Chapter 16: Tuesday, Aug. 28

I swear to God, I’m going to shoot the fucking son of a bitch who keeps setting my fucking alarm this fucking early in the fucking morning.

OK, may be not since that would mean shooting myself. But there will certainly be a harshly worded protest.

I dragged myself out of bed and hit the bathroom, then dressed in workout clothes and packed some school clothes in my gym bag. I’d rather keep my football gear fresh for this afternoon, but that meant doing my own laundry at home. Maybe I could take it to the apartment and let Marie do it.

Making sure all my schoolwork was in the backpack, I loaded up and headed for the kitchen. The microwave clock showed 5:17. Fuck! I forgot to reset my alarm for 6 a.m. No wonder Kacie hadn’t been in the bathroom. At least I didn’t have to worry about being late.

I scrounged a couple of cups of yogurt and a banana for breakfast. That would have to hold me until lunch. I hoped the Familia Benavidez meal I’d had yesterday would carry over for a few more hours.

Leaving a note for Mom on the kitchen table even though I’d told her of my plans last night, I made sure I had everything I’d need for the day and headed out by 5:45. Sunrise was still more than an hour away, but there should be enough daylight to get started by the time I reached the fieldhouse.

I pulled into the parking lot right at 6 o’clock. Rather than wait for the fieldhouse to open, I locked everything but my phone and keys in the trunk and went straight to the field to get started. I spent about 15 minutes stretching and loosening up, during which the light grew bright enough to see the stripes, and began running gassers.

I maintained a good pace and had 20 down before the first coaches came out of the locker room. A couple looked at me curiously as I continued running, but none said anything to me.

As I expected, Darius and Jerome showed up just before the freshman practice started and joined in. Neither said a word, but I had a pretty good idea that any apology would really mean they were sorry they were getting punished.

One of the freshman coaches did order us to move outside the sideline to stay out of their way, but I think we were about to do that anyway.

I hit 50 and was still feeling OK, so I kept going. The weather was still relatively cool and the more I got done now, the less I’d have to do before Thursday.

At 70, I decided to shut it down. The sun was beating down, the temperature was already touching 90 and I was drenched in sweat. A cool shower was going to feel soooo good.

“How you do that?” Darius gasped as we passed each other.

“Do what?” I replied.

“Just keep going like that,” he said. “You like one o’ them bunnies in the battery commercials.”

“Never really thought about it,” I said. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to. I just do what has to be done.”

I left them to carry on with their running and headed inside. My phone showed it wasn’t yet 7:30. If I hurried, I could hit the cafeteria for a little more breakfast and still make first period before the tardy bell.

“How many you get, Robinson?” Coach Tucker asked as I passed him.

“Seventy, sir,” I answered. “I plan to do some more after practice if I don’t have too much homework. At worst, I’ll finish tomorrow morning.”

“You know Coach Wilson is going to be all over you to run track this spring,” he said.

“He’s already mentioned it,” I said. “He said he’d talk to me in February before the season starts.”

“Well, get your shower and don’t be late to class,” Coach said. “I’d better make sure those other two are keeping an accurate count.”

First, I went to the car to get my things out of the trunk. I was right about the shower. It felt great.

There was still 20 minutes until the first bell after I got dressed, so I swung by the cafeteria. Their breakfast burritos weren’t anywhere near as good as Tia Connie’s, but one would get me through the morning.

The first bell rang as I stuffed the last bite in. I’d have to wait until after first period to go to my locker, but I was in my seat in Mr. Cochran’s room before the tardy bell.

The morning classes went the same as the day before with assignments handed in and discussed, then more being given. There would be tests at the end of the week, but nothing to worry about.

Athletic period was rather hurried. After doing our lower-body lifting, we watched video from the scrimmage and Monday’s practice in our position groups and began going over the game plan.

Coach Wilson let me know that I probably wouldn’t see time on offense this week because my scout team duties kept me from practicing with the receivers, but I was still supposed to know the game plan just in case. Coach Ramirez went over all the special teams stuff, picking out which fakes to work on should the need arise.

