Chapter 2: Tuesday, Aug. 14

I was really not in the mood to have the alarm go off at 5 a.m. for the second day in a row, but managed to drag myself out of bed.

My legs were still sore from the cramps I’d suffered in the middle of the night. I took a moment to massage the afflicted spots and stretch my calves out before getting dressed. I hit the bathroom to relieve myself, brush my teeth and wash my face, then headed for the kitchen. I grabbed the last banana and a couple of cups of yogurt and was out the door by 5:15.

Taking Dad’s Buick again, I made it to the fieldhouse in plenty of time to get dressed and taped before 6 a.m. I noticed none of the guys who’d left with hair last night had any upon their arrival this morning. I asked Ronnell Meadows about it.

“Some of the guys made sure everybody was on the same page,” he said. “I heard Marshawn and some others paid visits to everybody last night to encourage their cooperation.”

“Why do I get the feeling that every barber shop in town is going to have a hit out on me?” I asked rhetorically, drawing laughs from the guys at surrounding lockers.

Before heading out onto the field, I swung by the equipment room and got Coach Rogers’ attention.

“You told me to notify you if I got a haircut,” I said.

“Yeah, I heard you boys all got a trim,” he replied. “We’ll have to get to you as we can during practice. You’d better get out there. It’s about that time.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and headed for the exit.

I jogged a couple of lengths of the field to get loose and was stretching with the help of a couple of other receivers when Coach Tucker stepped onto the field and blew his whistle loud enough to be heard over the music. It was time to go to work.

It was basically a replay of Monday morning’s practice with a series of drills designed to keep us running. I could feel it in my legs every time I made a cut while running pass patterns, but I managed to avoid cramping up again. It probably helped that I stretched as much as I could while waiting my next turn. I noticed several guys in all position groups doing the same.

I again felt like I was a step off on catching up to Coach Wilson’s passes, but managed to catch anything I could get a hand on. Sometimes, that meant diving for balls, which more than one receiver was doing as we progressed through the drills.

“Keep your feet!” Coach Wilson shouted, not just at me. “You can’t make any yards after catch if you’re divin’ on the ground like that. It’s all about the YAC. Yakety-yak and don’t talk back!”

Of course, I wouldn’t be diving if he’d put the damn ball a little closer. I guess the message was to run a little faster to get to it. I kept my mouth shut and pushed a little harder, but still seemed to come up a few inches short most of the time.

I did seem to be visually picking the balls up more easily, which helped matters.

Along the way, Coach Rogers, Doc and Trapper worked their way through the position groups with the little hand pumps, adjusting the fit of everyone’s helmet. It took almost the entire practice, but they eventually got to everyone.

Cramps were still an issue, but mostly with guys who obviously hadn’t kept up with their summer conditioning. Those of us who’d been working out at the country club seemed to be faring better, but I felt certain it was just a matter of time before it caught up to me again.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when we started our gassers to wrap up the session. I don’t think I was running any faster, but I did seem to be keeping up with the rest of the herd a little better. I wouldn’t be the first one attacked by wolves.

Coach Tucker whistled us up and we huddled around him.

“I must say I’m impressed with the way y’all came out this morning,” he said. “I know everyone was sore after yesterday and cramps are still going to be an issue until you get used to working in the heat, but y’all did a good job of pushing through it this morning. Let’s keep it up this afternoon.”

Coach went on to tell us about today’s testing during the athletic period with those who’d finished their lifting running 40-yard dashes this morning. We’d all eventually get it all in. The goal was to get 20 or so guys through the lifting each day, which would mean the last group would run 40s by Friday.

Once we were dismissed, I soaped up and rinsed off in the shower. As I got dressed for school, I flinched when I pulled my shirt over my head. A look in the mirror showed a couple of spots had been rubbed raw by the padding inside my helmet. Maybe I should have thought twice about shaving everything off.

I stuck my head into the training room to ask advice for how to handle the situation.

“Thats why so many guys wear bandanas or do-rags under their helmets,” Trapper said. “Here, let me rub a little salve on those spots. It’ll help them scab over faster.”

