Chapter 11: Thursday, Aug. 23

I was having a nice dream when the alarm went off. Or at least I think it was a nice dream. The details evaporated as I reached over to hit the button. I hate it when that happens.

I also hate having to get up at 5 a.m. The good news was I only had two more days of this. After Saturday, I’d be able to sleep as late as I wanted. Maybe even until 7 o’clock. Unless Mom or Dad decided I needed to be up earlier.

The other good news was I made it through the night without cramping despite all the running I’d done in practice yesterday. I hoped that meant I was getting in shape.

I dragged myself to the bathroom and took care of business. The one advantage of getting up this early was unfettered access to the bathroom. By 6 o’clock, it would be exclusively Kacie’s domain as she put herself together for another schoolday.

When I got to the fieldhouse, I was told to go with my position group for the morning workout. I’d rejoin the scout team in the afternoon. Practice was nothing we hadn’t already done. It just got me sweaty and stinky enough to necessitate a shower before I headed off to class.

I made it through the morning classes mostly because I drank so much water I had to head straight for the nearest restroom as soon as the bell rang. It didn’t help my concentration the last few minutes of class, but it kept me from doing a faceplant on my desk.

The bell rang, I made one more pit stop and headed back to the fieldhouse. We were told to not dress out but report to the team meeting room. I followed guys across the hall to a part of the building I’d never been in before. The team meeting room was basically an oversized classroom with enough seating for the entire team and coaching staff.

There were dry-erase boards all the way around on the walls and projectors hanging from the ceiling on both ends and in the middle on each side. In between were dividers that could be pulled across the room for when we split up into position groups.

We weren’t doing any of that today. Instead, it was all one open area. Coach Tucker stood up front writing on the main board. Morgan stood next to him holding a sheet of paper. It looked like our schedule for Saturday since the first line read “6:30 — Depart.”

Coach had items listed down most of the left side of the board as we settled into our seats. There was some shuffling around as the different position groups moved to sit together.

With everyone in place, Coach got started.

The varsity buses would indeed leave from the fieldhouse at 6:30 Saturday morning. The freshmen, JV and support staff would be on the road by 5:30 since the freshmen would start scrimmaging at 9. We should arrive about 8:45, giving us time to walk around and loosen up after sitting on the bus for more than two hours.

We were instructed to dress in our workout shorts, UnderArmour tops, sanitary socks and running shoes for the trip, meaning we’d need to be at the fieldhouse by 6 a.m. We’d pack the rest of our gear — helmets, shoulder pads, practice jerseys, pants with all those pads, compression shorts and cleats — in travel bags the coaches would place at our lockers. The trainers would begin to tape us up once the freshmen started.

The controlled scrimmage would be divided up into segments. The starters would go 15 plays on offense and 15 on defense, then the backups would do the same. That would be followed by 10 plays each way during which coaches would substitute as they wished, meaning second-string backs could work behind the first-string line and various other combinations.

After all that, we’d do a red zone/goal line segment with each team starting at the 5- or 20-yard line depending on what coaches wanted to see. We’d wrap up with a special teams segment in which the defense was not allowed to rush the kicker.

Coach was just getting into the offensive plays they had scripted when a knock on the door interrupted the proceedings. An office aide came in and gave him a note.

After giving it a quick read, he looked at me. He was not smiling.

“Mr. Robinson, your presence is requested at the main office,” he said.

What now? It had better not be about Elise Stirling giving me a peck on the cheek. I was really getting tired of this shit. It’s not like I’d been getting into fights, the incident with Holly Moseley notwithstanding. That was hardly a fight, at least on my part.

I made sure I had all my stuff, swinging through the locker room to get my backpack. I was working up a good mad as I followed the aide back up front. If I was going down, someone was going with me.

My mood worsened when I was directed to Dr. Franks’ former office to find Mom, Dad and Dr. Stirling.

May as well get the first shot in, I thought. I set my backpack on a chair and pulled out the books I had in there, stacking them on the principal’s desk.

“I’ll go get the rest out of my locker,” I said and turned for the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mom asked as I reached for the doorknob.

“Checking out,” I said. “I’ll go see the registrar after I clean out my locker. I can transfer to Buchanan and live at the farm. I’ll see if Grandpa will let me stay in the barn.”

Which would not be as bad as it sounds. The barn included a little apartment for hired hands that had been built into a corner. It was actually pretty nice, at least on par with Arlene’s garage apartment. It had a couple of window units to cool it, a three-quarter bath and little kitchen area.

