Chapter 68: A Little Bit Distracted

“Daddy’s home!” Carmen shouted from her seat on the living room floor. She was watching some TV show aimed at preteens.

“Hi,” Raymond answered and dropped his briefcase on his chair. “Is your brother home yet?”

Carmen didn’t bother turning around or pulling any of her attention from the TV. “Yep. He just got here a few minutes ago.” She quickly added, “Mom said dinner’s ready in about half an hour.”

“Okay.”

Raymond was getting ready to yell for Tim, but with a glance at his daughter, he decided against it. He picked up his briefcase again and stopped by his bedroom. There, he dumped the suitcase on the bed and minded himself to pick it up later before his wife saw him using the bed for ‘his junk,’ as she put it. She had him trained, and he didn’t care.

Walking down the hall toward Tim’s bedroom, Raymond quickly glanced in the bathroom, but no one was there. He passed Carmen’s door and saw it open, and that room was also unoccupied.

At the kitchen, he stopped and leaned in. “Hi, honey, you got a minute?”

Juanita thumbed through a cookbook, smiled at her husband, and glanced at the timer on the counter. “Yep! What’s up?” she asked as she replaced a book marker in the cookbook, closed it, and put it back in the little book rack on the counter.

“Something kinda important, but we need to talk to your son,” Raymond explained and backed out of the kitchen with his wife in tow.

Raymond knocked on Tim’s bedroom door, and muffled permission to enter was given. Raymond opened the door and then stepped aside for Juanita to join him. Once both were in, he closed the door and leaned his back against it.

Tim noticed both parents enter, so he turned off the game footage of the Madison Mavericks from a couple of games earlier in the season. The Madison Mavericks were the only other team to go undefeated in the city so far this season. To get to the playoffs, the Rough Riders would have to beat the Mavericks in the last regular season football game.

The football rankings for Texas high school football have become, in a word, convoluted. The districts are generally divided by location and enrollment. Roosevelt and Madison are in District 28-6A with seven other area high schools. Even though Judson is only a few miles down the road, their teams play in District 27-6A. Within a district, the team with the best record in district play at the end of the season and higher overall class enrollment wins a Division 1 playoff spot.

The following two placed schools in the district then earn one of two to compete in the Division II playoff bracket. The two divisions will not play each other for an overall state championship. So at the end of the year, you have a 6A Division I State Champion and a 6A Division II state champion.

Due to its smaller overall lower class enrollment, if their team could beat Madison, Roosevelt would be in the Class 6A Division II playoff, competing for that state championship.

So far this football season, Madison was undefeated in all their games, including the District 28-6A games. With an overall student enrollment of just over 400 more students, they will represent District 28-6A in Division I. They are already assured of this position since even if they lose to Roosevelt in the last game of the year, they have the same record and a larger enrollment. They will not have to worry about beating the upstart Rough Riders to win a state championship.

“Ruh Roh! Am I in trouble?” Tim joked but kept quiet when his father didn’t even smile at the bad Scooby-Doo impersonation. Tim’s mom just looked at her husband, her face mirroring Tim’s confusion.

“Did something happen at your school over the weekend?”

“Yeah. Apparently, there was a murder, and the gangs wrote graffiti all over the walls. They were repainting all day. Personally, I’m hoping the paint dries before tomorrow,” Tim answered.

“Someone was murdered? Did you know this person,” Juanita was now much more involved in the conversation.

“Well, yeah. I met the guy a couple of times, but I didn’t know him personally.”

“Who was it?” Raymond challenged.

“That gang leader. Um, ‘A-Train’ was his gang name.”

“Those guys in the Spurs jerseys?”

Tim nodded.

“Do you think we should be worried?” Raymond inquired.

Juanita was shocked. “Worried? Why the hell would we need to be worried about some gang kids getting killed?” Juanita quickly turned her intense gaze to her son. “You aren’t messing with gangs or anything, are you?”