With that taken care of, I grabbed a couple of bananas and headed for the Buick. I needed to get the photos and documents so I could fill out the application for a parking permit. I had to back out into the traffic lane so I’d have enough space to shoot the front and sides, but since almost every spot around me was taken up by football players, I was able to do that without blocking traffic for too long.

I munched a banana as I headed for the main office, stopping off at Mr. Cochran’s room to inform my first-period teacher that I may be a few minutes late because of my errand.

He was more than a little amused by my change in hairstyle.

“I guess that’s one way of avoiding bedhead,” he laughed.

“What’s really sad is I bought a comb to keep in my locker before it happened,” I said. “It’s never touched a hair.”

I walked into the office to find a madhouse as students tried to get schedules changed, locker assignments changed and lord only knows what else. It didn’t bode well for my chances of beating the tardy bell.

I got in line and waited my turn. I got a mild surprise when Dad came in and got in line behind me with the parking ticket in hand.

“How’d practice go this morning?” he asked.

“Better than I would have expected,” I answered. “My legs are still sore, but I never felt like I was about to cramp up like yesterday. Of course, I still have to get through the afternoon.”

“What’d you do to your head?” he asked, noticing the abraded spots.

“The helmet rubbed me where I’m supposed to have hair,” I said. “One of the trainers said I should wear a bandana or do-rag.”

“Doncha have to have a do to wear a do-rag?” Dad asked with a snicker.

The first bell rang, causing the crowd to thin considerably. I moved to the counter where I encountered the lady who’d assisted me when I’d registered the Beemer.

I explained the situation, showed her the documentation and emailed the photos. I just about had the application form filled out when the tardy bell rang. It hadn’t finished echoing through the empty hall when Dr. Franks strolled up.

“Why aren’t you in class?” he demanded as I finished filling in the last couple of boxes.

“I’m trying to get my parking situation straightened out, sir,” I said. “I received a ticket yesterday and I’m trying to avoid that happening again.”

“You should have taken care of that before the bell rang,” he stated rather imperiously.

“I got here as soon as I could after practice, sir,” I said as I handed the lady my form.

“Practice?”

“Football practice,” I explained. “We’re having to work out at 6 a.m. this week because the district moved up the first day of school by a week.”

“That’s no excuse,” he decreed. “So this is an unexcused tardy. Three unexcused tardies in the same six weeks earns detention.”

That was something new. I kinda thought he’d just made it up on the spot. The school had never distinguished between excused and unexcused tardies before. You were late, period. And there’d never been a set number that drew an automatic penalty. Most students didn’t push it because they all wanted to keep off-campus privileges for lunch.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You’ll be lucky if there are any spots left to assign you,” he said. “Most students already registered their vehicles.”

“I did that and have an assigned spot in the senior lot,” I explained. “I just need to get a permit for another vehicle that I’m driving this week.”

“You have two cars?” he asked.

“I have access to two,” I said. “I’m driving my dad’s car this week because he advised me against driving mine until some of the new drivers get a handle on things.”

“Well I don’t like it,” the principal said. “Not one bit. If you already have a car with a permit, drive it. I’m denying your application.

“And what is with the shaved head? That could be considered a violation of the dress code.”

“Sir?”

“No unusual hairstyles that draw undue attention and detract from the educational process,” he said.

That one I’d actually heard of. The story was it’d been added in the late ‘70s when punk rock began making it’s way over from England. Apparently, some guy tried the spiky Mohawk look that he’d seen in Time magazine. Nowadays, it just kept kids from dying their hair pink or purple or something.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You’re racking up quite the rap sheet,” he sneered. “Tardy, parking violations, dress-code violations. I should throw your butt in detention right now.”

Then he pulled a stunt out of a bad movie, pointing at his eyes with his pointer and middle fingers, then turning them on me.

“I’m watching you, punk,” he said as he turned his hand back and forth between us. “You get out of line, I’ll squash you like a bug! Now, get to class.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, gathering up my documents and turning to go.

“Now, who do we have here?” Dr. Franks said as I headed for the door.

“The bug’s father,” Dad said as I went into the hall.

