Chapter 15: Shut the Door, Have a Seat

Saturday March 5
My morning run gave me time to think. It had been a busy week. The fallout from the Lang Academy game ended up causing some real pain. The rule book said that because the ejection occurred after play concluded, I had to sit out the next game. Our state’s governing body privately told Moose that we had grounds to challenge the ejection. But they also said that technically my actions in restraining the umpire could be considered fighting or aggressive physical contact. If that were the case, I would be ineligible for the team’s next two games. Such action against an umpire could mean I would be suspended for the year.

With that in mind, we didn’t fight my one-game suspension against Marshal on Thursday. Coach Hope got the honor of being the manager for the game because both Moose and Coach Haskins had to sit, too. We did manage to win the game 2–1.

I think someone must have had a word with the umpire who’d caused all this because he retired. It was the right move for him because we tape each game. From the center field camera tape, it was evident that he had botched calling balls and strikes in the bottom half of the inning. The popular theory circulating in the locker room—I think Yuri started it—was that he had it in for someone on the Lang Academy team.

Umpiring at a high school game typically was done by one of two types of people. The first were those trying to work their way up to umpire at higher-level games, like college or the minors. The second group did it because they loved the game. You had to, or the grief you received wasn’t worth it. Regardless, it was just high school baseball. No one was going to make or break their baseball career based on one play or even one game at this level. So, in the big picture, it really didn’t matter.

Whatever their motivation, high school umpires generally tried to do their best. Did they make mistakes? Absolutely. What we saw on the tape was something completely different. The man had intentionally made wrong calls, for reasons known only to him.

Today, we had our first conference game against Washington. I was still under strict orders not to do anything ‘provocative,’ as Vice Principal Palm put it, to attract a larger crowd. Everyone remembered the number of people who showed up at Washington last year for their fundraiser, and no one thought we could handle that right now.

My grandmother did tell my dad that since I won the Academy Award, security at the games and high school was costing the city money. Money it didn’t have. Our former mayor had embezzled funds, and most of those funds hadn’t been recovered. Our former mayor was of the mind that if he was doing the time, he was keeping the money. In a way, I couldn’t blame him.

City government was supposed to be nonprofit, so the loss of the funds and the new strain on public safety was becoming a problem. Dad said Grandma was in contact with both the county and state to see if they could somehow help out, but it was just a shot in the dark with no real financial help for the city on the way.

On the football front, Michigan approached me and suggested that if I would recommit, Mike’s scholarship would be revoked. They’d done some digging and discovered that Mike wasn’t really ‘Michigan material.’ If I hadn’t talked to the offensive coordinator I would be working with, and seen the abysmal way he dealt with control issues, I would have accepted. Michigan was a good fit for the three of us, and I was sad to realize I really had to go in another direction.

The other bit of information I was able to dig out of their head coach was that if I didn’t recommit, Mike would keep his scholarship. As much as I hated the guy, he was a good athlete. Mike was more of a pocket passer than I am and looked like a top-tier quarterback when you saw him throwing the ball to Damion. Heck, as long as I was throwing to Damion, I could do it left-handed, and he would make me look like a pro, too.

Mike, being a pocket passer, fit Michigan’s style of play better than I did. The real reason Michigan wanted my mobility was that their offensive line needed a serious upgrade. There were times, against better competition, when their quarterbacks were running for their lives.

Hearing that Mike’s scholarship was in my hands almost made me want to suck it up and recommit. However, that wasn’t who I wanted to be, and it left a bad taste in my mouth that Michigan would even make the offer. Somehow, it felt like they were going back on their word because they already told me Mike was staying. In the end, it was easy to say ‘no.’

Wolf and Tim talked to me about our next step. With the NCAA dragging their feet on issuing waivers for my image rights, I needed to confirm that wherever I went, I wouldn’t have a problem. Mr. Morris had prepared draft documents and a summary sheet that laid out what I would need in place. Those agreements would ensure I could meet my nonathletic commitments and not have them conflict with the university’s needs. He’d sent both USC and Oklahoma the information, and we’d received confirmation that they were both willing to provide us with what we wanted.

