Second Down - Chapter 19

I wiped sweat from my forehead as I yanked another weed from Eduardo’s mom’s vegetable garden. In west Texas, October still nineties or, if we were lucky, maybe it would drop into the eighties.

I actually didn’t mind it though. Maybe it was because of all the time spent practicing outside in the heat, that spending time without the pads on felt a lot cooler, or maybe it was remembering what it felt like to do construction with the foreman breathing down your neck because you have two other jobs to finish that day.

True, that last one was not from my actual life, but the memory of the dream was still so strong it still gave me a point of comparison.

Also, I got to hang out with Eduardo. I’d started this off with just the goal of keeping him from ending up in gangs, to protect my father, but surprisingly, I found that I really liked him. Past the shy quiet exterior, he was a really great guy, worried about others as much as himself, funny and sarcastic.

So much so that it had started making me second guess if the dream was actually any kind of predictor at all. Yes, a few things seemed to point to what happened in the dream matched real life, but those could have been coincidences. It just seemed impossible that the guy I was getting to know would end up initiating into a gang and ultimately killing someone.

That was the farthest thing from the Eduardo I was now friends with.

“It sucks she hasn’t had time to deal with these,” I said, pulling another handful of weeds out and tossing them into the pile I was making. “They’re bigger than the vegetables.”

“She was out here three weeks ago,” Eduardo said. “They grow really fast.”

“Damn.”

“I know. She loves her garden though, says it reminds her of her grandmother’s garden back home. It’s why I wanted to do this today while she was out with Alex. With dad stuck in bed or making the drive back and forth to Midland every week, she doesn’t have time to stay on top of it. I figured if we could at least keep up with the easy manual labor part of it, the weeds and whatever, that takes the pressure off her, so it can still be fun.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“We were at the game yesterday,” he said after a few minutes of silent work.

“We?”

“Yeah, me and Tyrell.”

“I didn’t realize you two were hanging out,” I said.

“That’s the first time we did something after school. He was trying to explain to me some of what everyone did on the team and offered to go with me to your game and point stuff out, although I think that was an excuse. I think he wanted to go and everyone else was busy.”

I knew they were getting along at lunch, but thinking of the two of them hanging out at the game was strange. They were very different people, both physically and personality-wise. It was good though, seeing him.

“Or he wanted to hang out with you. You two have been hitting it off.”

“I guess. He’s a good guy. Anyway, he was saying the coach was really holding you back and playing right into the defense by running the ball the whole game.”

It was nice to know that someone else could see that too.

“I don’t know about holding me back, but he isn’t wrong. We were running the ball all damn night and Whyatt knew exactly what we were going to do every damn time. It was frustrating as hell.”

“You should talk to your coach.”

“Ha,” I said, not able to stop the laugh from coming back. “That would be the day. I mean, I did say something about us playing into their hands, but he basically told me to shut up and do what I was told. He’s the coach and I’m a freshman, so it’s not like I have much pull.”

“That isn’t right though. I mean, you’re there in the middle of everything, who else would know better. I mean, maybe I’m wrong. Alex may watch a lot of football, but that was the first game I’ve ever watched the whole way through, let alone been to.”

“You’re not wrong. Or I guess, I don’t think you are, but Coach Holloway has been coaching for a long time and this is my first game at this level.”

“Well…” he started to say, and then cut off as a car with the loudest exhaust I had ever heard sounded like it pulled up out front of the house.

It was loud enough that the windows were rattling a little bit, and it didn’t just sound like a bad muffler. Living in a rural area, I heard a lot of old trucks with shoddy mufflers. I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but this sounded more like someone had gone out of their way to make it sound like that.

That wasn’t the thing that had my attention, however. Eduardo had not only stopped talking, but he’d gone stock still, his hands around a bunch of weeds still in the ground. His facial expression had gone from relaxed to as tense as I’d ever seen it.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes darted from the side gate to the front yard to the back door, like he was expecting someone. And he wasn’t wrong.

