High School Football – The Temptation
Paul Swearingen
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Paul Swearingen
Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen at Smashwords.com
High School Diversity – The Clash
High School Yearbook – The Drama
High School Newspaper – The Danger
High School History – The Treasure
High School Football – The Temptation is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental.
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High School Football – The Temptation
Chapter One
What am I doing here?
Justin shuffled across the street crossing, stumbling slightly over the asphalt-filled cracks that ran like a broken spider web into the intersection.
I’m on foot, in downtown Nowhere, Kansas. The dang sun is beating on my fool head, and in about two seconds I’m going to have a sunstroke and start convulsing and puking. And no one is going to come and help my sorry ass into the shade. He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and checked the time: 10:50. What would the temperature be like in a couple of hours?
His left Nike caught another bump, and he stumbled again and looked around. That’s right, fall on your face, right here on the street, fool. Mama always said, “Pick your feet up when you walk!” You want to be the only black kid in this town facedown on a concrete pavement hot enough to fry you?
He remembered the last time he’d actually been facedown on concrete, in the dark, and definitely not in the summertime. A foot hooked around his had brought him down, and a pain in his side had suddenly replaced the pain in his elbow as he felt a foot buried in his ribs. He’d rolled into it and brought down his attacker on top of him, but then Justin had twisted away, grabbed his face, and thumped his head on the concrete.
“Nice way to treat a brother,” Justin had muttered. “Don’t be asking me for any more favors, scumwipe.” He had stood up and returned the favor of a kick in the side, but the figure had just moaned and then lay still. Justin then had walked away, careful not to step into the snow and leave footprints behind.
He shook his head and looked both ways to check for anyone who might have seen him stumble, but traffic was nonexistent. Nevertheless, he lifted his feet slightly and made it across the street with no more stumbles. With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the area from the street corner … a town square surrounded by vacant lots and mostly two- and three-story brick buildings, some with a scattering of cars angle-parked in front of them, a few boarded up with grass growing between the cracks of the worn, uneven concrete sidewalk in front. This place was dead, really dead. He had thought east Topeka was a prime candidate for the undertaker, but this town looked as if it had expired and been buried for the last century or two. And he was stuck here, a live kid in a dead town, and he’d better keep moving. He shook his head and headed in the direction of the school complex, following the directions that his mother had given him.
The scene between him, his mother, and his sister two weeks ago when his mother announced that they were moving to Niotaka had not exactly been pretty. She finally had yelled at both of them; his sister Sharice had cried and threatened to run away; he had said little, as he knew quite well what his mother was going through to make ends meet and was as stubborn as he when her mind was made up, and maybe it was time for a change for all of them. Good jobs didn’t grow on trees, and even though she would make half again as much at the candy factory in town here than she had on the night shift at Frito-Lay in Topeka, it still just didn’t seem fair that they had to uproot and change everything so suddenly, right before school was to start, so that he wouldn’t get to hang in the halls and Vendoland. He’d really miss some of his friends, especially a few select females.
“Go get registered for school, Justin; we’ve only got a couple of weeks before school starts here, you know. Here’s a signed check; do what you have to do and make sure you get a receipt for it. And see if you can pick up the forms for Sharice to enroll tomorrow. I need her to help me finish unpacking today.” He’d left his mother and younger sister Sharice in the living room of their house, surrounded by cardboard boxes and wadded-up newspaper, pulling dishes and lamps and flatware out of them at random and depositing everything on the floor.
She was really serious. Until she had landed the new job, Justin was lucky to get her to turn loose of a five-dollar-bill so he could chill with his friends at the mall and not look like a fool when it came time for them to visit the food court. Unless 12-year-old Sharice was in tow. Then he could count on Mr. Hamilton showing up. But those events had been rare, lately.
The school administration building sat just off the main street and a few blocks north of downtown and was constructed of the same red brick as the high school building just behind it. Justin squinted at the sign in the window, hoping that he had the wrong place and could just give up and find a shady place so he could cool down, but no luck: the sign clearly stated, “USD #604 - Niotaka Public Schools … Administrative Offices”. He turned to take one more look across the street.
“Hey, Stretch, you play basketball?”
The voice came from behind him. Justin turned to face the boy standing behind the partially-opened door of the building.
“You talkin’ to me?”
The boy stepped fully out of the door and spat to his right into the gutter. “Ain’t nobody else standing around in the heat out here.” He grinned and took three long strides forward, his hand outstretched. “Name’s Buck. My dad’s superintendent here. I work around the office when he needs a little extra help now and then. I saw you hanging around out here and figured you were new in town and getting ready to go to school.”
Justin grasped the hand. It was firm and steady. “I’m Justin Jefferson. Yeah, we just moved out from Topeka; my mom’s got a job at the candy factory. And I shoot hoops.” Which was close enough to the truth, if three-on-three counted.
“Great. Coach Arnold’ll be happy to hear that; we graduated three of our starters this last year. This place isn’t much of a football town, but wait until December. Sometimes there’s a bigger crowd watching basketball practices, for girls and boys both, than show up for football games.” Buck leaned against the side of the building and absent-mindedly scratched his ribs under his cut-off faded orange T-shirt.
“Well, now, I didn’t say I’d play on a team. I haven’t gone out for sports much since my freshman year.”
