Chapter 10: Wednesday, Aug. 22

Despite stretching and hydrating myself before going to bed, I cramped up during the night. I was able to deal with the situation without waking up the whole neighborhood or even the rest of the house. It was something of an adventure trying to get to the bathroom to pee thanks to all the water I’d consumed without suffering more cramping.

I was still able to get enough sleep to be somewhat functional when the alarm went off. I dragged myself out of bed, hit the bathroom again and began preparing for another day.

Dad was waiting on me in the kitchen, ready to get his shot in on my latest brush with authority.

“Your mother said that girl just walked up and slapped you,” he said. “Is that true?”

“To the best of my recollection,” I said. “She said I made her look like a fool after the fact.”

“Any idea why?” he asked.

“This is all second-hand information, but after our last date she apparently told people I’m not very well-equipped and didn’t know how to use what little I had. Then the poster kind of proved at least the first part wrong.”

“Maybe it is small by her standards,” Dad smirked.

“I heard something along those lines last night,” I said. “I just thought it odd that a girl I didn’t have sex with would say that kind of stuff. I didn’t even know about it until summer vacation.”

“You really didn’t do her?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“I guess you could say I chickened out,” I said.

“Well, you certainly got over your shyness this summer,” Dad said, resuming his smirk.

I really didn’t have a response for that. Better I just stay on the subject of not fucking Holly.

“There was just something about the whole scene that didn’t feel right,” I said. “And based on what Kacie told me last night, I probably made the right decision.”

“Frank and Jean are not happy about this,” he said. “They blame you for Morgan getting in trouble and I’m not so sure I don’t agree.”

“I did what I could to stop her, but she was by me before I knew what was going on,” I said. “I’ve about decided to quit eating in the cafeteria. I’ll start taking a lunch next week after two-a-days are done.”

“How’s Jed?” Dad asked. “Bill didn’t know the details when we talked last night.”

“Coach Tucker said he had a sprained arch,” I said. “He could play this week if it was important, but they’re going to hold him out and give him lots of treatments the rest of this week. I don’t even know if he’ll make the trip Saturday.”

“Oh, he’ll make the trip,” Dad said. “That boy’d have to be chained to a hospital bed before he’d miss anything to do with football. You’d better get going. It’s almost 5:30.”

I grabbed a couple of bananas for breakfast, made sure I had everything I needed for school and headed out. I guess I was getting into the routine because I was dressed, taped and on the field stretching before Coach Tucker blew his whistle to start practice.

The biggest difference in this practice session was the coaches had us going against a scout team lining up in the offensive and defensive sets we’d face Saturday in our scrimmage. It wasn’t outright game planning, but more getting to where we could recognize different things.

Coach Tucker was adamant that there be no audible calls on offense. If the opposing defense was stacked against the run, Reggie wasn’t to check off to a hot read. We’d start doing that next week when we had a game. The scrimmage was to evaluate how we executed the plays the coaches would have scripted and how the defense recognized and reacted to what the other team did offensively.

After running our gassers, which I wasn’t allowed to count toward my total, Coach told us what we’d do during athletic period and the afternoon workout. I’d have to go through the flexibility exercises before I could get back to my punishment. I figured I could run 25 gassers and still have time for lunch, then get the rest after practice tonight.

If I’d been thinking, I’d have asked Coach Tucker if I could count the extra 75 gassers I ran last week before learning of my early release from detention. It was probably best that I didn’t.

After a quick rinse in the shower, I dressed, grabbed a couple more bananas and headed off to Economics. The morning classes went well enough if you discount all three of them having reading assignments that would eat up a good chunk of the evening. Soon enough, I was heading back to the fieldhouse for the athletic period.

The flexibility exercises were just short of torture. Working with one of the other receivers, I had my body twisted and stretched in ways I wouldn’t have thought possible. I was actually more sore from that than I was from the cramps I’d suffered in the middle of the night.

Coach Bennett cut us loose after about half an hour of the activity, gleefully reminding us this was just the first step. We’d be incorporating some of these exercises into our calisthenics routine to start each practice.

We had about 20 minutes left in the period, so I headed out to run some more gassers. I ought to be able to get most of the 50 I had to go done before the bell rang and could get them all if I skipped lunch.

At least, that was my plan.

I’d just finished my 20th when my body betrayed me. Twice.