I got to Economics and took my seat before Mr. Cochran got too far into his lecture, which was basically just how to set up budget. If you had this much money, you’d better make sure your expenses didn’t exceed that amount.

When class ended, I got Chuck Edwards’ attention as we headed for the door.

“Just a heads up,” I said. “This new principal is already on the warpath. He gave me shit about some things, including the chrome dome, and threatened me with detention. You might pass the word to other guys to keep a low profile until he finds something else to go after.

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “He comes off as a real piece of work. I’ll pass it along.”

I swung by my locker and got my Western Civ book, then went off to hear Mrs. Edwards tell us how Charlemagne founded the Carolingian Empire. We’d spend at least a month on Big Charlie before moving on to subjects like Billy the Bastard and the Dark Ages, followed (eventually) by Machiavelli and the Renaissance.

In English IV, Mrs. Albracht got started on Shakespeare’s impact on not just literature, but the English language overall. We’d be studying not only his famous plays, but some of the lesser known ones as well as his sonnets.

I’d have to see if Western Civ ever got to the Tudor period. There had to be a way I could write something on Elizabeth I and Shakespeare that I could use in Western Civ, English IV and Creative Writing.

Another bell was followed by a dash to the fieldhouse for athletic period. I went out the northeast corner and down the east side of campus to the entrance to the parking lot. That seemed workable for the fourth-period changeover, but going down the west side and cutting between the baseball and softball fields would still be the best route for the afternoon. If the damn softball coach would get her head out of her ass.

Everybody was dressed and in the weight room getting ready to go to work when Ralph Franks felt the need to shit on my day one more time.

Coach Bennett had just assigned everyone their task for the period — I was spotting for one of the defensive backs — when Coach Tucker and Dr. Franks entered the weight room. Coach Tucker blipped his whistle to get our attention before anyone had begun lifting.

“I need Richards and Robinson to come to my office,” Coach Tucker said. “Coach Bennett, do you have enough bodies to cover for them?”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” Coach Bennett said. “We can shuffle a couple of people around.”

“All right,” Coach Tucker said as he scanned the room. “Now, where’s Taylor? I need to see him, too.”

“He’s part of that bunch out on the field running 40s,” one of the other assistants said. “I’ll go get him for you.”

“Please do,” Coach Tucker said. “Gentlemen, with me.”

The head coach and principal turned for the front of the fieldhouse where the offices were as Jed and I followed. Coach Tucker directed us to grab a chair as he seated himself at his desk. Dr. Franks just stood there glaring at us like he was being intimidating.

It was only a minute or two before Marshawn joined us. He was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from exerting himself in the late-morning heat.

“Take a seat, Taylor,” Coach Tucker said. “Dr. Franks.”

The principal stepped where he could look all of us in the face.

“If I’d known some of this information when I had Mr. Robinson’s attention this morning, we could have already been done with this,” he snarled.

Or at least he tried to snarl. He may have been going for pit bull or rottweiler, but I was getting something closer to Welsh corgi.

“What do you mean, sir?” Coach Tucker asked.

I was willing to let Coach do the talking here. I had no fucking clue what Dr. Franks was getting at and even less as to why Jed and Marshawn were included.

“I’ve heard several comments from faculty members about all the football players shaving their heads,” the principal said. “It turns out these three were the ringleaders. This one (pointing at me) instigated it and the other two went around town last night making sure everyone on the team joined in. It wouldn’t surprise me if they coerced a few of their teammates into joining in. I will not allow that kind of hooliganism in my school.

“I warned you what would happen if you got out of line,” he said, turning to me. “That shadow over your head is the sole of my shoe coming down. You’re looking at a long stretch of detention, if not in-school suspension.”

“What you’re calling hooliganism, I see as a show of team unity,” Coach Tucker said. “I’ve been doing this more than 25 years and this is the earliest I’ve ever had a group come together in such a way. It usually takes a couple of weeks of practice, if not games, before that happens.

“What are teachers saying that gives you cause for concern, sir?”

“Mrs. Cohen was going on about skinheads invading the school,” Dr. Franks said. “Well, not on my watch.”

I felt I had to speak up at that point.