Buck stared at him for a long moment. Justin tried to picture himself as the other boy saw him: close-cropped hair, a faded but clean T-shirt with the arms torn off to show muscular shoulders, jeans, run-down Nikes. And the two were looking each other eye-to-eye; Justin measured just a fraction under six feet, even.
“Not much to do around here but play baseball now, and later football, basketball, maybe wrestling or track in the spring. Except hang out, and most guys around here work in the fields.”
Justin turned his head to the right and stared across and down the street. A dusty green Ford pickup moved slowly along the main drag.
“Yeah, I can see where you’d all want to get out of Dodge and find something living.”
Buck grunted. “Oh, it’s not so bad, especially on Saturday nights. Come on inside; I’ll help you get registered. Oh, and hey, Stretch, don’t believe all that you hear around here. Not all of us are rednecks in this town.”
Justin grimaced and followed him into the building. It was definitely cooler inside.
Registration took only about twenty minutes; he had to fill out the forms that the clerk handed him, sign up for an activity ticket and yearbook, and choose between physics or biology, home ec or welding; all the other course choices for juniors were closed, as enrollment had taken place during the first week of August, and he had to take six solids, four of them required. It was going to be tougher here than it had been at Topeka High.
“You got time for a Coke, Stretch? I got some guys I want you to meet. They usually end up at the Dairy Spot about this time of day, after practice. Come on; I’ll give you a ride.” Buck was already pushing the glass door open.
“Nothin’ else to do.” Justin stuffed his receipt into the folder containing the information packet and enrollment papers for Sharice and followed Buck outside. It wasn’t eleven yet, and again the heat hit Justin full-force in the face. He squinted his eyes. Buck pulled open the door of a rusty, white-over-yellow Chevy pickup. The squawk from the hinges echoed from the buildings.
“It don’t look like much, but it runs and it’s paid for.” Buck clanged the door shut and twisted the key, which apparently he’d left in the ignition. A rumble assailed Justin’s ears.
“Glass packs. Got ‘em last month.”
Justin nodded. He pulled at the passenger-side door, and nothing happened.
“Oh, sorry. You gotta lift and pull at the same time.”
The door screeched open this time, and Justin swung into the sagging seat, careful not to step on the assorted stuff on the floor, including tools, boxes of nails and hardware, rope, wire, insulators, and other unidentifiable hardware in brown paper sacks.
“Don’t worry about that junk; just kick it out of the way. I’m either going to have to make a trip to the dump or throw it into the back of the garage.” Buck pushed the floor shifter into reverse, backed into the street without looking, and gunned it. The tires squeaked, and Justin’s head snapped back.
“Makes my old man mad when I do that. Some day he’s going to come rushing out the front door and have a heart attack, right in front of everyone. Good thing he wasn’t there today, huh?”
“Oh, man. I’m not much good at CPR.” Justin looked sideways at Buck.
“Yeah, well … I really shouldn’t push it. He hasn’t had an easy time of it here. We’ve only been here for three years, and he’s never lived up to the rep of the last superintendent. If you believed what everyone in town said about him, that dude must have taken regular walks across the reservoir for fun.” Buck spat out the window of the pickup, narrowly missing a Honda Accord coming from the other direction.
Buck signaled a right turn and turned into the graveled Dairy Spot parking lot. Only a small amount of dust announced their arrival. Buck pushed open the door and strode to the rear of the crowded restaurant, Justin following a step behind. Seven pairs of eyes from a booth filled with girls followed them, but Buck walked past the booth and didn’t even glance at them.
“Hey, guys; look at what I found wandering around outside the school offices!” Buck whacked Justin on the shoulder.
In a round corner booth six boys, almost clones of Buck, Justin thought, all wearing baseball caps and T-shirts, stared at him. None smiled.
Chapter Two
“Meet Justin,” Buck said. “He says he shoots a few hoops, and he just enrolled for high school; goin’ to be a junior.”
The six nodded and mumbled their howdys.
“Move over; this booth’ll take eight butts easy, or about four of yours, Eric.”
“Aw, bite me,” the big guy in the middle growled pleasantly.
“Later. Hey, Arlissa, two large Cokes, extra ice, over here, okay?”
The talk was easy, about jobs and girls and whether or not the football team would win any games this season. Justin drained his Coke and crunched on the ice, not saying anything.
One of the boys finally glanced at the clock over the pinball machine. “Hey, it’s about dinnertime. I gotta go; my Mom’ll kill me if I’m late again.”
“Never miss a meal, do you?” Eric chuckled.
“You got it. You either, huh?”
“Hey, the center’s got to be big and beefy, ya know?
“Big and barfy, you mean. I saw you on the sidelines hurling when the rest of us were still running wind sprints.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t look so good yourself, Karl, after a couple of jogs up and down the field. I wish Coach would just let us start running patterns and hitting.”
“Naw, not for another couple of days. State rules, you know. Hey, Justin, why don’t you drop by tomorrow if you don’t have anything else to do?” Karl said. “We start at 7:30 sharp, and Coach probably wouldn’t have any objection to letting you run with us. You look like you’re in pretty good shape.”
Justin looked up to seven pairs of eyes on him, checking out his biceps. “Yeah, I worked out a little when we were in Topeka,” Justin said. “But my game’s basketball, not football.”
Karl ignored the remark. “You ever think about being a receiver? Hold up your hands.”
