Strange Country Day

by Charles Curtis

  With the score 21-16 in the fourth quarter, our offensive line couldn’t hold on any longer. With almost two minutes left and our offense pinned at our own seven-yard line, Jimmy saw their defense bite on a fake handoff to our running back. He also saw two defensive ends send our blockers to the ground and head right toward him. He let go of the football just as the two of them crushed him, completing a pass and getting us a first down.

  From the sidelines, I thought I could hear a groan of agony come out of him, but luckily the refs blew the whistle for the two-minute warning. Jimmy limped back to the sideline holding his shoulder. There was no point hiding the injury—our opponents knew it. I saw Jesse Jarvis get up and start throwing a ball around on the sideline, so I tapped Dex and started throwing warmup tosses to him. Our fans began to stand and crane their necks to see if Jimmy would get back in the game. “Sit down, boys!” Coach Schmick yelled at both of us as we watched Coach Carson put something underneath Jimmy’s nose. The QB shook his head suddenly and his eyes opened wide. “Smelling salts. Gross,” Dex said. We sat down and I took a deep breath. I didn’t think there was any way Jimmy would give up in the final two minutes.

  Amazingly, he forged on. On the next play from the shotgun, he handed off the ball to try to fool the defense and get a few yards. He got just two. The clock kept running and our nearly one-armed QB somehow completed a throw for another four yards. At that point, it was third-and-four with one timeout left. I looked up at the scoreboard and saw the seconds ticking off the clock. Instead of coming right to the line to receive the snap, Jimmy had our team in a quick huddle.

  The crowd began to stir as their quiet concern became a dull buzz. “C’mon! Go already!” and “Tick-tick-tick, Claw!” were among the comments I heard. Frankly, they were right. Forty-nine … forty-eight … forty-seven seconds left. Finally, our offense came to the line. I glanced at Coach Schmick, who looked as unnerved as I’d ever seen him. It dawned on me what might happen.

  “Something’s up, Dex. Jimmy’s running this play on his own.”

  The snap came with forty-four seconds left on the clock. Jimmy immediately threw a dart of a pass to Jared Parker, our best receiver, near the sideline—it had a surprising amount of velocity for someone with barely anything left in his shoulder to throw with. But it wasn’t anywhere close to enough for a first down.

  Jared made like he was trapped as defenders headed his way and started tiptoeing toward the sideline. Lupino and the rest of the secondary were playing back, figuring they’d be fine with a short pass from Jimmy instead of a long bomb, but Parker stopped before reaching the sideline. The execution was perfect—he was behind the line of scrimmage. That made him eligible to throw a pass.

  Which is exactly what he did … to a wide-open Jimmy Claw, streaking across the middle of the field. He caught the ball and took off toward Harmon High’s territory. The stadium shook, and we jumped up and down. He had the first down easily, and I could see him heading for the fifty-yard line, where he was met by—who else would it be—Lupino, who tackled him hard. The clock stopped temporarily with the first down. I could see the opposing coach throw his clipboard down and scream at his bench as players cleared out of his way.

  We could do a lot with the thirty-one seconds left. “I can’t believe this!” I shouted to Dex.

  “We need more miracles,” Dex yelled back. It looked like Jimmy was out of those. The next play was a quick pass to Jared down the middle that went for a paltry three yards. We set up for the next play quickly … another completed pass to Mark, near the sideline. But he couldn’t get out of bounds to stop the clock. Third-and-five. Twenty seconds and counting. Jimmy shook his right arm, trying to get it to function as he stepped under center. He dropped back, but everyone was covered. I saw our offensive line getting pushed back as Jimmy faked a pass to his left, making the cornerback stop for a second. As he locked in on the now-freed receiver on his right, Jimmy re-set.

