#2 Breakthrough

by A. L. Priest

  Coach Zachary greeted Efram warmly. “Hey, Hoss! C’mere!”

  Efram joined the coaches near a table full of pies and cookies. Efram found it hard to concentrate.

  “You’re doing fine these past few practices,” Coach Zachary said. “You gonna be ready for your first game?”

  “I think so, Coach. It’s all kinda new to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it too much,” Coach Zachary said. “You just do what you did in practice, and we’ll be fine.” He put his hand on Efram’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m glad you decided to join the team. We needed a replacement for Willett, and it looks like God just dropped you in our lap.”

  Efram didn’t know how much God had to do with it. It was more a function of the terrible economy in Arizona. His mom losing her job there and getting a new one in Troy. But he said nothing.

  “Don’t worry about Colby,” Coach Zachary said. “He’s a sourpuss but he’s pleased with your performance.”

  That was surprising. Colby had never uttered a kind word to Efram.

  “Why don’t you get to know the other players? I imagine they’re as curious about you as you are about them.”

  Efram grabbed a plate and some chicken parm and grapes and moved down the room. While he wasn’t the biggest person in the room, he was close to it, standing a head or so taller than most. So he didn’t notice the girl until she started talking to him.

  “So, you’re the hoss,” a bright, musical voice said. “Frederick said you were big.”

  Efram looked down to discover a very cute, brown-skinned girl in a cheer squad sweatshirt looking up at him, a bottle of water in hand.

  “I’m sorry? Frederick?” Efram said, confused.

  She rolled her eyes. “Short? Mohawk? Black kid that rides a BMX and causes trouble wherever he goes?”

  “Ah, you mean Flick,” Efram said. “You’re friends with him too?”

  The girl stopped for a moment and looked at Efram closely. Efram felt a little nervous with her considering him so closely. “No, not a friend,” she said. “I’m his sister.”

  “OK!” Efram laughed. “That makes sense. I wish he was here.”

  She gave him another look. “You’re not fooling, are you?”

  “What?”

  “I mean a big, corn-fed white boy like you being friends with my little brother.”

  Efram was puzzled. “No, I’m not fooling,” he said. “Flick reminds me of my friends back home. And he’s cool—”

  “I could argue with you about that,” the girl said, grinning. “He’s always taking my stuff. Totally uncool.”

  “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “Marimae,” she said.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Efram said, regretting it the instant it popped out of his mouth.

  “Frederick said you were big, but he didn’t say you were smooth,” Marimae said.

  One of the things Efram liked most about Flick was that his conversation was fast and fun and sometimes challenging. Flick’s sister was very much like her little brother. But there was something about the both of them that kept him on his toes. Efram always felt a little slow around Flick, and Marimae had the same effect.

  “I didn’t know his name was Frederick, actually,” Efram said.

  “He likes to go by Flick. To drive my parents crazy.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “Well, I guess you already know he’s a genius, right?”

  Efram hadn’t thought about it much, but yes, that made sense.

  “When he was eleven, he started playing chess. He wanted to play football or basketball but since he was so small and my mom and dad didn’t want him to get hurt, they encouraged him toward …” She thought about it for a little bit. “They encouraged him toward less physical and more mental activities, you know? And that upset him, I think. Though he never let it show. But I’m his sister. You know when your little brother doesn’t like something.”

  Efram considered it. He’d always been an only child. The closest thing to siblings he might’ve had were his friends back in Blink. Or, now that he thought of it, Flick.

  “So, the name?”

  Marimae smiled. “Right. Over the course of a year, he joined a chess club, went to the state championship.” She laughed. “He destroyed every person he was up against. I mean, he was absolutely unstoppable.” She took a sip of water. “When he faced the past year’s state champion, a kid six or seven years older than him, at some point in the game, Frederick stood up and said ‘I can take you in five moves.’ Then he squatted down, looking close at the pieces, and flicked his queen across the board. Sent all of the other guy’s pieces flying. He said ‘I win,’ and turned around and walked out and never played chess again. My mom almost had a heart attack.”

