Just A Game

by Dustin Stevens

  “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything unless I got in, but now that the letter’s here I can’t stand the thought of opening it myself.”

  Clay turned the envelope over in his hands and said, “It’s barely November. They’re already mailing decisions?”

  “I applied early action.”

  An uncertain look grew across Clay’s face . “Indiana? Really? I thought you hated the idea of being in Indianapolis?”

  “I hate the idea of us not being together even more.”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t applied to Indiana.”

  “But with your brother being there, we both know you probably will,” Chelsie countered.

  Clay raised his eyebrows and said, “Yeah, you’re—“

  “Would you just open the letter!” Chelsie snapped.

  The outburst caught Clay by surprise and he held his hands up by his side. “Opening the letter right now.”

  She half smiled and said, “Sorry. I’m dying over here!”

  Clay began tearing into the envelope and said, “You know you got in.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “Yeah you do. When they don’t accept someone, they send them a small envelope with a folded up form letter saying ‘You’re great, but sorry anyway.’ When they send something like this it says, ‘Welcome to Indiana!’”

  The white envelope tore easily across the top and Clay pulled a thin stack of papers from within. He pulled the entire group out and scanned through them before beginning to read aloud.

  “It is with great pleasure that the Admissions Committee for the University of Indiana extends a spot in the Class of 2018 to Miss Chelsie Swanson...”

  A loud squeal emanated from Chelsie as she jumped onto Clay, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh thank you, thank you...”

  The papers Clay held fell to the ground as he caught her. “Why are you thanking me? I didn’t make the decision, though I would have undoubtedly said the same thing.”

  “Yes, but you opened the letter and made it official!” She pressed her lips to his several times, then looked up into his smiling face.

  He sighed dramatically and said, “Yeah, I guess I did do that part didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I guess you did.”

  “Congratulations,” Clay whispered, staring down into her eyes.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, pressing her head against his chest and letting out a contented sigh.

  The bell for class rang in the empty stillness of the gym, but neither moved an inch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One of the random things Clay always liked best about football season was the golden hue the late afternoon sun would take. The practice fields were on the west side of the school and as the sun would begin its descent each afternoon the long rays would almost glow off the grass.

  Every time the sun’s rays took on that tone, regardless where he was or the time of year, he was immediately back to football practice in the fall. Those rays had been gone for a few weeks now, showing up only a handful of times as the October days had slid into November.

  Today was a rare treat though, the sun bouncing off the black asphalt of the parking lot as Clay laced up his cleats and walked out towards the practice field. For a moment he closed his eyes and tilted his head skyward, imagining the sun of earlier in the season warming his face as he walked out to practice.

  The first players to take the field each day were specialists. Kickers, punters, long snappers, and return men. There wasn’t enough time during practice to get in all the exact work that these positions required, so they were taxed with hustling to the locker room after school and being the first ones onto the field.

  Ahead of him Clay could see Lee Timms and Will Austin walking towards the field. Both were sophomore kickers, Timms handling the kickoffs and Austin the place-kicking duties. The two talked back and forth as they walked on ahead, Lee carrying the tees and Will with a large net sack of footballs over his shoulder.

  Twenty yards behind them was Clay, flanked by Matt and Goldie. Matt returned punts, Goldie kickoffs. Clay also went deep on kicks and handled all the punting.

  Behind them they could hear one last set of cleats scraping the asphalt as the long snapper, Mike Tripp, made up the rear.

  “All this sunshine, should be warmer than it is out here,” Goldie complained, pulling his football gloves down over his hands.

  “It’s not too bad,” Clay said. “We’ve definitely had worse.”

  “Yeah we have,” Matt said. “Besides, it was cool of Stanson to institute the Sweats Rule for us this week.”

  The Sweats Rule was usually reserved for the playoffs, but Coach Stanson had made an exception this year. It allowed for players to wear team issue sweatpants to practice instead of their football pants.

  It didn’t make for easier practices, just much warmer players.

  Before anybody could agree with Matt’s assessment, a loud hooting erupted behind them.

  “Here comes Bellick,” Clay said, grinning. In addition to coaching the quarterbacks and linebackers, Coach Bellick also handled the specialists.

  Behind them Bellick jogged up behind the players, reaching Tripp first and smacking his shoulders pads several times. “Whaddya say Mikey? Whaddya say Mikey?” he rattled in rapid fire succession.

  Without waiting for a response he bounded forward and slapped Goldie on the back, spun and swung out through the open parking lot. “Hit me Clay!”

  Clay instinctively found the laces on the ball in his hand and sailed a lazy pass into Bellick’s outstretched hands. Bellick secured the ball and held it against his body, drawing his toes to a stop just inches from a yellow parking line.

  “And he gets both feet down! Touchdown!” he yelled and began to dance through the parking lot.

  All three players laughed in unison and Matt said, “You’d think it was Christmas morning out here the way he’s bouncing around.”

  “To him it is,” Clay said, laughing as Bellick came up behind Timms and Austin and slapped their pads with the palms of his hands.

