Three-Point Play

by Todd Hafer

  Coach Morgan shook his head. “I don’t wanna hear it. All things considered, you did okay. I can’t fault your effort. And I’d rather have a holding penalty then give Butler a free pass to the end zone. So just keep playing the game. You’re a freshman playing varsity football. I’m not expecting you to set the world on fire. Just play hard every down.”

  The Eagles moved into field goal range early in the third quarter, but with ATV barely able to move, much less kick, they had to go for it on fourth and eight from the Lancer twenty-five. Hammond, the Grant QB, picked up only six yards on a draw play, and the Eagles turned the ball over on downs.

  Claxton Hills got a bonus on the change of possession when Pork Chop was flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct after the play. The Eagle left tackle and the Lancer right defensive end began shoving each other long after the referees had whistled the play dead. The pushing match escalated when Chop grabbed his opponent by the face mask and flung him to the ground.

  Chop appeared ready to pounce when Clark and Hammond intervened and dragged him—amid bellows of protest—off the field.

  I gotta get over to him, Cody told himself as Pork Chop reached the sideline. Gotta get him calmed down or he’s gonna get tossed out of the game.

  But by the time Cody arrived at his friend’s side, Chop was quiet, sullen. “Chop,” Cody said, tentatively, “you okay? What was that all about?”

  “He said ‘the word’ to me,” Chop muttered. “Dropped the N-bomb. I’m not gonna take that.”

  Cody felt anger rising inside him but quickly pushed it down. His friend needed a calming influence right now. “Look, big dawg,” he said, “for someone to say that to you—that’s just wrong. But you gotta keep your head in the game. We’re only down twelve points. But with Truck and ATV hurting, we need you more than ever.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Chop said robotically. “It’s over.”

  Cody felt his jaw drop. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you! We’ve got almost half a game ahead of us. Over? No way is this over!”

  It was over.

  With a two-touchdown lead, Claxton Hills abandoned its passing game and kept the ball on the ground. With Tucker and ATV missing from the defense, Grant couldn’t keep the first-down chains from moving. Clark was flying all over the field, on his way to a twenty-six-tackle performance, but he couldn’t be everywhere. The Lancers moved into field goal range twice, connecting on one of the two opportunities.

  Trailing 17–2 with only nine minutes to play, the Grant coaches grew desperate and inserted Clark into the offense, as tailback. “We gotta have our best player involved in every possible play,” Cody heard Coach Morgan say to a nodding Coach Curtis.

  After three straight four-yard runs up the gut, Clark faked toward the middle of the line, then bounced outside. He outsprinted everyone to the end zone. Claxton Hills—17, Grant—8.

  Hammond, ATV’s replacement at kicker, somehow slipped the extra-point try under the crossbar, meaning Grant couldn’t tie the game with another touchdown, followed by a two-point conversion. The Eagles had to produce two scores in just over seven minutes. And that was only if they could keep Claxton Hills off the scoreboard.

  The Lancers didn’t score again, but it didn’t matter. Faust led his team on a sixty-eight-yard drive that stalled at the Grant twenty. Claxton’s kicker shanked a field goal attempt, but Grant got the ball back with just over two minutes remaining.

  The game ended a few plays later, with Brendan Clark dragging half the opposing defense across midfield. Even most of the Claxton faithful gave him a standing ovation when Hammond and Phillips helped the exhausted Eagle to his feet.

  Then the Claxton fans left the stands and poured onto the field. Cody stood on the sidelines and watched the throng bobbing up and down. Occasionally, a hat, a scarf, or even a shoe, flew up from the celebration.

  The Claxton Hills public address announcer proclaimed that he had “a very important reminder,” but as he delivered the message, his voice became progressively shriller, faster, and more distorted until all Cody could decipher was the occasional “future state champion Lancers!”

  He looked around for Pork Chop who, at one point in the fourth quarter, had shared his plan to track down the Claxton defensive end and renew their grudge match. Cody said a silent prayer of thanks when he saw Chop standing alone on the all-weather track that circled the field.

  “Check that out, Chop,” he said, pointing to the celebration still buzzing on the field. “Think that’ll be us someday?”