Before I could say anything else, the back door to the house swung open and a tall guy in his mid-twenties stepped out. The way he carried himself was confidence that bordered on cocky. He was dressed in a loose flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans that looked too new to be casual. Tattoos snaked down his forearm, disappearing under the cuff of his shirt and his hair was slicked back.

“What the hell you doing out here playing in the dirt?” he said to Eduardo as soon as he walked through the door.

“What do you want, Raf?”

The quiet almost perpetually defeated tone was back.

“What I want is for you to quit doing women’s work and come for a ride with me.”

“I can’t. You know dad’s hurt and I’m helping out. Besides, I have a friend over.”

“Ohh, I guess that explains it. Thought this was some backwards place where y’all hire white boy gardeners now,” he said with a laugh.

I pushed myself up from the ground, brushing dirt off my jeans. “I’m Blake. Eduardo’s friend from school.”

The guy looked at my hand like it was a stack of dirty socks and then stepped around me, still looking at Eduardo.

“Come on Eddie, we got places to be.”

“No. I told you, I’m busy.”

“What was that?” the guy said, taking a step closer to Eduardo and his voice pitching down a notch, threateningly. “Did you just tell me no?”

“He said he’s busy,” I said, taking a step back and to the side, putting myself between him and Eduardo.

Everything about this guy bothered me. He was pushy, arrogant, and entitled.

This time he did look at me. “This ain’t got nothing to do with you, gringo.”

“It does if I say it does. He said no, so get the fuck out of here.”

“What did you say to me?” he said, taking a step closer to me, his shoulders squaring up like he was getting ready for something.

Eduardo stood up and moved sort of next to us, but he looked conflicted, almost terrified, his hands opening and closing at his sides as he visibly wrestled with what to do.

“I said get the fuck out of here. You really should get your hearing checked,” I said.

Raf’s face flushed red. “This is my cousin’s house, gringo. No white boy is gonna tell me where I can and can’t do with my family.”

He was right up in my space, close enough I could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

Eduardo seemed to come to a decision finally, because he pushed himself between us and took a step back, forcing me to do the same, putting distance between myself.

“Raf, you need to leave.”

“Are you serious right now?” Raf’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re choosing this white boy over family? Over your own blood?”

“Mom’s gonna be home any minute. You know what she’ll do if she finds you here.”

I knew that was a lie. His mother wasn’t due back for at least another hour. But I kept my mouth shut. Eduardo’s mom wasn’t a big woman, but she clearly had some kind of effect on this guy, because I could see him working it over.

His eyes flicked from Eduardo to me and back again. The way his weight shifted forward made me think we were about to throw down right there in the garden. I tried to keep myself light, on the balls of my feet, ready to react, but I wasn’t going to throw the first punch. Not in Eduardo’s house against his family, whatever this guy was to him.

“You need to leave,” Eduardo repeated, more sure of himself this time.

The guy wrestled another second, clearly torn between leaving and throwing down, and then said, “Whatever.”

With that, he spun on his heel and stormed through the side gate toward the driveway, banging it open against the fence as he went through it. We both just watched the gate, I guess wondering if he was going to change his mind and come back, until the loud ass exhaust started up again.

Tires squealed as he peeled off out of the driveway, the sound of the car starting to fade down the street.

“So who was that?”

Eduardo went back to the garden, dropping to his knees and started to yank out weeds again, with a lot more force than was necessary.

“That’s my cousin Rafael. From Midland.”

“He seems like a real piece of work.”

“Yeah.” Eduardo pulled another weed, tossing it harder than needed onto the pile. “We used to be close when we were kids, but he dropped out of school when he was a freshman and got involved with some people. I guess we grew apart.”

Something clicked into place. This guy was how Eduardo ended up getting recruited into a gang. The reason Eduardo went down that path that ended with him in prison. Watching Eduardo’s defeated posture until the end of that confrontation, the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, I could see exactly how it had happened. How he’d been pushed into doing something so far outside of who he was. How someone as quiet and reserved as Eduardo could get pulled into that life.

If I hadn’t been here today, Eduardo almost certainly would have gone with him. Hell, the only reason he’d stood up to Raf at all was because I’d done it first.

