by Rob Buyea
Mom covered her face with her hands. She was crying.
“That’s more crap you heard from your brother, isn’t it?” Dad fired at me.
I didn’t answer.
“You’re better off forgetting anything he ever told you. Yeah, it’s true your mother and I weren’t trying to have another baby, but we also weren’t not trying, so you can’t be considered a mistake. What you were was a surprise. Sometimes surprises are bad; sometimes they’re good. And you were the best surprise we could’ve asked for. Don’t you ever forget that.” He jabbed me in the chest with his finger and then walked out of my room.
Dad’s fiery temper hadn’t startled me, but his words had. Mom was still crying, but she got up from her chair and pulled me into a hug.
“We love you, honey,” she whispered. Her arms relaxed, and she stepped back and wiped her face. Then she looked at me. “We love your brother, too, which is why it’s so hard to see him struggling and making poor decisions. Your father blames himself because he wasn’t around enough for Brian. He’s trying hard not to let that happen with you. He might not always be right, but remember what he just told you. It’s the truth.”
My throat tightened.
After she left, I sat on my bed. Sharing feelings and saying hard stuff out loud can be more exhausting than a football game. I’d cleared my name and nailed Chris. But what about Brian? I wanted to help my brother so Dad could see he hadn’t failed.
Mom drove Gav and me over to Scott’s house on Sunday afternoon so that we could see how he was doing. Mom had made a casserole, and Gav and I brought a tin of chocolate chip cookies. Mrs. Mason appreciated the food, and Mickey squealed when he saw the treats—there was no mistaking that he was Scott’s brother—but we didn’t stay long because Scott was sleeping. Mrs. Woods and Natalie had visited him earlier, and he was wiped out.
“The doctor said he would be very tired for the next week or more, and that rest is the best thing for him,” Mrs. Mason explained. “I’ll tell him you were here.”
Gav and I were disappointed, but we understood.
“I’m sure you could use some rest yourself,” Mom said. “We’ll get out of your hair, but let us know if you need anything—or if Scott does. We’re here.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Mason said.
Our visit was short and sweet, but I’d wanted Scott to know we were thinking of him.
On Monday the talk of the school was the dance. Nothing about Scott. Most people still didn’t even know that anything had happened. The ambulance had swooped in from the back and disappeared just as fast. It felt like no one cared about my friend—but Natalie took care of that.
Mrs. Woods had spent all morning printing copies of the first edition of the Lake View Times so that we could spend our lunch period distributing them throughout the school. “Nicely done, Miss Kurtsman,” she said when she dropped the papers off to us. “Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”
“I just hope it helps,” Natalie said.
“It will,” Mrs. Woods assured her. “I have no doubts about that. Now get those papers delivered,” she urged the rest of us. “It’s important. I’d help, but I have to rush off. I’m parked illegally.”
I watched her leave, and then I looked down. My eyes popped when I saw Natalie’s editorial front and center. OUT FOR JUSTICE blazed across the page in big bold letters. She detailed Scott’s accident and asked for anyone with information to report it to Mr. Allen. Her piece closed with a warning to the guilty: You can run, but you can’t hide. It was cheesy, but it was fantastic.
* * *
—
Mrs. Woods was right. Come Tuesday, the talk of our school turned to our paper and to Scott. Mr. Allen made a special morning announcement, publicly thanking Natalie for her reporting and urging anyone with information about the incident to come and see him, like her article said. If students hadn’t known about Scott getting hurt, they did now. I wanted to believe we’d catch the kids responsible for his accident, but as far as I knew, I was the only person who’d seen the boys come out of the locker room—and it wasn’t like I’d gotten a good look at them. I’d gone to Mr. Allen on Monday and had done my best to describe them, but I had no idea who they were.
“I can’t wait till football practice tomorrow,” Gav said at lunch. I thought this sounded odd, because I knew football wasn’t going well for him.
“Why?” I asked.