Morgan caught up to me as we headed for lunch.

“I thought I ought to let you know you aren’t listed on the depth chart at receiver this week,” she said after we greeted each other. “It’s not because of what happened last night is it?”

“I thought you weren’t getting that until tomorrow,” I said.

“Coach Tucker had it up on his computer when I delivered some papers to him,” she said. “I kinda snuck a peek. So?”

“I think it’s more because I’m working with the scout team this week instead of the receivers,” I said. “Coach Wilson already told me they weren’t planning to use me on offense. Not that I’d see much time anyway. It’ll be a surprise if I ever do anything more than hold for kicks.”

Looking around to make sure we had some privacy, I asked Morgan if she’d be available to go for ice cream Wednesday night.

“I should if there’s not too much homework,” she said. “Any special reason?”

“I want to get all of you together to go over a couple of things that have come up,” I said. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” she grinned. “Will 7:30 be OK?”

“Let me check with the other girls first,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll all need to be home by 9 or so.”

We got in line for the hot plate. I felt I was tempting fate going for meatloaf again, but I was hungry and that was the most filling offering.

Our regular table was almost empty when we got there and quickly filled up with football players. Jed was actually carrying his own tray today.

“Dude, you shoulda told me you were gonna go all medieval on the defense yesterday,” he said as he sat across from me. “I woulda paid money to see that.”

“It was something of a spur-of-the-moment decision,” I said before shoveling in a forkful. “There wasn’t time to send out invitations.”

“Bet he won’t try that again,” Marshawn said as he joined us. “You really would get jacked up then.”

“Just remember what the red vest means and it won’t be necessary,” I said after swallowing. “Next time, I go for knees.”

Marshawn just stared at me like he was trying to decide if I was serious.

“Man, you crazy,” he finally said.

“Keep that in mind, Marshawn,” I said, hefting another forkful. “Probably ought to tell your buddies on the defense just in case.”

“Boys, can we save the penis measuring until later?” Morgan snapped as I took my second bite. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Oooh, penis measuring,” Kelli Thornton said excitedly as she squeezed in between two linemen. “Can I help?”

“Not right now,” I told the head cheerleader.

“Later, then,” she giggled.

“I’ll be happy to help you practice for the main event,” Chuck Edwards chimed in with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I bet you would,” Kelli cooed.

I managed to take a couple more bites during the exchange before I was saved from further hilarity by, of all people, Jenny Evans, the girl I took to prom.

“Gary, can we talk?” she asked nervously.

“Promise not to slap me?” I asked, trying to swallow another bite.

“C’mon,” she whined. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” I said. “I got detention for Holly Moseley slapping me last week. I don’t need to go through that again.”

“That’s part of why I want to talk,” she said. “Can we go outside?”

I looked at Morgan, who gave just the slightest nod.

“OK,” I said, “but we need to be quick about it. The bell will ring in just a few minutes.”

I left my tray on the table, hoping I’d be able to return in time to consume the last few bites. The meatloaf was pretty good. Maybe one of these days I’d actually get to enjoy it.

I followed Jenny to the courtyard and joined her at an unoccupied picnic table away from the few people eating outside. The midday heat made the effectiveness of the air conditioning inside that much more noticeable.

“I want to apologize for the way I treated you last spring,” Jenny began.

“I wasn’t aware you treated me so badly an apology was necessary,” I said.

“When Holly started talking about you, I could have said something,” she said. “I didn’t and it’s been gnawing at me ever since. I should have shown some moral courage.”

“Well, I didn’t even know she’d said anything until after school was out for the summer,” I said. “I’d already asked Morgan out before that, so it’s not like she did me any lasting harm.”

“But it was part of why I wouldn’t go out with you after prom,” Jenny said. “I was afraid to.”

“Why?” I asked. “I didn’t think I did anything to offend you or scare you off.”

Jenny held up her left hand. The fourth finger had a little silver band on it.

