Chapter 43: Monday, Sept. 24

Monday, Sept. 24

I woke up with Kacie spooned up against me with one of her hands clasping one of mine to a breast. I freely admit to being addicted and waking up in this position was my drug of choice. The biggest benefit was it would never show up should I be tested.

A look at my alarm clock showed it was about a quarter to 6, but I actually felt rested after getting to sleep at an early (for me, anyway, after the past few days) hour. I carefully crawled out of bed, doing my best not to disturb my sister, but she still moaned disappointedly at the loss of contact.

I hit the bathroom and took a quick rinse in the shower. I was brushing my teeth when Kacie staggered in grumpily. She waited until I rinsed and spat to claim her good morning kiss, then shooed me out so she could begin getting ready.

Dressed for the day, I grabbed my backpack and headed to the kitchen for cereal and pineapple juice. I went over the English reading as I ate and felt I had a pretty good grasp on it by the time Mom came in a little before 7.

“What do you have planned today?” she asked as she poured a cup of coffee.

“Not much,” I said. “Classes, practice and study hall will keep me busy until about 7 tonight. After that will depend on how much homework I have left to do.”

“When will report cards come out?” Mom asked.

“They’re supposed to be available online by Friday,” I said. “The grades ought to be posted today or tomorrow. I’m sure the coaches will have all the athletes’ today just in case any are ineligible. If they’re going to have to make any lineup changes, they’ll want to know before we get started on the game plan.”

The way the system worked, the state organization gave schools the full week to report grades. Anyone who failed would become ineligible for all extracurricular activities at the end of the schoolday on Friday. I don’t know if Coach Tucker would play someone with failing grades on a Thursday or not, but it was a moot point since all the rest of our games were on Fridays. Anyone who did fail a class would be forced to sit out three weeks. If they didn’t bring their grade up to passing in that time, they’d miss the entire six weeks. Since we had seven district games, there was still a chance to play again, but by then the coaching staff may decide to stick with whoever had been plugged into the spot.

I put my dishes in the washer and gave the English one more look. I was packing things up when Dad came in.

“You be careful today,” he said as I prepared to leave. “Women scorned, fury, all that jazz.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I headed out.

It was a little after 7:30 when I pulled into my spot in the senior lot. I had plenty of time to hit my locker and load up for the morning classes. Or so I thought.

I was making my way past the front office when Mr. Dunwoody stuck his head out.

“Robinson, would you step in here, please?” he said in a tone that indicated it wasn’t a request, even if he did say please.

I followed him back to Mrs. Montero’s office wondering how hard they were going to come down on me. I was pretty sure they didn’t know about me fucking Bonnie under the bleachers. Kelli Thornton must have been demanding they do something about me.

“Your story checked out,” Mrs. Montero said. “According to the police, you did nothing to provoke the boy who tried to attack you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, feeling a sense of relief.

Then Mrs. Montero picked up a sheet of paper and gave me look.

“Mrs. Cohen has some concerns about the topic you chose for a recent assignment in her class,” the principal said as my sense of relief suddenly disappeared. “She thought it was inappropriate for a high school student. I can’t say that I disagree.”

“We were told to write about whatever was on our mind,” I said as Mr. Dunwoody looked on curiously. “That’s what was on my mind.”

“Well, I must say it is well written,” Mrs. Montero said, surprising the hell out of me as she scanned the page. “You made some very valid points. It’s almost like you’d taken some of my husband’s classes. She must be quite happy if you really are able to do everything you wrote about. But you should select other topics for future assignments.”

Mr. Dunwoody looked at me as if he thought he should beat me to a pulp just to be on the safe side.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I repeated.

“Now you need to do something about that stench coming from your locker,” she said. “We’ve already had several complaints.”

Stench? There should be no stench. The only things I kept in my locker were textbooks and school supplies. No clothing or food to sit forgotten and rotting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am,” I said. “It was fine when I left school Friday. I never left the old gym during the dance and haven’t been to my locker yet this morning.”

“You should check it out, then,” Mr. Dunwoody said. “I’ll even go with you to see what you’ve done this time.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, grabbing my backpack and heading for the door.

Mr. Dunwoody followed me to the row of lockers.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” he growled as we progressed down the hall.

“Mrs. Montero could probably explain it better than I could,” I said. “I believe she has some experience with the subject. You can ask her about it next time you discuss what to do to me. Did you enjoy your coffee Saturday night?”

The former coach just grunted and we proceeded on our way.

As we turned the corner to my locker, the odor was clearly noticeable. It smelled like someone had taken a rancid shit after eating too much chili or something.