“ ’Cause I’m not letting Nicky and Adam get away with this. Mr. Allen can do his investigating, but I’m gonna make sure those two pay the price, even if it means running till I drop.”
“I’m right there with you,” Mark said.
Gav snarled.
“Who’re Nicky and Adam?” I asked
“They’re the ones who hurt Scott,” Gav replied.
“Wait, you know who did it? Why haven’t you told me? And how can you be so sure?”
Trevor plopped down across from Natalie and me, interrupting the conversation.
“Dude, where’ve you been?” Mark asked.
“With Mr. Allen. He wanted to talk to me about the dance. He wants to see you now. The guy’s been meeting with students all morning. Natalie’s article has got everyone buzzing.” Trevor smiled at her, and she looked away.
“Nice work, Kurtsman,” Gav said.
“Mr. Allen wants to nail those jerks as much as we do,” Trevor said.
“Did you tell him Nicky and Adam were the ones who did it?” Mark asked.
“You bet. I’ve had enough of those punks. They’re going down.”
Mark stood. “Good. Mr. Allen’s going to hear the same thing from me.” He took his tray and left us sitting there.
“How do you guys know Nicky and Adam did it, whoever they are?” I asked.
Gav looked at me, then at Natalie and Trevor, then back at me. “ ’Cause they wanted to get even,” he said.
“Even for what?” Natalie asked.
Gav sighed. “Scott was being Scott, trying to do everyone on the team a favor by cleaning our helmets before our first game…”
After learning about the Stickum story, I had to go back to Mr. Allen. “Water Boy’s getting what he deserves,” one boy had said. It wasn’t much, but I wanted to do everything in my power to help. And once I finished with Mr. Allen, I was getting Gav to talk, because I was beginning to realize how little I really knew about the football team and all that he’d been dealing with.
NATALIE KURTSMAN
ASPIRING LAWYER
Kurtsman Law Offices
BRIEF #12
November: A Fly on the Wall
There are instances when a trial lawyer needs to become an investigator. The same can be said for a journalist. I was both a trial lawyer and a journalist, and my time to do some digging had arrived. That was not what I’d had in mind when I’d started, but things took a turn and put me on a new path, where nothing was what I’d expected.
Originally I had planned on including three short interviews with Scott’s article: one with the field hockey coach, one with the girls’ soccer coach, and one with the boys’ soccer coach. I was trying to decide if I also wanted to examine gender equality at Lake View Middle School, but I soon discovered that we had a much bigger issue on our hands.
At the conclusion of my interviews, I’d learned that the field hockey and soccer programs (both boys’ and girls’) hadn’t received any support from the booster club in the last three years, meaning no new equipment, uniforms, warm-ups…nothing.
Curious and perplexed, I decided on my next move. Objective: to share my findings with Mr. Allen.
I trusted that my principal would be able to provide additional information and perhaps a possible explanation. Instead, when I arrived at his office, I found Mr. Allen in the midst of a conversation with someone else. It was well after school hour
s, so no one else was around. I decided to take a seat and wait. The exchange I overheard was alarming.
“Mr. Holmes, thank you for coming in so that we could meet. I know you have practice to get to, so I’ll try not to take long, but this is something that couldn’t wait. After conducting a thorough investigation into the incident involving Scott Mason at the Halloween dance, we have reason to believe your son and Adam Frazier were responsible.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s your proof?” Mr. Holmes challenged.
That was not the response I’d been expecting, but I didn’t know Mr. Holmes like the guys did. I slid into the chair closest to Mr. Allen’s office, but with the way things escalated, I could’ve heard them from the hall.
“Mr. Holmes, I was hoping you’d approach this situation in a cooperative manner,” Mr. Allen responded, maintaining his calm demeanor. “I understand that this news about Nicky has to be upsetting.”
“My son hasn’t done anything wrong,” Mr. Holmes growled.