With that worked out, we planned a trip to Oklahoma next weekend and in-home visits from both schools next week. Personally, I felt this had dragged on long enough.

Another iron in the fire was Major League Baseball. I gave that avenue a slim-to-none chance, but I wanted to explore my options. The only way I would consider skipping college was if it looked like I could slide into a high spot in the first round. Otherwise, it made more sense to go to college and keep both my baseball and football options open.

We were expecting several scouts to attend today’s game. They wanted to put eyes on me now so they could see whether I would fit in their organization. I was glad that Coach Haskins had agreed to manage their visits. It saved me from having yet another thing to juggle in my life.

I was also flying to Cincinnati today. Grace had some news on Dare’s drones and asked that he and his mom accompany me so we could discuss it. I’d arranged the rental of a plane so I could take advantage of my new license.

I looked down, and my trusty hound was ready to drop, so I slowed to a walk.

“You okay?”

Duke looked up at me expectantly, panting like a freight train. I walked him home and opened the back door. We stepped inside, and I saw his water dish was empty, so I went into the kitchen to fill it for my buddy.

I found Angie sitting at the kitchen table, looking pissed off. I didn’t need to deal with her drama today. She’d claimed the boys’ upstairs playroom as her bedroom for now. I was still confused as to why my parents had let her move back in. No one was talking about why Angie and Greg had ‘taken a break.’ More importantly, it was a mystery to me why Greg was still in their apartment and had the kids. My mind went places it probably shouldn’t in that regard.

“Don’t you even care why I’m upset?” Angie asked when I ignored her.

I filled Duke’s water bowl and put it down for him. The idiot sloshed out about half of its contents when he dove in. I grabbed a towel and began cleaning up as he lapped up the bowl’s contents.

“Greg...” Angie started.

“Zip it. I don’t want to know.”

She glared at me as I walked out the back door, tossing the towel on the washing machine. I was content to leave that drama to others and go take a nice, cleansing shower in my apartment.

I came out of the bathroom to find Cassidy sitting on my bed.

“Your dad said you had to take me to breakfast,” she said to explain her presence.

It sounded like Angie was acting up, and my parents wanted me out of the house while they dealt with it.

“And you couldn’t have waited in the living room?” I asked.

“Please. I’ve seen it before.”

I just dropped my towel. If Cassidy was going to perv on me, I might as well give her the full show.

“Oops,” I said as I pulled my underwear out of the drawer and somehow dropped them next to my towel.

I didn’t bend my knees to pick them up. I glanced back, and Cassidy’s eyes were glued to my butt. She was being a naughty girl. I took my time getting dressed.

“Happy?” I asked.

She smiled and nodded and then frowned at me.

“When were you going to tell me that we were flying to visit Brook?” Cassidy asked.

“I’m not going to see Brook. I’m taking Darius and his mom to meet Grace and talk about his drones.”

Then Cassidy brightened.

“You didn’t say anything because you wanted to surprise Brook, and were afraid I would tell her,” she correctly guessed. Then she scowled again. “You can trust me with secrets.”

“I was thinking about you, not Brook.”

“This will be good,” Cassidy predicted.

“I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you had to keep a secret from your best friend. Friends shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Wolf is right, you’ve been reading too many women’s magazines.”

Wolf just earned himself a nut shot when I went to baseball today.

“It’s still true.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t true. I said you’re a pussy,” Cassidy clarified.

Her misspent youth hanging out with Marines was coming through this morning.

“I’m trying not to prove you right by saying that you would have shared with Brook that I was coming.”

“Ah, ha! I knew it! You’re going to spy on Brook and her new boyfriend,” Cassidy said, proud of her powers of deduction, and then she scowled again. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you keep saying ‘I’ and not ‘we.’ You can forget about not taking me because I want to see what this douchebag looks like too.”

That was unexpected. I was sure that Cassidy was on Team Brook. It was good to know she really was on Team David on this one.

“Okay, then. Let’s go eat.”