“Do you even know why we did it, sir?” I asked the principal. “I can assure you it most certainly is not a political statement.”

“Well, why don’t you enlighten me,” he said.

“One of the JV cheerleaders, Sherry Parker, has leukemia and is receiving chemotherapy,” I said. “She’s having to miss school this week while she undergoes treatment.

“Several players are dating cheerleaders and wanted to show their support. I thought Sherry might feel more comfortable about returning to school if she wasn’t the only bald head in the building.”

Dr. Franks just stared at me like a flat-earther being told the world was really round.

“You spin a good yarn, kid,” he finally said. “I’ll be checking this out.”

“Talk to Miss Wilkes, the cheer coach,” I said. “She should have the latest scoop on Sherry.”

“I’ll be sure and do that,” he snapped, then turned and walked out of the office without any further explanation.

The remaining four of us looked back and forth at one another before Jed spoke up.

“What was that all about?” my friend asked.

“I’m not sure, but I intend to find out,” Coach Tucker said. “What’d you do to get on his bad side, Robinson?”

“Missed the tardy bell because I was trying to get a second vehicle registered for a parking permit,” I said. “My dad wanted me to drive his car this week and it got ticketed yesterday. Dr. Franks personally denied my application, then got on me about ‘unusual hairstyles that draw undue attention and detract from the educational process.’”

“And you two?” Coach said, turning to Marshawn and Jed. “There’d better not have been any ‘coercion’ involved.”

“Just gentle persuasion, Coach,” Marshawn swore.

“How so?” Coach asked.

“We used Gary’s line about swimming in cheerleaders,” Jed said. “We may have ... embellished things a little.”

“Oh?” Coach asked, adding an arched eyebrow.

“We kinda hinted that they might get to go on a date with one of the unattached cheerleaders,” Marshawn admitted.

“Are the young ladies in question aware of this possibility?” Coach asked.

“No, but it was worded in such a way that the guys know it’s up to them to make the first move,” Jed said. “If they get shot down, it’s not our fault.”

“Why am I not surprised a lawyer’s kid would come up with that one?” Coach snorted. “Y’all better go ahead and get dressed. The period’s more than half over.

“Did you get a 40 time in, Taylor?”

“Ran a 4.42, Coach,” Marshawn crowed. “Down from 4.45 in the spring.”

The three of us headed to the locker room to change clothes. I went ahead and rinsed off in the shower just because I’d been wearing sweaty workout clothes again. In two days of athletic period, the most physical thing I’d done was stand around and watch other people exercise.

Jed and Marshawn also grabbed quick showers and rehashed the meeting with Dr. Franks.

“That man wants to take you down hard, Supermodel,” Marshawn said. “What’d you do, nail his daughter or sumpin?”

“Please tell me he doesn’t have a teenage daughter,” I moaned.

“Some roly-poly, little bat-faced girl,” Jed said.

“I’m just trying to keep my head down and avoid getting noticed,” I said. “I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it so far today. That’s twice he’s jumped my ass. I don’t even want to think about giving him that kind of ammunition. Coach Bennett was bad enough.”

There were still several minutes left in the period as we finished up. The guys who’d been testing and spotting came in just as we were getting dressed. I went in search of Morgan and found her sorting paperwork with Coach Bennett.

“When do I get to see you muscle up and show me how strong you are?” she teased as I walked up.

“That’d be Thursday,” Coach Bennett jumped in. “We’ll do O-line and tight ends tomorrow, then all the skill positions.”

“All I have to do is stay in school for another 48 hours,” I said. “Dr. Franks has gone from threatening me with detention to ISS. I’d be better off calling in sick tomorrow.”

“You’ll come up with something,” Morgan smiled. “You always do.”

“That’s why he’s a superhero,” Coach Bennett snarked. “Gettin’ outta trouble is his superpower.”

As we were waiting for the bell to ring, Morgan reached up and touched one of the raw spots on my head.

“What happened here?” she asked, running a fingertip lightly over the wound.

“My helmet rubbed a couple of spots this morning,” I told her. “I need to wear a bandana or something until I grow my hair back out.”

