High School Football – The Temptation (first in the high school series)

by Paul Swearingen

  Buck grunted. “Dad said something about that last week. He said that the board claims there’s not enough in the general fund to cover new lights, since they put in a new floor in the gym last summer.”

  Justin held up his hand. “Let the brother speak, all right? Now, someone at this table drafted me into playing football, even though I let it be known that hoops is my game. Well, maybe it was Coach Greene that had the final say, but the point is that I don’t want to be a quitter when I start something. And I don’t like someone holding me back. I have no intention of spending boo-coo hours in staring at a textbook so I can go out on the field every Friday and get my butt stomped into the ground. You know what I mean? I don’t love or hate Coach Greene, either. He’s aw-rite. Geez, he put me on the field during the first varsity game when I probably should have been waiting my turn to do bench time during the jayvee games. So I’m going into this thing as a winner, and I want to finish the same way.”

  “You GO, Justin!” Karl offered a high five, and Justin met his hand with a satisfying smack. “You earned your spot on the varsity team that first game, and I think I speak for all of … well, maybe almost all of the team when I say that we miss ya already on the field. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about bench time any more.”

  “Yeah, Justin, it’s about time we had someone around here with some guts,” Kerry grinned. “We’re all a little sick of T. J., but there hasn’t been much we could do about his smart mouth. Now, Bret and Jerry here also just happen to be family. Jerry is sort of my cousin by marriage, and Bret is his cousin. And they’re both on the yearbook staff, and wouldn’t you know, they also happen to be about two-thirds of the photography staff, which means that you’ll see them next Friday on both sides of the field, digital cameras and zoom lenses on hand. So the first part of the plan is that if T. J., or anyone else, tries to pull something, they’ll have a record of it. Right?”

  “That’s the plan, cuz,” Jerry said. “And, Buck, you can run a video camera, right?”

  “No problem. I can use my dad’s camera.”

  “All right, why don’t you borrow it and set up on the visitors’ side. It’s not quite so crowded there, and you can keep your ears open and try to listen to what the players have to say about any hanky-panky on the field.”

  Bret wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it onto his tray. “Even if we don’t get anything recorded, we might just intimidate T. J. enough so that he’ll think twice before pulling any little tricks. I kinda wondered about him before Kerry tipped me off yesterday that he was trying to throw games so that Coach Greene would get the royal boot.”

  “I shouldn’t tell you guys this, but … “ Buck looked around and leaned into the center of the table. “You know T. J.’s from L. A. Well, his older brother is an assistant coach out there at some ghetto high school but wants to get out of the rat race and move up to a head coaching job, even if it means moving back to Kansas and teaching at a farm school. A little birdie told me that he sent an application here last year, and even interviewed, but he couldn’t get his foot in the door. I guess that explains what T. J.’s up to, doesn’t it? And T. J.’s got only one more year after this one before he graduates. And NOW you know … the REST of the STORY!”

  Kerry rapped her knuckles on the table to get attention through the guffaws. “Nope, that’s not the whole story.”

  “What do you mean?” Karl asked. “And make it snappy; I’ve got about five minutes to track down someone before fifth hour starts. I gotta get some notes for chemistry class; I missed it on account of a field trip yesterday.”

  “Okay, okay. Now, I’m not gonna say who or how, but … I got someone to run a criminal background check on T. J. AND his brother.”

  “Jeez, Kerry,” Buck muttered. “You can get into deep doo-doo for that.”

  “Well, not me. And it’s all legit. I think. His brother is clean, as far as we can tell. But guess what? T. J. has a rap sheet!”

  Justin felt his throat close. If Kerry had someone run a criminal check on T. J. … she could have him do the same for anyone. Including Justin.

  Bret shook his head. “You mean he has a criminal record?”

  “Yep. Burglary. Breaking and entering. Suspended sentence; first-time offender and all that, I guess.”