“Hell no, mom,” Tim exclaimed but quickly remembered who else was in his bedroom. “Sorry. Pardon my French,” he grumbled but continued, “I stay completely away from any of those guys. They introduced themselves to me! Remember the painting of the car? That was them, but they said they didn’t know it was me in the car. They explained to me it was like a gang initiation or something. The guy who I had a little problem with was ordered to stay away from...”

Tim paused in thought and looked up at his dad. “A-Train ordered Tommy to stay away from me. Now that A-Train’s dead, we might have to be a little worried,” Tim admitted.

Raymond grabbed hold of Juanita before she could bolt out of the room to lock the doors and pile mattresses on top of her family while they waited out the perceived ferocious storm of gang warfare in the hallway closet.

“I haven’t had any trouble from them since all that stupid stuff happened. I haven’t even seen any members of the Darq Squad walking the halls since then,” Tim explained. “Rumor had it, A-Train put out the word to stay far away from me. Johnnie said it’s probably because he was making money by betting on us to win. Rumor had it, A-Train was holding a bet slip with a large wager for us to win state by a large margin, and he didn’t want anybody messing with his money. Johnnie said that was probably the only thing A-Train really ever cared anything about.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. “I think your friend Johnnie is right. We’ll go ahead and get that security system I was thinking about. That should help,” Raymond said. He turned to his wife. “You go back to the shooting range and get used to it again.” She nodded her understanding.

Tim exclaimed, “Back?”

Neither parent answered his question, though, and his father continued with his decisions, “For now, that’s all we can do. We’ll tell your sister during dinner, and Juana, try not to make it sound like gangsters are waiting under the beds.” Before she could complain, he leaned in and kissed her to take the sting out of his comment. They were both smiling when they separated.

“Ooh, ick! Aren’t you two too old for that stuff yet?” Tim jokingly cried out and gestured by crisscrossing his two first fingers in a makeshift cross and pointing it at his parents. Juanita stuck her tongue out at her oldest, and the two adults exited the room. Tim could hear Carmen laughing at the TV.

“You can announce it during dinner since you worried about how I’ll do it.” She playfully poked her husband in the stomach as they both turned into the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready! Tim! Carmen! Please set the table!”

Tim decided his mother was probably a better actor than he thought since he didn’t hear any nervousness from her announcement. He was about to reopen his laptop to continue watching the game film when he heard the bathroom faucet turn on. His sister was washing up for dinner, which sounded like a good idea.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get ready to deal with the Madison Mavericks!” Head Coach ‘Big John’ Fontana was in what looked like an excellent mood beginning Tuesday’s afternoon practice, with the team slowly lining up for calisthenics.

Few answers could be gathered by listening to the rumor mill about what happened over the weekend. The lack of Darq Squad members in school this week seemed to fuel even more rumors. By Tuesday, there were still no members of the Darq Squad anywhere on campus. The administration just appreciated that the newly-painted, and now mostly dried walls throughout the school, were undisturbed.

The confirmation of a dead body on campus brought a swarm of the local media on Tuesday morning, but the school administration instantly got them all under control. No comment was given, and the press was ordered to stay away from students and to leave campus immediately.

During the season, the football team considered Tuesdays the most demanding day of the week. The players knew that afternoon practice would be tough, and their teachers would have little to no empathy for the team’s time crunch. Thus, there would be no reprieve from homework on Tuesday.

“Yeah, so my parents decided to get a security system for the house. It’s supposed to go in, like, this weekend. They didn’t tell me what they were getting,” Tim explained to Johnnie and the others in his immediate area as the teams began their warm-up exercises for afternoon practice.

“Well, hopefully, you hid your porn so no one would find it,” Johnnie advised before starting jumping jacks.

“Not a problem. All my top-shelf shit is in the cloud!” Several others within hearing distance started laughing at the banter, suddenly earning the ire of the head coach. That also appeared to end his good mood.

“Well, goddammit! It sounds to me like Mr. Murphy and Mr. Boynes here wanna start practice with some laps around the track to get started, and I think that is a hell of a good idea,” Coach Fontana yelled aloud to the team. He emphasized his idea with three blasts from his whistle. “Let’s go! Indian miles by positions ... move it!”