  He didn’t see the hit coming from his blind side. Our running back might have been there as a last-resort blocker, but he was gone, running a pattern in case Jimmy wanted to find him with a pass underneath. I heard the Griffins fans behind me suck in their breath as Jimmy took the hit from behind. Somehow, he held onto the football and went down in a heap. It was a knockout blow. If we could get a timeout, we’d have eight seconds to get a first down on a fourth-and-eight to stop the clock temporarily for another play or a game-winning touchdown. Either way, like Dex said, we needed another miracle.

  “TIME OUT!”

  Jimmy Claw lifted his left arm and brought his hand to the other, nearly lifeless limb. With what seems like his last ounce of strength, he formed his hands into a “T.” The ref responded immediately, waving his hands and blowing hard on his whistle.

  Everyone watched Flab and Dan Zewberry carry our woozy, wounded quarterback to our bench.

  “We’re finished,” I said, looking at the turf in front of me.

  Dex was silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jesse starting to warm up again.

  “I’ve seen Jesse in practice. He doesn’t have the arm strength to get the ball that far. He’s more about accuracy. He’s got to get eight yards to stop the clock, and I don’t think he can do that in … ”

  Dex tugged on my sleeve. Frantically. “Shut up! Coach wants you!”

  I looked up and leaned forward to get a look at Coach Schmick.

  He wasn’t staring at his color-coded laminated play sheet or talking to Jesse. He was looking down at the end of the bench.

  At me.

  “Ptuiac,” he called, his voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd and the music of the Harmon band. “Get over here.”

  The world moved in slow motion. I could feel Dex grabbing my arm. I brushed him off, got up, and took the longest walk of my life.

  “Can you win me this game?”

  I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I finally managed to croak out, “Yes.”

  He nodded. “You can throw to the end zone, can’t you?”

  I knew what he wanted. I nodded back to him.

  But what was I really supposed to do?

  I turned around and felt my heart start to pound. I shut my eyes and tried to pop an image into my head that would calm me down: I pictured Sophi, who was up in the stands watching with my parents, smiling at me. That helped. I needed to summon every bit of adrenaline if this was going to work.

  I felt another tug on my arm and turned to find Dex holding my helmet, which I’d forgotten again.

  Something about seeing the Griffin painted on the side put a shot of confidence in me. I put the helmet on and turned to Coach. “Put Dex in.”

  “You must be cuh-razy!” Some of his spit landed on my jersey.

  “Put him in.”

  The whistle blew from midfield to signal the end of the timeout. “You want me to win this game for you. So, trust me.”

  Coach Schmick responded by putting his chubby face into his hands.

  I grabbed the bewildered Dex and physically dragged him to the field. Dex pointed at our running back to replace him. “Are you serious?” I heard the retreating player say as he passed me.

  Ten very confused faces stared at me as I joined the huddle. It took every bit of effort I had to stay calm and look confident.

  “Okay, guys. It’s one play to win it.”

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” That was exactly what I needed—Flab.

  “You want to win or not?” I snapped. “Goose X fly Hail Mary on one.” The huddle, which usually clapped in unison, barely put their hands together and turned back to the giants facing us. I turned to Dex, who hadn’t moved. I gave him a little push and a nod. “Come on, Dex. Just like Gym class.”

  As I stood seven yards behind the center, I saw our advantage: the defense couldn’t guess whether we were going for the first down or the Hail Mary. Okay, Alex. Find Kenny Lupino.

  There he was, right at the firs
t-down marker ten yards away, but he wasn’t looking at me.

  He was staring right at Dex, who lined up and looked back at the hulking Lupino. Almost as if in slow motion, I saw his eyes light up when he got a good look at the safety. His left hand pointed subtly at Kenny and then formed a thumbs up.

  Was Dex trying to tell me something? Now was not the time to think about it.

  I looked back at the scene in front of me. The rest of the secondary was about five yards behind him. It took all of my concentration to keep my heart from flying out of my chest.

  “Forty-two, SET-HUT!”

  The ball hit my hands. I took a five-step drop back and watched as the pocket around me began to collapse. I could barely see Dex flashing down the field.