  “No,” Chop said flatly.

  Cody rolled his eyes. “C’mon, big man. I know it hurts to lose. But we have three more seasons to get where those guys are now.”

  Chop turned to him, eyes narrowed. “I can count, Code. But we aren’t ever going to be out there like that.”

  Cody stepped back, rocked by the force, the certainty, of his friend’s proclamation. “How can you say that?” he asked.

  “Because,” came the answer, “I’m moving away. Far away.”

  Chapter 5

  Pulled Apart

  It’s been a long time since we’ve done this,” Blake Randall said, settling into a chair behind his desk. “That might be a good sign—maybe you’re not having as many life challenges right now. But I have to say, with everything that’s going on in your life, that’s a little hard to believe.”

  Cody exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I know it’s all a bit much for me to deal with. I mean, Chop moving away? That’s like taking a baseball bat to the stomach. And the wedding at the end of the week? Well, that’s kinda like—being hunted down by a pack of wolves or something. You keep running, but you know, eventually, they’re going to catch you.”

  Cody, sitting on a metal folding chair facing Blake’s desk, realized he had been directing his words to the infamously ugly carpet in his youth pastor’s office. He lifted his head. Blake was nodding slowly, giving him that familiar understanding smile.

  “It’s amazing, Cody, the changes life throws at us sometimes. It seems like things happen that will overwhelm us, even ruin our lives.”

  Cody rested his elbows on his knees, then let his chin drop into his hands. “Having Pork Chop as my best friend for all these years has been a gift from God; I have no doubt about that. I don’t know how I would have survived my mom’s death without him. And he’s helped with this whole marriage thing too. Even though I still hate that it’s going to happen—when he makes jokes about it and stuff—that helps me keep it in perspective, I guess.”

  “He’s a good friend, Cody. No doubt about it. You’re blessed.”

  “I was blessed,” Cody corrected Blake.

  Blake was waving his forefinger from side to side. “That’s not true. Don’t discount all of the years you’ve been best friends. And don’t think it’s over just because he might move. You said yourself it’s not definite. Besides, Tennessee isn’t the end of the world, you know. You have the phone. You have email. Pretty soon you’ll have a driver’s license. Maybe we’ll take a road trip someday.”

  “Maybe,” Cody muttered.

  Blake cleared his throat. “Well, enough about that for now. Let’s talk about the wedding.”

  Cody stood suddenly. “You know what? Let’s not. I just don’t think I can talk about that right now, B. It kills me every time I think about it. Look, I know changes happen in life. I’m just not ready for this change.” He turned for the door. He expected Blake to jump up and try to stop him. Instead, he heard only a brief, muttered sentence. He wheeled to face Blake again.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Not to you.”

  Cody cocked his head. “Uh, there’s no one else in the room. Unless you’re keeping a hamster in your desk drawer or something.”

  Blake smiled. “You’re forgetting someone.”

  Cody returned the smile with a sheepish one of his own. “So you were praying—about what? That I’d grow up and quit being so selfish? That I’d quit mopin’ aroun
d?”

  “Nah, Code. I just prayed a verse for you.”

  “You gonna recite it for me?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s Numbers 6, verses 24 through 26. Why don’t you go look it up when you get home.”

  Cody tapped a forefinger on his bottom lip. “Numbers? I don’t think I know any cool verses from Numbers.”

  Blake stood. His eyes met Cody’s. “You will soon.”

  Cody sat on his bed flipping through the Old Testament. “Numbers, huh?” he said. “I thought that book just had a bunch of laws and genealogies and stuff. Or maybe I’m thinking of Leviticus.”

  He made it all the way to Ruth before he realized he had gone too far. He backtracked and finally found the verses: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.” The words rang familiar. Pastor Taylor occasionally closed his sermons with them. I never knew that prayer was right out of the Bible, Cody thought. I thought it was from one of those pastor’s manuals or something.

  The screaming snapped Cody from his thoughts. Beth’s voice was loud and shrill. “You’re a big, foolish man!” she said. Or was it, “You’re a pig—and a clueless man”?