  The players reached the edge of the parking lot and broke in different directions. Clay went right towards the far end zone, jogging to loosen up. After that he went into a few high knees, a few heel kicks and did a little light stretching.

  Tripp joined him a moment later and began loosening his shoulders in big wide circles. To their right Timms was kicking balls off a tee and Austin was doing leg swings. On the far end they could see Bellick joking with Matt and Goldie.

  “Alright, you ready to get going?” Clay asked Timms.

  “Let’s do it. Starting at ten?”

  “Starting at ten,” Clay said.

  Tripp dropped the ball on a random white line and Clay backed up two more white lines behind him. The first snap came back slow and a little wobbly and Clay snagged it and punted it smoothly. The ball traveled thirty-five yards past Tripp, where it was grabbed by Bellick and ran back to them.

  Bellick tossed the ball to Tripp as he passed and said, “Feeling good today, Clay! Don’t think there’s any chance you can beat me.”

  “None, huh?”

  “Might as well not even try,” Bellick said.

  Clay smiled and fielded the next snap from Tripp, this one a little tighter and quicker. He stepped forward with his right foot and planted his left, swung his right leg through and punted it forty yards through the air.

  “That drop’s getting better,” Bellick said. “Only took me four years, but I damn near made a punter out of you.”

  “That you did,” Clay agreed. “Damn near killed us both in the process too.”

  Bellick laughed and said, “It hurt me way more than it hurt you, I promise.”

  Clay laughed and snagged another snap from Tripp, kicking it high into the air. On the other end Matt settled under them, tossing the ball back in their direction after each one.

  On the opposite side of the field, Timms laced up his square toed kicking shoe and began lobbi
ng kickoffs towards Goldie. Beside him, Austin used the metal holder to knock place kicks through the uprights. A team manager, the school principal’s sixth grade nephew, fielded the kicks and tossed them back.

  The routine continued for twenty minutes, Tripp snapping back to Clay who kicked them to Matt. Each time, Bellick would offer some bit of insight before shouting insults to Goldie.

  Once Clay could feel a little sweat starting to form he said, “Alright Coach. I know you said not to even try, but I’m going to give it a go anyway.”

  A sly grin spread across Bellick’s face and he said, “Alright, alright.”

  He rubbed his hands together and hopped up and down a few times, then swung his leg back and forth. At first it swung only as high as his waist, but after four or five times his toe was closer to his shoulder.

  “Austin! Get over here for a minute,” Bellick said.

  Austin ignored the kick he was lining up and jogged over, a smile on his face. Across the field, Timms had stopped kicking, looking on in amusement as well.

  They all knew what was coming. It was a game that had played itself out every day for the last four years.

  “We ready?” Clay asked.

  “Best two out of three,” Bellick replied.

  “Gentlemen, do the honors,” Clay said.

  Tripp and Austin stood side by side ten yards away, each with a ball in hand. They counted aloud to three, then tossed the balls back to Clay and Bellick.

  They each caught their ball cleanly, took three steps and punted them high into the air. Clay’s took off straight and floated down to the forty yard line. Bellick’s sounded a little hollow and toppled end over end to the thirty-three.

  A cacophony of comments and snickers went up from around the field as Bellick bellowed, “That was my first kick! He’s been out here for half an hour now!”

  Clay laughed heartily. “But you said I didn’t have a chance!”

  “You still don’t. Best two out of three means I can afford to spot you one.”

  Clay laughed again as Matt retrieved the kicks and tossed them back to Tripp and Austin. Across the parking lot they could see the team lining up and coaches walking towards them.

  The snappers again counted in unison and tossed the balls back to Clay and Bellick. This time Bellick caught his kick evenly off the top of his foot and it shot out in a perfect spiral. Clay again hit his down around the forty yard line, a good three yards short of Bellick’s.

  “Don’t hear you guys talking so loud anymore!” Bellick called, answered by more laughing.

  “Damn, you improved a full ten yards on that one Coach.”

  “Yeah I did. Imagine if I got more than one warm-up.”

  Matt again tossed the balls back to the snappers as the team grouped up by the gate across the parking lot and began slowly loping around towards the practice field.

  “Alright guys, we gotta hurry on this one,” Clay said.

  “Naw, I don’t know,” Bellick responded. “What say we wait and play it off tomorrow? A double or nothing, final day, for all the marbles?”

  Clay weighed the challenge for only a moment. “I like it. Tomorrow we do it one last time. Winner takes all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  All six seniors stuck around after practice. Usually when the volleyball team was playing they’d run home for dinner and as many as possible would return for the seven o’clock start time.

  Clay, Goldie and Matt made almost every game, with Marksy joining them for the bulk of them as well. The Little brothers were closer to half, but they still made as many as the farm would allow.

  A week before, when the volleyball team miraculously won their district semifinal match, all six had agreed that tonight they would be there.

  The best thing about games late in the season was that darkness usually forced practice to end by five, instead of the five-thirty or six that early September afforded. When it was over the players showered in the locker room and met at Formaggio’s.

