Chapter 4

School and football season started and our time together got even scarcer. Suzette was a senior and I was a junior, so we had no classes together. To make matters worse, Suzette's mother was assigned as my Trigonometry teacher — and she made no bones about the fact that I was disliked and unwelcome in her classroom.

I tried to be transferred from the class, but that would have created havoc with some already overcrowded AP classes I was taking. So I stuck it out. Mrs. Crawford was a good teacher — she knew the subject and presented it well — but she seemed to take savage delight in castigating me publicly for missing Friday classes for games — excused absences — or humiliating me in front of the class if I missed a question or couldn't solve a theorem.

I began to dread sixth period. I didn't want to involve anyone else in my quandary, so I tried to speak to Mrs. Crawford about the matter. I told her I didn't mind if she questioned my morals. But to question my commitment to academics or my intelligence was crossing the bounds.

She listened politely and informed me if I wanted her to stop questioning my intelligence I should stop doing stupid things. To make matters worse, I began to think she was intentionally goading me in class — trying to make me say something inappropriate to earn a suspension. Luckily a few people around me managed to keep me focused on the bigger picture — and keep my mouth shut.

Those same people offered to go with me to the principal to file a formal grievance but I decided that step was too severe given the circumstances. Mrs. Crawford graded my tests, quizzes and homework fairly and I still had one of the highest grades in the class.

Besides that, there was the teachers' union to consider. Short of physically or sexually assaulting me, I thought there was little the school system could or would do without a hassle. So I let it go.

The last person I wanted involved in this was Suzette. I had been a source of contention between the two of them for months now and I didn't want to add to this division. And yet Suzette found out pretty quickly what was going on and had no compunction about confront me.

"What the hell's going on with you and my mom," she asked heatedly one day after school. "Some guy in my French class told me you two had been going head to head since school started."

I explained there was friction, but I thought she was angry at the wrong person.

"It's no problem," I told her. "Your mom doesn't like me. It's not a huge surprise to you, I'm sure. She wants everyone to know she doesn't like me and that she'll show me no favoritism because I'm your boyfriend."

I thought that was a pretty diplomatic answer. Suzette, well, she wasn't as impressed as I was.

"Bullshit," she said. "You can be a pain in the ass. Mom has never had a problem in class with any guy I've dated. I haven't dated many, but most were in mom's classes."

I told Suzette that I imagined her mother had also invited her past boyfriends into the house upon occasion or at least said "hi" to them in passing.

"I'm still waiting for those two things to happen," I said. "It is what it is. Believe me or don't. All I ask is that you have both sides before you're automatically mad at me. I'm not asking you to discount the possibility I've screwed up. But at least ask a couple of other people in the class before you chew me out. OK?"

I got the classic "whatever" response and she turned and headed home. I headed off to practice.

Suzette was waiting for me when I got home — and she wasn't happy.

"Why don't you just transfer out of her class?" she asked before even a hello. "You don't have to be an ass to her at school. I asked her what was going on she told me you were disrespectful to her and disruptive to the class."

I was tired and I knew it wasn't a fight I could win.

"Go home, Suzette," I told her. "I don't feel like listening to this crap and I'm not going to. Even when I was being the biggest asshole in school I never had a problem with teachers. I've gotten good grades my whole life and I'm not stupid. When I met privately with your mom I told her my morality was fair game personally but my intelligence was off-limits professionally. I don't care if your mom likes me.

"Right now, I don't much care if you like me. I just want to go inside, eat and go to bed."

And I did, leaving an open-mouthed Suzette standing on my porch.

Our football season was cruising along. Regardless of any personal travail I might be experiencing, the team was unstoppable on the field. No team in our conference could come within three touchdowns of us and I was spending a lot of time on the sideline in the second half of games. College recruiters were all over the place and I was getting phone calls and tons of mail every day. I was getting so many cell phone messages I quit carrying the thing.

It was a good problem to have. With mom and Suzette's help I had narrowed my choices down to 10 schools. I would pare the list to five by January and start taking visits in the spring. I hoped to offer an oral commitment by July and end this whole process. I wanted to wait until after my senior season to sign a letter of intent, but if I found the right spot before then I'd sign in September.

Truthfully, I wanted to wait to see where Suzette would wind up before I narrowed my choices down. It seems ridiculous to me now — and it seemed ridiculous to my mom then — but I was adamant. If there was a chance I could go to the same college as Suzette, I was going to. Actually, that was backward thinking. I pretty much could go to college anywhere with a football program.

When Street & Smith rated the top quarterback prospects, I was surprised to learn that I was the top college quarterback recruit. I'd never doubted my ability but I figured there was someone somewhere my age better than I was. Given the level of competition I'd faced I wondered — aloud — how anyone could rank me anywhere. I'd played against perhaps 15 NCAA Division I players in my entire scholastic career — and maybe a handful that were good Division I players.

The team started getting some recognition, too. USA Today ranked us the top school in the East region — ahead of such powerhouses as Central Bucks West and Archbishop Carroll. Every week we'd face a team determined to end our winning streak. Each one left disappointed. By season's end we had won 30 in a row. The playoffs would be a different story — or at least we hoped for more competition than we'd seen so far — but we couldn't help but believe our second consecutive state title was within reach.

