Second Down - Chapter 14

I again managed to make it out of practice without any more confrontations, although I was getting a little annoyed to do so basically required me to skip going into the locker room after practice. Since I sometimes stayed with Miguel and Tyrell, and now I was staying after with Wayne and Bennet, it was hard to know when I was going to be done and headed either to the locker room or start my walk back home.

Had Elijah been a patient person, he would have just waited and watched for me to leave, but he wasn’t. The longest he lasted was four minutes, at which point he went into the locker room.

He was always short-sighted, although this time it worked out in my favor.

I made the walk home, already shifting from practice mode back to school mode. I wasn’t that bad, since the study Coach had me doing on plays and learning to read the offense was kind of similar, I still missed the days of middle school ball, where it was a lot less structured and more just fun, instead of high pressure.

Actually, thinking to how I played the game those two years in my dream life, it had been about the same. I was having a good time, showing off and trying to be the big man, instead of doing the work it would take to win games.

It was a startling revelation, really and one that shattered some of the notions I’d had during and after the dream. In it, I’d been convinced, both before dad died and after, that I’d been on track to varsity, state wins, a college scholarship, and the NFL.

It was clear to me now I hadn’t actually been on the track for any of those things, because I wasn’t taking the game seriously enough. Maybe I would have taken things more seriously once I made varsity, but it would have been a big transition, considering how Coach Heidemann kept saying this was just easing me into it.

Well, at least I was doing the work now. The same was true of my school work, which was just intensifying as we got into the year. And now I’d given up my Saturdays, which I was spending almost all of studying, to help Eduardo’s family.

It was a good thing, both because I was convinced it was what was going to help dad and because it was the nice thing to do for his parents, but it meant I was having to compensate, staying up later so I could get everything done. With the exception of Wednesday nights. I wanted to be well-rested for game days.

Mom and dad were both working when I got home, which was a little unusual since Mom was usually busiest on weekends when people had time for hair appointments, but it happened sometimes.

I took the stairs two at a time, ready to dump my gear and collapse for five minutes before taking a quick shower and getting to work. Instead, as I pushed my door open, I froze.

Jose was standing with his back to me near my desk, rifling through the drawers. A bunch of stuff that had been inside the drawer was scattered on the floor around him, like he didn’t plan on even trying to hide he’d been in here.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned halfway, as he put something in his pocket, before turning back and closing the desk drawer.

“Josh,” I said again, stepping fully into the room. “What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing,” he said trying to walk past me, not looking me in the eye.

I sidestepped, planting myself between him and the exit. “Like hell you were. What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing. Get out of my way.”

“Not until you show me what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything!” he said, his voice going higher pitched than normal as he tried to go around me again.

I reached for his arm, but he still made to push past me, trying to jerk his arm free. I tightened my grip, pulling him to a stop. “Cut the crap, Josh. If you didn’t take anything, why were you digging through my desk?”

“Let go of me!”

“Not until you tell me what you’re hiding.”

I reached for his pocket. He tried to stop me with his free hand, but I swatted it away and pinned him against the wall. He squirmed, shoving at me, but I found something with a familiar shape to it. I held him still pulling out a small, scuffed medal I’d won during my first season of peewee.

It had been years ago and was probably silly, since I’d been make six at the time, but it had a special place in my heart and I’d held onto it. To say I was furious was an understatement.

“This isn’t yours!” I demanded, shaking it in his face. “Why the hell would you take this?”

“It’s just a stupid medal! No one cares about it but you.”

“If you don’t care, then why’d you take it?”

“I was just messing around,” he muttered.

“Bullshit.”

He looked furious and for a moment I thought he was going to swing at me. I relaxed my grip on him, just in case, so I could either block it or step out of the way, but he only jerked his arm free.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Steal my shit again, and I can break your damn face.”

“You want to?” he said, something cold and hollow in his voice.

He took a step toward the door and for a moment I thought he might make a run for it. He didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Let me do it for you.”

Before I could react, he turned and slammed his face into the edge of the doorjamb. There was a sickening sound as blood splattered across the wood, bright and shocking against the white paint.

He staggered sideways from the blow, even if it was self-inflicted, clutching his nose, and gave me the coldest, evilest grin I’d ever seen.

I was so stunned, I didn’t even move. Not until he started screaming.

“Mom! Mom!” he yelled as he took off into the hall and then thundered down the stairs.