  I had to keep calm. Just like I’m with the robot. Wait another second or two.

  Too late. An enormous defensive tackle looked ready to eat me alive. I saw him come off a blocker and head my way with nothing to stop him.

  Everything slowed down as the defender jumped up and dove, aiming at my throwing arm. I embraced the fear and let it flow through me.

  NOW.

  No high-pitched squeal this time. I heard a low sound, almost like what an exploding bomb might sound like. Instead of toasted marshmallows, I thought I smelled steak. My vision blurred.

  The defensive tackle hit me with all his 200-something-pound weight.

  I hit the ground and tasted dirt. But the ball was out of my hands … and soaring through the air.

  I lifted my head as best I could and watched through the legs of one of the Hogs’ defensive ends. It wasn’t a Hail Mary throw, which was supposed to arc high into the air before coming down in the end zone.

  Just like gym class, it was a straight bullet, shooting far out of everyone’s reach.

  I watched the members of the secondary all realize they saw a pass that was probably going over their heads and out of bounds.

  That is, all except one All-American safety. Lupino wasn’t looking at the ball.

  His attention was on Dex, who was running step for step with the safety. I saw Kenny glance toward the ball as it was coming in. Dex was going to meet it too. The slow motion in my head somehow got slower.

  As they both crossed into the end zone, the Hogs’ star safety jumped in the air. And he kept climbing … to exactly where the ball was. About ten feet high. As woozy as I was, I knew my instincts were correct.

  Lupino was one of us.

  As he got close to the ball, Lupino tried to tip it away. His fingertips came up, about to swat the football away, when a nimble runt of a receiver jumped over him.

  Dex wrapped his body around the ball just as Lupino realized what was happening. Instead of tipping it, he tried to grab it.

  I’ll never know what happened next. From my vantage point on the ground, I couldn’t see what happened at the back of the end zone.

  The referees ran over. I got up from the ground and ran over to see the result … actually, more like limped and stumbled over. The men in zebra stripes tried to pull both players away to see who possessed the pigskin. When I finally reached the end zone, I saw it.

  Lupino’s hands covered his helmet in disbelief.

  Dex had the football.

  Touchdown.

  The next twenty minutes were a blur. The entire team jumped on top of Dex and me. I couldn’t breathe for at least a minute. I could hear them screaming at us, but I couldn’t understand a word of it.

  When they finally pulled us off the ground, we were hoisted onto our players’ shoulders. They paraded us to our side of the stands and Dex and I stared at each other in disbelief. I felt someone tugging at my pants as I waved to the crowd. It was Flab. He yelled something I couldn’t hear, so I cupped my hand to my ear.

  “You’re incredible, freaks!” he yelled above the din. Dex and I looked at each other and started laughing.

  They grabbed Jimmy and held him up too, despite his wincing. When our fans gave him a huge ovation, he shook his head and pointed at Dex and me.

  When they let us down, Coach Schmick grabbed us both in a giant hug. “I knew you were some kinda miracles, boys. I told you to make a play for me and you did that today. I’ll never forget that.” He let go of us and gestured to the whole stadium. “They won’t forget, either.” The security guards holding our fans back stepped aside and let the entire school—teachers, administrators, alumni, and parents—on the field. Dex and I were flooded with hugs, handshakes, and high fives from everyone. After five minutes and no sign of my parents or Sophi, I began elbowing through the mob.

  Someone jumped on my back peppered my face with kisses. I also felt a zap.

  “That was amazing!” Sophi screeched. I laughed as I pulled her off my back and put her back to the ground. She grabbed me in a hug and leaned in for what I thought was another round of kisses. It wasn’t. “Your parents are nervous. I told them it was okay, that things looked pretty normal,” she said.

  I looked her in the eye. “Did it look normal?”

  I could tell she was lying as she nodded.