Our trip to Cincinnati had another hiccup. Scarlet had arranged for our rental plane, and I thought we were all set. That was until I got a call from Roy Tyro.

“David, I understand you’re flying a group down to Cincinnati. How many people are going?”

“Five, including me.”

“I’m told this is an overnight trip, so I guess you’re taking bags.”

“That’s right.”

“Your PA arranged to rent a Beech Bonanza V35B, the V-tail model. Do you know what pilots call that airplane?”

“Uh, no.”

“The ‘forked-tail doctor-killer.’ The Bonanza is slick and fast and relatively inexpensive for its performance. So doctors, who tend to have more money than flying experience, like to fly them, but they don’t have the skills to match the performance.”

I began to see where he was going with this.

“Don’t get me wrong, the Bonanza’s a great little airplane, and I really think you should get acquainted with it. But it’s probably not the best idea for you to make that acquaintance with a full load of passengers and bags. It’s a completely different animal from the flying club’s trainers with their fixed landing gear and fixed-pitch propellers. The Bonanza has retractable landing gear and a variable-pitch propeller.

“And I don’t believe you’ve flown with a full load. Flying with a full load is like loading up your Dodge Demon with all the seats filled and a trunk full of sandbags. On ice. You won’t build speed or altitude as fast as you’re used to, your takeoff and landing rolls will be much longer, and you’ll feel like you’re wallowing in turns.”

“Okay, Roy, you’ve convinced me. What are my options?”

“For this trip, I suggest you take a more forgiving and less complex aircraft, like the Piper Saratoga. It’s more like the planes you’ve been flying. Well, to be honest, it’s more like a flying minivan. Do you remember how to calculate weight and balance?”

“I think I do. Do you mind if I send you my calculations to check over?”

“I was going to suggest it, David. Check your e-mail. I’ve sent you the numbers for the Saratoga so you can do the arithmetic. See how much fuel you’re going to have to carry to make it to Cincinnati without overburdening the plane. I’ll watch for your calculations.”

I ran the numbers and texted everyone to limit themselves to ten pounds of baggage. It looked like we’d be able to make the flight with half a tank of fuel, which would solve most of the weight issues. I did find one balance problem. The only way we could make the it work was for Cassidy to ride in the back seat. I was doomed.

I called Cassidy to give her the bad news where she couldn’t reach me to hurt me.

“David, that’s insane! I’m the only other pilot that’s going! Of course I should be up front! You can sit in the back seat, and I’ll fly the plane.”

“Uh, Cassidy, check your e-mail. I’ve sent you the numbers. If you can do the math so that we can get off the ground with you up front, I’ll go along with it.”

She hung up on me but called back about a half-hour later and admitted defeat.

“Roy double-checked my numbers and agreed. He told me that until we gain enough experience to handle a bigger and more powerful plane, we’re stuck with something like the Saratoga for this kind of flight,” I explained.

Cassidy wasn’t happy, but reluctantly agreed. She made it a point to tell me we had to get the experience quickly because she wasn’t riding in the back after this trip.

“What the hell, David?” Wolf asked as he doubled over after I’d slapped my glove into his crotch.

“I hear I’ve been reading too many women’s magazines.”

We were getting ready to warm up before the game, and I had the team gathered around. We were goofing off before we got started.

“Yeah, you have,” Phil agreed.

The little dumbass thought he was out of reach. I just flipped my glove at him, and it nailed him in the nuts. I had a baseball in my right hand.

“Anyone want to agree with them?” I asked, showing them the ball.

Tim was in his catcher’s gear, which made him brave. When he raised his hand, I nailed him. I don’t care if you have a cup on, a baseball to the nut area gets your attention.

“Dawson!” Moose bellowed.

“They were picking on me,” I whined.

“Okay, carry on.”

“Who wants to go next?” I asked, turning on my teammates.

“He’s out of stuff to throw,” Yuri said.

When I lunged for Yuri, I was impressed that he shoved Roc in front of me so he could escape and run behind Moose. I would catch up with him later.

“Enough goofing off,” Coach Haskins ordered. “Finish warming up.”