Another three “phreeeeeeeets” and a few moans later saw the Varsity and Junior Varsity teams separating themselves around the track surrounding the main football field. The running backs, wide receivers, and defensive backs took off single-file at a jogging pace so the person in the rear of the line could sprint beside the line of other players to rejoin at the front of the line. This routine would continue with whoever was bringing up the rear sprinting to the front until a coach blew his whistle.

The more stocky members of the teams from the offensive and defensive lines and the linebackers did the same thing as a separate group. Otherwise, the number of players would make it damn near impossible for the rear sprinter to reach the front of the line without running out of gas. The linemen ran around the track in the opposite direction of the first group.

Typically, the coaches would call an end to the Indian miles at around two laps around the track with the three whistles. The team would then finish off the last bit of the run and join the coaches under some shade. While the calendar read the last week of October, the dog days of summer were keeping a solid grip on the heat, especially during the hottest part of the day.

“Okay, ladies, take a knee in the shade. No plain sitting on your ass, Big G!”

“Aw, come on, Coach, I’m innocent. I ain’t even got there yet,” the rotund offensive lineman bellowed from twenty yards away.

Coach smiled because Big G was still jogging. It was a marked improvement from the beginning of summer two-a-day practices. Coach waited while Big G took a knee with the other offensive linemen before starting in, “I have an announcement I need to make. I was in a good mood before a couple of Chatty Cathies cost us some of our precious practice time. Earlier this afternoon, I got off the phone with the UIL, and we have officially made the playoffs.”

The team’s spirits soared with this great piece of news. The playoffs were a pipe dream for most varsity members due primarily to their previous seasons.

Coach Fontana and the other coaches enjoyed the team’s celebration. It took a few minutes before the captains finally noticed the coach had something else to say to the team. “Come on, ladies, we can celebrate later,” the starting quarterback and offensive captain issued but was quickly cut off.

“Yeah, like after we win state,” Frank Robinson, the starting middle linebacker and defensive captain, cheered with the team.

Coach Fontana finally stepped forward to regain the team’s attention. “That’s a wonderful sentiment, but wouldn’t you all like to know who you are playing in the first round of the playoffs?” Coach demanded, and everyone quickly got themselves and their neighbor under control. “Our first opponent for the playoffs will be the Warren Warriors.”

The attitude change was palpable. The temperature on the practice field rose at least ten degrees from the anger pouring off each player. They all remembered back to the game where they were soundly defeated by a better-playing football team and then humiliated by constant verbal thrashing and racist taunts from several different Warren Warriors.

“I know you guys have some feelings about that particular team...” Big John explained and was interrupted.

“No shit!” Big John’s son and offensive coordinator for the varsity grumbled before slapping a hand over his mouth. His face turned bright red from embarrassment — quite a feat for his deep Texas tan.

Yet Big John just went with the flow. “Exactly my sentiment, but not my vocabulary,” he countered. There were snickers and grins from the rest of the coaching staff, but they could keep their countenance. “I might have to talk with your mother about that mouth, son.” The comedic delivery from Big John was one the coaching staff had often heard behind closed doors.

Greg recognized it and continued the joking.

“Yes, sir, but I’m pretty sure I learned it from her.”

Now the players were also snickering and grinning. The bitterness about the game against the Warriors was almost forgotten.

“Okay, fellas,” Big John refocused their attention on him. “Warren Warriors. Now, I know several of you are already looking forward to getting some sort of payback, but let me nip any of those kinda ideas right in the bud. No extracurricular mess is needed. I see someone trying it, and you are out of the game, and the next one,” Big John exclaimed, “I’d imagine the best way to get back at these little boys from Warren high is...” Big John offered to the team.

While he spoke, the coach looked each player in the half-circle around him in the eye, pausing at the two captains kneeling beside each other. They both noticed what he was doing. They both jumped up and shouted in unison, “Knock ‘em out of the playoffs!”