“I’ve had numerous students come to me to report differently. There’s even a witness—someone who saw two boys leaving the locker room just before Scott was found—who heard them refer to Scott as ‘Water Boy.’ Does that ring a bell?”
“Those kids are lying,” Coach Holmes argued.
“Mr. Holmes, we are obviously not in agreement. I have mounting evidence and even a confession that says otherwise. Your son and Adam Frazier need to be held accountable for their actions. Therefore, we are suspending them from school for five days and from football for the remainder of the season.”
“What!” Mr. Holmes roared. “I never should’ve let that little sissy be a part of my program. I don’t care about any confession; this is all his fault. I was trying to be nice, and look at what’s happened. That kid belongs in a skirt, not on my sideline.”
“Mr. Holmes, please do not talk about a student that way. Scott Mason is a terrific person and representative of our school. You should consider yourself lucky to have him involved with the football team.”
“Lucky? Ha! The only kid worse than him is that Davids. No Mexican is playing for me, I can tell you that. If you really want to help the situation, then you should tell that dirty half-breed and his loser sidekick to join a different program.”
“Mr. Holmes, you have crossed the line!” I heard Mr. Allen’s hands slap on his desk and his chair fly back. I pictured him on his feet, glaring across at Mr. Holmes. “What you just said is completely offensive, racist, and unacceptable from anyone within our school community. You and Coach Frazier will sit out this last game. And we’ll have to see if your futures include coaching at Lake View Middle after this season.”
“You just killed the best program at this school,” Mr. Holmes countered. “It’s people like you who’re ruining this country.”
Stay or go? Stay or go? My indecisiveness left me trapped. Mr. Holmes came charging out of Mr. Allen’s office.
“Who’re you?” he barked, spotting me in the chair.
I sat up straight. “I’m Natalie,” I said, finding my firm voice. “Natalie Kurtsman. I’m with the school newspaper. I’m here to talk to Mr. Allen about an article I’m writing.”
“Oh yeah? Here’s a headline for you: FOOTBALL PROGRAM GOES TO MEXICO ALONG WITH OUR JOBS.”
A lawyer can’t allow herself to get agitated by the witness. I maintained my composure, but it was not easy. I wanted to tell this horrible man that the headline was going to read: FOOTBALL PROGRAM SAVED BY MEXICAN SUPERSTAR, but I held my tongue. Mr. Holmes yanked the door open and stormed out of the office.
“Hello, Natalie,” Mr. Allen said. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”
“Enough,” I said.
“That’s what I was afraid of. Natalie, I do not believe that Mr. Holmes is a racist man, but he is an angry man. Let me explain something to you. Several years ago the factory where he was working shut down and moved to Mexico. He, along with many others, lost his job. Unfortunately, Mr. Holmes seems to be taking his anger out on anything and anyone Mexican, which I gather has included Gavin.”
“But that’s totally unfair.”
“For whom?”
“Gavin, of course…and Mr. Holmes.”
“Life can be complicated, Natalie.”
I nodded. “It’s not always black-and-white,” I said, thinking back to last year. I acted like I knew what I was talking about, but I didn’t know the half of it. Things were going to get extremely complicated before the end.
“So, what did you want to see me about?” Mr. Allen asked.
I told him about the article I was writing, and he provided me with the names and emails of all the coaches for Lake View’s sports program. I made it quick because he was on his way to football practice, where he had news to share.
I thanked Mr. Allen and left with the information, unaware that I was one step closer to uncovering a bombshell.
“Holmes” and “Frazier” happen to be the names of two very famous old-time boxing legends—Larry Holmes and Joe Frazier. Both were former champions who fought against the greatest, Muhammad Ali. But you would’ve thought my football coaches were the same Holmes and Frazier, the way they went after each other before practice that day.
I was putting on my pads when Coach Holmes came storming into the locker room. “Frazier! Where are you?” he yelled.