I raced after him. He’d set me up perfectly. I’d say I should have seen it coming, but how could I have guessed he’d break his own nose just to get at me. I made it downstairs just as Mom rushed into the kitchen to see what all the noise was about.

“Oh my God, Joshua!” She rushed to him, tilting his face to examine his bloody nose. “What happened?”

“Blake punched me in the face!” Joshua’s voice cracked with fake tears.

Mom spun on me.

“How dare you hit your brother! What is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t hit him! He’s lying. He did it to himself!”

“What? Why would he hurt himself?”

“Because I caught him stealing from my room! He was going through my desk, took my peewee football medal.”

“Your what? Why would Joshua want some old medal?”

“I don’t know why he wanted it, but he took it!” I pulled the medal from my pocket. “Here, I caught him with it!”

“He’s lying!” Joshua sobbed, keeping his hand pressed to his nose. “I didn’t touch that stupid thing. He’s always bullying me, Mom. He hates me and now he’s making up stories!”

“I saw him do it! He slammed his own face into the doorframe!”

Mom pressed her lips together. “That’s ridiculous, Blake. You must think I’m stupid to believe something like that.”

“But…”

“No. I’ve had enough of your lies. You’re grounded for two weeks. And if you ever lay a hand on your brother again, it’ll be much worse. Do you understand me?”

“This isn’t fair!” My voice rose with frustration. “He’s manipulating you!”

“Go to your room. Now.”

I stared at them both. Mom had grabbed a paper towel and was pressing Josh’s nose firmly as she tilted his head back. He was eating it up, playing the victim, but when she looked away from me for a second to get more paper towels, Joshua’s eyes met mine with that same cold emptiness. The same evil smile.

I spun around and stormed up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

***

Thursday was the farthest away game we’d played yet. L.D. Bell High School was clear on the other side of Dallas, a good fours away from Wheaton. To manage it, we got a early release at lunch and the game itself was scheduled for five pm, which meant we’d get back to Wheaton around midnight. It was a crazy long day, but that was one of the down sides for a rural division that was so spread out like ours.

We got to eat lunch at school and they’d feed us pizza on the bus ont he way home, but it was still going to be such a long day. If this was a varsity game, half the town would follow the convoy to the away games, but the Freshman and JV teams were lucky to get some of our parents,let alone people not related to the players.

We also didn’t rate the charter bus the varsity team would get for these far away games. Just the standard school bus.

Elijah and his buddies staked out a spot at the back as soon as they were on, like they were still in middle school and that actually mattered. Wayne, Clark, and Bennet had been jelling with my other friends over the last week after all of the extra time we’d spent practicing together to get them ready for game day.

They’d even come over and sat with us through lunch today, which was a good sign. The freshman team was now almost evenly split between our table and Elijah’s, which was a sign that things maybe were shifting our way and Elijah was finally losing whatever pull he might have managed the first week of school.

It was all temporary anyway. Varsity and JV guys, and their friends and girlfriends, tended to all sit together at one table and most of the guys were just waiting until they got off the freshman team and onto one of those so they could move and eat lunch there.

Part of me, the part that still felt the dream life, found all of this stuff pointless. In the long run, it didn’t matter who ate lunch with who. It was all high school nonsense.

But the rest of me was in high school and knew that, in a way, it mattered a lot. High school could be brutal for some kids, and which social group you ended up in would matter a lot.

Besides, if I could save people like Wayne and Bennet from Elijah’s orbit, I was ultimately doing them a favor.

We pulled into the parking lot of Pennington Field and were sent off into the visitors’ locker room. It was actually a really nice field, although that wasn’t so surprising for Texas.

Football was king here, and schools spent a lot of money on their athletic departments.

The sun was still pretty high in the sky as we warmed up for the game, which was first. Normally we didn’t even get on the field until seven, so a five o’clock start was earlier than normal.

The sun and the heat weren’t the things I focused on, though. More important was how Elijah kept glued to Hunter’s side all through stretching, whispering the whole time. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Hunter’s expression was somewhere between uncertain and concerned.

I could imagine what Elijah was saying. All of his cronies on the offense were riding the bench, and Hunter was the only one still on the field, able to throw the game for us. The fact that he’d been benched and still not changed his mind was... unbelievable. Well, if I didn’t know Elijah.

By the time we finished warm-ups and headed for the locker rooms to gear up the rest of the way and do our run out, Elijah looked smug, leaving Hunter behind, looking frustrated.

I sped up to catch up to him and then slowed to match his pace. Hunter almost flinched, like he thought I was about to take a swing at him, now that he was by himself.