The agreeing roar was thunderous. Big John smiled, blew his signature triple-whistle, and ordered the players to their positions for practice.

The focus of the players was intense. If someone made a mistake, the other players admonished or encouraged them, depending on the error. The coaches, to a man, failed to keep grins off their faces. They were not running the practice. They simply pointed out to the players what they needed to work on, then stood back as the older players and the two captains ran the practice. The coaches were there only to supervise and answer any group questions. “Good,” “Do it again to see you understand it,” and “Perfect! Next play,” were phrases the coaching staff used all practice long.

Jeff Smith honked the horn of his sweet Pontiac GTO at Tim and pulled away from the curb in front of Tim’s house. Everyone called it the best practice they’d ever had, and that was the topic for the car ride.

With his backpack swung over one shoulder, Tim waved goodbye to his friend, strolled up the sidewalk to the front door, and noticed his father’s car in the driveway. It was a rare occasion when his father could beat Tim home after work. “I’m home!”

Tim’s mother, sister, and father all returned greetings from the kitchen or dining room. Tim slowed down in the hall doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey, Tim, come on, dinner is almost ready,” Juanita reported.

Tim nodded his head and continued to his room. There, he opened his bedroom door and absentmindedly blew a kiss to the Cindy Crawford poster on his wall, but there was something different. Tim quickly realized there were two posters on the wall, and they looked almost the same. The first was his regular Cindy Crawford poster with her in tight blue jean shorts, topless, with her arms crossed and covering her chest, and Cindy seductively looking over her left shoulder at the camera.

On the right side of the poster was a second, near mirror-image poster. It took a moment, but Tim finally put a name to the face on the new poster. It was Cindy’s daughter, Kaia Gerber. She recreated one of her mother’s famous poster poses but in a reverse image. The posters were arranged back-to-back. The effect was striking. Tim didn’t notice he now had company.

“Don’t count me wrong. I understand why you have that poster, but I always found it weird you had a poster of a model who’s like my age,” Tim’s father Raymond joked from the doorway. “So I had some time a couple of weeks ago and ordered the posters for you. They finally got here, and I wanted to surprise you.” Raymond was in the doorway with Tim’s mother shaking her head disapprovingly but with a sneaking smile.

His little sister, Carmen, was jumping up and down with both hands covering her mouth. “Are you surprised?”

“I’m astounded! Thanks, Dad. Thanks, everyone!” Tim finally let his backpack slide off his shoulder and down his arm. The smile on Tim’s face was enormous. “But why, it ain’t my...” Tim paused momentarily, then suddenly he remembered what was so annoying about the day. “It IS my birthday!”

“You mean you forgot?” Tim’s little sister cried in disbelief. “I will never forget my birthday! How could you forget?”

Carmen was on her knees, laughing maniacally while pointing at her big brother. Juanita giggled at her daughter’s antics but tried unsuccessfully to gather in her daughter. Raymond shook his head and looked to the ceiling for answers for both his son and daughter.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Tim repeated several times. “I mean, with everything going on, I didn’t really pay attention to anything else except the next football game,” he explained. “I just can’t believe I forgot about my birthday.”

“I guess the surprise worked then, right, Mom?” Carmen said while catching her breath.

“That’s right, dear. We got him good. He hasn’t even noticed the realness of the present yet.”

That’s when Tim intensified his inspection of the gift on the wall. They both were new. Tim almost hopped onto his desk to get a closer view of the posters when he discovered the difference between his older poster and the new one.

“Are they both signed?” He lightly touched the signature on the bottom of Kaia Gerber’s poster and was able to smudge the ink slightly. Tim automatically yanked his finger back from the poster as if he had just been shocked. Both signatures read, “To Tim, let us know if you win state!” They put their names on each poster.

Tim was about to reach for the signature on the Cindy Crawford poster when his father grabbed his arm. “Nope, not gonna let you do it. That costs too damn much for you to go smearing the ink.”