“You got married?” I gasped. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“It’s a purity ring,” she said as if explaining something to a slow child. “I took a pledge freshman year to remain a virgin until marriage.”

That was no big surprise, really. Lots of churches around here had programs like that and Jenny’s family were heavily involved in their church. Some might even consider them Holy Rollers or Bible Thumpers. I was surprised her parents let her go out with me, to be honest.

“I can understand that,” I said. “And I respect your decision. But what does that have to do with not wanting to go out with me?”

“That’s the problem,” Jenny said. “I wanted to, but I don’t think I would have been strong enough to say no if we started doing anything. Prom night scared me. I was ovulating. I’m pretty sure I’d have gotten pregnant if you’d tried a little harder.”

“I wasn’t trying to get you to have sex,” I said. “I was willing to accept whatever limits you set. I never even tried to cop a feel.”

“But I wanted you to,” she said, blushing furiously. “I wanted you to try a lot of things after I figured out Holly was lying about you.”

“What made you think she was lying?” I asked.

“I felt you when we were slow dancing,” she whispered, her blush intensifying. “It’s not little like she was saying. It was all I could think about the rest of the night. And many nights since. Your poster just confirmed it.”

Huh. And here I thought I’d done a good job of not pressing up against Jenny when we danced.

“So why tell me now?” I asked. “It’s been four, nearly five months since prom.”

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop if we met up over the summer,” she said. “There’s just something about you that makes me want to go too far. If I ever kissed you again ... you’re a really good kisser.”

Damn if this girl wasn’t turning herself on just sitting here. At least she wouldn’t do anything in a public place. I hoped.

“But now there’s all this talk about you and other girls,” she continued. “I’ve heard about the things you’ve done with Bethany Metzger. I think it’s disgusting anyone could even think of those things, let alone actually enjoy them. It’s unnatural and against God’s law.”

I don’t know what she’d heard, but it hadn’t been from me. Looks like I’d better have a serious talk with the little blonde about things best kept private.

“Just so you know, I’ve never treated any of the girls I’ve gone out with this summer any differently than I treated you,” I said. “I’ve never forced anyone to do anything, especially something they didn’t want.”

I think Jenny’s disgust reached a new level at the thought a woman might actually enjoy “unnatural acts.” At the same time, her arousal also increased, based on the scent in the air and the way her nostrils flared.

“I’d better get going,” I said. “It’s almost time for the bell. Thanks for talking to me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” Jenny said as I stood to go.

“I appreciate that,” I said. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“And you’re going to need it, mister,” Mrs. Montero said from behind me.

I turned to find our interim principal and superintendent behind me. He was smiling. She wasn’t.

“What’s this about a penis-measuring contest in the cafeteria?” Mrs. Montero demanded.

Good Lord. She really couldn’t believe we’d actually whip ‘em out and compare size, let alone do it in public. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes as Jenny made a hasty exit.

“There was no such thing,” I said, meeting her frosty stare with one of my own. “At least not involving me, but I’ve been out here for the last 10 minutes. There’s no telling what the rest of those clowns got up to. Why, what did you hear?”

“That you and Marshawn Taylor were engaging in such activity,” she said, “and that our head cheerleader was disappointed to miss it.”

“Ma’am, it’s a metaphor. What Marshawn and I were engaged in was a discussion concerning something that happened during practice yesterday,” I said. “He’s the alpha who was attempting to assert his dominance. I held my ground. In polite language, it could be referred to as ‘penis measuring,’ but neither one of us used the term.”

I thought Dr. Stirling was going to bust a gut trying to keep from laughing. Mrs. Montero was not anywhere as amused. The superintendent finally interrupted our staredown.

“See Ines, nothing to be alarmed about,” he said once he got himself under control. “It happens all the time in sports. Basic psychology, really, just establishing the pecking order.”

“He’d better learn who’s at the top of the order around here,” Mrs. Montero snapped. “He’s been in the middle of entirely too many incidents already this year.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Dr. Stirling said. “You can carry on with your duties.”

