They all laughed. The girls lingered a little while longer. It was the most pleasant twenty minutes Jason could remember since they’d arrived at school eight weeks—and a lifetime—ago.
As they stood to leave, Zoey looked directly at Billy Bob and said, “You guys coming to the dance next Saturday?”
Jason remembered seeing posters around campus for the midsemester dance, but he hadn’t given it any thought.
“Absolutely,” Billy Bob said, looking right back at Zoey. “All you guys going?”
They all said they would be there.
“It’s one of those deals where the new kids get to know each other a little,” Toni said. “Some of the seniors won’t go, but a lot of us will. It’s kind of dorky and old-fashioned, but it’s fun.”
“Lot of stuff around here is dorky and old-fashioned,” Tom said.
“True enough,” Zoey said. “But we’ll make sure you guys have a good time.” She was looking right at Billy Bob when she said it.
“In that case,” Anthony said. “I think we’ll all be there, too.”
The girls waved goodbye. Jason looked around to see if his three friends had the same silly grin he suspected he had on his own face.
They did.
* * *
When they all came out of their trance, Billy Bob received a good deal of teasing about Zoey’s final question.
“She practically asked you out right there!” Anthony said.
“And was looking right at you when she promised a good time,” Jason added.
“Zip it,” Billy Bob said. “There’s not a guy on this campus she can’t go out with. Why me?”
Even so, he was a bright shade of red.
“Well, you should be the starting quarterback on the football team,” Tom said.
“Actually, based on what my roomie says, you should probably be the starting QB,” Billy Bob snapped back.
“Okay then, I’ll go out with her,” Tom said.
Anthony shook his head. “Appears she has eyes for somebody else, from what I just saw.”
“Pretty sure she was just being nice,” Billy Bob said, still grinning in spite of himself.
No one disagreed with him on that.
* * *
The ribbing of Billy Bob continued that night in the dining hall—with Juan del Potro and Jimmy Gomez also contributing after they’d been clued in about the events of the afternoon.
“You’re probably right, Billy Bob,” Juan said finally. “Zoey’s not going out with some redneck freshman from Alabama when she can date anyone in the school. She was just being nice to you since you got yourself benched.”
Tom could tell that Juan was trying to get a rise out of Billy Bob. Not surprisingly, it worked.
“So you don’t think she’ll go out with me, huh, Juan?” Billy Bob said, smiling but with some fire in his eyes.
“Not a chance,” Juan said. “Look at her. Look at you.”
“How much?” Billy Bob said.
“Ten bucks,” Juan said.
Billy Bob almost gagged. “Ten bucks? You want me to put myself on the line with the best-looking girl in the school for ten bucks?”
“How much, then?” Juan asked.
“Loser has to bring the winner breakfast in bed for a week,” Billy Bob said. “That’s worth it.”
There were strict rules against food in the dorm, but they were usually ignored and the people who worked in the dining hall tended to look the other way when people carried food out the door.
“Done,” del Potro said. “But you gotta go and ask her now.”
“What do I ask exactly?” Billy Bob said.
“Ask her to go with you to the dance as your date.”
Billy Bob reached into his pocket for a comb, smoothed his blond curls, and stood up.
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” Jason said. “Because in about five minutes, you die.”
“Love it when you quote the Bible, roomie,” Billy Bob said.
Jason had no idea that he’d quoted the Bible.
Billy Bob walked over to the table where Zoey sat, surrounded by nine other girls. Zoey stood up and Billy Bob started talking. Tom could tell he was talking, because his hands were going in fourteen different directions—a sure sign of nerves. They saw Zoey smile—you could see her smile from across state lines. They talked for another minute or so—Billy Bob’s hands in his pockets. Then he turned and came back to the table.
The look on Billy Bob’s face when he sat down made asking him how it had gone almost moot.
“I like my breakfast at about seven-thirty,” he said to Juan.
“Seriously?” Juan said. “She really said yes?”