First, there were more leg cramps. Not as severe as what I’d suffered in the night, but enough to stop my running. It was while I was stretching my legs out that my stomach began cramping. If I didn’t find a toilet in the next few seconds, I’d leave a different kind of stain on the turf.

Have you ever tried to run, or at least walk quickly, while clinching your butt cheeks in an effort to keep it all in? Not the easiest thing to do, let me tell you.

I’d just made it through the locker room door and was making my way to the toilets when Coach Tucker called out to me.

“Just a sec, Coach,” I called back. “This ain’t gonna wait.”

I don’t think I even had my butt on the seat when I couldn’t hold it any longer, but I was aimed in the right direction. I went as fast as I could, but every time I’d relax a little another wave would hit. The bell rang before I got out of there.

I hoped the odor wafting in my wake wasn’t too bad as I went to answer the head coach’s summons.

“Everything all right?” he asked when I entered his office.

“Too many bananas this morning, I think,” I said as he pointed me to a chair. “And I cramped up anyway.”

“Yeah, gotta be careful about that,” he said with something resembling a grin. “It helps if that’s not all you eat, and make sure they’re not too green. That just makes it worse.”

I’d be sure to keep that in mind.

“So, how many did you get?” he asked.

“I finished 20 before I cramped up,” I said. “I ought to get the rest after practice if I don’t cramp up again.”

“Just get ‘em done by Friday,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I’ve got a couple of things to cover,” he said, finally getting to the point of our meeting. “What did you say to Mrs. Montero yesterday?”

“I thought I already told you,” I said.

“About the incident in the cafeteria,” he said. “What I want to know is what you said that got her so riled up that she called me to the front office.”

“I really don’t know,” I said. “Unless it was when she accused me of having Dr. Franks reassigned. She said to not try to use my influence to get her removed, that it wouldn’t work. I never did anything to get the man out of here. If I had that kind of pull, I never would have reported to detention or ISS.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“She said I needed to learn to respect authority,” I said. “I told her I had plenty of respect for authority, just not for those who abuse it.”

“That would do it,” Coach said. “Although I can understand your position after Saturday. And you are known to have George Patterson in your corner. Connections like that can color peoples’ view of things.”

“It hasn’t helped me avoid running 245 extra gassers,” I said, drawing a chuckle from the coach.

“Enough of that,” he said. “I want to talk about using you some on scout team next week. The Bearcats do some things offensively that are nothing like what we do. It’s not that big an issue, but it’s not something I want Mario or Scottie trying. They need to focus on getting better in our scheme, not emulating someone else’s. And Javi needs to concentrate on defense unless we have an emergency.”

“Sir?”

“They run the flexbone,” he said. “Lots of triple option. We need someone who can make it look believable, if not exactly game speed.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Go with the JV these next two days,” he said. “Coach McEntire knows what we’re looking for. He’s coached in programs that have run similar stuff and knows what to teach you. If you can do it, you’ll be the scout team quarterback next week.”

“You do realize I can barely throw the ball past the line of scrimmage?” I asked.

“Which is about like their quarterback, based on the scouting reports we have,” Coach said. “If they throw more than five downfield passes against us, I’ll be looking for some new scouts. We need someone who can take snaps under center and run the option. You’ve got as much experience at that as anyone else in the program.”

I found it hard to believe all of the quarterbacks in our program had never taken a snap under center, even if only in junior high.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Go get showered,” he said. “You should have enough time to hit the lunch line if you hurry. Just don’t get involved in any more altercations.”

“Yes, sir.”

This was a bit much to process. What possessed the man to think I was capable of playing quarterback, even in a different kind of offense?

I showered quickly, dressed and headed for the cafeteria. The serving lines were all but empty, making it easy for me to grab a burger. I started for one of the outdoor tables when Jed called out to me.

“Dude, we saved you a spot,” he said from what had become our regular table. “Where you goin?’”

“I thought I’d eat out in the courtyard while the weather’s nice,” I said. “Can’t get involved in any lunchroom incidents if I’m not in the lunchroom.”

“Not a bad idea,” my friend said. “We’ll make sure no psycho girls get close enough to slap you today. But you’re on your own if Mrs. Ensberry shows up. Dad said she’s not real happy with you at the moment.”