He looked like he was still suppressing a laugh as she stormed off.

“Thanks for the help, sir,” I said when she was out of earshot. “I really don’t want to have to register as a sex offender because she failed to grasp the concept.”

“I really shouldn’t have let it reach this point, but Mrs. Montero was convinced boys were exposing themselves in the lunchroom,” he said. “You handled yourself pretty well.”

“I’ve had way too much practice lately,” I said.

“So, tell me about this something that happened at practice,” he said in a tone that indicated he was at least aware of the incident.

I explained about running scout team quarterback, getting hit despite wearing the red vest, my reprisal and Coach Tucker’s response. The bell for fifth period rang just then and Morgan brought me my backpack, giving me a look that indicated we would talk later. Maybe next week I could have lunch on Tuesday without something crazy happening.

“Don’t worry about being tardy,” Dr. Stirling said as Morgan went to her class. “I’ll vouch for you. Believe me, you aren’t the first guy to send a message to a teammate who was being a little overzealous.”

“Oh?” I asked, sensing a story.

“My freshman year in college,” he said as he started walking me toward the East Wing. “We had a returning all-conference forward who thought I was cutting into his minutes. He tried to assert his dominance, as you put it. Nothing overt, an elbow to the ribs when I’d go up for a rebound, rabbit punches to the kidneys when I posted up. I put up with it until I passed blood in my urine.”

“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious as we moved along.

“He wasn’t the only one with sharp elbows,” Dr. Stirling said with an evil grin. “Loosened a few teeth, then caught ‘im a good one on the cheekbone. Took six stitches to close the gash. Didn’t have much trouble after that.”

“How’d your coach react?” I asked.

“About like Coach Tucker did with you,” he said. “But after the end of the season, he told me that the whole thing showed him he could put me in a game without worrying about whether I could take care of myself. I wound up playing the most minutes of any nonstarter.”

We reached Mr. Henderson’s room just as the tardy bell rang. Dr. Stirling let the teacher know that he was responsible for my late arrival, then got in a good one on me. At least he didn’t use his elbows.

“Next time you decide to visit my daughter when I’m not home, Mrs. Montero will be the least of your troubles,” he said sternly. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said meekly, turning red as I tried not to laugh at the little wink he threw in at the end.

Mr. Henderson waited until the superintendent was headed down the hall to get in his own shot.

“Take your seat, Robinson,” he said. “Though I have to wonder if you belong in this class if you’re stupid enough to get on the wrong side of Dr. Stirling.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, pretty sure that the rumor mill would be going into overload this afternoon. Between the interim principal and the superintendent, I could only imagine what I’d be accused of next.

It barely even took an hour. Elise Stirling came up to me as soon as she entered Mr. Debussy’s room for Chemistry.

“What did Daddy say to you?” she demanded.

“That I shouldn’t visit you when he’s not home,” I said, wondering if Dr. Stirling was intentionally giving me an out with his daughter or just camouflaging the depth of his involvement in keeping me out of trouble.

Elise got a stormy look on her face as she processed the information.

“You’re taking notes for me Thursday and Friday,” she commanded. “I’ll deal with Dr. Stirling.”

That should be interesting. Would she go in as the fierce Valkyrie deciding who would die in battle or as Daddy’s Little Girl sweetly wrapping him around her finger? I wouldn’t want to bet against either approach.

The rest of the class went without incident and Creative Writing was blessedly uneventful. I don’t know who I pissed off that was making my Tuesdays so full of drama, but I was glad they didn’t seem to have any control over the other days of the week.

The final bell set off another mad dash for the fieldhouse. I’d made sure I had everything I’d need for homework before seventh period and was in the locker room with plenty of time to change and get taped.

The fates must have been having one hell of a laugh today. Stephanie Tucker taped me up for the first time since I learned she was Coach Tucker’s daughter. She was all business, though, and I made sure I was nowhere near her ears when I thanked her and hopped off the table.