Dad had moved into it when he was in high school and continued to use it through college. I wondered how many Buchanan County virgins had lost that status there.

The place was designed to sleep four, so there was ample space to set up a desk and entertainment area. I’d have to see about getting TV and Internet service. I’d probably have to bundle that with a landline phone. Cell service was spotty that far out from town.

It had been considered a big step toward maturity when I’d been deemed old enough to be allowed to sleep out there when we’d spend part of our summer vacations with our grandparents. Kacie was appropriately jealous, but she wasn’t willing to give up all the comforts of the main house, like a full bath instead of a shower that may or may not have hot water.

“Just what do you think this is about?” Mom asked.

“I really don’t care,” I snapped, “but every time I get called up here, I wind up in detention, miss practice and have to run 100 gassers. I’ve already run more than 30 extra miles in the last week. I’m not going to hang around to see if I get the death penalty the next time some pretty girl gets it in her mind to kiss me.”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” Dad said.

Dr. Stirling broke in before we could really get going.

“I assure you you’re not getting detention, at least not at the moment,” he said. “As for my daughter’s behavior, I’ve already spoken to her about what happened yesterday.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Bill Richards entered.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Traffic’s a bear out there today. Are we all set?”

“We’re just getting started,” Dr. Stirling said. “If you and Gary will take a seat, we can get this done before D lunch starts.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“The school district is offering settlements to everyone who may have reason to file suit over Dr. Franks’ actions,” Mr. Richards said. “You have grounds to sue for defamation of character after he called you a smut peddler.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

“I called your father about it yesterday,” Dr. Stirling said. “He should have told you.”

“It must have slipped his mind last night,” I said, “though he did mention you’d called.”

“Other matters needed to be dealt with,” Dad said, only a little defensively.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mr. Richards said. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Everything seems to be in order. I advise you to accept.”

“I don’t need it and I don’t want it,” I said, causing the four adults to stop in midmotion.

“What are you talking about?” Dad asked. “This is the fair thing to do. More than fair, actually.”

“It’s enough for me that he’s out of here,” I said. “There are too many people who believe I was the one who made it happen. I don’t need them thinking I made money off the deal.”

“What would you suggest?” Mom asked, actually taking a rather soft tone.

“Give it away for all I care,” I said. “There’s got to be some charity that needs it worse than I do.”

“There’s Sherry Parker’s medical fund,” Dr. Stirling offered.

“Do it,” I said. “Just make sure it’s anonymous. I don’t need any more cheerleaders thanking me in the cafeteria. In fact, I don’t even want it to touch my account. I’m sure there are tax issues to deal with.”

“I’d need to reword a couple of things in the agreement, but that shouldn’t take but a few minutes,” Mr. Richards said. “If y’all can provide the information on which account to transfer the funds to, I can do it as soon as I get back to the office and email the changes to Dick.”

“I’ve got it right here,” Dr. Stirling said, shuffling through his stack of papers. “I’ll have one of the secretaries run off a copy.”

“Don’t bother,” Mr. Richards said. “I’ll just take a picture with my phone. All I need is the routing number and account number. I’ll make the changes, you can print out a new agreement and have the Robinsons sign. If we’re all good, I’ll get going. I should be able to have everything to you within the hour.”

While that was being handled, I stuffed my books back into my backpack and prepared to leave.

“I’ll call you when I have the revised papers ready, Doug,” Dr. Stirling said. “I’ll be around here the rest of the day.”

“Sounds good,” Dad said as he and Mom rose to leave.

Just as I reached the door, Dr. Stirling called out again.

“If I could have a quick word, please, Gary,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble.”

“Yet,” Dad muttered as I closed the door.

I got the feeling there would be another discussion at home.

“Yes, sir?” I said as I returned to my seat.

“I want to personally apologize for some of the situations you’ve been placed in this year,” he said. “I’ve gone over your records extensively and interviewed some of the teachers you’ve had in the past. There was nothing to indicate you were the kind of troublemaker Franks made you out to be.”

“I just tried to get a second parking permit,” I said. “Things went downhill pretty fast after that.”

“You weren’t the only one to get off on the wrong foot with him,” Dr. Stirling said. “Don’t get me wrong, he has some good ideas on managing secondary education, he just didn’t have a very good plan for implementing them.”

“So why did you hire him?” I asked, still not completely over my mad.