Justin complied. His hands were like his feet, long and wide. The boys around the table nodded.
“I think Coach will want to talk to you. It’s no big deal to get on at least the JV team; you just have to have a doctor’s certificate so when you have a coronary after wind sprints the school isn’t liable,” Buck said. “Coach’ll be happy that anyone wants to join these guys for a morning of fun times on the old gridiron.”
Justin looked around at the group. They didn’t look as unfriendly as they did when he first walked in. “I don’t think so. I had to get a certificate when I went out for baseball this summer, but it’s probably buried in a box somewhere. And like I said, hoops is my game.”
“Okay, Stretch,” Buck said. “You can wait and be a big star on court later. Lord knows we haven’t seen any on the field lately. That’s present company excluded, gentlemen; no offense.”
“Oh, none taken,” Karl grunted. “We certainly don’t see your butt out there, either, do we? Well, just give it some thought, Justin. We may not have any hotshots around here, but we do have a bunch of guys who actually provide some amusement once in awhile. It’s not all that, but it’s not all bad, either.”
Buck slid out of the booth and stood up. “All right, guys, later. Justin, you need a ride, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess so. We live on the other side of downtown. Uh … you know of anyone who’s got a cheap car for sale? I’m getting tired of walking.” Justin stole a look at Buck. “And Mr. Taxi here’s not gonna give me free rides for the rest of his life.”
Buck grinned. “No problem there, Stretch. Any of us who drive will stop for pedestrians. Even you.”
“More likely something with nice legs, though,” Eric added.
“You got that right,” Buck agreed. “Not that there’s any problem with your legs, Stretch.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather have one foot against an accelerator the next time I go down Main Street,” Justin sighed. “And I’m not going to be too picky about what I’m seen in. I just need wheels to get around in.”
“You know, my sister’s going to college in a week or so, and I think my folks are going to get her a newer car in a few days.” Karl rubbed his chin. “I don’t think we’ll keep the old one. It’s no show car, a red four-door Cavalier with a nice collection of parking lot dings in the doors. But I know it starts every time, even in cold weather.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to have to walk away from any car in any weather when it quits running,” Justin said. “Why don’t you find out what your folks want for it and let me know? I’ll have to … uh, check my finances and get back to you.”
“Your mom’s working, isn’t she?”
“Yep. She starts at the candy factory next Monday.”
“Well, my dad’s a loan officer at the bank,” Karl said. “I imagine we could work out something on the payments. And the car turned over a hundred thousand a long time ago, so I don’t think they’ll want too much for it.”
“That’s cool. Let me know, okay?”
“Let’s hit the road, Stretch,” Buck said as he tossed back a last mouthful of ice. “I got a load of work to do this afternoon. Later, guys.” He pulled a cell phone from his rear pocket, flipped it open, and checked the screen. “Oops … my dinnertime, too.”
The heat hit them again like a blast furnace, and Justin turned the wing window in to catch the breeze. “Buck, about playing football. I don’t think I …
Buck cut him off. “Look, Stretch, you don’t have to feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to. But I want you to know something. We lived a couple of counties south of here before Dad took over as Superintendent here, and there were only a few black families in town where we lived. He was principal at the high school there, and he really tried to … well, to integrate things, you know? He tried to do more than just keep things legal. One of the teachers was black, and single, and one night his house burned down. There was talk he’d been seeing a white gal, a college student, and more talk that someone local had torched his house. And even though the state fire marshal was there to inspect what was left, they ruled it accidental, faulty wiring or something. I guess Dad could see what could happen to him, to us, and before the end of the year he resigned, even before he got his job here. There’s not much trouble in this town, even though there are only a half-dozen or so black families living here, but there’s still a difference. Sometimes it helps for someone like me to sort of push down the barriers, to get things started. But if you don’t want to go out for football, it’s all right. No one’s going to think anything less of you.”
Buck gripped the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight ahead, as the truck rolled down the street.
“Hey, man, I know where you’re at with all this,” Justin said. “When I walked out my front door this morning, I thought it would be hard enough for me just to walk down the street in this town.”
Buck let out a puff of breath. “Naw. Last time we shot a minority around here was a couple of years ago. Seriously, sorry about the speech, but I had to be up front with you.”
“I appreciate it. But like I said, my game is on the court, not the field.”
“Well, I don’t play football, either; not my kind of game. I play a little tennis, but I’m sort of saving myself for the basketball season.”
“There you go. I don’t want to brag but I’ve got some moves that’ll … Oh, turn right at the next corner. We live in the third house on the right. Beige house with a brown roof.”
“That one? Okay, Stretch, see ya later. Hope you got some good classes.”
“If leftovers are good, I’m excellent. There wasn’t much open.”
Buck parked in the driveway in front of a dark-blue Jeep Cherokee, which still was full of boxes, and snorted. “More likely we’ll be in nearly all of the same classes. There aren’t very many required classes that don’t include all of us juniors. And a few flunky seniors, too.”
“Yeah, I know how that goes. Why do you think I had to sign up for mostly required classes?”
“All right, then. Later.” Buck waved vaguely at him as he climbed down from the pickup. Justin watched as the truck backed into the street and roared away. When the sound died the sound of “Hold On, I’m Coming” floated out to him. His mom must have hooked up the stereo, and when she played Sam and Dave, it meant that she was in a good mood. Maybe too good.