“Like what kind of people?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

The whole thing clearly bothered him, I guess being torn between being loyal to his family and avoiding putting himself in bad situations. From the way his cousin had reacted when Eduardo had mentioned his mother, it wasn’t hard to figure out what his parents thought of the family delinquent.

If I had to guess, this might be the reason his parents moved them out of Midland.

“What did he want you to go do with him?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

We both knew that was bullshit.

“That’s a long drive from Midland just to do nothing. He must have had something specific in mind.”

“I said it was nothing, Blake. Just leave it alone, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, holding up my hands. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

We went back to working on the garden, but my mind was racing. This was the real problem. It wasn’t going to be enough to just be Eduardo’s friend. I had to help him build up the confidence to stand up to Raf on his own, not just when someone else did it first. The question was how. Eduardo was naturally conflict-avoidant, happy to fade into the background. Getting him to assert himself, especially against family, wouldn’t be easy.

But I needed to figure it out, both to protect my dad and to keep Eduardo out of trouble.

***

Practice on Monday was more running plays. Actually, it was almost entirely running plays. Last week, we'd done at least some passing practice, and I couldn't help but feel it was intentional.

Sure, he'd gotten on us at the start of the practice about how we have to get better at opening up opportunities and then exploiting them, and maybe he was just trying to fix the weaknesses we had in the running game. But, it also felt a little targeted, like a message to me after my complaint about not passing enough and not going for deeper passes enough.

Maybe I was overthinking things, but it was still bugging me as we got into the locker room.

I passed Coach Holloway's office and was a few steps toward my locker when I stopped, as my intrusive thoughts started to take over. That kind of thought where you're standing at the side of a bridge and, even though you have no wish to hurt yourself or do anything bad, there's that thing in the back of your head saying, but what if you jumped.

They were winning this time. I knew my best course of action was to just follow the program and trust that I'd get to the level I wanted. But then there was Kenneth. He was a great QB. I'd watched him throw some serious bombs way downfield, but having watched some varsity film, that wasn't the game he was allowed to play.

They kept him locked down to the ground game and short dinky passes. As good as he was, he wasn't being heavily recruited, and it felt pretty related.

I'd spent a life where high school was my glory days and I lived for the past. Or at least I'd dreamed I had.

I didn't want to live that life again.

I turned around and found myself in the coach's doorway, knocking.

"What do you want, Sims?"

I closed the door behind me and sat in the chair across from him, which got an eyebrow raise from him. Maybe that was a bit presumptuous of me, but I wanted his full attention.

"I wanted to talk about ... about what it’s gonna take to get where I want to be. Long term."

"Long term? You’re a freshman and you just got on this team. Maybe focus on the short term for now."

"I am focused on that coach, but you said in practice on Thursday that we had to practice for the team we wanted to be, not just cause it was on the schedule. I figured that was true for players too."

He grunted, but crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. I couldn't tell if he was impressed or annoyed I'd thrown his own words back at him.

Either way, it got him to listen.

"I want to become a better player. A better quarterback. I want to get on varsity, hopefully next year, and win state at least once before I graduate. And after that, get on the radar for a college program that could lead to the NFL."

"You do realize every quarterback who's ever picked up a football wants that exact same thing?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know how many actually make it? How much work it takes?"

"I'm guessing not many, but I'm ready to put in that work. Kenneth graduates this year. His backup's a junior. Which means by my junior year, it's just me, Jorden, and Gabriel competing for varsity. I know I have the skills to lead this team."

I didn't want to badmouth them directly, but I knew that coach knew what I was saying. I was better than them and the obvious choice.

"Well, we'll see if that's true. Saying you're ready to do the work and actually doing it are very different things. As for getting to the next level, yes, you have raw talent. That much is clear. Raw talent that could make you an outstanding high school player, maybe even get you into a solid college program."

"But?"

"But the guys who make it to that elite level? It's not just about talent. They almost always come from money because getting there requires resources most families don't have."

"Not all of them."