  Efram laughed, and after a moment, Marimae joined him.

  “We’ve got it on video. Maybe we’ll show it to you sometime,” she said, putting a hand on his arm.

  “That sounds great,” Efram replied.

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Marimae removed her hand.

  “You’re all right, Efram James,” she said.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” he replied.

  “Well, we’ll see you around. Make sure you get enough to eat to keep your strength up,” Marimae said, winking. She turned and went to rejoin the other cheerleaders clustered around Shane and Orlando.

  Efram chatted with the other players. Like most groups of guys, there were some he was drawn to and others that seemed utterly unlikable to him. But he did his best to remain polite and treat everyone with the respect he’d like to be treated with himself. On more than one occasion, he caught himself glancing at Marimae. Often, she was looking at him as well.

  The cheerleaders left around nine o’clock, and after that the crowd thinned out. The food table looked as if a tornado had hit it—a football team could do some damage to a spread. At that point, Shane and Orlando began to schmooze (there wasn’t really any other term for it) the rest of their teammates. Just as Efram was about to text his mom to come pick him up, Shane started chatting with him.

  “Hey, man, you’re really wearing us out on the D,” Shane said.

  “Thanks. I’m starting to get the hang of it, I think,” Efram said.

  “So, I noticed you getting dropped off. You need a ride home?”

  “Sure,” Efram said. Quickly, he texted his mother and cleared it with her after an annoying number of texts asking about the presence of alcohol at the party.

  Shane drove a Chevy pickup. After Efram had managed to fit in the passenger seat, Shane got directions to his house and peeled out.

  “So,” Shane said, placing his iPhone in the doc and queuing up some hip-hop that was a little too loud and profane for Efram’s tastes. “Word on the streets is you’re buddies with that punk-rock black kid.”

  Efram felt like he should’ve been surprised, but he wasn’t. Typical alpha male behavior. Efram could tell what was going to come next.

  “Yeah, I am,” Efram said. “His name’s Flick.”

  “You know, now that you’re a Trojan, there’s sort of a code among us,” Shane continued.

  Efram said, “Let me guess, Shane. Next you’re gonna say I shouldn’t hang out with him because he’s black. Or he’s different. Or got a mohawk. Or because I need to only hang out with football players. Is that what you were going to say?”

  For the first time since Efram had met him, Shane didn’t seem so sure of himself. “I was just gonna—”

  “Hey, dude,” Efram said, as bluntly as possible. “I’ll choose who I’m friends with and who I’m not. When I want your opinion on who I should hang out with, I’ll ask.”

  Shane laughed, nervously. “Hey, just making conversation, man. No need to get all feelings.”

  “No feelings at all,” Efram said. But that was a lie. He was mad. There was too much bullcrap in social cliques, and he wasn’t about to buy into it.r />
  There was another awkward silence as Shane pulled his Chevy in front of Efram’s house.

  Efram got out of the truck a little clumsily. They didn’t make many vehicles with enough room for guys his size.

  “Hey, thanks for the ride,” Efram said.

  Not smiling, Shane said, “Don’t mention it,” and drove off.

  Later, after filling in his mother on the night’s events, Efram went to his room and fired up the Xbox. After a moment, the screen lit up with a direct message.

  Flicktorious97: Hey hoss. You ready to play?

  EframJames: Sure, we playin Trggr Dscples?

  Flicktorious97: Yeppers. Heard you had a good time at the football party. BTW stay away from my sister.

  EframJames: She’s purty.

  Flicktorious97: I WILL KNOCK YOU OUT DON’T CARE HOW BIG YOU ARE

  EframJames: ROFL. Let’s get crackin on TD. Gotta get to bed early. Game day tmrw

  Flicktorious97: Right. Its on. And hey, I was only partially kidding mang. That’s my sister.