Chapter Three
Justin pushed open the front door as far as it would go. A tower of empty boxes blocked it from swinging against the wall, and the floor of the living room was littered with crumpled newspaper and smaller boxes. More boxes, unopened, were stacked on the sofa and coffee table. His mother sprawled in the recliner, a glass wrapped with a beige napkin in her right hand, a cigarette in her left. The clattering from the kitchen told him that Sharice must either be washing dishes or breaking them so she wouldn’t have to.
“Hey, Mom. I got enrolled.” He dropped the packet of enrollment papers for Sharice on the coffee table.
“That’s good, honey. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No. I got a ride with a guy, and we stopped by the Dairy Spot, but I just had a Coke.”
“All right. I’ve got some pizza thawing out in the oven; it should be ready in a minute or two. I had to take a break.” She took a final drag on her cigarette and ground it out in an old green coffee cup.
Justin glanced at the glass in his mother’s hand. Her eyes followed his to the glass.
“No, honey, I made you a promise. It’s just iced tea. We’ve got a new life here, and I’m going to stay straight. Besides that, the first time I’d take a little snort the whole town would know. Two of the neighbors have been over already, and one of them walked right in the door. Didn’t even knock; just stood right where you’re standing and hollered until I came out of the back room.” She shook her head.
“She was nice, though. Brought over half of a chocolate cake.”
Justin carefully lifted a box off the coffee table and sat on the end. “Yeah, I met some guys who’d just finished football practice. Oh, and Mom, I think I’ll go down and watch them tomorrow. Is that all right?”
“Football? Already?”
“Yeah, they’ve been practicing for a week or two. I’ll help you clean up these boxes and stuff this afternoon and work on the yard, too. Oh, and is my copy of the medical certificate from baseball in with your papers in the filing cabinet?”
She gave him a sharp look. “I think so, honey. You can look … if you can find the filing cabinet. It might be in my bedroom downstairs under some boxes.”
He chuckled. “Okay, I get the hint. We’ll get this place shaped up today. So it’s all right?”
“Well, I guess so. Just be careful. It gets pretty hot around here.”
“No problem, mom. It was hot playing baseball afternoons in Topeka, too.”
“Oops … I smell pizza. I’d better take it out.” His mother shifted her bulk forward.
“No, you stay put. I’ll get it out.” Justin jumped to his feet, stepped over a box, and headed for the kitchen.
“Never mind, I got it!” Sharice already had both hands encased in mitts. “You get enrolled?”
“Yep. And I met a bunch of football players. I’m going to watch them practice tomorrow.”
The oven door banged shut as she whirled around. “Football? Cool! Can I come and watch, too?” She turned and carefully opened the oven door. Pepperoni fragrance filled the kitchen.
“Naw, it’ll just be practicing. Just something to do around here. Nothing to see, yet.” He noted the slump of her shoulders. “I’ll let you know when it’s time.”
Sharice expertly slapped the pizza onto the counter and cut it into six wedges, and then she laid them on plates. “Here, take yours and Mama’s out into the living room. I’ll bring glasses and napkins and the Dr Pepper.”
Justin smiled at his sister’s sudden sense of domestic responsibility. “Yes, ma’am!” he nodded to her and stepped into the living room.
His sister followed two steps behind. “Oh! And guess what! We’re going to get a car, you and me, Justin!”
Justin stared at his mother. She nodded, chewed vigorously, and swallowed. “You’re both going to need transportation to and from school, and with my hours, I’m not going to be able to provide it. Justin, that means you’ll be expected to drop Sharice off in the morning and pick her up after school. It’s going to be a new responsibility for both of you. You’ll have to share it, including taking care of it and paying for the insurance. Understood?”
Justin and Sharice both nodded in unison, and Sharice deposited a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper and glasses on the coffee table and skipped back out to the kitchen.
“But how are we going to pay for it?” Justin asked.
“I’ve got enough in my savings for a down payment, and you’ll be expected to help out with payments when you can. All right?”
“Well … I guess I can ask around about a job. And one of the guys thinks he’ll have a cheap, I mean an inexpensive, car for sale in a few days.”
“Can I get a job, too?” Sharice re-entered the room with a wad of napkins in one hand and her own plate of pizza in the other. “I want to help out, Mama. It should be my responsibility as much as Justin’s.”
“I know, Shar. Maybe I can ask around at work and see if anyone needs a good babysitter. Okay?”
“Yeah, Mama. Oh, Justin, let’s get a red car. Maybe a convertible?”
Justin and his mother exchanged glances and smiled.
* * *
The afternoon proved to be a workout for the three of them. By seven o’clock, the bulk of the boxes were stacked next to the garage, waiting for recycling later, and only a few boxes to be unpacked later were left on the enclosed porch in back. Justin even had time to run the lawn mower around the small yard, although he decided that he’d wait and chop down the horseweed along the back fence later. He didn’t want to run out of things to do just yet, and besides, the sun was about to melt him down.
He was on the last lap around the yard when he realized that a silhouette of a man was standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, hands on hips. Justin pushed the lawn mower across the last stand of grass and let up on the safety handle. After the noisy lawn mower, the silence almost echoed.
“I don’t want to keep you from your work,” the man said. “You Justin Jefferson?”