  “Well, there hasn’t been anything like that for quite a while in Niotaka,” Karl said. “My uncle sells insurance, you know, and he told us that the last time his company had to cover a burglary loss in this town was three years ago. And we’re talking a broken lock and a couple of boxes of candy, from a gas station. T. J. came here in his freshman year, after that happened.”

  “I know, I know.” Kerry rolled her eyes again. “Mr. Beach Boy Big Stuff. I remember when … well, the point is that he doesn’t do his stuff in Niotaka. Never-mind-who has seen him just about every weekend in Pittsburg. And T. J. SAYS that he gets all his gold chains and stuff in Pittsburg. He just doesn’t say how.”

  Justin leaned back and regarded Kerry. “Girl, you got your feelers out all over the country, doncha?”

  Kerry slowly leaned toward Justin until their noses were almost touching. “You haven’t heard the half of it, my man.”

  “Say what?”

  “Here’s the best part. You’re goin’ on a double date with him.”

  “Wh- No way. He’s not my type.”

  “Let’s hope not. Now, does the name LaToya ring any bells with you?”

  “LaToy-a-a.” The soft yodel came from Karl.

  “Forget you, man.”

  “Oh, she’s all right, according to Ranaé.” Kerry glared at Karl. “But you know she happens to be a second cousin, or something close, to T. J.”

  Justin slumped back in his seat.

  “And Ranaé told me that after the dance, you’re all going to Pittsburg to party.”

  “You mean … “

  “That’s right, Justin. You’ll get to keep an eye on T. J. all night long. You and LaToya chick and Ranaé and T. J. are all hooked up for homecoming dance, just two-and-a-half weeks from now.”

  Justin slowly shook his head. “I didn’t know this town had a dating service, too. Thanks a lot, friend.”

  “No problem, bro!” Kerry stood up and turned towards the tray conveyor belt but stopped and faced Buck.

  “Don’t forget what I told you to tell Justin,” she said, and she inclined her head slightly.

  “On it. Don’t be late.”

  Kerry shook her head. “Got that under control, too.” And she was gone.

  Justin raised his eyebrows. “What now, Uncle Buck? More dating how-to and how-not-to?”

  Buck grimaced. “You're on your own when it comes to the ladies. No, it’s about the study hall supervisor. She ran a background check on him, and turns out he has some arrests but no convictions in Kansas City. Has he tried to get you to do anything for him?”

  Justin shook his head. “He just said he wanted to talk, but I buzzed outta that study hall at 4:30 before he could say anything.”

  “Yeah, well … word is that he may be working with our friend Tony, maybe even as a courier. He’s never at home on the weekends, and he’s been seen driving back into town late on Sundays. And he doesn’t look like the type who’d have ladies lined up to romance him, either.”

  “You got that right. All right, no conversation with the white dude with the bad hair, right?”

  “Exactly. Just the basics. Study until your eyeballs drop out and roll across the table.”

  Justin rolled them, carefully. “Yes, sir. I want to get back on the field ay-sap.”

  “Oh, and Justin …?”

  Justin picked up his tray and stood. “What now, boss?”

  “Good luck on the date, dude.”

  For the second time, Justin rolled his eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  No radio, no TV, nothing but books and papers spread around him. He could faintly hear kitchen sounds downstairs as his mother worked on the evening meal. No noi
se from Sharice, either; she was gone, having landed a Monday-through-Thursday after-school babysitting job only a couple of blocks away that kept her out of the house until around five-thirty when the single mother arrived home.

  Plenty enough time to finish up the algebra assignment for the day, he thought. The chapter test was just two days away, but even the story problems this week had made some sense, and he’d been able to volunteer to put one equation on the board. Snap Sister Denise had poked him in the back when he sat down and whispered over his shoulder, “Hey, how do you do that? I can do most of the equations when they’re in front of me, but I just can’t pull the story problems together.” He’d had to shrug his shoulders, and when the teacher wasn’t turned in their direction, he whispered, “They just make sense when you take them step by step.” Her only reply was another snap of her gum and a muttered, “Man!”