Like he thought I was Elijah, willing to burn everything down for his own petty grievances. But Hunter didn’t look angry or hostile like he normally did. He looked scared. Maybe Elijah didn’t like him playing his best with us on the field or maybe Elijah just thought Hunter was somehow to blame for what happened to them. Whatever it was, Elijah had threatened him.

That much was clear.

“I don’t know what he told you, but don’t forget. He’s where he is because he can’t control himself. Don’t screw this up and end up like him.”

“You threatening me?”

“No, I’m giving you a heads up. Do you want to spend your high school career riding the pine or stuck on JV, or do you want to have a chance to play D1 college ball?”

Hunter looked from me to Elijah’s back. He was stuck somewhere between being pissed and being afraid, although it seemed pretty clear he didn’t know which of us to be afraid of and which of us to be pissed at.

He chose to run, walking faster, to put some distance between us.

“Your choice, man,” I called after him.

I had to say, I much preferred running out onto the field at him that far away, playing in someone else’s stadium. The home stands were packed while ours were only half full, and it felt like a lot of those were people from Bell that couldn’t get seats on the home side.

To add to the poor start, they got the coin toss, so they got the first drive. It had to happen, but it always felt like we started things off on the right foot by starting on the offense.

Our guys did a good job on defense stopping their drive in just four downs, forcing it to end with a punt. I guess that was the good thing about my not being on defense. Elijah’s friends on that side had no reason to throw anything. Hell, none of my friends really were on that side either. All the guys Elijah had singled out as targets early in the year were on offense.

“Alright, offense, let’s go!” Coach Heidemann said, clapping.

We ran out onto the field and lined up. This was it. I’d convinced coach to change the lineup and that we’d done the work all week to be ready for this.

Now I had to show him something.

On the snap, Clark did his job, exactly as we’d been practicing it. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much of my concentration was being used keeping an eye on Jake and Hunter, trying to figure out when the other shoe would drop, and they’d turn on me.

Now, I could focus entirely on my reads. I didn’t have to go past my first one. Miguel cut across the middle and managed to break free of his defender. It was a short route, coach wanting us to feel out Bell’s defense before we tried anything fancy. Miguel pulled it in clearly and turned upfield, managing to make a short eight-yard run before a defender managed to pull him down.

“Nice,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder as we moved to the huddle.

The next call was straightforward.

“I-Right 21. Bennet, it’s all you.”

Clark was starting to show that, even though he was a little smaller than Aiden, he maybe shouldn’t have been riding the bench. He and Leon Prewitt opened a beautiful gap in the defense, and Bennet barreled through, getting twelve more yards before a linebacker pulled him to the ground, giving us our first down.

We hustled back to the line. It was the most excited I’d seen our team since the season started. Unfortunately, we weren’t in practice and the other side got a say in what happened. The next series was a lot more rough. A missed block, a broken route, and a very short one-yard gain put us at fourth and long, which ended our first offensive outing in a punt.

Coach, however, was in good spirits in spite of that.

“Good job, guys. You’re starting to play some good football,” he said, slapping me on the back as the rest of us came running back to the sidelines.

Behind him, I saw Elijah grimace a little. He looked to Hunter, who very purposefully did not look back at him. I’m sure it wasn’t lost on anyone that Coach had not called a single play to Hunter the whole time. I know it wasn’t lost on Hunter. I could see it on his face. He might have gotten to stay on the first string, but he’d lost coach’s confidence, and it was showing.

He had to be re-evaluating how secure his position was.

Thankfully, our defense held strong again, and soon we were back on offense. Hunter was the last one to the line. Coach had held him back for a moment, saying something to him as he ran out to the field.

When coach had called the play, I’d been a little concerned, starting off with Hunter. I’m glad Coach was making it clear, this was his chance, and he better not screw it up.

I gave him a look as we lined up. He met my gaze, but didn’t do anything else or give me any indication of what he was thinking. So be it. I snapped the ball and put it in his gut. He cut to the outside, managing to bet run a bit wide and catch a solid block Connor made, picking up yardage as he went more toward the sideline than downfield, trying to edge out the defense. He didn’t manage to get past them, but he did pick up eight yards.

It was a solid attempt.

“Good job, Hunter,” I said as we went into the huddle.

He didn’t reply, but at least he nodded. A small sign that he’d heard me and accepted it. Maybe it meant there was some hope for him yet.