“Yes, sir. And I’m done mowing.” Justin pulled a rag from his back pocket, mopped his face and arms, and stepped to the sidewalk. “I’d shake hands, but … “
“That’s all right. I’m Coach Greene. Football coach, not to mention wrestling and track. I hear you might be interested in playing football with us this season.”
So news does travel fast in this town, Justin thought. “Well, I guess some of the guys I met today at the Dairy Spot thought I should come over to the field tomorrow and check it out.”
“That’s what they said. And I suppose they told you we’ve only won a half-dozen games in the last three seasons.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s the truth. Justin, it’s no secret that I’m probably a much better wrestling coach than a football coach, and both the wrestling and track teams send a pretty good group of athletes to state each year.” Coach Greene paused and looked across the yard. “I’d really like to have a winning football season this year, too.”
Justin nodded, wondering where this was all going. He finished rubbing his hands with the rag, looked at it, and stuffed it into his back pocket and pulled up his t-shirt to wipe his face.
“The biggest problem is … well, it’s the same old story: attitude. The players think they’re going to lose most of the time, and that’s exactly what happens when it gets tough in the tight games, even though they’ve got pretty much the same abilities as the other teams do. I’ve told the team already that if we don’t have a winning season this year, I’m resigning. We play nine games, seven of them against other league members, and we need to win at least five. And … if I resign one coaching job, I won’t have a prayer to keep the others.”
Justin squinted at the coach. Do I really need this pep talk? he thought. A game’s a game, and a job’s a job. And if you lose one, you just go after another, right? And what would be so wrong with just packing up and leaving this dead town?
“Well, you’ve got the general picture, Justin. I don’t want you to think you’d be joining a bunch of losers, because they’re not. They just need a little spark to get them going, to change that losing attitude. And I can’t promise you a place on the starting team, either. You’d probably play on the jayvee team for awhile. We’re sort of light on receivers, though. You ever play much football?”
“Uh … well, I played in middle school. And I went out for the team when I was a freshman. But I got cut because … I didn’t pass all my classes. So I wasn’t really eligible for sports last year. I played some baseball this summer, though.”
Coach Greene took off his cap and rubbed his thinning hair. “All right, I understand. We can help you stay eligible. We have a couple of study programs for those who have problems with their classes.”
“Coach, I didn’t really say I wanted to play football. I’m not sure …” Justin’s voice trailed off, and he looked across the street at the house on the other side. That yard needed more work than the Jefferson’s yard had, he noticed.
“I’m not trying to pressure you, son. It’s just that we’ve already been practicing for a couple of weeks, and most kids who move here want to go out for some sports. There’s not really much else to do in town. There’s still room for you on the team, if you really want to be a part of the action.”
Justin looked at the top of one of his green-stained sneakers and then faced the coach. “I don’t know, Coach. I suppose I could get involved in something here. I wasn’t really into anything at Topeka High, and I can’t say that I made very good grades, either. But my mom expects me to make something out of myself here. And I guess I can’t go back to …” His voice trailed off.
“Fair enough. Like I said, we can help you with the academics. In fact, about half of both the football and volleyball team members show up for the before-school study program, and some of them don’t really have any problems with their grades. They just need a quiet place to study for a half-hour or so. But you’ll have to make up your mind that you want to do your best on the field. You’ll have to provide that winning attitude yourself. Now, I brought you a high school activities association physical exam form. You’ll have to get an examination before you can really practice.” Coach Greene pulled a folded paper from his hip pocket and handed it to Justin.
“I’ve got a doctor’s certificate from when I played baseball this summer, coach. Will that do?”
“Well, it might get you on the field for a few days, but we’re liable for anything that happens to you. Bring it with you tomorrow and I’ll take a look at it. But you’ll need to see Doc Giles this week. He only charges about ten bucks for a sports exam, and his office is right down town on Main Street.”
“All right. I’ll give it a shot. What time, and where’s the field?”
“Seven a.m. sharp. And the field’s two blocks west of the Dairy Spot, just north of the high school. We’ll see you there.” Coach Greene took a step to his right but turned back and thrust his hand at Justin.
“Welcome to the Niotaka Eagles, Justin. I think you’re going to like it here.”
Justin took the coach’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks, Coach. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Four
Justin’s head jerked as he retched, and retched again. Behind him, from the center of the field, he could hear chuckles.
“C’mon, guys, haven’t you ever seen anyone selling Buicks before? Let him finish!” the voice of Eric floated across the field.
Justin wiped his eyes and spat a final time. His knees were shaking, but he managed to stand up, not looking at the remains of cornflakes on the sidelines. Not looking at him, an assistant coach handed him a water bottle.
“Here, rinse out your mouth, and take it easy for a few minutes.”
“You all right, kid?” Coach Greene called from the field.
“Yeah, sure,” Justin managed to croak.
“All right, men, let’s knock off a little early today anyway; it’s past ninety already, I think,” Coach Greene said as he shaded his face with his clipboard so he could check out the sky. From horizon to horizon, not a cloud promised relief.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Justin mumbled. He spat in the general direction of the cornflakes and handed the bottle back to the assistant.
“It happens, man.” The assistant tossed the bottle in the general direction of the bench and trotted towards the locker room. “All right, gentlemen, we’ve had enough fun today. Hit the showers and cool off.”
Most of the players were finished and gone by the time Justin was struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head. His eyes re-focused on the only other black team member, T. J. Watkins, who was standing two feet in front of him.