“Aww, your first football injury,” she whined sympathetically. “Let me get a picture. Kacie and I are going to keep a scrapbook of this season.”

I figured I’d be better off to let her have her fun and played Ken doll for a minute until the bell rang.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I said. “I need to get my backpack.”

After making sure none of the coaches were watching, Morgan gave me a quick peck and headed for the main entrance. I swung through the locker room and grabbed my backpack out of my locker, then went to meet her outside.

Morgan hooked her arm through mine as we walked to the cafeteria.

“I didn’t want to say anything where one of the coaches might hear,” she said quietly, “but you’re not the only one Dr. Franks is coming down on. Kacie said he’s insisting on approving all music and marching routines before the band performs. Staci said he’s doing the same with the cheerleaders and drill team.”

“What is his deal?” I asked as we strolled along.

“Apparently, he wants to assert his dominance and let everyone know he’s in charge,” she said. “I’ve heard that he wants to make an example of a student right away to keep everyone else in line. It seems you may be the lucky contestant.”

“Just what I need,” I sighed. “I wonder if he’s any relation to George Schwarzmann.”

“Who?”

“The photographer in charge of the shoot I did out in Malibu,” I said. “He was also something of a control freak. Had to assert his dominance. He took the photos I was in with Lela Subinski.”

“I somehow doubt Dr. Franks is going to try to make you look hunky,” Morgan said as we reached the line for the lunchroom. “He’d do it anyway just by standing next to you. He must have been a bigger dork than Wilmer Hutchins when he was growing up.”

“I’m not worried about how I compare to him,” I said. “I’m just trying to stay out of trouble. If I get detention or ISS, Mom’ll kill me and then I’ll have to deal with whatever Coach Tucker throws at me.

“The thing is, I’m catching heat when I’m trying to follow the rules. It’s not like I’m intentionally stirring up shit. He’s worse than Mrs. Gentry was my sophomore year.”

We split up to go through the serving lines. Morgan wanted pizza, while I opted for the hot lunch. They were serving meatloaf and mashed potatoes today. I needed protein and carbs to make it through the afternoon practice.

I again paid cash for both our meals — Dr. Franks was apparently spending his time asserting his dominance instead of making sure student IDs were distributed — and we went in search of two seats together. The same table at which we ate Monday again had two empty seats. Once again, the other occupants departed shortly after we sat down and several football players arrived to take their place.

“Glad to see you managed to not get expelled on your way in from the fieldhouse, dude,” Jed cracked as he joined us.

“I’ll need to ask your dad if I can consider him to still be under retainer from Memorial Day,” I said. “He never gave me my dollar back.”

“And he never will, knowin’ him,” Jed said.

“We should probably have a talk with him,” I said. “I get the feeling this deal is far from over. We need to have some kind of plan in place if any of us do receive any kind of severe punishment.

“I don’t want this screwing up football season. The team can get by without me, but I don’t want you or Marshawn missing any time.”

“You just say the magic word and here I am,” Marshawn said as he sat down next to Jed. “What we talkin’ ‘bout that’s causin’ my ears to burn?”

“Gary’s making battle plans for Franks,” Jed said. “He’s fixin’ to lawyer up.”

“I’m not planning for battle,” “I said. “I just don’t want to be caught by surprise if he does pull something and I don’t want any of y’all being caught up in the fallout.”

“If you fail to plan, you are planning to fail,” every player at the table said in unison, drawing a laugh from Morgan.

“That’s one of Coach Tucker’s favorite lines,” Jed explained. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard it yet this week.”

“We’ve only had three practices and two athletic periods,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but he usually pulls it out the first day,” said Kenny Oliphant, a defensive tackle and one of the guys who worked as a cabana attendant at the club this summer. “And at least once a week when the games start, usually when we’re installing that week’s game plan.”

“I bet we hear it this afternoon,” said Hank Preston, an offensive lineman and another cabana attendant. “I don’t think he’s ever gone longer than that without saying it.”

“One thing I do need to plan on is finding a bandana,” I said. “I’d prefer not to get my head rubbed raw every practice.”