Fun-sucker.

It surprised me when Moose announced that I would be the starting pitcher today. The first inning, I did okay. The box score read one walk, one hit, and no runs. In our half of the first, we did no better as we were facing the best pitching to date. The Washington kid had control of his pitches and was doing a good job mixing them up.

The second inning didn’t go quite as well for me. I quickly got the first two batters to ground out. I don’t know if I was trying to get too precise or what, but my pitches were just missing the edge of the strike zone. I had no complaint with the calls because even I could see I wasn’t throwing strikes. After I walked the next two batters, Coach Herndon came out to the mound.

“Quit trying to pitch perfectly. Just throw strikes.”

“David, you got this. The guy up next is their worst hitter. Throw it past him,” Tim added his encouragement.

I took a deep breath.

“I’ve got this,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

On the first pitch, I tried to smoke a fastball past the batter. I think the kid was surprised when he somehow got the bat head in front of the ball, and it jumped out of the park. We were down 3–0 when the top of the inning ended.

In the bottom half, I finally got up to bat and was drilled on the first pitch. I’d prepared for this tactic by gearing up with Range Sports products. I was wearing an impact-absorbing vest under my jersey made out of the same material that they used in my batting gloves. You could punch a brick wall and not feel it. The gel filling dispersed the worst of it, so I didn’t react when the pitcher dropped his glove, ready for me to charge the mound.

Sorry, but that wasn’t going to happen. If you got ejected from too many games, you could get permanently suspended from play. I wasn’t taking the bait. That didn’t mean that Moose didn’t share his feelings with the umpire, though.

I got my revenge with my legs. On the first pitch, I stole second base. I then began dancing back and forth to distract the pitcher, making him think I planned to take third. There’s a reason you try to keep early-season games simple. You haven’t had enough practice time to work on anything more than the basics. Picking off someone at second base obviously wasn’t something Washington had practiced, if the result was any indication.

The pitcher twirled and fired behind me to try to catch me. I’d been prepared and dove back to the base. The problem was that both the second baseman and shortstop thought they were supposed to cover the bag. What happened was that their gloves collided and the ball bounced into center field. I got up and raced to third, where I was safe. Unfortunately, that was where I was left.

Pitching-wise, I settled down and was now painting the corners with consistency. My curveball was breaking well, and for high school hitters, it was almost impossible to hit. It came in looking high and then broke right into the top of the strike zone as it crossed the plate. The only ones making contact were popping it up for easy outs.

I came up to bat again in the fourth. We’d managed to tighten up the score so we were only down 3–2. Once again, on the first pitch, I was hit. This time, the pitcher threw at my head, and I got clipped on the top of the helmet. If I hadn’t reacted, it would have been in my ear. That one got my dander up.

“Are you intentionally trying to hurt me?” I yelled as I pointed my bat at the pitcher.

The pitcher didn’t act as tough when he saw the bat in my hand. I honestly didn’t plan to beat him with it, but the umpire wasn’t taking any chances. He wrapped me up.

“Easy. Let me do my job.”

“He better be gone,” I said so that only he and the catcher could hear me.

“I got this, son. Go take your base,” the umpire said and then ejected their pitcher.

The umpire pulled both coaches together and read them the riot act. The next errant pitch and both the pitcher and coach would be gone.

I stole second again. This time I was rewarded when I ended up scoring to knot it up, 3–3.

In the bottom of the seventh, the score was still tied, and I was up again. I stood in disbelief when I was drilled for the third time. The pitcher tipped his hat to me and jogged off the field, knowing he’d been ejected. Their coach gathered his charge in and started to the locker room, as he’d been kicked out as well.

Yuri had taken my spot in center field and was up two batters later. The latest Washington pitcher had done a better job of holding me at first, so I hadn’t advanced as yet. The count was even at one-and-one when Yuri got a pitch he could handle. He hit a slow roller to third. All the third baseman had to do was scoop it up and throw Yuri out at first, and we would have been going to extra innings. Instead, he tried to force me out at second.

