay for those as well.
I had lifted weights like a madman during Strength and Conditioning and then ran until I vomited at practice, chased the whole way by Tee’s angry messages on Katie’s phone. So that night I rubbed muscle cream into the sorest parts of my body while I thought through Katie’s situation. I could postulate no evidence to prove the messages came from Tee. Nor did I know who Tee was, even if I could prove it was him that was harassing Katie. The police had no real ability to provide assistance. So what powers of recourse did I have?
Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I opened up Craigslist on my tablet and surfed to Los Angeles’ Missed Connections page. Wow! The webpage was a clearing house for people hoping to find a sleazy encounter, seemingly. But mixed in with the sleaze I found a stunning number of Outlaw posts. I started reviewing the links that mentioned the Outlaw.
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Outlaw help! my kat is missin! please call…
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please mr outlaw my exboyfriend keeps showing up and hits me…
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outlaw! U a punk!! meet me behind southcentral walmart off alondra friday to get yo ass kick! bring ur girl natalie 2!! fkn racist!!!!
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Dear sir, if you would like to be interviewed, and
to finally get your story told to a national audience, please contact me. I am willing to provide you with this opportunity. Contact me at…
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Hey Outlaw. Lookin for a good time? Cause so am I. I’m going to…
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Outlaw, repent! Your sins will find you out!
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Yo the outlaw a racist. he should come 2 th projects w the real gangsta!! he b pickin on th small timers, like a little beech! Get yo ass to Compton and find out..
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The time has come. For me to unmask myself. I AM THE OUTLAW!! It’s true. Do not be scared, but I do have super powers! I am not a racist. Please visit this website for further details…
I scrolled down the hundreds of posts from just this week. How could this many people have such a strong opinion about a fictional character that had been in the news only a handful of times? And why did they think I was a racist? Should I go beat up some white guy so they’d leave me alone? At the tail end of yesterday’s posts, I found one of Lee’s links.
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Outlaw. I have built a stun gun that fits into your palm, perfect for a man of your activities. I would be honored if you would test it. Contact Lee.
I smiled at Lee’s phrasing and how formal he sounded. Maybe I should dress up as the Outlaw and go visit him. Offer to test his weapon? He’d probably pass out, he’d be so excited.
As I chuckled about Lee’s reaction, Natalie North texted me.
>> Pleasepleaseplease come visit me? I haven’t been out of my apartment in four days. The Super caught someone attaching a camera to my door’s peephole. My neighbors hate me. My publicist got egged when she visited. Pleeeeeeeease visit?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tuesday, October 16. 2017
The police showed up again and disbanded Natalie’s protestors, even arresting three of the picketers, citing disturbing the peace and disobeying lawful orders. The arrests were caught on camera and all three persons shoved into the back of squad cars happened to be Latino. The civil unrest grew worse as the day wore on, according to Lee and the news.