  I looked up behind Sophi and saw my parents wading through the mob scene, coming to congratulate me. Maybe they were coming to grab me and move us out of town again, or to take me out of school and put me underground for the rest of my life. I looked at the smiles frozen on their faces and could see their eyes full of concern.

  “Don’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Mom said as quietly as possible as she pulled me in for a hug. “We’ll discuss this when we get home.”

  Twenty minutes after an on-field celebration that included a trophy presentation, our coaching staff herded the team down to the locker rooms and informed Dex, Jimmy, and me that a handful of press covering the game wanted to speak with us. We tried to get dressed while every member of the team came up to us and piled on the praise and hugs, and even shed a few tears. Some of the offensive linemen who had made us a target for torture were the ones promising we’d all hang out later that night for a real celebration.

  When enough of them had hit the showers, Dex and I somehow found a quiet corner.

  “We were right,” I whispered.

  Dex looked around a few times to make sure we were alone. “As soon as I got on the field, I caught a look at him underneath his helmet. And I don’t know what it was, but it made my hair stand on end, and I knew you were right. I think he knew it about me too, because before the play started, I could see him staring at me. And that meant he had played the entire game—the entire season—with powers that he used, maybe without knowing it.”

  When Dex left to go change, I looked around and saw that everyone on my row was now in the showers, some of them singing at the tops of their lungs. I opened my locker and took out the device my father had given me. I fully expected to see the red lights blinking numbers like I’d seen after the incident with Flab, indicating I had activated.

  But that wasn’t the case at all.

  The green letters stared back at me.

  READY.

  Epilogue

  A tall, muscular man in a “Go Griffins!” hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap watched the pandemonium down on the field from the top of the bleachers. He grinned from ear to ear, but it wasn’t a fake smile.

  He listened as Strange’s fan section and the entire team sang the school song and congratulated the parents who passed by on their way to meet their sons outside the locker room.

  He waited another few minutes. He was watching the safety from the other team, No. 43, who came back out of the locker room after the crushing loss. He spent most of the next ten minutes sobbing into his hands near the end zone where the winning touchdown was ripped out of his hands.

  The man waited patiently.

  Finally, he saw No. 43 get up as stadium workers began to clean the grounds. He walked a few feet, stopped, and threw his helmet about twenty yards away. He let out a scream at the sky.

  To the casual observer, it
was just another frustrated player who’d made a mistake that lost the championship game. But to this man, he swore it sounded like a wolf howling at the moon.

  He took out his cell phone and punched in a message: “Meet me in five.” A second later, a text came back.

  Carson: “Coming now.”

  He was about to walk down the steps and on to the field to speak with Kenny, but there was one more thing he had to do. The man turned away from the field and lifted the collar of his sweatshirt slightly to speak into a communicator.

  “We found them.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Georgia McBride is a passionate, tireless and incredible editor and I am forever in her debt for all her hard work on behalf of Strange Country Day. The entire team at Month9Books and Tantrum Books deserves a long standing ovation for its amazing job.

  To my mother and father, Leslie and Richard Curtis, this book wouldn’t exist without your advice, editing, suggestions, love and support. Thanks for shaping me into the writer—and person—I am today.

  A tip of the cap to my friends and family for their excitement and for cheering me on from the sidelines. Every “how’s the book coming?” was extra motivation along the way. Special thanks to Jennifer Parker for her early reading and to Aaron Venar for his football coaching.

  A special shoutout to my writing teachers throughout the years, particularly to Deanna Fleysher, for her help shaping my voice.

  An infinite amount of thanks and love to my most amazing, wonderful wife, Erica, for getting me to the finish line, for listening to me talk ad nauseum about the plot, for reading every version and for inspiring me daily. Benji—I hope when you’re old enough to read, you’ll get a kick out of this and not just because your dad wrote it.

  Finally, thank you, reader, for picking up Strange Country Day. I hope you’ll continue with me on this journey—it’s going to be a wild one.