Neither the second baseman nor the shortstop expected him to throw them the ball, so it flew into the outfield. I got on my horse and raced around third. Coach Haskins taught us that we had to be aggressive on the base paths and force the defense to make plays. I might have been a little too aggressive because the throw beat me home. The catcher braced himself, expecting me to try to knock the ball loose. Instead, I slid to the side and reached with my hand. It slid across the plate before the catcher could put the tag on me.

We’d fought our way back to the win at 4–3 against a conference rival. All in all, a good day.

After we’d shaken hands, I’d signed autographs and then showered. We were quickly on our way to the airport. Darius and Dr. Rossetti were waiting for Fritz, Cassidy, and me when we pulled up.

Manaia had flown back to LA to pack for a more extended stay. It had been decided that he would help supplement my security here because I’d drawn fans that were now showing up at school and our house. Today’s game had been our first sellout. If you follow high school baseball, you realize how unusual that is. Usually, you’re lucky if parents show up for games.

With all that going on, Fritz made the call to add to our security. Fritz had also supervised the installation of the drone security stations. That was the novelty that was drawing the neighbor kids to our property. They would come to watch as the drones would either react to something or do a routine run around the yard. If nothing else, I predicted the kids would help Dare figure out how to program the flock so it did its job. He and Fritz had been busy all week, working out the bugs.

Fritz was coming today to help Grace’s security team configure their own security utilizing Dare’s drones. The kid was about to jump out of his skin when we boarded the plane, he was so excited. This was his first time in a smaller plane, and he acted like my niece when you let her fill up on sugar. I put Cassidy in charge of answering all his questions as I ran through our preflight checklist.

I appreciated that Roy came out and quizzed me on everything just to confirm what I already knew. I made sure all the luggage was stowed, and everyone was secure, and then got into the pilot’s seat with Fritz on my right, while Cassidy fumed in the back seat. I glanced back, and Dare was white-knuckling the armrest when the engine turned over. He was watching me like a hawk. I glanced over at Fritz and winked at him.

I put a confused look on my face. After all, I’m an actor.

“How come the ‘check engine’ light is on?” I asked.

Fritz reached forward, tapped one of the gauges, and gave me a concerned look. I just shrugged.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Poor Dare about peed himself.

I guided us to the runway and waited for clearance from the tower. Once they gave it to me, I let off the brakes, advanced the throttle, and the plane jolted down the runway. I knew from experience riding with Cassidy and Roy that my passengers could hear the muffled responses from air traffic control. His voice would be barely audible over the noise of the propeller.

I checked outside the cockpit to verify where we were on the runway. At my request, Fritz called out our airspeed, and when it was enough, I eased the stick back, and we lifted off. As we gained altitude, the feeling of a weight being pushed into my chest from the acceleration eased. From the cockpit window, all you could see was sky until we reached altitude, and then I leveled the plane off.

I was all business when we were flying. It was both fun and serious at the same time. This was something I really liked that I could do with my money.

Grace had one of her people pick us up at the airport. Once we pulled through her gate and up to the house, Grace came out. The driver must have let her know we were there.

“Welcome, welcome,” she called as we piled out of the van.

Introductions were made, we grabbed our bags, and Grace showed us our rooms for the night. Dare and I were sharing a room with bunk beds. The room had probably been decorated for when Grace’s grandkids visited.

“I get the top bunk,” Dare informed me.

“You don’t still pee the bed, do you?” I asked.

“Shut up, ‘stupid boy.’”

I hid my grin. Dare had come a long way from the kid who wouldn’t even look at me six months ago.

“Just checking.”

“Am I really going to make money from selling my drone ideas?” he asked.

“That’s the plan. We’ll see what Grace has to say.”

“Should I unpack the drones so I can show them to her?”

I think he just wanted an excuse to go fly them.

“Why don’t we go down and ask Grace?”

Grace totally won Dare over by having an assortment of little sandwiches and snacks waiting for us when we came downstairs. He was growing like a weed and had that long, gangly look teen boys get when they sprout up. Once we’d stuffed our faces, Grace walked in with a young guy who looked like he was fresh out of college. She motioned for us to join them.