  By the end of the week, after the test, he should have a passing grade in algebra. He’d already taken care of the problem in English class by completing three missing compositions and handing them in, but American History was another matter. His notebook was weeks behind; he hadn’t passed the last test, and the next test was two weeks away. Well, he’d just have to borrow someone’s notebook. Maybe get a little one-on-one tutoring. Funny how T. J. never seemed to have any eligibility problems. Maybe he had a little extra help, too?

  He closed the algebra book with a snap and squared up his assignment papers. So much for that, and now for a little one-on-one with the American History book …

  The front door and screen door banged almost simultaneously with Sharice’s “Mo-o-m!” Well, there went the peace and quiet in the neighborhood. He stood up and stretched and slowly stepped across his room and down the stairs.

  “What, honey?” his mom answered.

  “Mom, I don’t want to baby-sit for the Ormonds any more. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever!” Justin heard her slap the five-dollar bill that was her contribution for the household expenses on the table, and he winced.

  “And I suppose you want us all to go to bed with nothing but bread and water in our tummies for the rest of the week?”

  “Oh, Mom, I can find another job, somewhere, and I’m still helping out Mrs. Garrison. That little brat called me a name, and his sister kicked me in the shin.”

  Justin leaned in the doorway. His mother’s mouth was twitching.

  “Sounds about like what you used to do when your brother babysat you back in Topeka, doesn’t it?”

  Sharice shot Justin a look over her shoulder and pulled up her pants leg. “Well, I didn’t leave marks like this one, and I didn’t learn words like that until …”. Her voice trailed off. “Well, never mind. He shouldn’t have called me what he did.” Her lower lip started to protrude.

  “Oh, sticks and stones, honey. I can’t see that the skin is even broken. You won’t even be able to find it tomorrow. And why don’t you take one of your old storybooks with you tomorrow and read to them? They can’t get into that much trouble if they’re quiet and listening to you.”

  “That’s just the problem. They won’t listen to me. Not all the time, anyway.”

  “Well, just keep calm and look them right in the eye. And don’t yell at them. Talk to them, individually. Get their attention. They’ll come around; they’re just getting used to you, and they’re trying you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. They’re going to get me to try out a couple of backhands on them if they keep it up.”

  “I think you already found out in school about the hands-on approach, didn’t you, young lady?”

  Sharice’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, okay, Mom. But it’s a rough world out there when little kids are in it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Justin muttered. “Kid.”

  Sharice stuck her tongue out at him as she brushed by. “And I suppose you have your homework done, young man?”

  “Just about, brat. A little more quality time with my American History book, and I’m back on the team.” He caught a narrowed-eye look from his mother. “After I pass that next test, anyway.”

  “Here’s a little test for you, Justin. Why don’t you set the table while Sharice cleans up? And if you pass it, you get to eat spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Justin nodded. “You got it, Mom.” Too bad the next test in American History wasn’t so easy. He shook his head. Better add another half-hour onto that study time tonight.

  * * *

  The graded test paper lay facedown on his desk. Slowly he turned it over, to be greeted by red marks … and a “C+” at the top of the paper. He exhaled. Behind him came a soft “Man!” and the sound of a paper being wadded up. His eyes met Mrs. Barngrover’s, and he raised his eyebrows.

  She gave a thumbs-up. “Sixty-seven percent as of today, Justin. Not really great, but enough. I’m looking for at least a “B” on the next test, though, right?”

  Justin nodded slowly. “It’s in the bag, Mrs. B.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure it is, Justin.” Behind him he heard a muffled snap. “Okay, people, test review time; small groups, and share your expertise.” Another snap, this time a little louder. “That will be in algebra, Denise, not in gum snapping.”

  Mrs. Barngrover sat down with a small group of perplexed-looking students, and the noise level in the room inched up. Justin turned around and muttered, “Hey, Denise, how are you doing in American History these days?”

