Chapter 90: Prevaricator and Proper Provocation

Tim spent the entire night wondering how he would bring up the picture of Tommy’s family that he found in the new wallet. It showed that Tommy’s story about needing to support a family was all a lie. Tim went through all the emotions while sitting in his bedroom desk chair and staring at the picture.

“I can’t believe he straight-up lied to me about having a family,” Tim mumbled to the emptiness of his bedroom. “I just whooped his and his boys’ asses right in front of him, and he had the brass balls to still try to con me out of the cash he was supposed to give me.” Tim stewed on that thought for a few moments. “Fuck. He’s diabolical.”

“He is also dangerous with his new position at the head of the Darq Squad. He is now protected on high by the rest of the gang, “ printed across Tim’s eyeline. “We would strongly discourage you from any type of direct assault. A much stronger response would be guaranteed.” The words quickly disappeared. “End of message.”

“Well, one thing is for sure, I don’t think I should do anything about it until I have finished that hand-to-hand combat training I’ve wanted to do since taking the pill,” Tim promised himself and his nanites again.

“Yes. We have completed the initial training class and are ready to begin true training as soon as you are ready.” The message soon faded. “End of message.”

“Yes, I know I said I’d start right after the end of the season, but I think you are correct, and I might need to at least see what you have for me.”

Tim spent the next two hours watching a series of videos the nanites had set aside to illustrate the techniques and practices they had designed for him to use.

“Do you think we could push a lot of these ideas into my normal everyday routines?”

“Of course. We will set up a new routine immediately.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it,” Tim announced to his empty room.

“End of message.”

“Tim, what’s wrong with you?” Donna Jefferies, the tennis-playing journalist of the future, asked as they both finished the daily assignment in the journalism class.

Tim wasn’t paying much attention to anything. His thoughts were definitely elsewhere. “Huh?”

“You haven’t said a thing to anyone all day today. Is there something on your mind?”

“Ooh, the superstar might actually have a problem he needs help with,” Marcie Matthews, the middle child of the Matthews triplets and resident joker of the three, asked from her seat opposite Tim in their Introduction to Journalism class. She comically batted her eyelashes, earning a well-deserved laugh from the table. “Color me interested!”

“Nope, nothing wrong. Just got something on my mind, is all.”

“Oh, are you worried about the game?” Donna asked while leaning forward.

“Nope, not right now anyway,” Tim replied, miming as if looking at a non-existent watch. He tapped his wrist and continued, “But I am now.”

“Seriously. I saw some of what the internet said about Duncanville. Are you worried?” Donna raised her recorder to show she was asking for an article.

Tim nodded in understanding. Their friendship had developed this official signal when Donna was in reporter mode. To help keep their friendship, Tim asked her to make it known they were on the record before she asked a question.

“Nah. No more worried than normal. They are a good team. I’m going to learn just how good I can be going up against Antwaun Gibbs. He is, by far, the best I’ve ever gone against,” Tim answered as cookie-cutter normal as he could.

Then he had a fun thought. “But then again, he better worry about going up against me because I am the best he will ever see, and he’ll learn very quickly just how good he is versus how good the internet experts think he is.”

Tim leaned back in his seat, and, a little louder than he wanted, he continued. “Everyone has a plan right up until they get punched in the mouth. Let’s see how he will try to stop me because I know what I’m gonna do to him.”

The other players in the room started barking at high volume, and many others in the class began clapping and yelling in appreciation. The sudden rising of volume in the generally quiet classroom forced Mr. Baird to investigate. The large man could move quickly when necessary.

“What in the hell?” he burst into the classroom and yelled out to the now-nervous class. “I thought everything was copacetic, and suddenly I got a damn holiday parade in my classroom.”

“Sorry, Mr. Baird. I got a little worked up in an interview with Donna here, and I let my emotions get the best of me,” Tim apologized and glanced over to see Donna scribbling frantically in her notebook.

Mr. Baird also noticed. “Miss Jefferies, is this true? Did a question you asked get the emotions of some emotionally complex young men and women worked up into a frenzy?”

Donna visibly swallowed before answering. In her own defense, she mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Baird stared intently at the two teens standing on the other side of the room. “Well, Miss Jefferies, I look forward to reading your article.”

When the class erupted again, Mr. Baird calmed them down again. “Okay. Okay, everyone. Settle down.” He stuck his thumbs into his waistline inside his slacks and in front of his button-down shirt. He ironed his shirt out by sliding his thumbs from his side to roughly his belly button and back.

“I know I give you guys a lot of leeway, but come on. You have to admit that was too much. Don’t y’all agree?”

To a person, the class looked contrite and apologetic. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Baird. “Okay, then. Please finish your assignments, and ladies,” he called out, motioning to the girls sitting around Tim, “try not to get his blood boiling too high. We still need him to help bring a state championship.” At that, the class cheered again but kept a bit of a lid on the volume.

When the bell rang to end the class, Tim’s nerves hit him again. He was instantly reminded of how it felt when he was fat, short, and unimportant. He didn’t even notice a couple of people talking to him in the hallway.

“Tim? I asked if you were okay?”