Billy Bob shook his head. “No,” he said. “What she actually said was, ‘I’d love to.’ I even asked her if she and her friends might want to hang out with us tonight in the coffee shop.”
Tom’s heart skipped several beats. “And?” he said.
Billy Bob shook his head. “Easy, big fella, sorry,” he said. “They’re all going to hang out in their common room tonight, girls only, and watch the U.S. women’s team play some kind of friends match.”
“Friendly,” Jason corrected.
“Whatever,” Billy Bob said. “Only thing I know about soccer is that no one ever scores.”
“So she said yes and no, then,” Juan said, clearly trying to salvage something.
Jason was a bit baffled, too.
“She said yes to me, no to you guys,” Billy Bob said. “That’s the bottom line. Eggs over easy. Make sure the bacon’s crisp.”
* * *
Tom was trying not to fall asleep the next morning reading a geology textbook when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Jason.
BB says Zoey asked if she & friends cld rain-check at coffee shop @ 3. U up 4 it?
That was one of the dumbest questions Tom had ever been asked.
R U kidding? Meet in yr room @ 2:55.
Jason replied,
Anthony too, right?
Anthony had gone to church with Billy Bob and the bus wasn’t back yet, but Tom had no doubt he’d be in. He responded to Jason—
For sure.
—then decided it was time to close his eyes lying on his bed rather than sitting up trying to stare down a list of metamorphic rocks.
A few hours later, when they walked into the coffee shop, they found Zoey sitting at a corner table with the three girls who had been with her the day before.
When they walked over to the table, Zoey formally introduced them since she hadn’t the day before. Heather Watson was pretty: not as tall as Zoey, African American with a warm, friendly smile. Tom had seen Heather in the hallways, but it was Toni he remembered most vividly. She was blond-haired and blue-eyed and very tall. He breathed a sigh of relief when the two girls didn’t stand up during introductions. Zoey also introduced Hope, the one with the green eyes, whose last name was Kaufman, and the four boys grabbed chairs and sat down.
Zoey took control of the conversation. “Billy Bob and I were talking on the way to church today, and we thought it’d be fun for all you guys to actually meet one another,” she said. “I mean, Billy Bob asked me to the dance and, even though it’s all pretty informal, I thought it might make it a little easier on you guys if you actually knew some girls when you get there.”
“Boys, especially you freshmen, tend to be shy,” Toni said. “And girls like me tend to end up standing in the corner.”
“Are you kidding?” Tom blurted out. “You? Impossible.”
She smiled at him. “I’m six-two,” she said.
“Or six-four if you wear heels,” Heather said, laughing.
“You know a lot of guys who want to dance with someone who is six-two?” Toni went on.
“Well, count me in,” Tom said, unsure where his sudden courage was coming from.
“Okay then, it’s a date,” Toni said, shooting a dazzling smile at Tom.
“Hang on,” Anthony said. “I’m six-three without heels.”
“Yeah, but I think Tom’s cute,” Toni said.
“I’ll happily dance with you,” Hope said to Anthony. “As long as you don’t step on me with those big feet.”
“Only size fourteens,” Anthony said. “And I’m an excellent dancer.”
“Well,” Jason said, looking at Heather. “Guess that leaves you and me. What do you say?”
“Dance with White Lightning?” Heather said. “What girl could turn that down?”
They all started laughing and talking at once.
It was Billy Bob who brought them back to reality. “Four interracial couples on the dance floor at TGP,” he said. “This could be a first for the school.”
“Oh, please,” Zoey said. “Nobody’s even going to notice.”
Maybe, Tom thought. Or maybe not.
25
With all the talk about the dance, the boys had almost forgotten that when they got to practice on Monday they were going to be dealing with a coaching staff that wasn’t the least bit happy about the 45–0 beatdown the TGP team had experienced at Middleburg on Friday.
Surprisingly, they had heard nothing over the weekend about their punishment for being caught at the French Hound after the game with Teel and Robinson. They had shown up at the football offices, as ordered, at seven on Monday morning and found no one around.