“What about the spirit rags they have at the spirit shop?” Morgan asked. “Those are about the same size as a bandana.”

Spirit rags were basically handkerchiefs in school colors that students waved at pep rallies and games. They had white ones with dark blue print as well as the reverse color scheme. In addition to the same logo that was used on the football helmets and the name of the school in the center, they were bordered with a little strip that had the lyrics of the school song running around the edges.

Hail to our high school, hats off to you

Ever you’ll find us loyal and true

Firm and undaunted always we’ll be

Hail to the school we love, here’s a toast to thee!

Morgan grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the spirit shop, where Miss Wilkes was manning the counter.

“How can I help you kids?” she asked, apparently not recognizing us from the day I’d gone all caveman at the pool and thrown a shrieking Morgan over my shoulder.

Morgan explained what we were looking for and Miss Wilkes pulled out a tray of each color.

“Let’s get one of each color,” Morgan said. “You can wear blue for home games and white for road games. Just like the jerseys.”

God forbid my accessories shouldn’t coordinate with the rest of my outfit. I guess I’d better get used to such ideas if I was going to continue dating girls.

“We’re supposed to get the powder blue ones in in time for Homecoming,” Miss Wilkes said. “You can match your throwback uniforms that week.”

“Put him down for one of those, too,” Morgan said.

Our school colors were pretty simple, just dark blue and white. Gold was occasionally used for trim, but wasn’t considered official — the fight song urged us to “fight for the blue and white” after all.

The official shade of blue was up for debate and seemed to change from sport to sport depending on the tastes of the head coach, who ordered the uniforms for each team. This year’s home jerseys seemed to be something darker than royal blue but lighter than navy. Morgan told me it was cobalt blue. It just looked blue to me.

The powder blue was what our last state championship team wore way back when. Coach Tucker brought them back as throwback jerseys that were only worn for Homecoming. The rumor was the team would wear them again if we ever made it back to the state finals. I kind of liked them. They were basically a knockoff of the old San Diego Chargers uniforms without the gold pants. The jersey was dark enough to use for home games against teams wearing white and light enough to use for road games against teams wearing a contrasting dark color.

I had yet to put on a game uniform, but I thought the kit the team wore since I started high school was pretty sharp. We had the dark blue jerseys with matching pants and white jerseys and pants. I don’t know who made the decision, but the team would often mix and match, giving us four color combinations to use. It was possible to go an entire month and not wear the same combination twice, and the throwback jerseys would extend that another week.

I reached for my wallet, but Morgan stopped me.

“I’ll get this,” she said. “You’ve paid for lunch two days in a row.”

A little quick math told me she was still coming out ahead, unless she was paying for the powder blue one in advance.

“There,” Miss Wilkes said as she handed Morgan the bag. “Now you’ll have the best-dressed Neanderthal on the team.”

OK, I guess she did recognize us.

We returned to our table and I grabbed our trays to turn them in while Morgan began addressing the rest of the players who’d sat with us. I was on my way back when a large portion of the group got up and headed for the spirit shop.

“What’s up,” I asked Morgan, pointing a thumb at the spirit shop counter.

“I told them they may as well all get one and look like a team,” she said. “Jed and Marshawn agreed, but not everyone has enough money today. I’ll have to get with Miss Wilkes to see if we can work something out for the rest. We’re talking about moving 258 of them if everybody gets one in each color.

“Now, sit down. I want to make sure this will fit your head.”

While Morgan tied the blue spirit rag on, Kelli Thornton and the rest of the cheerleaders who had senior lunch came over. The head cheerleader had a gleam in her eye I wasn’t quite sure I trusted.

“We wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for Sherry,” she said, taking a seat next to me. “And now you’re drumming up business for the spirit shop. We’re supposed to get your poster in by the end of the week so you can sign one for all of us.”

“Maybe we can do that during media day on Saturday,” I said. “We’re all supposed to be out there.”

“We have plans for Saturday after media day,” Morgan reminded me, pulling the spirit rag on my head a little tighter than necessary in the process, I thought.

“If I do one for each varsity cheerleader and each Gang of Eight member, that’s only 23 of them,” I said. “It won’t take that long.”