  EframJames: She IS cute

  Flicktorious97: SHUT UP

  7/FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20—GAME DAY: TROJANS VS. CARROLL COMETS

  You couldn’t go anywhere in Troy, Ohio, without encountering a Troy Central High football schedule plastered on a shop window or a pocket version on a shopkeeper’s counter. Efram estimated that seventy-five percent of the cars he saw had Trojan bumper stickers. Some folks even sported red-and-white auto-window flags on game days. The sword-bearing Trojan mascot was everywhere, grinning fiercely from T-shirts, caps, posters, and even from more surprising sources.

  “Efram! Get in here!” his mother called from the kitchen. She was cooking Efram a game-day breakfast and watching the small television on the counter.

  “What?”

  “Holy cow,” she said. “This town is officially football crazy.”

  On the television screen, one of the local reporters wore a Trojan jersey and a red-plumed helmet.

  Efram laughed nervously. The reporter stood on Troy High’s home field, the same field that Efram practiced on every day after school.

  “…Tonight, our Trojans face the number-three ranked Carroll Comets. It’s early in the season, but they’re looking strong.” The camera pulled back to show Coach Zachary. The reporter jammed the microphone into his face. “What can we expect from the Trojans tonight, Coach Zachary?”

  Zachary gave a big, white-toothed smile to the camera and said, “Well, Steve, I can’t predict the future. We had a lot of great players graduate last spring, and a couple games in, we’ve still got some kinks to work out. But once we get these kids working together, I think they’ll be unstoppable.”

  Suddenly, Efram was overwhelmed by the weight of what was going to happen in the next few hours. The whole town would be watching.

  “You okay, honey?” his mother asked. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Efram said. He went back to his room to finish getting ready for school.

  All of game day, Efram was agitated. His classes never seemed to end. Half the time he wished that the Trojans had an out-of-town game, so he’d be on the road rather than sitting in a desk—one of the perks of being on the roster.

  The temperature had dropped, and the sky was gray. A wall of thick clouds hung low in the heavens. After Efram’s classes ended, he went to the Trojan locker room for the pregame meeting before the pep rally. The players chatted nervously as they changed from their school clothes into their padded football pants. Orlando downed a chalky powdered drink mix and then wolfed down some carbs.

  Coach Zachary, flanked by Colby and Whitson, quickly ran down their strategy. Then, they gave a small speech. Phrases like “… dig down in your gut and give me the courage I know is there …” and “… everyone of you is a champion. I know it, you know it, but you have to show it …” went in one of Efram’s ears and out the other.

  At the end, Efram was positive that he’d have to hear quite a few more speeches in the coming season. And Coach Zachary’s words were only going to get more outlandish. But that was just fine. It seemed to work.

  The pep rally consisted of the fully-geared Trojans running around the Troy High parking lot, bursting through red and white banners, and yelling a lot. Efram was somewhat overwhelmed by the number of guys that patted his butt and girls and grown women that kissed his cheeks. It was like, once you put on the pads and jersey, every girl was your friend. And, suddenly it was OK for guys to touch your butt.

  Football is totally weird, Efram kept thinking to himself.

  After the yelling and kissing and butt-patting was over, the team went back to the locker room to wait for another hour until it was time for play. Even with the buzzing of his teammates and echoes off the locker room walls, Efram could hear the sounds of blow horns and sirens. Feet tread on the concrete bleachers above the Trojan locker room roof. The room almost shivered with anticipation.

  Finally, Coach Zachary hooted, “It’s time, boys! Let’s go! Letsgoletsgoletsgo!”

  Efram found himself yelling wordlessly along with the others as the Trojan team moved like some prehistoric beast out of the bunker and onto brightly-lit grass football field.

  “Let’s go, Trojans!”

  8/FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20—GAME DAY: TROJANS VS. CARROLL COMETS

  Everything was different now. Efram knew it. The stadium assaulted his senses. The steady pounding of the Trojan marching band sounded in the air. Horn players moved in time, and the majorettes twirled batons. Everything took on a carnival glow from the field’s halogen lights. Efram could smell the grass and the hint of rain in the air, along with the frying corn dogs and concession stand popcorn.