Tim had to force himself to focus on David Arnold, the editor of the school newspaper, who was standing right in front of him. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m good, David. How are you?”

David, a high school senior wrestler, spent a few seconds examining the young freshman before speaking. “Right. Are you sure about that? Dude, you are acting really weird.”

Now, Tim was beginning to get disturbed by everyone’s expert opinion on how Tim should act. “David, I’m good. I just got a test in the next class, and I’m a little worried about it.”

“Bullshit. You are flying through every class. There is nothing you’re running into until this weekend’s game that you haven’t been totally ready to destroy,” David explained. “Would you like some free advice?”

When Tim took a deep breath and released it without comment, David continued, “You’ve been dealing with everything that’s been spectacularly happening to you like water rinsing down your back ... like it was nothing. Keep doing that. Don’t let the game worry you. Of course, everyone is gonna make you take it much more seriously, but in the focus of serious things in your life, what would happen if you lose this game?”

“Eww. I don’t wanna think about that! Why the fuck would you put something as disgusting as that in my head?” Tim exclaimed.

David was gently giggling at Tim’s sudden change in disposition. “Sorry, dude. Seriously though, don’t let it take over your life, or you’ll start treating every game like it could be your last one. I mean, with what you have done this year on the football field and in the classroom, every college in the country would offer you a chance to go there and succeed. Every coach would be happy to bring in a great player like you. The school would be happy to get a student like you, and everyone gets to think they had some kind of hand in helping you grow.”

Tim took a moment and thought about what David had said. Tim didn’t have the heart to tell him he was trying to advise him on something that simply was not the problem. So Tim took the teenager’s way out, merely nodding and walking away in silence.

Coming down the stairs from his math class toward his English class, he saw the Rogers brothers take their spots outside the door and begin their guard shifts. That was when Tim decided not to say anything, to just do the teenage thing and to try to ignore any possible problem.

“Gentlemen, hello,” Tim offered as he entered the class. Tim received two head nods in answer. He didn’t expect anything more than that.

“Yo! Tim, what’s up? Did you see the news?” Tommy asked in greeting.

“What? About the moving of the game?”

“Nah, not that,” Tommy said, pulling out his iPad from a small backpack and opening one of Antwaun Gibbs’ social media accounts. “Here, let me play it for you, but not too loud; the boy has a mouth on him.” Tommy pushed play and brought the video to full screen.

“But yo, Ant,” someone aimed a phone camera to set Antwaun Gibbs in the full frame of the video as he sat on a locker bench, “That Mayhem is a bad boy. You worried about him? Maybe, like, a little bit?”

Gibbs was distinctly not impressed with the question and stopped himself short before answering the question.

“You kidding me? I see that motherfucker across the line of scrimmage, and I’ll pimp slap him with my dick. Homeboy will get laid out on the floor gasping for air after I lay him out with Moby.” The six-foot-five, 395-pound senior offensive tackle of the three-time defending state champion Duncanville Panthers placed his elbow at his crotch and mimed the length of his manhood was the size of his arm.

“Straight up scare his ass to his core, and then we run the ball up and down his fuckin’ ass all game long!” He then shared several handshakes and high-fives with his friends.

After a few moments of lauding his joking, Antwaun became much more serious. He answered honestly, “But seriously, he’s good, but I seen dudes like him before. I seen ‘em come, and I seen ‘em go. I always get the win for the ‘Ville.” Several other members of the group began trading complicated handshakes celebrating their soon-to-be upcoming victory over the Roosevelt Rough Riders.

Tommy abruptly stopped the video just before the bell signaled the thirty-second warning until the beginning of class. “This fool thinks he’s going to just run right over y’all. What do you think about that?”

Tommy had a shit-eating grin on, and Tim’s anger was brewing, but he reminded himself not to do anything that could cause trouble or get others hurt. Just then, the bell rang to begin class, and the last couple of students hurried toward their desks.

“Okay, Mr. Tommy, you can put that away. Whatever that foul-mouthed hooligan has to say to our football star, I’m fairly certain our Mr. Murphy can give him a proper response on Friday night,” Miss Holmes said aloud for the class.

Tim was honestly upset about the profane gauntlet being thrown, but he knew this wasn’t the time or place to do anything about it. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll let him know with authority.”

Miss Holmes smiled and began the class. Her smile hit Tim right between the feelings. He neglected her first couple of announcements while replaying a fiery flashback of their brief carnal interlude. That was another problem whose head was creepily rising after he had dealt with the emotional baggage in a typical teenager’s way. Ignoring it and hoping it would go away might not be working, though.

“Before any of you ask, yes, I have seen the Moby reference from Antwaun Gibbs aimed at me earlier this morning, and no, I haven’t answered him yet,” Tim announced when he took his seat at their usual cafeteria table for lunch. Several of the guys appeared sad at not being able to show Tim the video. “But I am thinking about a good thing to say back at him.”

The smiles showed that the slight sadness was smoothly averted. The conversation turned to trying to figure out what the proper response would be. For a few minutes, while everyone was eating, the discussion at Tim’s and all the adjacent tables was about what to say to Antwaun before the game. None of the ideas were compelling, as they all seemed to have been done before or were too corny to even try.

