Chapter 36: Monday, Sept. 17

Monday, Sept. 17

Waking up and getting out of bed wasn’t any easier when the alarm went off. Marie was already in the kitchen fixing breakfast, dressed in one of her house dresses. She had to get me out of the way so she could get back to her regular job as Arlene’s housekeeper. The boss would be home in a couple of hours.

“Good morning, Daddy,” she chirped when I stuck my head in the kitchen. “Go get your shower. Breakfast’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Being the good boy that I am, I hopped in the shower, soaped up and shampooed — my hair was getting longer, but I still didn’t need a comb — and rinsed in about five minutes. I went ahead and shaved face and legs, then went to get dressed for the day. Marie put our plates and my glass of pineapple juice on the table as I slipped into my deck shoes.

“Mrs. Jenson said the workmen will be here to start soundproofing the apartment about 9 o’clock, so you need to take everything you might need with you,” she said as I started shoveling food in my mouth. “The apartment will be off-limits until Thursday.”

“That’s basically my backpack and phone,” I said. “Will they have to clear everything out of here?”

“I don’t think so,” Marie said. “Mrs. Jenson said they should be able to move things around. If I stack all the clothes on the bed, they can move the shelves, big chair, TV and dresser outside to create space. They’ll just need to move the bed out far enough from the wall to work on that section. The little nightstand and this table can go almost anywhere, even the bathroom.”

“You should probably put on some underwear if you’re going to be around strangers,” I said. “I don’t want you teasing the workmen, even accidentally.”

I finished eating and brushed my teeth, then prepared to go to school.

“You be a good girl,” I told Marie as I pulled her in for a kiss. “Call or text me if you need me. I’ll be done by 6 each evening through Wednesday, maybe Thursday. Friday, I’ll head to the agency as soon as school’s out.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Marie said. “Have a good day at school. I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” I said, grabbing my backpack and heading out.

For some reason, there was a different feeling in the air when I pulled into my parking spot. I don’t know if it was because the weather was gradually getting cooler as the equinox neared, the fact that this was six-weeks test week or just not having a game to focus on. Maybe a little of all three and some other factors.

Whatever the reason, the atmosphere seemed a little more relaxed as I headed for the main building.

Bethany flagged me down as I made my way through the East Wing toward Mr. Cochran’s room.

“Sorry I missed out on Saturday night and lunch yesterday,” she said after sneaking in a kiss. “Nan had some things going on and thought I should go with her since Mom was out of town.”

“Probably wanted to protect you from undesirable elements like me,” I joked.

“Oh, you’re very desirable,” the little blonde grinned as she ran a hand down the front of my shirt. “In fact, I was hoping we could visit the apartment one evening this week. It is my turn and I’m just about done with Aunt Flo.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” I said. “Arlene’s having some work done on the apartment. It won’t be available until Thursday, and I’ll be working Friday and Saturday.”

Bethany pouted prettily at the news, but wasn’t about to give up.

“Maybe we could use my room, then,” she said. “Mom doesn’t have room to complain after letting you sleep over.”

“But that wasn’t on a school night, and definitely not during six-weeks tests,” I said. “You should probably concentrate on studying.”

“I’d be able to concentrate better if I wasn’t so horny,” she cooed suggestively.

“Behave,” I said, looking around to make sure no teachers overheard. “We’ll just have to see how things go.”

The bell rang, giving me an excuse to escape Bethany’s clutches, but it was difficult to focus on Economics as I thought of spending some time with her. It also didn’t help that Chuck Edwards was in the class. Suddenly, the atmosphere didn’t seem so relaxed.

Homework was graded and turned in and we began preparing for Thursday’s test. Mr. Cochran warned us we’d need at least five sheets of graph paper for the exam.

Essays were turned in for Western Civ and English IV, then more notes were taken and more reading assigned. Those tests were going to involve a lot of interpretation. Western Civ was not just going to be regurgitating names, dates and places. We’d have to explain the results of events, both immediate and long-term. English would involve recognizing and commenting on various uses of imagery in Shakespeare’s works we’d studied so far. I could see a call to Aunt Karen in my future.

Mrs. Albracht said she’d be out Friday for an obstetrics appointment and we’d have a sub. By then, we’d all be so brain-fried there was little hope of getting any work done, anyway.

Athletics was as unenjoyable as Jed had said it would be. After doing our upper body lifting, we broke up into position groups for the film review.

The receiver portion didn’t have much to complain about, but Coach Wilson found some things anyway. It’s what coaches do. Basically, we should have been stronger against the Eagles defensive backs to get more separation. By my count, there were at least six plays that could have been flagged for interference.

On my play at the goal line, the linebacker shoved me in the back before the ball was in the air. Since it was within five yards, no foul. That just pissed me off.