Everyone was pumped, and we started playing with it, moving the ball methodically down the line, with none of the mistakes of the first series. It wasn’t perfect, and not every snap got us yardage, but we did well enough to end up thirteen yards from the end zone. The first down, a running play, was stopped at the line of scrimmage.

On second down, I faked the handoff to Bennet, drawing the linebackers in just enough to buy time. Wayne ran a short route well and I hit him in stride. He juked the first defender, picking up another ten yards before getting tackled. The chains moved again, and our bench erupted in cheers.

In the huddle, I kept it simple: “I-Right 33. Bennet, punch it in.”

The line dug in as the ball was snapped. Clark and Leon bulldozed the defensive line, creating just enough space for Bennet to plow through for three hard-fought yards. He stumbled into the end zone, ball tucked tight against his chest. Touchdown.

The guys swarmed Bennet, clapping him on the helmet and shouting praise.

We did not get a chance to duplicate that success the rest of the first quarter. Our defense was still doing a good job, but Bell’s defense was nothing to write off, and they did a good job locking us down and ending our drives short.

The second quarter, their offense seemed to get some things to click and put together a drive that got all the way downfield, tying up the game seven to seven.

It seemed like we might get to halftime that way, as there was a lot more back and forth of short drives ending in punts. We did have a moment when it looked like we were going to finally break through when Casey Jackson intercepted a really ambitious pass, but he got pulled down pretty far back, and we then got held to just four downs before Bell got the ball back.

I think they knew we were wanting to get another touchdown on the boards before halftime because they really turned on the pressure as we got to the end of the first half. One of our last drives that started off in good position thanks to another interception, the defense started to bring the pressure as soon as sending their safety on a blitz. I was more than pleased to see Clark read it perfectly, stepping up to meet him head-on. The collision bought me the second I needed to flip the screen pass to Miguel, who darted through traffic for six yards.

Two plays later, we lined up in the I-formation again. Hunter stood behind me, waiting for the handoff. The snap came clean, and I placed the ball right in his gut. Bennett crashed through the line ahead of him, absolutely demolishing a linebacker. Hunter followed the block perfectly, bursting into the open field for fifteen yards before getting dragged down.

“Now that is what I am talking about!” Coach Heidemann shouted from the sideline as we ran back to the huddle.

The next run got stuffed at the line. We were closing in on our end zone again, and the defense was all over us. On third down and eight, the defense brought pressure again, forcing me to roll right. Miguel broke off his route, finding space near the sideline just over the end zone line, right at the sideline.

I let it fly just before a defender reached me. Miguel went airborne, snagging the ball with one hand while keeping his feet in bounds. The ref’s arms went up. Touchdown!

We went into the locker room fourteen to seven. But we acted like we were up by way more than one touchdown. We were finally playing like a real team, and everyone could feel it.

Coach came in after us, raising his arm to get the celebration to calm down. But he did something I hadn’t seen him do before.

Smile.

“That’s what I’m talking about! You guys are finally playing like a real team out there. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve still got half a game to play, and we can’t let this go to our heads. I want to see more from you guys. You’ve done a great job so far, especially our new stars. Clark, those blocks were beautiful. Bennett, those were some great runs. You’re really seeing the offense the way you need to. But we need more. They put the pressure on us for the last quarter, and except for that amazing last drive, they kept us locked down. I don’t want that to happen again. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it for real, which means, don’t let them get in your heads. Don’t let them. They got to dictate the pace of the first half, but we’re going to change that around. I want you to decide how this next half goes. Alright. Bring it in.”

The only people who didn’t seem excited by everything were Elijah and Jake. Jake looked mostly devastated while Elijah looked furious. I’m not sure anyone else was paying attention to him, their teammate, who seemed to be pissed they were doing well.

Well, not anyone. Hunter noticed. I could see him glancing over at Elijah several times. It was hard to read him though. Was he worried about Elijah? Was he angry at him?

Who knew. What I did know was that, so far, Hunter had been with the program, and as long as he could keep doing that, I didn’t care what else he had going on. He could be an asshole as long as he played for us instead of against us.

We ran out onto the field ready to tear it up. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a movie, and a rousing speech and our enthusiasm didn’t mean we’d then sweep the field of our enemy.

They still had a say in things too.

The third quarter became a slog. Coach was playing it safe, calling short passes and conservative runs that chewed up clock but didn’t gain much ground. I hit Miguel and Wayne on slants and quick outs, picking up a few yards here and there, but nothing flashy.