“Maybe Coach Ingelsby didn’t want to make Coach Johnson even madder than he already was,” Jason speculated as they walked, relieved, to breakfast.
“Or maybe they’re going to nail us with it in front of the whole team when we get to practice this afternoon,” said Billy Bob, who had decided to pass on breakfast-in-bed because he preferred having Juan owe him something for letting him off the hook.
Billy Bob’s theory sounded more likely to Tom. It wasn’t as if Coach Ingelsby was a forgiving person. Most of the other players had heard about what had happened and fully expected the “Hungry Four”—as they’d been dubbed, because they were always hungry for punishment—to get what was coming to them at practice.
“Hammer drop yet?” was the question all four of them heard throughout the day Monday.
It hadn’t. And, surprisingly, it didn’t.
When the players arrived in the locker room they were told to stay put after getting into their practice gear. It was raining outside, the kind of all-day rain that could ruin one’s mood after a 45–0 win, and even though it was still mid-October, it was also quite cold. Both factors contributed to the dark feelings inside when Coach Johnson and the staff walked in a few minutes later and brought everyone to attention by a sharp whistle blast that rebounded off the walls.
“Take a seat,” Coach Johnson said.
The whole team complied.
The coach stood in the front of the room, hands on his hips, as if deciding where to begin. “With the way it’s raining outside, it makes absolutely no sense to practice outdoors today,” he said. “I know we would all be more comfortable in the bubble.”
TGP had an indoor practice bubble used throughout the winter by spring sports teams and in bad weather by teams that were in-season. Needless to say, the football team had priority.
Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief at their reprieve from the bad weather. It didn’t last long.
“Having said that,” Coach Johnson continued, “I don’t think anyone in this room deserves or needs to be comfortable this afternoon. After looking at the tape of your performance on Friday, I feel a little bit guilty: the coaching staff had you prepared to play and all of you”—he paused and looked around the room for effect—“all of you failed to show up. So we will practice outdoors, and the coaches will get soaked, too. Collateral damage.”
Another pause. Tom couldn’t believe that Johnson wasn’t taking any of the blame for Friday’s debacle. Then again, he could believe it. What he really couldn’t believe was that he and his friends hadn’t been called out yet for Friday’s restaurant incident. Maybe, he thought, Coach Ingelsby was a little better guy than he’d believed.
Coach Johnson was still talking.
“What’s more, as I mentioned after the game, we have all decided that, as of today, there are no starters on this team. None of you deserve to be called a starter after Friday. So, for the next few days, we’re going to mix and match players on each unit and see who rises to the top. Try to imagine that it’s August again and you are all trying to prove yourselves, because that’s what you are going to need to do if you want to see the field against Powhite on Friday.” He stopped again and paced up and down for a moment. “I’ve been a football coach for twenty-six years. I’ve been the head coach here for eleven. I have never felt as let down as I did by this team on Friday,” he said finally. “Ultimately, I’m the man in charge. I hired the coaches and we recruited all of you to play. I get the credit when we play well, so I’ll publicly take the blame when we play poorly.” He paused and glared at them all. “But I will tell you one thing. I do not plan to ever have the feeling again that I had Friday. I don’t accept failure. If I were you boys, I’d make damn certain it never happens again. Because if it does, practicing in the rain will be the least of your problems.” He paused a final time to let his words sink in. “All right, let’s go.”
Tom wondered if Coach Johnson expected the players to jump to their feet and knock down the locker-room door to get to the practice field. If he did, he had to be disappointed. What he got was everyone standing up and walking slowly to the door, their cleats clattering on the concrete as they clumped out into the rain.
“Well, at least he said he was ultimately responsible,” Anthony said.
“Not quite,” Billy Bob said. “He said he’d publicly take the blame.”
“What are you getting at?” Jason asked as they began to jog in response to shouts from Coach Ingelsby.
“Let me guess,” Tom said with a grim expression. “Coach Johnson will take the blame publicly, but there’s no telling what he’ll do in private.”