“I didn’t,” the superintendent said. “The school board did despite my recommendation of another candidate. One of the board members saw something on the Internet about Franks’ theories and thought we should implement them in the district. Things kind of snowballed and they wound up voting to hire the man himself. Those who voted for him will be facing stiff competition in the next election, if George Patterson has anything to do with it.”

We may not be a small town anymore, I thought, but there sure was a lot of small-town politics going on.

“Yeah, Mr. Patterson is not someone I’d want to get on the wrong side of,” I said. “He’s a rich and powerful man.”

“He mentioned he knows you,” Dr. Stirling said. “How well?”

“I’ve dated his daughter, Staci,” I said. “He’s had ample opportunity to remove me from the scene if he wanted.”

“So that’s why all the cheerleaders know you,” he said. “I kind of wondered about that after the episode with all of you getting detention. Which has been removed from your personal record, by the way.”

“Much to Mrs. Montero’s disapproval,” I said. “She didn’t waste any time in sending me back there. But it’s not like I’m worried about getting into Yale or anything.”

“And just what are your plans?” he asked.

“Still reviewing my options,” I said. “Dad likes to say high school is to prepare you for college, college is to help you learn how to earn a good living. I don’t make this known to many people, but I’m already set. I could drop out right now, go home and sit on the couch for the rest of my life without having to worry.”

“Would you?”

“No, sir,” I said, “because my life would end about two seconds after Mom found out I dropped out. And if she didn’t kill me, I’d die of boredom inside a month. I’m better off here, as crazy as it’s been.”

“But you were ready to leave a few minutes ago,” he said.

“When I thought I was in deep trouble,” I said. “What was I supposed to think when I found you and my parents waiting?”

“I get that there was some miscommunication,” he said. “I was just surprised by your reaction.”

“Coach Tucker let me know after Tuesday’s little incident that I was down to my last chance with him,” I said. “He looked like he was going to tell me to check my gear in when I got called out of athletic period. I figured I could save everybody a lot of time and shouting.”

“I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with your coach,” he said, scribbling something on a note pad. “Are you excited about playing football?”

“I never really wanted to,” I said, “but Coach asked me to come out. He said I could help the program by allowing Scottie Pipkin to spend the season playing quarterback on JV instead of holding for extra points on varsity. I made a commitment to the guys on the team, but there seems to be some people who think it’s their mission in life to get me kicked out before we even play.”

“How strong is your commitment?” he asked.

I simply pointed to my head.

“I could have torpedoed the season the very first day if I’d wanted to,” I said. “Instead, I turned into a team-bonding moment.”

“How so?”

I explained about Marshawn buzzing a couple of strips out of my hair, Coach Tucker’s threat to boot anyone involved in hazing off the team and my claim that everyone was getting shorn in support of Sherry Parker.

“It was definitely hazing,” I said, “but it wasn’t mean-spirited in my opinion. If it had been someone else, I’d have been laughing right along with the rest of them. I figured a bald head was a small price to pay to avoid having a winless season. It just turned out there are 86 bald heads.”

“And that also contributed to some of your troubles with Dr. Franks, I believe,” Dr. Stirling said.

“He gave me grief about ‘unusual hairstyles that draw undue attention and detract from the educational process’ when I was trying to get the parking permit, which he personally denied,” I said. “Then he called me out of athletic period because one of the teachers made a comment about skinheads invading the school. I don’t think he liked my reaction.”

“Which was?”

“I told him it was not a political statement,” I said. “He must have spent most of that morning looking for an excuse to bust me. The cheerleaders gave him one when they started kissing all the football players on the head.”

“That pretty much squares with everything I’ve been told,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to get out of the punishment. There is an appeals process in the student handbook.”

“I doubt it would have done any good,” I said. “I still would have been in a buttload of trouble at home, even with Dad witnessing what happened in the office and Coach Tucker defending us later that morning in athletics. It just seemed easier to get it over with and deal with the fallout. I just didn’t realize there would still be fallout a week later.”

“Well, it’s all behind us now,” he said. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, eh? What say we go get some lunch? My treat. I understand you never got to enjoy the meal you charged Tuesday. This seems like the easiest way to even things out.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Let me swing by my locker and we can head that way.”

Dr. Stirling rose from the desk and grabbed his suit jacket off the back. I didn’t realize just how tall he was while he was seated. He must have gone at least 6-8. I guess Elise came by her height honestly.

“So,” he said as we headed out the door, “you think my daughter’s pretty?”