  Across the field were the gold-and-blue Carroll Comets. The players stretched warily, like an army lost behind enemy lines. The away bleachers were full of red-and-white banners surrounding the little patch of blue and gold. The Comets were outnumbered. This made Efram happy.

  Shane trotted out on the field with a referee. The opposing team’s captain met them at the fifty-yard line. They conferred for a while and then flipped a coin. As Shane returned to the sidelines, Efram could tell by the quarterback’s shoulders that the Trojans had lost the throw.

  “All right, D!” Coach Colby bellowed. “Let’s do this! Kickoff!”

  Efram slammed his helmet on his head and ran out to the field.

  And it began.

  Everything slowed again in that space between moments. The Trojan kicker—a lanky soccer kid named Stephen Reasoner—raced forward to launch the ball into the air. It flipped end over end, and Efram and his teammates raced downfield after it like barbarian invaders. Efram traced the ball’s arc through the air until it came down, caught by a Comet player. All Efram knew then was a burning desire to destroy. To grab that player in blue and smash him to the earth.

  The Comets rushed forward, and a large guy crashed into Efram. Efram brutally shoved him aside and burst forward. But there were more Comets in his way. Efram blew threw them too, almost in a trance. The runner juked left, almost fooling Efram, but Efram adjusted quickly and plowed into the runner. With a great crunch, Efram drove him back a considerable distance and into the turf of the field.

  The crowd went wild, chanting “Tro-jans! Tro-jans! Tro-jans!” The same exhilaration that Efram had felt in practice swept over him. He felt centered. Perfect. Exactly where he needed to be. Somewhere in the crowd, his mother was watching. And so was Marimae, cheering on the sidelines.

  And Efram’s friend, Flick.

  For the first time since moving to Troy, Ohio, he felt truly happy.

  That feeling died quickly. The Comet quarterback was unreadable. Their fullback and halfback moved like runaway locomotives. Efram and the defense managed to stop them for most of the first quarter, but by the beginning of the second, the Carroll fullback plowed through the defensive line with a sneak handoff that Efram only puzzled out after it had occurred. After the fullback had run forty yards for a
touchdown.

  By the middle of the second quarter, the Trojans were down twenty-four to seven. The clouds sent down a light drizzle that made the field slick and muddy. Those people in the stands who had umbrellas opened them. The others began to leave.

  When the Trojan offense was on the field, Efram watched on. He noticed Coach Colby looking at the bleachers, an awful expression on his face. “They’ll stand in a downpour for a winning team,” he said to no one. He spat. “But they won’t hang around in the rain if you’re down.”

  Efram watched the Comets defense. Their players were big, though that wasn’t saying much for football players. But they played with competence too. Their teamwork was obvious. When the Trojan offense huddled, the Comet defense communicated with each other, gesturing to their defensive coach on the sidelines, who gestured back madly. That was eye opening. Coach Colby gave very little in game instruction or coaching. He was content to curse and swap out players and make wild guesses on the opposition’s future plays.

  When the Trojans took the line, Shane began calling out the string of numbers and letters while the backfield moved in response. The Comet defense quickly adjusted to the shifting line. When the ball was snapped, the Comets broke the offensive wall like a battering ram, cleats churning turf and mud. An outside linebacker sacked Shane in the backfield.

  Coach Colby groaned. Coach Zachary screamed at Reasoner to take the field—they’d have to punt.

  By the end of the second half, the Trojans left the field to the sound of sodden brass horns and the rattle of snare drums. Efram felt as if they were already beaten.

  9/FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20—GAME DAY: TROJANS VS. CARROLL COMETS

  In the locker room, Coach Zachary foamed at the mouth.

  “I’m not seeing you boys give it your all! I asked for one hundred and ten percent!” he howled. He moved to the whiteboard and began drawing circles on it. “This is our line, you knuckleheads! Norwood, you’re dragging on the wing right switch!” He tossed the dry-board eraser across the room. “Shieldhouse! And the rest of you linemen! It’s like you’re made of butter! I need you to dig deep. Give me your all!”