The growing crowd of students looked at us as if wondering just how much trouble I was in if Mr. Dunwoody was escorting me.

I had a hint something wasn’t right because the little poster the cheerleaders had made, which encouraged us to “Tame the Lions” this week, had been ripped up, leaving only a few shreds hanging on the door.

“Think that boy did this?” Mr. Dunwoody asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “How would he have known which one was mine? He wasn’t ever a student here.”

I tried to turn the dial on the combination lock. It had been superglued.

“Here, allow me,” Mr. Dunwoody said, reaching past me and achieving the same result.

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled a huge keyring attached to his belt by one of those spring-loaded retractable lines, flipped through to find a master key and inserted it into the keyhole. The door was stuck like maybe it had been superglued, too, but he wrenched it open by sheer force.

The wave that hit me almost made me retch. It looked like someone had coated the inside of my locker with shit from some undetermined species.

What it covered was beyond saving, but not just because of the foul-smelling substance. All the paper in the locker looked like it’d been run through a shredder or woodchipper.

“Somebody doesn’t like you, Robinson,” Mr. Dunwoody, looking a little green himself at the smell, said as he reached in and picked up the remains of what may have been the cover to my Chemistry book. “Were all your books in there?”

“All but English IV,” I said. “I had some reading to do over the weekend. But all my notebooks for every subject were in there. Six weeks worth of notes from every class.”

“You can get the textbooks replaced at the registrar’s office, but it’s gonna cost ya,” he said. “Couple hundred bucks, at least. I’ll get a janitor to come clean this mess outta here. You’re probably gonna have to get a different locker. I think this door is going to have to be replaced.”

I thought I’d be better off just lugging everything around in my backpack. If someone wanted to destroy my stuff — and I had my suspicions as to who — they’d just need to sit back and watch for me to visit the replacement locker to be able to do it again.

My mood wasn’t helped by the bell ringing. I was already late for my first class and I’d have to get this taken care of first.

We made our way back to the offices, Mr. Dunwoody going back into the main office while I went into the registrar’s office on the opposite side of the hall. The lady who’d helped change my schedule back in July appeared even less pleased with what I was requesting this time.

“You’re supposed to take better care of your books,” she chastised me, ignoring the part about someone breaking into my locker over the weekend. “You’re going to have to pay for new ones.”

I just kept my mouth shut and let her collect new books to replace what had been destroyed — Economics, Western Civ, Algebra II, AP Chemistry and Creative Writing. The last one really pissed me off. Mrs. Cohen hardly ever made us use it. Most of our work in that class was just us writing and then being critiqued on our efforts.

The lady running things finally returned with a stack of books, then proceeded to waste more of my time as she looked up what to charge for each one and finished checking them out to me.

“That will be $225,” she said after adding it all up. “You’ll have to pay over at the main office. We don’t handle money here.”

I managed to squeeze everything into my backpack and lugged it all back across the hall. I wondered if Coach Bennett would give me credit for doing my upper-body lifting. That sucker was heavy.

In the main office, one of the ladies told me the amount would have to be paid in cash. They didn’t accept cards. Of course, I didn’t have that much on me — I was expected to get by on $100 a week. I was told I’d have to pay it off before the end of the school year or I wouldn’t be allowed to graduate. At the moment, I really didn’t care, but I’d have to hit an ATM at some point.

The lady was at least nice enough to give me a hall pass. Even though it meant I’d miss more of first period, I went to the StuCo store in the cafeteria and purchased six overpriced spiral notebooks so I could keep notes in class. That wiped out most of the cash I did have on me. I was just glad I had a pack of ballpoint pens stashed in one of the side pockets of the backpack, giving me something to write with.

It was almost 8:30 when I finally walked into Mr. Cochran’s room.

“Good of you to join us,” the teacher said as he accepted my pass and pointed me to my seat.

I don’t know how much I’d missed, but planned to get with Chuck during study hall to catch up. Getting homework right off the bat made me detest Mondays that much more.

Things just kept getting better at the end of class. Chuck caught up to me as we exited and for once was not his usual jovial self.

“You want to tell me why I’m supposed to beat the shit out of you?” he hissed after pulling me off to the side.

Looks like Kelli wasn’t satisfied with simply trashing my locker. Or having it trashed. It seemed she liked to farm out her dirty work.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said, “but this isn’t the place. If you can wait until lunch, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’ve got plans for lunch,” Chuck said. “Kelli wants to ditch the cafeteria today and go off campus.”

I could only hope she didn’t try to talk him into doing me more harm. This day was really starting to suck. I was hearing that Boomtown Rats song in my head.