“Yeah, remind me not to sit in any dental chairs for a while,” I said, taking a seat as Jed moved his crutches out of the way. “I don’t want to find out the hard way that Dr. Ensberry has friends willing to do his dirty work.”

“Why so late?” Jed asked.

“I ran a few gassers,” I said. “Then Coach Tucker wanted to talk to me.”

“Revealed his evil plan, did he?” Jed asked with a scheming grin.

“What do you know about it?” I asked, getting another of those uncomfortable feelings.

“He asked me if you’d ever taken any snaps from me under center,” Jed said. “I figured somethin’ was up. I didn’t really lie, I just left out the part about it bein’ three years ago.”

“What in the world are y’all talkin’ about?” Chuck Edwards asked.

“Coach wants me to try being the scout team quarterback next week,” I said. “He doesn’t want Mario or Scottie running that type of offense.”

“What type of offense?” Chuck asked.

“Flexbone,” I said. “Lots of triple option.”

“Oooooh, I’m gonna get to bring more pain,” Marshawn laughed. “I can’t wait for Monday.”

“You better be bringin’ pain to them scout team runnin’ backs,” Jerome Jackson, one of our defensive ends, said. “We gotta play our assignments. You take the dive. Me and Darius get to smear the quarterback. We’ll see how quick he is to pitch the ball when he sees one of us comin’ off the end.”

“Now Jerome, I’ve never said a bad word about you,” I said as Marshawn’s cackling continued. “Why would you want to do something like that? I thought we were friends.”

“You gonna have the ball,” Jerome said, “you gonna get smeared.”

“Just don’t hit ‘im in the face,” Chuck had to add. “Zoolander’s gotta protect his assets.”

Have I mentioned that Chuck thinks he’s a comedian? Apparently, some of the other guys did, too, based on the amount of laughter emanating from our table.

Fortunately, for me anyway, the lunch period was nearly over. I ditched my tray, gathered my stuff and had just enough time to hit my locker to prepare for my afternoon classes.

Algebra II seemed to be following the same pattern as last week. Mr. Henderson told us to finish reading the chapter and do the last 10 questions at the end. Thursday would again be a review of the chapter with a test on Friday.

If we completed a chapter a week, we still wouldn’t cover everything in the book, which had 40 chapters. We had 180 class days, which came out to 36 weeks. That would still be more than I remembered covering in any other class since I started high school.

Chemistry was a little more involved. We actually did some lab work for the first time. The kicker was that I was assigned Elise Stirling, the superintendent’s daughter, as a lab partner. I hadn’t really noticed her in class despite her height. With our alphabetical seating assignments, she must have been two tables behind me. When she was here. The volleyball team missed three afternoons last week for trips to matches.

“So, you’re the infamous Gary Robinson,” she said after I introduced myself. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Some of it may even be true,” I said as she gave me an appraising look, stopping a few inches shy of my belt.

I was suddenly feeling uncomfortable again.

“Daddy sure mentioned you a lot over the weekend,” she said. “I never really got what he was talking about.”

Great. The superintendent of our school district knew who I was. So much for keeping a low profile.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” I said as we began setting up for our experiment. “I haven’t had the best of luck with administrators so far this year.”

“Are you really a football player?” she asked. “You don’t look like a jock.”

“I guess the topic is open for debate,” I said, doing my best to maintain eye contact without getting a crick in my neck. “I’m supposed to be a slot receiver, but I doubt I’ll do anything except some special teams stuff. You probably won’t even know I’m on the field.”

“We don’t get to go to too many football games ever since they changed the schedule up,” she said. “Coach tried to get all the district schools to play varsity matches first on Fridays, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”

I was only vaguely aware of our volleyball team’s schedule. They used to play on Tuesdays and Saturdays, then somebody got the bright idea to play on Fridays so they could have weekends to do other things, like club teams.

The plan was to juggle the district schedule so football and volleyball would play the same opponents at the same school on Fridays to allow people to attend both events. It was good in theory, but reality was another matter.

Things worked out great when the host school’s gym and stadium were both on campus and the volleyball didn’t run long. But our stadium was something like three miles away at the old high school, which was now a junior high. With volleyball starting at 6 p.m. and football at 7, that made for a very tight window in which to play, clean up and travel to the stadium.