  Cody opened his door quietly. His dad was retorting now. “You were shamelessly flirting with our waiter all night. He must have thought I was your father.”

  “I was just being friendly,” Beth spat back. “For Pete’s sake, the guy looked about nineteen years old!”

  “Closer to your age than I am.”

  He has a point there, Cody thought.

  “Oh, so that’s what this is all about. Your petty insecurity about your age. Look, Luke, I know you’re forty-two. I can do the math. When I’m the age you are now, you’ll be almost sixty. I understand that. I can live with that. The question is, can you?”

  Cody leaned his head out of his doorway. Don’t want to miss Dad’s response to this. That’s one tough question.

  But no answer came.

  Cody heard footsteps clicking across the hardwood floor toward the front door. He heard the door open. “Well,” Beth said, sobbing now, “if you figure it out, call me. Preferably within the next three days, because I’m supposed to be getting married after that!” The door slam that followed was strong enough to knock something to the floor. Probably one of Mom’s Scripture plaques, Cody reasoned. Hope it’s not the one that says “Blessed Are the Peacemakers.”

  He slipped downstairs. His dad was pacing the living room. It reminded him of how Coach Curtis prowled the sidelines. Anxious. Nervous. Frustrated.

  “Dad,” he said softly, “you all right?”

  His father turned to him. At first there was fire in his pale blue eyes, but just as Cody prepared himself for an angry lecture, the fire died. “I’m sorry, Cody,” his dad sighed. “I know we must have upset you. Please forgive me. Us. I’m sure this is all rather shocking to you. You know, your mother and I rarely got into this kind of fight. The yelling, the slamming doors.”

  Cody tried to force a smile. “Dad, I’ve been playing sports for some short-tempered coaches for years and years. I’ve heard plenty of yelling. A little more isn’t going to traumatize me or anything.”

  Cody’s dad leaned against the front door. He appeared to be on the verge of sliding down to the floor. “I just don’t know if I can take it, son. Beth is young and attractive. I’m neither young nor attractive. Then, tonight, she goes and flirts with this waiter, with his wrinkle-free face and dark black hair.”

  “She was really flirting with him, Dad? Like, what was she doing?”

  “Well, she kept calling him ‘homeboy’ and smiling like she was doing a toothpaste commercial.”

  Cody let his gaze drop to the floor. It was the ceramic Peacemakers plaque that had fallen, he noted. It had split into two almost equal pieces, right between the lines that said “Blessed Are” and “the Peacemakers.”

  Cody closed his eyes and uttered a brief, silent prayer. Well, it’s not exactly stone tablets brought down from a mountaintop, but I get the message, Lord. Thanks.

  He took two steps toward the front door. “Uh, Dad,” he began, “Beth calls me ‘homeboy’ sometimes. She says it to Chop, too. Maybe she doesn’t mean anything by it. Maybe it’s just a word.”

  Cody saw his dad straighten his stance a bit. “Perhaps,” he mumbled. “But there was more to it than that, Cody. You should have seen the way she was smiling at him.”

  I can’t believe I’m gonna say what I’m about to say, Cody marveled to himself. Either I’m finally maturing a little bit—or I’m completely crazy.

  He cleared his throat. “Dad—Beth kinda smiles at everybody. I think she’s just a friendly person. I’ve seen her smile at waiters and concession workers and ticket tearers at the movies and stuff. But she doesn’t smile at them the way she smiles at you.”

  Cody saw genuine surprise flicker in his father’s eyes. He wondered how long it had been since he’d seen that particular emotion. “Really, Cody? You’re not saying this just to make me feel better?”

  “It’s true, Dad. Really.” He drew in a long, deep breath. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna go back to my room now. I have some reading to do for school. And I need to start reviewing some basketball stuff Coach Clayton gave me. Got to start thinking hoops now that football season is finally over.”

  Cody turned and slowly climbed the stairs. He heard his dad pick up the phone. “Beth,” he said, “please don’t hang up. I need to apologize.”

  Cody entered his room and flung himself on his bed. “Well, God,” he whispered, “I think I did okay at being a peacemaker. Just like the plaque says. But I have to say, I don’t see how I’m gonna be blessed by any of this.”