Groans and howls sounded from various position groups as plays went against us. I expected to hear the offensive line on the deciding touchdown, but didn’t.

Most of the time in special teams was spent dissecting the starburst return — Coach Ramirez again vowed we’d be working on it in practice — but the missed field goal also received attention. I was mildly surprised when Coach said I made the right move by not calling for a fire drill. The miss was just the result a series of events that in total were just enough to send the ball wide.

All the coaches seemed to be in agreement that we’d played as well as we could, even taking our mistakes into consideration. The consensus was we shouldn’t dwell on it. There were too many what-ifs.

After rinsing off and getting dressed, we headed for lunch as soon as the bell rang. Morgan grabbed my arm and led me toward the cafeteria.

“The coaches were pissed after breaking down the film yesterday,” she said. “There were at least 20 plays that should have been penalties against them. A couple would have given us first downs and extended drives. Even if we hadn’t scored, that would have been more time off the clock that would have allowed us to get into Victory Formation at the start of the last possession.”

“We aren’t supposed to dwell on it,” I said as we strolled along.

“Players aren’t,” Morgan stated. “I can if I want to. Coach Tucker has already scratched that entire crew from calling any more of our games.”

After going through the lunch line, our regular group congregated at our regular table. Jed, wearing the boot, came clanking up on his crutches with one of the cheerleaders carrying his tray. He seemed to be milking his condition for all he could get.

For not dwelling on the loss, my teammates sure seemed to be dwelling on it.

“Coach Bennett wouldn’t show us all of that play, just the start,” Jed groused, not having to explain which play he was referencing. “Their entire line was offside. The left tackle hit Wes in the shoulder right as he was snapping.”

“Coach Turner showed the quarterbacks all of it,” Reggie Terrell said. “The right end just flat kicked it toward the goal line as I was divin’ for it. That shoulda been a penalty.”

“It looked like the ball brushed the pylon at the goal line,” Marshawn said. “Shoulda been a safety at most.”

I got the feeling the coaches had better keep a tight rein on practice this afternoon. Too many guys appeared ready to take out their frustration on each other. Football was rough enough without having somebody trying to hurt you.

It was Kelli Thornton, of all people, who broke up the pity party, squeezing in next to Chuck.

“You need to call Sherry this evening,” the head cheerleader told me. “I know Staci gave you her number.”

“Will do,” I said. “I’m sure her parents will want to talk to me before Saturday.”

“The dance will last from 7 until 11,” Kelli said. “Are you going to be able to take Sherry to dinner before that?”

“I still haven’t heard how late the shoot’s going to last,” I said. “Mrs. Jenson, my manager, just returned from a business trip this morning. I’ll have to talk to her.”

“You got a manager?” Reggie asked disbelievingly.

“It’s a very informal arrangement, no contract or anything,” I said. “The lady who got me my first shoot makes sure I know when and where I’m supposed to show up. She went to a lot of trouble to get me work and wants to make sure I don’t screw up and make her look bad.”

“Well, ain’t you special,” Reggie said in what I hoped was a teasing tone. At least the other guys were getting a laugh out of it.

“Not hardly,” I said. “I’m just a normal guy who gets his picture taken once in a while.”

“Oh, you’re definitely not normal,” Morgan smirked, earning her own round of laughter.

“And you’re definitely not helping,” I shot back. “I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. Marshawn doesn’t need another excuse to bring the pain.”

“Nah, I just like puttin’ bruises on pretty boy supermodels,” the linebacker grinned evilly. “Think them modelin’ folks’ll let you out of it if I put a few more on ya?”

“They’d probably just cover them with makeup and prop me up against the wall,” I said. “They’ll do what they have to to get their money’s worth out of me.”

Kelli tried to regain control of the conversation, apparently not the least bit interested the discussion of my modeling career.

“Sherry wants to eat at Familia Benavidez,” she said. “If you can get out of there before 7, it won’t matter if you’re a little late to the dance.”

“If I can get away from the agency by 5 o’clock, it should be good,” I said. “I can take some clothes and get ready before I leave there. Any recommendations on what I should wear?”

“Slacks and a dress shirt should be good,” Kelli said. “You won’t need a coat or tie. You should probably check with Sherry so you don’t clash.”

“Khakis and a white shirt,” I decided. “That’ll go with anything she wears.”

“At least you’ve learned that much,” Morgan teased. “Just don’t spill anything on the shirt.”

I begged off at that point, needing to swing by my locker to load up for the afternoon before the bell rang.

We got last week’s test back in Algebra II — I did well enough to keep the Beemer a little longer even without getting the bonus question — then started on another chapter. Mr. Henderson told us there’d be questions from everything we’d covered so far on the six-weeks test. Of course, we’d have to know that stuff, anyway, in order to understand the concepts covered in the new chapter.