There was an unusual occurrence when the table stopped talking, and everyone looked over Tim’s shoulder. He immediately tensed up. The last time the table stopped like that, he got a chair swung at his back. Tim turned to see the school principal – Sanders – tapping him on his shoulder. He moved to stand up, but the white-haired man motioned for him to keep his seat.

“Tim, you know, the teachers and administration here are not that stupid. We do hear what you kids are all talking about, and I was wondering if you were going to do something as childish as put out some kind of profane response to the young man from Duncanville.” The Texas drawl was deep, and the bass in the man’s voice was booming, as if they were in a closet together, and his voice just continued to bounce off every wall. “So far, from what I understand, you’ve had several occasions where different opponents have tried taunting you via social media, trying to get a rise out of you. As far as I understand it, you’ve never answered back except for on the field.” All the nearby tables were quiet, his words seemingly addressed to everyone in the cafeteria.

“I understand the importance of this upcoming game, and I understand what it means to you and to the emotions of your teammates and the fans here who have been following you all season long.” The old man leaned in close to Tim’s ear. “Just letting you know, I don’t really get out to many games, but I’ve been to all of yours,” he added with a pat on the shoulder.

“Tim, I know your ego is yelling at you to call this guy every name in the book, but I think a better thing to do would be to simply let the poor boy find out for himself.” The idea had substantial merit, and the taking-the-high-road reaction hit Tim like the right one from a mature perspective. “Tim, was this the first time someone you were actually going to play against sent you this kind of message?”

Tim honestly didn’t know. He had placed his sister in charge of his social media, and so far, it worked out. She would usually tell him who was writing to him if it was important enough that he needed to answer it, and then he’d respond. That hadn’t happened but a few times to inform different colleges that he had received their information through the mail as a common courtesy. Otherwise, Tim only got involved when something was wrong with social media or the Murphy family’s internet connection. Since his upgrade, he had been using the nanites to closely monitor everything. So far, so good.

So Tim looked around the table with a questioning look on his face. Johnnie answered, “No, sir. I don’t think anyone sent something direct. I mean, that one dude’s cheerleader girlfriend wrote all kinds of checks his a ... sorry, um, skills couldn’t cover.”

Principal Sanders smiled and nodded. “So basically, why answer him? You’re obviously living rent-free in his head. Stay there a while and kick up your feet. Enjoy the view,” the Principal suggested with a flourish. Then, while he’s seething in his fear, give him a knockdown off his peg on the field.”

The cafeteria erupted in cheering, and after a few moments of chanting, the teachers and Principal Sanders calmed everyone down from the shared euphoria. A few minutes later, the bell rang to end lunch and for all students to report to their fifth-period classes.

Tim heard someone calling out to him from down the hall. Trey Davis, the school’s resident DJ, jogged up, so Tim stopped to wait. “What’s up, Trey? I thought you had early lunch.”

“I do, and I’m on the other side of school, but we were thinking about the taunts you’ve been getting online from Antwaun and the others at Duncanville.”

“Wait. I knew about Antwaun’s, but are there others?”

“Oh yeah,” Trey pulled open his phone and sent Tim several links to other taunts from several other Duncanville players and fans alike. Apparently, Antwaun had given the go-ahead for a pseudo-psychological warfare gambit aimed at Tim.

The hall-passing time before the fifth period wasn’t the time to check the various videos, so Tim cut to the chase. “Are they pretty much like what Antwaun had done?”

“More or less. You could imagine the language, and they really think they are going to win a fourth-straight state championship.”

“Well, no one has stopped them from thinking that as of yet,” Tim announced, hinting at more to come.

“Well, excellent! There is this dude who makes all the TV ads during the morning announcements for the TV class. He’s got a job lined up for after high school graduation to go work down at the channel 12 news directing and producing little videos. Anyways, you got a couple of minutes before practice?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Dude, he has an amazing idea to be a general middle finger at all the Duncanville asses making diss videos – one beautiful F.U. to the whole lot of them – and it can be considered a class project for the both of us for TV production lab.”

“So, what’s the idea?”

Just then, the thirty-second warning bell for the next class sounded. Tim thought better, “Nah, it’s best to wait. We’ll catch you in the locker room before practice. We might need a coach to sign off on it.”

“Alright, then,” Trey responded, walking backward. “Trust me, this is gonna be epic, and we can get it done and out before you finish practice.” Then, Trey spun around and started jogging toward his class.

Tim froze in thought for a moment. Then the tardy bell rang, and Tim knew he was late for class. “Fuck!” He, too, turned and ran toward class, dodging a pair of giggling girls in the hall crossing before reaching his class.

“Okay. So tell me about this again,” Tim’s mom pressed. Juanita was putting the finishing touches on dinner, and Carmen had jogged off to her room to retrieve the iPad.

“Let’s wait a sec for Dad, and we can all watch it together.”

At that time, Raymond announced his arrival home and was heartily greeted by his family. He dropped his briefcase off on his bed and took off his shoes to walk around the house in socks as the rest of the family did.