“Hey, man, that shirt gettin’ too tight for you?”
Justin shrugged.
“Been workin’ out a little, aintcha? But it didn’t help you when you had to blow your breakfast, did it?”
Again Justin didn’t answer. He’d noticed that T. J. hadn’t said anything to him on the field. The other team members had at least a passing comment or two, when there was time for small talk. But T. J. had managed to stay away from him.
“Let me ask you something,” T. J. continued. “Did Coach Greene come to you with a sad speech about the team being a bunch of losers and how he was going to quit if we didn’t start winnin’ games?”
Justin pulled on a shoe and balanced the other on his right knee before he answered. “He said that there was an attitude problem with the team. And he might quit if we didn’t have a winning season.”
“Yeah, well, I think we all got the same speech before the season started. What it is, is that Coach Greene’s the one with the attitude problem, not us.”
Justin pulled on the right shoe and leaned back against the cool concrete.
“And let me tell you something else, Slick. Don’t get any big head ideas about being the star receiver when it come time for us to draw positions. You look to me like you belong on the line anyway.”
Voices drifted down the hallway, and Coach Greene and the assistant came into sight.
“Whatever, T. J. I’m just going to go out and play football and have some fun.”
T. J. glanced over his shoulder. “That’s right, Slick. And go easy on breakfast tomorrow.” He slapped Justin on the shoulder and sauntered down the hall, muttering a rap line to himself.
The two coaches stopped in front of Justin. “Getting tips from T. J. already, eh?” Coach Greene followed T. J.’s departing figure until he was out of sight.
“Sure, Coach. He might just have something there about going easy on breakfast.” Justin stood and stretched.
“And that’s about the end of his expertise,” the assistant grinned. Coach Greene glared at him, and the assistant raised both palms and walked quickly down the hall.
“Justin, you remember what I said about attitude last night at your place?”
“Sure, Coach.”
“Well, let me just say for the record that I liked what I saw on the field today. Now, you were definitely a little rough around the edges, but you weren’t hot-dogging it, either. I think we can make a ball-player out of you, if you can take directions.”
Justin stared at the coach. “I can take directions, Coach. What do you want me to do?”
“Like I said, just take directions. And the first one is, ’Think for yourself’.” He stared down the hall. “Get my drift?”
Justin pictured T. J.’s frown and nodded. “Got it.”
“All right, then, son. I think you’d better go see Doc Giles for your physical this afternoon. Bring the certificate with you tomorrow, and we’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He slapped Justin on the shoulder and trotted down the hall after the assistant.
Friends and enemies seem to be easy to come by in this town, Justin thought. Let’s see if either is still in the parking lot.
No team members’ cars were left in the parking lot, so Justin squinted against the sun and strode across the field in the direction of the Dairy Spot.
As he walked along the cracked sidewalk, he noticed sharp contrasts between some of the yards. Most were carefully manicured, with flowers and shrubs strategically placed in front of the houses, but a few had wilted-looking lawns which apparently had not been mowed for a week or more, although they weren’t really to the point of being called shaggy. Maybe there was some quick cash waiting there for him, he thought. But first he’d better check it out with the guys.
The juke box wailed something about a phone booth in Cheyenne, and the electronic sounds of a pinball machine echoed across the vinyl benches and red-topped tables. The guys were in their usual round booth at the back, the girls closer to the front. This time they kept talking, and Justin couldn’t help but notice their eyes following him. He nodded in their general direction without saying anything. No one had paid him much attention in Topeka, and he usually had to do something stupid to get a female to notice him, like snatching a note or a book away from her, which usually got some kind of screaming reaction. Well, that was kid stuff, he decided. In this town, you just strut your stuff and take your chances on who or what was going to pay attention.
From the back, Karl spotted Justin and waved him back.
“Come on down, oh great spewer of breakfast,” he yelled at Justin.
“Yeah, we’ve been waiting for you, chief,” Eric said. “I guess you know that it’s an old Eagle tradition that he who sprays, pays. Drinks are on you, my man.”
Justin pulled an empty chair up to the table, pulled a five out of his pocket, turned the pocket inside out, and sat. “It’s great to be an Eagle, guys. But this is as far as the old dollar stretches. I’m a little short today.
“No problem, dude,” Eric said as he patted his pocket. “I got you covered. Hey, Arlissa, seven large Cokes, and go heavy on the ice, okay?”
“All right, man. I’ll take care of you tomorrow.” Justin flashed him a grateful smile.
“No hurry. Do it when you can.”
The conversation was primed for talk about money and included discussion of expensive girls and cars and even the hog and cattle markets. Justin just listened, not really understanding the fine points of topping the market in Kansas City nor of attracting the attention of certain named females.
After Arlissa slapped the round of Cokes on the table, the only sound was the swishing of ice in plastic tumblers. Justin waited a decent interval before he interjected a question.
“Speaking of money, which is easy for YOU guys, are there any jobs in town? For high school kids?”
The group looked at each other collectively and shook heads.
“No, most of us do farm work,” Hank grunted. “Except for Eric there, who somehow managed to land a job with his favorite commodity, groceries, at the AG.”
“Hey, I want you all to know that the only grocery packing I do there is in paper bags for little old ladies. And the place is a real sweatshop, too.”