  “AOK, no problemo. You just gotta do the notebook thing when he talks, as long as you don’t write about his dumb pets.”

  “You think I could borrow your notebook? In return for a little help on algebra?

  She leaned her chin on both hands and regarded him. “First T. J., and now you. Only I got money out of him.” She sighed. “Well, I guess I could use a little help in algebra, too, worse’n I need the cash.”

  “T. J. borrows your notebook?”

  She pulled a long, pale-orange strand of gum out of her mouth, regarded it for a moment, popped it back inside, and chewed vigorously for a moment. “Actually, I think he photocopied it, because he bummed a couple of quarters from me, too. Say, he never has paid me back, either, and he still owes me for the last time he borrowed the notebook. That low-life!”

  Justin cleared his throat. “I think I can do a little better than that. Why don’t I borrow your notebook after school, say in front of the library, unless you have it with you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll have to get it out of my locker. But don’t let anyone else use it, all right? And try not to copy things word for word. Last time we got notebooks back ol’ Brady had T. J.’s and my notebooks together, and he handed both of them back to me as if they were both mine, ya know?”

  “It’s cool. I know all about paraphrasing and stuff. Did he borrow anything else from you?

  “That was all he got from me. But I think he gets a lot of help from Ranaé with his English. Now, let’s get on this stuff before we get into trouble.”

  * * *

  The hall was crowded, and Justin was about to give up on Denise when he felt a poke in his back.

  “Just lift your books and I’ll slide it under them … there. I really don’t want to make the 6 o’clock news with this.”

  Justin didn’t turn around. “Thanks. I gotta get in there for the we-e-ener’s fun and games session. You wanna get together at noon tomorrow for the algebra thing?”

  “Fine with me. In the cafeteria?”

  “Yep. Bring your Tums.”

  “Not me. I bag it. Maybe you could steal me a cookie?”

  “Comes with the meal. You’re on.”

  “Okay, Justin. See ya.”

  “All right, then.”

  Justin leaned against the wall and looked around to see if anyone was paying undue attention to him. But the crowd was intent on getting out of the building. He pulled the notebook from under his books and flipped it open to the first page. So this was the secret to getting a grade out of this class …

  A hand gripped his elb
ow. “On your way to doing time with the losers? And what might this be? Someone’s American History notebook?”

  “Might be. Might not be.”

  T. J. peered more closely at the notebook. “Listen, chump, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll lay off this one. I had to work hard and long to get Denise to let me use it once in awhile.”

  Justin slowly closed the cover of the notebook and slid it between two of his textbooks. “Seems like you might want to give something in return for the use of it, once in awhile.”

  T. J. stared at him. “You heard me the first time. Lay off it. Brady doesn’t go for shared knowledge and stuff. That notebook can only be stretched so far.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, well, like I told you, lay off it,” T. J. shot over his shoulder as he pushed the double doors open.

  “Have a nice practice, chump,” Justin muttered to himself. He gripped the stack of books tighter, turned, and strode into the library.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The halls seemed extra-crowded in the school, and as Justin took off his parka and tried to stuff it into his locker, he realized that most students were also struggling, as they were dressed in bulky clothes also after the first hard frost of the season the previous night, some in coats, mittens, and even mufflers, others in hoodies and windbreakers, and a few wackos with only flannel shirts over thermal underwear.

  He managed to wedge his parka far enough into the locker so that the door would close, but he realized that he’d have to take it out again so he could get his books and notebook out. He stood in front of his locker, shaking his head, when he felt a poke in his ribs.

  “Man, it’s tough when they won’t let you take your coat into the rooms, isn’t it?” He turned to see Kerry gazing at his locker as if it housed an iridescent polyester leisure suit.

  “Yeah, well, if your brain is still frozen and you forget to take your books with you, I suppose you’d end up with a bigger problem.” Justin tugged at his coat sleeve and pulled the parka partway out. Several of his books fell out with it.