The fight with Suzette about her mother came a few days before our first playoff game. When we took the field that Friday night, she still wasn't speaking to me. I didn't know if we'd broken up or were just in a fight. I hadn't had a lot of time to consider the possibilities but I knew I missed having her around. I've always tried to keep my personal life separate from football. I've always tried and I've always failed.

By Friday night, it was evident my mind was not entirely focused on football. Coach pulled me aside and told me to get my head on straight. The team we opened the playoffs with was a team we'd beaten by 34 points earlier in the season, so I figured if I could focus for a half, we'd be in pretty good shape.

It turns out my estimation was generous. I managed to focus for a little more than a quarter and we were ahead by 28 points when coach pulled me before halftime.

I had a decent game — it was my first two-interception game of my life — but I'd managed the offense and made some pretty good plays. It wasn't enough for coach.

"We don't win next week if you play like that," he told me. "Be in my office after you get dressed."

I waited for coach for 20 minutes before he came in. His tone was a little more conciliatory than it had been on the sideline.

"I've heard this stuff with your girlfriend's mom has hit an apex," he said. "She's been in this office five times urging me to suspend you. I told her the same thing I told you when you complained about her: So long as there is no violation of school policy, I will not interfere, and if you had violated school policy, she should send you to the disciplinary board.

"There is still no violation of school policy that I'm aware of, but it is affecting the team. So, what do you plan to do about it?"

For the second time in a week, this had been turned around on me.

"Coach, I don't know what I can do about it," I told him. "I haven't done anything wrong except date the woman's daughter. I'm not even sure I'm dating the daughter anymore and it still hasn't changed her attitude toward me. What do you want me to do?"

His answer was simple: "I want you to handle it."

Another fountain of good advice let me tell you.

I figured my best hope was to do nothing — literally. I would go to class, turn in my assignments and pay attention. But under no circumstances would I speak unless Mrs. Crawford asked me a direct question. If I said nothing, there was no way anyone could think this was my fault. And maybe it had been to this point. I couldn't imagine Mrs. Crawford lying to Suzette. If she wanted to undermine our relationship, there were more effective ways to do it. I'd learned that in most cases, perception is reality. If she perceived I was disrupting her class, then I was.

I admit I had talked out of turn and made wisecracks from time to time. It was nothing most of the other students hadn't done. But, then again, most of the other students weren't dating the teacher's daughter. Perhaps this was the way to go.

I figured I'd apologize to Mrs. Crawford first thing Monday morning — or in front of the whole class if that's what she wanted — and move forward. It was just about the only plan I had.

Friday nights after the game were date nights. Suzette and I usually would rent a video or go to a friend's house until her curfew at 11 p.m. I was pretty sure that idea was scrapped for this week, but Suzette was waiting by my car like always when I finally emerged from my meeting with coach.

I hoped her posture was just because she was chilly, but I figured the crossed arms and defiant look meant that wasn't the case.

"I thought you saw me standing here and caught another ride home," she said.

I didn't want to be mad, and I tried hard not to be. It didn't work very well.

"Suzette, you know I rarely run from my problems," I told her. "And I've been pretty good at accepting responsibility lately. What do you want me to do? I just asked coach the same question. I plan to ask your mom that question on Monday. So, I'll ask you, too.

"My best plan is to sit in class and keep my mouth shut — completely. I don't know how that can be misconstrued as disruptive. But, if it is, at least you know ahead of time what I'm doing. The whole reason I didn't mention any of this shit to you is exactly this. If my goal was to make your mom's life as crappy as possible, wouldn't I have told everybody who'd listen how big a bitch she is? Well, I'm going to start right now. Maybe that will put an end to this. She's asked coach five times to suspend me. If I was a disruption to her class, don't you think she'd report me to the office? A lot of the class has urged me to file a formal grievance on the matter.

"Out of respect for you, I haven't. Maybe I should. If this is going to be a black mark for me with you and coach, maybe there should be a black mark the next time she goes looking for a job or tries for tenure here. Fuck it. I'm done being your mom's whipping boy. And yours too, for that matter."

Suzette looked as if she'd cry. In the entirety of our relationship, I might have said two curse words — another part of my personality that had evolved recently — and she'd rarely seen me angry.

"You really haven't been doing anything on purpose, have you?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"Outside of you, your mom and the people she's convinced, no one I've talked to has been disrupted," I told her. "I don't know if the others in class would tell me if they were, but I think at least some of them would. At the same time, I don't think your mother would purposefully sabotage me. Maybe us if she got the chance. So, I suspect it's a matter of perspective. I'm going to apologize to your mother for disrupting the class. I'm going to participate in class only when directly called upon. I will do the homework, take the quizzes and complete the tests. But as far as I'm concerned, I wouldn't fish your mother's head out a mud hole if she were drowning. If this isn't good enough for her, the next step will be a formal hearing. This is the last time I'm talking about it. Do you have a ride home or were you planning to ride with me?"