We’d walk the ball downfield a bit before being shut down, and our defense would force the same. No one really gained much yardage.

Coach didn’t want to risk it, and I got it. A mistake could shift the momentum, but it felt like a waste of all the excitement we’d had coming into the quarter. Worse, I couldn’t help but think we were missing an opportunity. The way Bell’s defense was lining up, their secondary wasn’t ready for anything deep. But I kept my mouth shut and stuck to the plays.

I held my peace until the end of the third quarter, when the score was the same as it had been since it started.

“Coach, they’re playing up on every receiver. We need to try something longer.”

“If I had a nickel for every time a freshman QB thought the only solution to a tough game was letting them huck the ball downfield, I’d be a millionaire.”

“Come on, coach. It’s not like that. You’ve seen their coverage. They’re creeping up on every snap and are expecting us to keep it short, cause that’s what we’ve been doing all night. You said we weren’t going to let them dictate the game, but we’re doing exactly that. We spent a whole quarter doing short passes and runs, and we’ve been stuck, so let’s try something different.”

Coach looked unconvinced. I understood. I was just a punk kid telling a professional how to do his job. Living an entire adult life, well, most of one, in the dream gave me a perspective most fifteen year olds wouldn’t have. I knew adults had a lot of experience that gave them a perspective that I didn’t have as a kid, but I also knew that could have them get stuck in their ways. Short-sighted.

I was trying to be respectful and just keep it to the facts, since kids normally relied on emotion instead of reason. I just hoped coach was the kind of guy who didn’t just dig in harder when challenged.

He studied the field for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, Sims. But if this backfires, it’s on you.”

I grinned. “Yes, sir.”

The fourth quarter started with a bang. On Bell’s first drive, their running back fumbled after a crushing hit from Mason and our defense got it inside Bell’s 40-yard line with prime field position.

Coach called the first play, a handoff to Bennet. I tried to not let it get to me. He said he’d let me pass. I just needed to be patient.

I hoped.

This time, at least, the running play worked better than it had in the third. Bell was rattled by the fumble and big run loss, and it worked to our advantage. Bennet followed Clark through his block, cutting upfield and breaking two tackles before finally going down at our 35-yard line. The crowd on our side, what there was of it, roared. Even the guys on the bench were on their feet, with the exception of Elijah.

The next play, coach called for a play-action pass. I faked the handoff to Bennet, watched as Bell’s linebackers bit hard, since that’s what we’d been doing all game. Miguel was already streaking down the sideline, running with everything he had, a good three steps ahead of his defender. I let it fly, dropping it right in Miguel’s hand, who caught it just over the line.

Touchdown.

The celebration on our sideline was electric. Coach Heidemann was clapping as he barked out instructions for the kickoff team, who got the extra point. The scoreboard now read twenty-one to seven, and for the first time all season, we felt in control.

Bell’s offense came back out looking rattled. They couldn’t get anything going, and our defense shut them down, forcing a quick three-and-out. By the time we got the ball back, the energy on our sideline was sky-high.

On the next drive, Coach called for a run. The snap came, and I handed it off to Hunter. Connor bulldozed a path ahead of him, taking out two defenders in one sweep. Hunter followed, cutting through the gap and sprinting for a solid fifteen yards before getting tripped up.

Wildly, he actually smiled at me as we got into the huddle. Elijah’s hate may be infectious, but nothing could beat the feeling of winning.

The clock kept ticking, and Bell started getting desperate. Their blitzes got more aggressive, but our line held strong, giving me just enough time to pick apart their defense with short passes. This time, I could see why coach had gone back to the short game. After the long pass, the defense had started playing our receivers tighter and not cheating up as much.

He was watching though, that much I knew. When they finally started pulling their defense in tighter, to stop our runs and short passes, coach gave the green light to go deep one more time.

Bell put on the press as hard as they had all game, trying to keep us from punching anything through. Miguel’s receiver was still tight on him, but Wayne found a clear path downfield. Just as the pocket started falling apart around me, I launched it, the ball spiraled toward him.

And Wayne misread the route, slowing down when he should’ve kept going. The ball sailed past his outstretched hands, landing on the turf. Wayne slapped his helmet in frustration as we regrouped.

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Shake it off.”

Coach pulled it back to running plays after that, and they shut us down, ending the drive. From there on out, coach went with clock management. We were already far ahead and the last thing coach wanted was to give them a chance to intercept the ball and turn things around.

When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read twenty-one to seven. We’d done it.

Our first win of the season.