Things got marginally better, or at least no worse, in the next two classes as we got our tests back. I got A’s on both. Mrs. Edwards added a little note that my answers on the essay questions were well written. I’d have to pass that along to Mrs. Cohen.

In English IV, Mrs. Albracht got going on the next chapter just like Aunt Karen said she would once we went over the test. The overly gravid teacher did feel the need to yank my chain, asking if I behaved myself with her substitute. I couldn’t wait for the next three weeks to pass so the woman could hurry up and go on maternity leave.

At the bell, I hoisted my overloaded backpack and set off for the fieldhouse. My arms were feeling it as I worked my way through the upper-body circuit. Coach Bennett didn’t try to humiliate me any more than usual, though. Kacie was in for a disappointment. There would be no lifting her up in the shower tonight.

The film study went quickly. Even with my increased role, I didn’t expect to be that involved in the offense. Which was a shame. These guys were horrible. I expected Mario to be quarterbacking most of the second half. The big question was how much Coach Tucker would pull back on the play calling. I could see our backup running backs combining for about 40 carries. We wouldn’t have to pass much, if at all.

Since everyone was in the team room, Coach Tucker went over the grade report with us. None of the varsity players failed, which Coach attributed to everybody working together in study hall. Those would continue Mondays through Wednesdays after practice and as needed on Thursdays, but most of the coaching staff would be gone those nights for freshman and JV games. Coach said the situation would be assessed when the three-week report came out.

There were a few JV players who would be sitting out the next three weeks, most notably Scottie Pipkin. While no names were mentioned, it was no secret the JV quarterback had failed geometry despite Morgan’s tutoring. The good news was his grade had come up significantly in the last three weeks, he just had too much ground to make up. Morgan seemed to think he’d get there if he maintained that rate of progress.

“That’s why he’s not ready for varsity,” Jed muttered under his breath as Coach reiterated the importance of taking care of business in the classroom first. “We woulda been changin’ quarterbacks the week of our first district game.”

Names were mentioned when Coach announced which players made the honor roll. I was more relieved than surprised to have made straight A’s. That meant I could keep the Beemer for six more weeks.

One thing that stood out to me was almost all of the offensive linemen made straight A’s and the ones who hadn’t were all on the A-B honor roll.

“Of course,” Jed said when I pointed that out. “You can’t be dumb and play O-line. Those guys are on defense. We have to make our reads and line calls, then be able to adjust on the fly in case of an audible. D-linemen just have to hit the people in front of them.”

I don’t know how accurate that statement was, especially given the twists and stunts our defense ran all while shifting from even to odd fronts. I got the feeling my buddy was having a little fun at the expense of the defensive line.

We were sent to shower and change, but Coach Tucker called me into his office with a grim expression. I had a bad feeling about this.

“Sit,” he said after I closed his office door.

I took a chair and endured his gaze as he gathered his thoughts.

“I received a rather disturbing call about you,” he said. “Did you attend a party Friday night and did you partake of any illicit substances while there?”

Looks like Kelli still wasn’t done with me.

“No, sir,” I said. “I did not attend any party. I was working Friday just like I told you I would be. I was at the modeling agency until almost midnight. You can contact Mr. Shoffner at the agency if you want to check it out.”

“I’ll do that,” the head coach said. “I can’t stress enough how serious an issue this is. I won’t tolerate even a hint of drug use in this program. We’ve made a lot of plans with you in mind. If I’m going to have to scrap them, it will be right now. Is there anything I should be worried about?”

“Not that I can think of,” I said. “The most you’d have reason to discipline me for is acting as bartender a couple of times for my grandfather and his buddies while they watched football. All I did was mix Jack and Coke for them. I barely got close enough to smell the alcohol. I certainly never consumed any.”

“Who are these buddies?” Coach demanded.

“George Patterson — the gatherings have been at his house — and my dad,” I said. “Bill Richards, that’s Jed’s dad, and Frank Ensberry, Morgan’s dad, were there yesterday. Mr. Patterson wanted to talk about the guy from Cedar Springs showing up at Sadie Hawkins.”

“I heard about that,” Coach said. “Did you really try to punch Dunwoody?”

The question was asked with a hint of amusement.

“I didn’t know it was him,” I said. “I’d been grabbed and spun around twice in a matter of seconds. I just reacted.”

“Your parents have been contacted and consented to a drug test, not that we couldn’t administer one without it,” Coach said, returning to the original topic. “You won’t practice until we get the results, which should be within 48 hours. Give me 50 gassers for each day you miss. Of course, if it comes back positive, you’re off the team.”