  The Killer B’s treated them like long lost friends when they arrived en masse and they had to insist that Anita allow them to pay for their food when they were done. Together they consumed three large pizzas and three pitchers of soda, leaving a large tip for Anita and an order of breadsticks for the B’s on their way out.

  From Formaggio’s they went back to the school and convened in the locker room. Each one of them had brought a plain white t-shirt from home and Goldie produced a bag of his sister's puffy paint in multiple colors.

  There were six senior volleyball players on the Huntsville team. Each of the football players selected one and put her last name and number on the back of their t-shirt, then designed the front in any way they saw fit.

  Using the white board, Goldie wrote the names of the other five volleyball players on the board and the remaining football players chose from among them. Nobody questioned that Clay would select Natalie, and he started right in to designing his shirt while the others debated.

  The Little brothers chose the Beckley twins, Dana and Dara. Marksy selected Heather Meigs and Matt went with Robin Banner. Goldie claimed he had no preference in the matter, but everybody made sure he ended up with Jenna Poulson just the same.

  The shirt designing process took over half an hour as the players fought for the markers and poured over their respective designs. Clay opted for basic black block letters for PRITCHARD and number 34 across the back. On the front he designed a Huntsville player pegging a spike off a Florence player’s head with Huntsville Volleyball arched above and below it.

  A bit over the top perhaps, but he knew when he gave it to Natty afterwards she would love it.

  Once the shirts were designed the guys laid them on the benches to dry and moved to the full length mirrors lining the back walls. Using blue, yellow and white paint they covered their faces with a variety of designs.

  The Little’s did simple block H’s and the numbers of the Beckley twins, while Marksy did blue and white tiger stripes. Matt went with half yellow and half blue and Goldie drew the stitching of a volleyball on in yellow, then filled in the rest with blue.

  Clay opted for a camouflage look, starting with a wide smear of blue that began at the middle of his forehead and crossed his face to just below his right ear. From it he drew three thick blue jagged lines running from that line at a ninety degree angle towards his jaw on the opposite side. He then added thin lines of yellow and white around it to finish the design.

  Around his head he wrapped a solid blue bandana, the others donning wraps of blue or yellow as well. Through the walls they could hear pre-game music begin pumping from the gym and the buzz of a crowd starting to gather.

  The last thing they did was don their homemade t-shirts before walking down the back hallway from the locker room to the gym. The space was busy with people, various team assistants and referees huddled about.

  The music grew steadily louder as they made the walk, emerging through the side entrance in front of the Huntsville student section. Already the stands were nearly full and a loud ovation broke out as the players walked the short distance from the hallway to the front row of the student section.

  Goldie raised his hands in exultation at the applause, Matt and Marksy yelling loudly to the crowd. Clay nodded his head in sequence to the blaring music, clapping his hands as he went. Several junior football players and students were on the second row and greeted them all with high-fives as they arrived.

  On the floor the girls finished the last of their warm-ups at a frenetic pace, many of them already red faced and sweating. Across the court Dara Beckley was slamming short spikes into the floor as Natalie practiced digging them.

  “Good Lawd, you see the size of them girls?” Goldie said, causing Clay to slide his gaze to the other side of the net where Florence was warming up.

  “Nat said they were tall,” Clay said, taking in the understatement she had made. Across from them, Florence had no less than a half-dozen girls that were around six feet tall
or better.

  “Did she say they looked like an NBA team?” Goldie asked. On the other side of him Matt laughed aloud as Clay continued gawking at their length.

  From behind him a pair of hands slid over his shoulders and onto his chest. “See something you like over there?”

  Clay clasped his hands on top of Chelsie’s and said, “No, but I see something really damn tall over there.”

  Chelsie laughed behind him, leaning her weight against his body. “Yeah, those girls look like they’d give you a run for your money in the height department.”

  Clay leaned back into her and said, “I don’t doubt it.”

  She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and whispered, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

  Clay dodged the potential barb and said, “Thanks, we all designed them just a little bit ago.”

  The clock reached zero and a loud buzzer sent players jogging back to their respective benches. A small army of nine year old youth volleyball players swarmed the court, picked up the warm-up balls and returned them to the bin on the far side of the court.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome tonight to the Huntsville High School Spangler Memorial Gymnasium for the District Finals matchup between the Florence Falcons and the Huntsville Hornets,” the announcer said over the PA system. Usually Benny Winslow did all announcing for home volleyball games, but the state had sent down a neutral voice for the finals.

  Huntsville had been chosen as the site for the game months in advance, it just so happening that the Hornets would play before the home crowd.

  A stack of school newspapers made its way down the aisles of the student section and as the announcer read off the names of the Florence starters, the Huntsville students held them up in front of them.

  “We’re such dicks, you know it?” Goldie said, grinning over at Clay from behind a newspaper.

  A large smile spread across Clay’s face. “It took a couple of newspapers for you to realize this?”

  As soon as the last Florence player was called, the papers were soon cast aside in lieu of loud cheering.