Coach Frazier and Adam stopped what they were doing. Was Coach Holmes searching for the dad or the kid? Or both? It didn’t take long to get answers.
Coach Holmes never slowed down. He lowered his shoulder and tackled Coach Frazier. Their tangled bodies bounced off the lockers and benches and hit the ground, but they didn’t stop there. They continued rolling and wrestling and throwing punches.
“Dad!” Nicky screamed.
“Dad!” Adam screamed.
The team jumped into action, half of us grabbing Holmes and half of us grabbing Frazier. It wasn’t easy, but we managed to pull them apart.
“What’s wrong with you?” Coach Frazier yelled, wiping blood from his mouth.
“We’ve been sacked because your wuss of a son went ahead and ratted on Nicky,” Coach Holmes said, rubbing the egg that was bulging over his eye.
“You told?” Nicky said, turning and looking at Adam, his voice full of disbelief.
When Adam didn’t respond, Nicky’s stare hardened. I was ready for those two to go at it next, but before that happened, we got another surprise.
“Gentlemen, is everything okay here?” Mr. Allen asked, entering our locker room in the nick of time. A few seconds later and he might’ve arrived to an all-out bloody battle royal.
No one answered.
“Gentlemen?” Mr. Allen repeated.
“Let’s go, Nicky. We’re outta here,” Coach Holmes said, bumping Mr. Allen on his way out. Nicky hesitated, still staring at his old friend.
“Scott got hurt, Nick,” Adam said. “I’m sorry.”
Nicky spit on the floor near Adam’s feet. Then he threw his helmet in his locker and stormed out behind his dad.
Coach Frazier put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Together they left quietly, following Mr. Allen outside. The second they were gone, the entire locker room started breathing again. And then erupted in talk.
“Holy crap! Did you see that?”
“That was awesome!”
“Dude, they dented the lockers.”
Something as crazy and unexpected as what we’d just witnessed gets you excited. We replayed the action blow by blow, stretching it and making it better, until Mr. Allen came back to give us the lowdown.
“Have a seat, boys,” Mr. Allen said. “I’m here to tell you that today’s practice is canceled.” No surprise there. “Moving forward, you will be without Nicky Holmes and Adam Frazier. They have been suspended from football for the remainder of the season
for their involvement in Scott Mason’s accident at the Halloween dance.” Mr. Allen glanced around the room while he let this sink in. “In addition,” he continued, “you will be without Coach Holmes and Coach Frazier. They have been sidelined for their inappropriate conduct as coaches. I’m not going to elaborate any more on that subject, but you should know that we will work to find a replacement coach as soon as possible, so that you can begin preparing for your final game.”
“Mr. Allen, I know the perfect person to be our coach,” Gavin said.
“Excellent. Send them to me.”
I knew exactly who Gavin had in mind. I hoped it worked.
After Mr. Allen finished talking, we took off our stuff and closed our lockers. Talk about a crazy afternoon. Even though the future of our team was uncertain, uncertain was way better than Coach Holmes and his precious Nicky.
Just when I thought I finally had lots to talk about at our usually silent family dinner table, something else I wasn’t expecting happened. My father never showed up for dinner. No explanation. So much for trying. By the time he got home, his food was ice-cold. I wasn’t in the mood for talking at that point. Neither was Dad. He didn’t only come home late. He came home angry.
“Valentine, things like this have a way of working themselves out,” Coach had told me. “That’s one of the beauties about sports. Good things happen to people who work hard.”
I don’t think I ever coulda predicted the way things worked out, but it felt like a brand-new season. For the final game, football became everything I’d dreamed about and wanted. I was so happy.
Too bad that Holmes’s being gone from football didn’t mean being gone for good, though. I hadn’t heard the last from him.
Sleeping and resting were the only things I was allowed to do. That was what Dr. Pirani recommended if I wanted to get better, and I did a good job. I did so much sleeping that I don’t even remember November. I almost slept the month away.