Jesus. Fucking. CHRIST!

What was it with me getting extra gassers every time somebody decided to fuck with me? I was just about ready to give George Patterson my entire share of the investment pool to see if his investigators could find out.

“That won’t happen,” I said through gritted teeth, “unless somebody tampers with the test.”

“And I promise you that won’t happen,” Coach said. “Doc can collect a urine sample right now. Do you have any objection?”

“Just that it isn’t necessary,” I said, fighting to remain calm. “I’ve never used anything on the banned list. The only thing you might have a problem with is my caffeine level.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“I drink a lot of iced tea,” I said. “I’ve been trying to cut back on sodas. I can chug down a couple of quarts with a meal.”

“Water would be a healthier alternative to either,” Coach said. “Go see Doc. I want to get this cleared up today. And stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, rising from my seat and heading for the door.

Doc already had a specimen bottle ready when I got to the training room. He handed it to me and told me to follow him to a restroom just off the fieldhouse lobby, then stood there in the open doorway as I tried to do my business. Like I was even prepared to try to give a fake sample.

I had to imagine waterfalls and gushing spillways for a bit, but was eventually able to produce enough to fill the cup past the little line marking the minimum amount necessary for testing. Doc took the sample and secured the lid, then wrote something on the label as I headed for the showers.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” he cracked as I walked off in a foul mood over the whole ordeal.

I showered and dressed quickly, so quickly I was still damp when I met Morgan outside.

“What took you?” she asked as we moved toward the cafeteria.

“Had to pee in a cup,” I said. “Apparently, a little birdie told Coach Tucker I was a naughty boy and violated the drug policy at a party Friday night.”

“Kelli?”

“That would be my guess,” I said, “but I can’t do much about it without proof. I told Coach that I was at the agency until late. Then Marie and I stopped to get a burger. A bunch of SWAT cops were in the place when we got there. That was the closest I came to a brush with the law for the evening.”

“Why were SWAT cops there?” Morgan asked.

“Getting some dinner after a training exercise,” I said. “That may have been the safest spot in the whole metro area at that moment.”

We got into line, which was almost empty by now, made our selections, presented our ID cards at the checkout stand and went to our regular table. Chuck and Kelli were nowhere to be seen.

Sadie Hawkins, the events surrounding me in particular, was the topic of discussion as we took our seats.

“I can’t believe you tried to punch Dunwoody,” Hank Preston, the starting right guard, laughed.

“It was reflex,” I said before repeating the explanation I gave Coach Tucker.

“Man, I know you crazy,” Marshawn said, “but that peckerwood needs to be in a rubber room. Whachoo do to ‘im to set ‘im off like that?”

“Danced with his ex-girlfriend a couple of times,” I said. “He was the one who caused trouble out at Cedar Springs a couple of weeks ago.”

“Who were those dudes who took ‘im down?” Reggie Terrell asked. “Marshawn just wishes he could tackle like that.”

“School security, I guess,” I said, fudging the truth just a little as the linebacker glowered at the quarterback. “The campus cops were there to haul him off pretty quick. It was almost like they knew he was going to be there.”

“Dude, what was the deal with your locker this morning?” Jed asked, changing subjects and earning me a curious glance from Morgan. “Smelled like a shithouse on a hot day.”

“Somebody trashed it over the weekend,” I said, patting Morgan on the leg to keep her from asking if Kelli was responsible for that, as well. “Destroyed all my books and notebooks. I’m going to have to get with somebody in every class and get copies of notes for the first six weeks.”

“I’ll help ya with fourth period,” Jed snarked. “You’re on your own for the rest.”

“Thanks,” I grunted as the rest of the table cracked up. Chuck was in danger of losing his title if this kept up, I thought.

Talk turned to this week’s game. The question wasn’t would we win, but by how much. The Lions were giving up nearly 50 points a game and had been allowed a running clock in two of their three. Their offense was capable of hitting the occasional big play, but their defense and special teams were so bad it didn’t matter. They’d already allowed four touchdown returns on kickoffs and punts, including the opening kickoff of their first game. I thought that was a hell of an omen for how your season was going to go.

“Maybe Coach’ll let you return a punt instead of calling for a fair catch every time,” Marshawn said.

“That’d pick us up, what, two yards?” Reggie snorted. “I think the offense will settle for just gettin’ the ball. If it takes us more than three plays to score, that’ll be because somebody fell down, stepped out of bounds or got a penalty.”

“How about we all just do what Coach says and let the score take care of itself?” I posited, drawing a nod from Jed and a couple of other linemen. “Get the win first, then worry about style points.”