“Darius, Dr. Rossetti. I would like you to meet Carl Buchanan with Drone Security Tech. My people found Mr. Buchanan and his company and thought your project would be a fit for what he does.”

“Darius, good to meet you,” Carl said as he shook his hand.

“Dare.”

“Sorry?”

“I prefer Dare.”

“Oh. Sorry. I like that,” Carl said. “I’ve heard good things about your drones.”

Dare chose that moment to go quiet and look at his shoes. He wasn’t really used to being the center of attention. When it did happen, it usually wasn’t for his best interest. Grace saved the day.

“Why don’t we all sit down, and Carl can tell you what he and his company do.”

Once we were all situated, Carl began his presentation.

“We’re a start-up company with a focus on using drones for security purposes. We think it’s the evolution of the next phase in cutting-edge security...”

I tuned him out as he tried to sell us on his company. What caught my attention was the term ‘start-up.’ If I were a betting man, I would think that Carl wasn’t just here for Dare’s ideas. Start-ups always needed backing.

Then he told us an interesting tidbit about the current drone market.

“You have to become an FAA-Certified Drone Pilot and register your drone with the FAA in order to legally fly a drone commercially.

“Current data shows a breakdown as to the types of companies having their staff get certified. As you might have guessed, photo-related businesses make up nearly half at 43%. Next are realtors, at 27%, followed by utilities, construction, and agriculture companies with between eight and ten percent of the market. All other types of companies, security included, are just getting started.

“What that means is there is very little competition right now. We have an opportunity to penetrate the market and establish ourselves as the dominant player,” Carl shared.

“Another way to look at it is that there isn’t a market,” I said without thinking. When everyone looked at me, I realized my mistake and added, “Yet.”

“That’s a very astute observation,” Grace said and then smiled to break the sudden tension. “It just so happens that’s what I specialize in.”

I had a feeling that Carl had just lost a big chunk of his company at that moment. The hope he had in his eyes that Grace would back him was apparent to everyone in the room.

“Before we go any further, everyone needs to sign nondisclosure agreements, and then Dare can demonstrate his drones,” Grace said.

I was impressed that Grace had everyone’s names, including mine, on the document that we all signed.

“Why don’t you all go out in the courtyard so Dare can do his demonstration? While you do that, I’ll get everyone a copy of the document,” Grace said, and everyone started for the door. “David, could you stay for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I followed Grace to her home office.

“Shut the door. Have a seat,” Grace said.

I was impressed. If I were trying to set up an office to show I was a big deal, this was how I’d do it. My only change would probably be to go with more of a natural wood look to make it more masculine, instead of the cream palette Grace had used. She had an informal seating area off to the side with a view of the river. I could see sitting there smoking a cigar as I had an after-work scotch. I could tell that our meeting was going to be more friendly than business when she picked that area to sit.

Before she joined me, Grace went to her desk and hit a button on her phone.

“Phyllis, I have some documents I need you to copy.”

The side door opened, a stunning woman in her mid-thirties came in, and Grace handed her the papers.

“I’ll need these in about an hour,” Grace said, and then noticed that Phyllis was looking at me.

“Where are my manners? Phyllis, this is David Dawson...”

Phyllis all but knocked Grace down to rush over to shake my hand.

“I’m a big fan. I loved the first episode of College First,” she gushed.

I was a big fan of hers. If I were ten years older ... Grace saved me by clearing her throat. Phyllis reverted to business mode.

“I’ll take care of this,” she said, and then briskly walked out.

“She’s my weekend person,” Grace said, as if that explained something to me.

In my mind, I was thinking I needed a weekend person if they looked like that. Then again, I might never get any work done. I mentally smacked myself in the back of the head. In this day and age, that kind of thinking got you in trouble.

“I take it that you’re thinking about going into business with Carl,” I said.

“Yes, and your comment about there not currently being a market for security drones was something I’d talked to Mr. Buchanan about earlier this week. At the time, he pushed back on that idea. When you said what you did, I could have kissed you.”