The next step in that direction came in the form of another homework assignment. Mr. Henderson seemed to like crapping on our week right away. We were told we could also expect homework Wednesday for Thursday, but Thursday night would be homework-free so we could study for Friday’s test.

Chemistry was a lab day, as Mr. Debussy had promised. Elise Stirling was hyped up for Tuesday’s volleyball match, which was a matchup of the last two teams without a district loss, both at 4-0. The match was on the road, meaning the football team probably wouldn’t attend, but Elise was confident of our chances. While this was the first meeting of the season between the teams, we’d handily beaten three teams that had beaten Tuesday’s opponent.

“Just don’t get overconfident,” I told my lab partner. “Play it one point at a time.”

“You sound like Coach Doss,” Elise sniffed. “She said almost exactly the same thing during athletic period.”

Essays were submitted in Creative Writing, then we began on the day’s assignment — a neutral piece on a national topic, which each student would draw out of a hat. The next two days would have us writing positive then negative pieces on different topics. Mrs. Cohen had selected enough news items that no one would get the same subject twice.

Thursday would have us writing an opinion piece on yet another topic. We were told to give the metro dailies a good read each day to stay abreast of current events. Friday would be our choice. We could write whatever we wanted — poetry, prose, history, fiction, an analytical piece, a critique.

It took me most of the class to finish. I read through it twice, changing a word here or there to eliminate any hint of bias.

The mood in the locker room was lively. Several guys were reminding everyone in earshot that we couldn’t afford to slack off just because of the open date. It seemed some were already making plans for Thursday just in case Coach Tucker rewarded us with an extra day off.

After calisthenics and position drills, we started with our option segment. Reggie looked a little more comfortable running it from a pistol, but still kept more often than he pitched. Coach McEntire kept me working mostly under center. I tended to get rid of the ball at the earliest opportunity, whether on the dive or the pitch. I only kept once the entire segment.

I noticed Coach Miller wasn’t around to make snide comments about the way I avoided getting smeared. One of the guys said he’d be out a few days after getting his knee scoped this morning. He would be riding around in his little cart for almost a month, but should be able to work as a spotter for most of the district games.

When we got to the special teams segment, Ronnell and I were the only ones fielding punts. Ronnell I could understand. He was the fastest man on the team. Me? I have no idea.

One thing that was different was Coach Ramirez had Fabrice booting rugby punts with both feet. It seems at least three of our district opponents were employing the strategy. The return man’s job was to field it on the fly if at all possible. I could usually get there if I didn’t line up too deep. The problem was the gunner on whichever side the kick went to basically had a clear shot. I got real good at waving my arm over my head as I ran.

The mistake I made was snagging one on the bounce from the side. It was a reflexive reaction. I got trucked, but somehow held onto the ball.

“That’s why we tell you to let it go if it hits,” Coach Ramirez said as I tried to gather my wits. “You’d dang sure better hold onto it if you try that in a game.”

I’d prefer not to be in such a situation, but didn’t express the thought.

Then we spent some time working with the kickoff coverage unit on covering the starburst. I did not expect to take part and was surprised when Coach McEntire called me out to join the scout team’s return team.

“You’re going to be our spinner,” he said when I joined the huddle.

“What’s that?” I asked getting an uneasy feeling.

“The guy who takes the handoff from the return man and hands off to one of the wings,” he said, going on to explain each role the back four men would play. “The mechanics of it aren’t that different from running the option.”

The nut of it was I would be the guy standing with my back to the kicking team as 11 angry young men stormed in my direction looking to smear the man with the ball. Marshawn was going to love this. My one chance to survive was to get the hell out of there as soon as I got rid of the ball.

“We’re going to keep things simple,” Coach McEntire said. “If we call return left, the right wing gets the ball. If we call return right, the left wing gets the ball. The deep man usually has the option to fake to the spinner and keep it if he sees an opening, but we won’t do that today.”

We walked through it a couple of times, running it to each side. Basically, the deep man would continue up the middle after handing off while the wings ran to me. I was just to hold the ball about belt high and let the designated wing take it from my hands, while the other wing and I scattered in different directions. The biggest problem was making sure the wings didn’t collide with each other as they met in the middle.

The first time we ran it at speed, things went smoothly enough on the exchange. Then I got hammered as I turned to head upfield.

“Dang! I was hopin’ you had the ball,” Marshawn laughed as he rolled off me.

His action did have consequences, though. Coach Ramirez immediately jumped down the linebacker’s throat about staying in his lane as I tried to get to my feet. The guy who actually had the ball almost reached midfield going through Marshawn’s assigned area. I think the threat of 50 extra gassers after practice got his attention.