“Yeah, I can see you sweating now in that air conditioning. You wanna come out and try out the air conditioning on an open tractor sometime?” Hank wiped his forehead. “Yeah, maybe some tractors have all the conveniences, but my dad says a sunshade is good enough for us.”
“Okay, no openings.” Justin stared at his tumbler. “Now, what if someone were to … knock on doors and offer to mow lawns, trim trees, that sort of thing? You think people in this town would go for it?” No one spoke
Eric broke the silence. “Depends on how much you charge, and who you are; you know, how well they know you, and stuff.”
Justin looked around the group. Might as well kill two birds with that old stone. “What if I were, say, T. J.?”
Karl, the only senior in the group, and the leading candidate for quarterback, cleared his throat. “What’s on your mind, Justin?”
“Well, two things. One, I’ve notice that some of the yards in town could use some attention. And I actually did a little work for a lawn care company back in Topeka, so I know how to take care of a yard.”
He paused and looked around the group. “And two, what’s up with T. J.? He’s not here now with you, with us, and I get the definite impression that he thinks he’s God’s gift to the football team.”
The chuckle traveled around the booth. “Yeah, we were just saying when you walked in that you and T. J. definitely are not alike, man,” Karl said. “If you know what I mean. No offense, of course.”
Justin grinned. “None taken, dude. We may all look alike, but T. J.’s definitely way out there.”
Karl nodded. “He really has a thing against Coach Greene this year, too. Last year he was a hot dogger, too, but this year … man! It’s a wonder Coach hasn’t kicked him off the team.”
Eric snorted. “Like anyone’s going to get bumped from this team. I bet if some junior high snotnose walked out on the field, Coach would play him first and ask questions later. Why, even you have a chance, Justin!”
“Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence, G. Anyway, so if I walked up to some front door, you know, after wading through knee-high grass, and I knock on it and some white lady opens it and I say, ’Good afternoon, ma’am; your yard is a mess, and for twenty-five bucks I can spiffy it up in no time,’ what’s she gonna do?”
“That’s easy,” Eric said. “She’s going to slam the door in your face and call nine-one-one and say, ’Send the sheriff over, quick. This black dude’s trying to jack me out of twenty-five bucks for a fifteen-dollar yard!’ The table erupted in guffaws, and Eric and Karl high-fived, almost knocking over a Coke.
“Yuk, yuk,” Justin grimaced. “Okay, so you’re trying to say that maybe I won’t cause any problems if I go around knocking on doors.”
“Naw,” Karl answered. “Just don’t forget to use the deodorant after the shower. Seriously, we’ve never had the problems here that some of the bigger cities in Kansas had. I suppose having a college here makes a difference in attitude. Niotaka’s not Wichita, so you do what you like here, as long as it’s not illegal, man. And as for T. J., forget him. He’s more blow than go.”
Justin nodded silently. Things were not that much different here than it had been on the east side in Topeka, he thought. Except for the “illegal” part. Maybe this afternoon he’d push the lawn mower across the street and see if he could raise some quick cash.
“Oh, hey, Karl, you think your sister’s car’s going to be for sale?
“Yep. She doesn’t know it yet, but there’s a yellow convertible down at Herbert North Chevrolet with her name on the title; I helped my dad pick it out yesterday after practice. We’re gonna give it to her this weekend, and by Monday we should have the old one ready to show. You wanna come by and look at it Monday afternoon?”
“Bet,” Justin grinned.
Chapter Five
The lawn mower and a metal can filled with gas parked behind him on a cracked sidewalk, Justin stepped carefully onto the porch. His footsteps echoed hollowly, almost as loud as his knock on the screen doorframe. He waited a few seconds and knocked again. His hand was raised for the third knock when the white door behind the wooden screen door cracked open a few inches.
“Yes?”
Justin could see that the owner of the voice was an older woman, but she kept the door open a precise three inches, and he could not see into the darkened interior behind her.
“Hello. My name’s Justin Jefferson. I … we just moved into the house across the street. I just mowed my lawn the other day, and I couldn’t help but notice that …
“No thanks. I’m getting it mowed by someone else.”
Justin nodded. “Oh. That’s fine. But if you ever need help with it, just let me know.”
“I don’t think so. Anything else?”
What did she really want? Justin thought. Miracle cleaning fluid? A set of encyclopedias? Perhaps a copy of Malcolm X’s autobiography?
“No. I guess that’s it. Thank you for … “
The door closed before he could finish his sentence. Perhaps a volume of Miss Manners’ etiquette? It would be a cold day before he crossed this street again, he decided.
He picked up the gas can and pushed the mower into the street, glancing behind him at the house. A drape quickly flipped shut in the window to the left of the door. All right, lady, don’t have a panic, he thought. I’m getting off your property as fast as I can.
The next stop down the street was more profitable, however. In an hour’s time he earned twenty dollars and had downed a large glass of lemonade, pink lemonade at that. By the time the sun had dipped into a bank of clouds in the west, he’d scored three for nine, and the ones who turned him down did so with a smile, informing him that they just hadn’t gotten around to taking care of their yards yet.
At least he’d be able to pay off Eric the next time he saw him. And with any luck he’d be able to earn enough to add to his meager savings and have enough to make payments on Karl’s sister’s car. Even though Niotaka was small, he’d had enough of being on foot. His mother started work next Monday, on the early shift at 6:00 am, too early for him to ride with her to practice or later to school, and Sharice had informed them after enrolling that no school buses ran inside the city limit to pick up students. He would be expected to drop Sharice off at the middle school a block away from the high school, although his mother could pick her up after school while he went on to practice.