There had been a big ruckus a couple of years ago when a volleyball player was nominated for Homecoming queen. Homecoming stuff was supposed to be done before the game, but the volleyball match went five sets and lasted nearly two hours. The girl’s mother threw an epic hissy fit, forcing the powers that be to move the ceremony to halftime “where it should be” so her daughter would have ample time to shower, do her hair and makeup, don her fancy dress and get to the stadium. Even with the switch, the girl arrived just minutes ahead of time.

What followed gave Jed a story he could tell for years to come. Halftime lasted more than 45 minutes and our school was penalized for delay of game. Coach Tucker was beyond livid, to hear Jed tell it. We were fortunate to have like a 40-point lead over the creampuff opponent, but it was the principle of the thing. Coach’s attitude seemed to be that they could take all the time they needed before the game. Once kickoff arrived, things had better be run according to his schedule. Or else.

Which was one reason why our volleyball coach wanted to start varsity matches first, at 4:30 p.m. It seemed no one really cared if the freshmen or JV was still playing after football started.

As it was, volleyball would be halfway through its district schedule before football played a district game. The pairing up of events would only last three weeks, but volleyball still played on Fridays once the tournaments were out of the way. Their last tournament would be next week, then they’d start district the first week of September. They’d wrap up their regular season the week of fall break and start the playoffs the following week.

That schedule had unintended consequences for me. The volleyball team would be departing for this week’s tournament before lunch tomorrow. Elise begged me “pretty please” to keep good notes for her while she was gone the next two days. I had no idea how she handled last week’s pop quiz, but her dad was Mr. Debussy’s boss so I’m sure arrangements were made.

I found it hard to believe this girl was flirting with me just so I’d keep notes for her. Not that she wasn’t pretty and she certainly had a nice figure, but she was a good five inches taller than me. And I already had a girlfriend. Or six.

We had just fired up our Bunsen burner when she took the flirting to another level.

“So how is it that you went from nobody,” she asked as she turned the flame down low, “to being the hottest guy in school in one summer?”

On the last part of her question, she turned the flame all the way up. I was afraid I’d get my eyebrows singed.

“Who says I’m the hottest guy in school?” I asked suspiciously.

“Kelli Thornton and all the other cheerleaders,” Elise said. “Are you really dating Staci Patterson?”

Among others, I thought.

“We went out a few times over the summer,” I admitted. “Staci’s family are members of the country club where I worked. That’s where we met.”

OK, so I failed to mention the details of how we met. Or that my family were also members. Or that my mom has been running the place since June.

“As for Kelli,” I said, “I think she’s just trying to drum up business for the spirit shop. A cut of the proceeds from sales of my poster are going to Sherry Parker’s medical expenses.”

At least I didn’t have to explain about the poster. Anyone who didn’t know about it after last weekend must be living under a rock.

“Yeah, Daddy asked me if I’d bought one,” she said.

“Did you?”

“It’s hanging in my locker in the gym,” she admitted with a blush. “All the girls on varsity have one.”

Her blush deepened as she whispered her next question.

“Is that really all you?” she asked, sneaking another peek at my crotch.

Good grief. I really did not need to be having this conversation with any girl, let alone the superintendent’s daughter.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” I said, hoping she’d buy it. “I don’t know what kind of Photoshop tricks may have been used.”

She didn’t buy it.

“That hasn’t been Photoshopped,” she stated. “There’d be little blurs where they did it if that was the case. And we checked.”

“We?”

“The volleyball team,” she said. “One of the girls brought a magnifying glass.”

“According to some sources, a magnifying glass would be necessary just to find it,” I said.

“You mean the girl who slapped you,” Elise said. “She’s getting what she deserved.”

“Oh, really?”

“She said some really mean things about you, but you never said a word one way or the other,” my lab partner said. “We couldn’t decide if you were taking the high road or just oblivious.”

I could attest to being pretty clueless about the whole thing, but at this point I was beyond caring.

“Does it really matter?” I said, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. “I mean, it’s been more than six months since we went out. It’s not like it was just last week.”

“It’s got most of the girls in school talking about you,” she said. “You were supposed to be the safe date last year. Now we’re all wondering just how safe you really are.”

“I’m as safe as a girl wants me to be,” I said. “I’ve never put pressure on anyone to do something they didn’t want.”

“Kelli said you don’t have to put pressure on girls,” Elise said. “She said you had them lining up all summer long.”