The gleam in Dr. Stirling’s eye seemed to indicate he enjoyed yanking my chain almost as much as George Patterson. I waited until we were out of the main office and in the hallway to answer. Fewer ears to overhear.

“Speaking as someone who has done some modeling, your daughter is quite pretty,” I said. “At least the equal of the ladies I’ve worked with. Her facial dimensions look to be almost ideal. With her height and slender build, I could easily see her walking a runway.”

The golden ratio of facial dimensions had been explained to me by a makeup artist during my first gig in California. It was all based on the mathematical ratio of 1:1.618. The distance from the top of the nose to the center of the lips should be 1.618 times the distance from the center of the lips to the chin. The hairline to the upper eyelid should be 1.618 times the length from the top of the eyebrow to the lower eyelid. There were other things involving eyebrows and hairlines, but it all came back to that ratio.

They actually had computer programs to measure this. All that was needed was a digital photograph and the right software. It made weeding out the wannabes from the possibles much easier, but it didn’t account for those who had that certain something that overcame slight imperfections.

Way back when, some Greek sculptor had figured it all out and made sure all his sculptures followed this formula. I didn’t pretend to understand it. It sounded tougher than Algebra II.

I wasn’t sure, but I felt like the makeup artist might have been hitting on me. He said my face was almost a perfect fit.

“Are you saying my daughter should be a model?” Dr. Stirling asked as he followed me to my locker.

“No, sir,” I said. “I doubt she’d want to give up her sports and I wouldn’t recommend it unless she was willing to totally commit. I’ve run into some rather unscrupulous people in the industry. But she has all the tools.”

We reached my locker and I quickly swapped out books from my morning classes for those for the afternoon. We were headed back past the main office when the bell rang for D lunch. Mrs. Montero was out in the hall acting as traffic cop when we passed. She gave me a rather sour look.

Dr. Stirling noticed.

“I take it she’s not one of your fans,” he said once we turned toward the cafeteria.

“She told me I wouldn’t be able to use my influence to get rid of her like I did Dr. Franks,” I said. “She didn’t like my attitude when I told her I had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t have reported to ISS if I had that kind of juice around here.”

“Well, just keep your nose clean,” he said. “She’s been put in a rather difficult position, but she’s doing the best she can. You didn’t hear this from me, but she’ll be eligible for retirement this year and I expect she’ll take it. We’re trying to figure out just how to cover all the principal’s duties. I’ll probably spend as much time here as I do at the Admin Building trying to help her out, but I don’t want her to think I’ll be looking over her shoulder every step of the way. I don’t have time to micromanage like that.”

When we reached the cafeteria, the line extended well outside the door. One of the benefits of athletic period was that most students were served by the time the football players showed up. We usually didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes to go through the line.

Dr. Stirling kept the conversation safe as we moved forward in line. How was football going? So far, so good. What did I think of the team’s prospects? Based on all the preseason stuff I’d seen, a district title and the third round of the playoffs was the minimum expectation. Did I really hit a hole-in-one to win a convertible? I showed him the video clip that I’d downloaded to my phone.

“That was one God-awful shot,” he snickered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the hole moved to catch your ball.”

“You should have heard what the real golfers had to say,” I said. “I don’t think Dr. Ensberry will ever forgive me for getting an ace before he did.”

OK, so that was hardly the only thing Dr. Ensberry would probably never forgive me for. Not even near the top of the list, to be honest.

We reached the serving line and I decided to go for the hot lunch. They were serving Beef Stroganoff. Not as fancy as Mom or Grandma would make, but still tasty.

I got my serving placed on a tray and waited for Dr. Stirling. He pulled rank and got an extra ice cream bar for dessert.

“I don’t know why, but I like these better than anything you can get in the stores,” he said as he paid for our meals. “I keep trying to convince our food service manager to slip me a box whenever we get a delivery. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give her a raise to get it done.”

I led the superintendent to our regular table, which was being vacated by the juniors from C lunch. I was pretty sure the arrival of the big cheese and the most notorious troublemaker in school was merely coincidental.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the football players came in. I noticed Jed still had his crutches, but wasn’t really using them. That didn’t stop him from letting one of the cheerleaders carry his tray for him. And people claimed I was a horndog.

A few of the guys decided to sit at other tables today for some reason. That spared me from having to put up with Chuck’s jokes about how the sour cream for the Stroganoff was obtained. He always pronounced it “Beef Strokin’ Off.”

Morgan gave me a questioning look as she sat beside me. I could tell she was just dying to ask what was going on. A couple of the guys were almost as bad.