"No, not all, but most. Those resources get them things like private coaching, not just for specialized training. Speed coaches, conditioning experts, nutritionists." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Sports psychologists, media training, all of it. At that level, dealing with pressure becomes just as important as throwing accuracy. Not to mention elite-level camps that cost a small fortune to attend, even if you qualify."

"Ohh," I said.

“Look, Blake, you come from a good family. Your dad’s a deputy, which tells me you’ve got discipline and support at home. But deputies don’t exactly pull in the kind of money needed to afford the level of specialized coaching and resources I’m talking about.”

I'd worked that out myself. I could only nod in response.

“Now, we’ve got trainers, coaches, and conditioning programs here to help all of our athletes improve. But there’s a difference between what we do and what private coaching can provide. Those folks spend all their time working on one athlete. Speed work, conditioning, film analysis. Everything is customized. Here, we’ve got a team to think about.”

“I get it, Coach,” I said. “I just wanted to know what it takes. That’s all.”

“Good. Because the last thing I want is for you to start doubting yourself or getting discouraged over this. Like I said, you’ve got talent. And I’ll be honest with you, if things stay the way they are, then you're right. By the time you’re a junior, you’ll probably be leading varsity. You’ve got what it takes to get there. But you've still got to do the work to get there.”

Thanks, Coach. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re not there until you’re there, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, one thing I can do to help is talk to the track coach. You’ve got good speed, better than most quarterbacks I've coached, but again, it's just raw ability. It could be better, and that’s something we can work on here. It’s not the same as hiring a high-level speed coach, but it’ll get you closer.”

“That’d be great. I’d really appreciate it.”

"I'm happy you're thinking about improving. Just keep working at it son. Anything else?"

“Well…” I hesitated for half a second, then decided to just say it. “Since we’re talking about getting ready for varsity one day, I think the heavy focus on the running game isn’t just limiting the team, it’s holding me back, too.”

Coach Holloway let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Maybe a little.” I grinned, though I was trying not to push too hard. “I get why we run the ball as much as we do, but it feels like we’re missing chances to develop a more balanced attack. And honestly, Coach, I think I’ve got the arm to make it work.”

“I appreciate the hustle, really, I do. But I don’t fix what isn’t broken. We run the playbook we do because it works. It wins games. That’s the bottom line.”

I thought about trying to counter it, that we weren't exactly winning games now, but I knew I'd already pushed my luck enough.

“I understand.”

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

"Thanks, Coach," I said, standing up and leaving.

Not exactly what I'd hoped for, but not as bad either. Maybe he'd think about it, and at least I was going to get to work with the track coach to get faster. So there was that.

The locker room had mostly settled down by the time I got out of the coach's office. Most of us had homework and family stuff midweek, so we didn't hang around after practice.

Plus, why shower at school when you could go home and shower?

There were a few varsity guys at the other end of the locker room still talking, but that was about it. I went to my locker and dropped my pads, and then stopped. My locker was gone.

Not gone. It was on the floor. Someone had cut it off.

Wrenching my locker open, at first I thought maybe nothing happened, since my school bag was still there. It took me another beat to realize my clothes were missing.

I turned in a circle, looking around the locker room, trying to figure out where they'd gone. Stolen was the obvious answer. And on purpose, since the lock was cut.

But then what?

I kept turning, hoping they didn't get taken somewhere else. I checked the trash cans and thankfully didn't see them there, along with the boxes and open places they could have been dropped, but still had no lock.

I'd just walked past the small cleaning closet when something caught my eye, and I took a step back, looking inside again.

There they were, inside the mop bucket, floating in what smelled like bleach.

"Come on," I muttered, fishing them out.

The water had already done its work - white splotches dotted my black shirt, and my jeans looked like they'd been tie-dyed by a kindergartener having a bad day.

"Something wrong?" Coach asked as he walked out of his office toward the door leading to the rest of the school.

"No, coach," I said, hiding my clothes behind my back.

He shrugged and kept walking. It wasn't a great performance, but the coach seemed like one of those hands-off, if it isn't my problem kind of people.

Which was for the best. I know schools like to think kids would tell a teacher if something happened, but that always made stuff worse. I could deal with this myself.

And I knew exactly who was responsible.