  The next morning was Thursday, the day Cody and Pork Chop planned to start basketball practice. Coach Clayton had been understanding about two of his key players being needed on the football team. But now that the Eagle gridders’ play-off run was over, he was eager to shore up his squad. And Cody and Pork Chop had been key to the Grant hoopsters coming within an eyelash of the district championship as eighth graders.

  Coach Clayton had tracked down Cody and Chop in the lunch room on the Monday following the loss to Claxton Hills, plopping down across from them.

  “Hello, men,” he had said, folding his long legs under the table. “I’m sorry the season’s over, but you guys had a fine year. You should be proud of yourselves.”

  “I guess so,” Chop replied, without looking up.

  “It’s hard to believe the season is really over,” Cody added, trying to inject at least a little life into his voice.

  Coach Clayton nodded. “So, how you guys feelin’? A bit sore, I would imagine.”

  “You would imagine correctly,” Chop said, his voice still sullen.

  “I don’t take the kind of beating Chop does,” Cody offered, “but I am banged up. Even my bruises have bruises!”

  “Well,” the coach said, extricating himself from the table and standing, “I know you might need to take two or three days off, but we’re hurtin’, fellas. Mr. Alston is running with the varsity. He’ll probably be the second guy off the bench for them. And Terrance Dylan will start for the JV team. So—”

  “How about Thursday, Coach?” Cody suggested. “That’ll give us a few days to recoup. Get over the loss to Claxton. Heal up, you know?”

  “I guess I can live with that, fellas. But if you start getting your legs under you before that, you know your way to the gym.”

  Pork Chop reported to practice on Tuesday, without telling Cody. So when Cody showed up Thursday morning, he was surprised to see his friend already in his practice jersey working with Coach Clayton on rebounding position.

  “What’s up, Chop?” he said, jogging toward them. “You camp out here last night? I can’t remember the last time you beat me to practice—in any sport.”

  Cody saw Coach Clayton exchange glances with Chop, then jog toward Gannon, shou
ting, “Aw, for the love of David Thompson, Gannon! Can’t you try to get some elevation on your jumper?”

  “Dawg,” Chop said, his voice just above a whisper, “I decided to start practicing a couple days ago.”

  The news almost caused Cody to step backward. “Uh, thanks for telling me. I woulda started with you, you know.”

  “Sorry. But I kinda decided I might as well get used to it, you know?”

  Cody picked up a basketball that had rolled to a stop near his feet. He fired a hard chest pass to Chop. “Get used to what?” he asked accusingly.

  Chop returned the pass, so softly that Cody had to stoop to catch it, near his ankles. “Don’t front, Cody,” he said sadly. “You know what I’m talking about. It’s almost for sure that Dad’s gonna sell the farm. He’s getting older. Money’s getting tighter. And with Doug up at college, the work load is puttin’ a big hurt on both of us. You understand, right?”

  Cody turned away, afraid that if he looked at Chop’s pained face for one more second, he’d start to cry. “There are about a thousand things I don’t understand right now, Chop,” he said as he trudged away. “I’ll just add this to the list.”

  Friday after practice, Cody accepted a ride home from Pork Chop and his dad. As Cody slid out of the Porters’ pickup, Chop held out his fist. “Get good rest tonight, dawg. You wanna be sharp for the wedding tomorrow. Don’t want to see you fainting and doin’ a face plant into the front pew.” The words were vintage Pork Chop, but there was no genuine humor behind them. It was as if his friend were reading them for the first time from a script.

  Cody smacked his knuckles against his friend’s. “Yeah, you too. Don’t want you falling asleep during the ceremony.”

  “Just think, Code, we don’t have enough practices to play this weekend, but next weekend we’ll be suiting up and playing hoops again. After playing varsity football, frosh hoops will be too easy. I bet we run the table—go undefeated!”

  Mr. Porter chuckled. “You best focus on the business at hand: your first game of the season, next week. You’re talkin’ about chickens that ain’t hatched yet. Now, quit your jawin’ and let young Mr. Martin get inside. He’s got a rehearsal dinner to get to.”