Practice seemed normal at the start, but I expected that to change when the scout team started working against the starters. Coach Wilson made sure to cover the key points of the offensive game plan with me during the segment I spent with the receivers. I’d need to get with the other receivers during tomorrow’s athletic period to go over everything. We’d be tested on it Thursday.

The time finally came for the scout team to do its part. Today would be different in that we’d be running a lot more plays than just the option, and the defense wouldn’t have the benefit of being told which direction we were going beforehand.

We started with a few basic dives and the like, working back and forth along the line. The defense minded its manners where I was concerned, but then I hadn’t attempted to keep yet.

The second time through, the defense lined up perfectly to stuff our called play, but that meant there would be something open on the opposite side. It only took me a second of looking things over to see where it would be.

“Riverside! Riverside!” I called out, receiving acknowledgment from the back and wings. “Ready go!”

The gap opened like I knew it would. The back probably would have scored in a game, but the play was blown dead before he got 15 yards downfield.

“What kind of junior high crap was that?” Coach Miller, the secondary coach, shouted.

It took me a second to realize he was shouting at me instead of the defense. Coach Miller was the guy I’d upset by taking a physical for football at the end of July instead of in May like everyone else. That was compounded by having to ask directions to Coach Tucker’s office in the fieldhouse. Then there was the first day of practice, when he’d refused to tape my ankles because I didn’t know I was supposed to shave my legs. Looks like I’d done something else to earn his ire.

“Just following orders, Coach,” I said.

“Who’s orders?” he demanded, reinforcing my opinion of him as something of a dick.

“Mine,” Coach McEntire said from behind me. “Huddle up, Robinson.”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” I said.

I headed back to the huddle as Coach McEntire continued exchanging pleasantries with Coach Miller. I noticed Grandpa’s Cadillac passing by on the street south of the field. He tooted his horn and waved out the open window before he turned left toward the parking lot entrance. His radio was blaring classic country. I couldn’t help but sing along, but quietly lest anyone think I really was crazy.

It wasn’t God who made honkytonk angels

As you said in the words of your song

Too many times married men think they’re still single

That has caused many a good girl to go wrong

“Who died and made you Don Meredith?” Coach McEntire asked as he caught up.

“Who’s Don Meredith?” one of the sophomores asked.

“Jeff and Hazel’s baby boy,” I answered. “Two-time All-American quarterback at SMU, almost got the Dallas Cowboys to the Super Bowl in the ‘60s. Spent some time broadcasting Monday Night Football. Had a habit of singing honkytonk songs in the huddle.”

“And just how do you know that?” Coach McEntire asked. “That was way before your time.”

“He was my grandfather’s favorite player,” I said. “Grandpa said he always wanted to be Dandy Don when he grew up, but then he realized growing up would make him too mature to do all the stuff Meredith did.”

Coach McEntire snorted at that and gave us the next play. The scout team seemed to enjoy gashing the starting defense because one of the wings got around the edge on a toss sweep. The defensive coaches started chewing butts before the play was even whistled dead.

The segment ended with the defense still being castigated for looking more like a scout team than the scout team. Coach McEntire was fighting back a smile as we got a drink and regrouped for the next segment.

“Hey, Robinson, you know any other songs?” he asked in the huddle.

“A few,” I said. “Why?”

“I have a cunning plan,” he smirked. “Instead of calling riverside, just start calling song lyrics. That oughta confuse the heck outta them.”

“Sounds devious,” I grinned. “I like it!”

“OK, everybody understand?” Coach asked the rest of the huddle, getting a mix of nods, uh-huhs and yessirs in reply.

We ran a couple of plays before we had an opportunity to employ the strategy.

“Whiskey River take my mind, don’t let her mem’ry torture me,” I called out. “Whiskey River don’t run dry, you’re all I’ve got readygo!”

The play achieved moderate success, gaining about four yards, which would be acceptable to the Bearcats if they could do that every snap. The reaction from the defense was rather critical of my musical selection.