They lined up to stretch, the captains leading them. The mood on the practice field was as black as the skies overhead.
* * *
The coaches kept their promise to give everyone a chance in practice for the first three days of the week. No coach said a word about punishment for the Hungry Four.
During practices, even Tom got some scrimmage reps and during the workouts actually caught a couple of passes—not coincidentally when Billy Bob was at quarterback.
After his first catch on Tuesday, a slant-in that Billy Bob overthrew slightly and Tom dove to catch, he heard Coach Reilly’s voice behind him.
“Stay on your feet when you make a catch, Jefferson.”
Tom resisted the urge to say that Rob Gronkowski would have had to dive to catch that ball. When he came to the sideline, Jason and Anthony were waiting.
“Thought sure Coach Reilly was going to stop the scrimmage to present you with the ball,” Jason said. “Your first catch ever at TGP.”
“Not true,” Tom said hotly. “I caught a few in preseason.”
“Yeah, thrown by Jason,” Anthony said. “Which may explain why he’s fourth string right now.”
“Hey, we’re all starters, remember?” Jason said.
* * *
On Thursday, they arrived in the locker room to find a new depth chart on the wall. It wasn’t that different from the old depth chart. There had been a few swaps—Anthony, for example, who had been playing most of the minutes at right tackle, was now officially listed as the starter—but for the most part little had changed.
Including at quarterback. Ronnie Thompson was listed as the starter. Billy Bob and Frank Kessler were listed as “co” number twos, and Jason was number four. He was, however, listed as the number two punt returner. He wondered how Matt Quinn felt about that.
For once, Billy Bob’s sense of humor failed him as he and Tom glanced at the new chart. Tom was right where he’d been all fall—fourth team Z receiver. The wideouts were listed as Y and Z.
/> “What a bunch of idiots,” Billy Bob said, tapping the chart and glancing around to make sure no coaches were listening. “The two best quarterbacks on this team are you and me. And this is what they come up with.”
“I promise you if we get behind tomorrow, Coach Johnson won’t screw around,” Tom said. “He’ll get you in. He has to. We lose twice, we’re definitely out of the playoffs. And, unless he’s got a signed contract at Alabama, that can’t help his chances for that million-dollar job down there.”
“Tell you one thing,” Billy Bob said. “He doesn’t get the Alabama job, I’m not back here next year no matter what else happens—on or off the field.”
Tom grinned. “You dying to play for Ingelsby? Odds are, he’d get the job.”
Billy Bob’s smile returned. “You a Stars Wars fan?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Never tell me the odds.”
That ended the Han Solo talk for the day.
* * *
This time though, Tom had it right.
Powhite, a school near Richmond, was a midpack conference team. The Spartans were 5–2 coming into the game and 3–2 in the conference, yet that Friday they took a quick 7–0 lead when Ronnie Thompson threw an interception deep in TGP territory, leading to a short touchdown drive.
After the kickoff, TGP went three-and-out. As soon as the punt team went onto the field, Tom saw Coach Cruikshank walking toward where he and Billy Bob were standing.
“Anderson, you ready to go?” he asked, as if he and Billy Bob were late for dinner.
“Been ready, Coach,” Billy Bob answered, causing Coach Cruikshank to give him a brief sideways look and put his hand on Billy Bob’s neck. “I don’t care if we’ve got a dive play called and you see eleven men lined up in the box,” he said. “You do not audible. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Coach Cruikshank smiled for a brief moment. “You audible and two things will happen: you’ll never play here again, and I’ll be looking for work.”
He walked away.
“He’s not such a bad guy,” Billy Bob said.
“Everything’s relative,” Tom answered.
Just as in the first two games in which he’d relieved Ronnie Thompson, Billy Bob turned the game around. The reasons were simple: Thompson was an adequate runner; Billy Bob was a good one. Thompson was a lousy passer; Billy Bob was a very good one.
Backfield Boys Page 19