Yeah, having a real job would be a lot better than what he was used to doing back in Topeka.
Sharice, in shorts and t-shirt, braids flying, was practicing cheerleader routines in the front yard, and he turned loose of the lawn mower and imitated her until she stuck her tongue out at him and stomped her foot.
“You’re stupid, you know?” She folded her arms and glared at him.
“You’re uncoordinated, you know?” he grinned.
“Oh, yeah? How about this!” She did a quick cartwheel, threw both hands together in the air in front of her, and yelled, “Rah! Now you try it.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I gotta go count all the money I earned working today.”
Immediately she was a step away from him. “Oh, let me help you count it. How much?”
He pulled the folded money, three fives, two tens, and a twenty, from his pocket, pretending that they were a larger bundle of cash and flipping them so that his sister could not get a good look at them. “Forty, seventy, ninety-eleven, two hundred, and change.”
She glared at him. “Oh, come on. How much?”
He put the bills back in his pocket. “Enough. Maybe I’ll go buy a car tomorrow.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You really didn’t … “
“No, not yet, but I’m gettin’ there. Anything cold to drink in the house?”
“‘I’ll get you a nice glass of iced tea. You just wait there!” She practically flew into the house, and Justin grinned. Maybe giving the kid sister rides wouldn’t be so bad after all. He pushed the lawn mower into the garage, and by the time he closed the folding doors, Sharice was back with a tall, tinkling glass.
“Thanks, kid. Maybe I’ll give you a ride sometime.”
“Promises, promises. I don’t see no golden chariots out front. Oh, you mean a car! You got keys on you?” She slapped the side pocket of his jeans, and he pretended to splash tea from the glass on her. She twisted away and ran, giggling, disappearing around the side of the house. Too tired to chase her down, he leaned against the garage door and sipped from the glass. She was getting taller, those legs stretching out, and he might have a little trouble catching up with her anyway. Maybe she’s the one who should be called “Stretch".
A flicker of light distracted him. He looked up at the sky, waited, and was rewarded by a flash of sheet lightning in the northwest. Good; mowing had been dusty work today, and rain on the lawn meant grass growing all that much faster.
* * *
Justin lay stretched out on his bed, earphones on and his favorite CD in his portable player, when the storm hit. The wind rattled the window and the rain beat on his window, only slightly dissipated by the rusty window screen. He watched the ash and hackberry trees bend in the onslaught during each flash of lightning. Suddenly, a small branch broke free and slapped against the side of the house. Well, more yard work wouldn’t hurt him, he decided. And he’d have all of the weekend ahead of him to clean up storm debris; tomorrow was Saturday. The storm gradually died down within a half-hour, although thunder continued to grumble and the rain fell steadily. Justin eventually fell asleep with the sound of rain splattering in a puddle outside his window mixing with old-school rap from LL Cool J.
Chapter Six
He was on a motorcycle, headed west on a darkened highway, chased by something he couldn’t quite see. His motor thrummed steadily underneath him, but the steady rhythm soon changed to a knocking sound. He desperately tried to increase the throttle, but the pounding continued …
“Justin, wake up! It’s past nine o’clock, and Mama says you have to get up and get the branches out of the yard!
He awoke with a jerk. “Uh … all right, all right, Shar. I’m awake.”
“You’d better be. Breakfast was over a half-hour ago.”
Justin grunted a reply and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, glancing out the window and trying to ignore the aches that ran up and down his stiff back and legs. He blinked, and blinked again. What he thought was going to be only one branch to clean up had multiplied to a dozen or more, including one that looked to be as big around as his head. So much for a fun Saturday.
When he appeared at the living room entrance, Sharice glanced up from the cartoons she was watching. “I saved you some French toast, Justin, but you’ll have to warm it up in the microwave.”
“No problem. I’ve given up cold cereal for a while. Any juice left?”
“Just grapefruit. And pru-u-une!” She made it sound enticing.
Justin grimaced. “You should try it sometime.”
Sharice stuck her tongue out at him but passed up the opportunity for a rejoinder, instead ignoring him in favor of Bugs Bunny. Justin sighed and tried to set his taste for soggy French toast.
* * *
Justin dragged the last branch onto the curbside pile he had made, where the city truck could pick them up later. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky, and the humidity was definitely up. He had to stop and mop his face, and as he put the handkerchief away, he glanced at the yard across the street. Leaves and branches, mostly smaller ones, littered the yard, but he could see one larger branch leaning against the front of the garage.
He stuffed the handkerchief in his hip pocket and walked across the street. It was shadier here and cooler; the trees were older and taller than those in his yard.
“It’s cooler over here than across the street, at least. Here goes nothing,” he said to himself. He picked up a branch and deposited it next to the driveway, glancing at the house. No motion at the windows; the front door was shut. He picked up several larger branches and dumped on the pile.
The driveway to the garage was littered with leaves but otherwise clear except for the large branch against the front corner of the garage. “Might as well take care of that one, too,” he muttered as he strode to the garage.
The branch was almost heavier than he could manage, and it seemed to be caught on something. Justin paused, caught his breath, and threw his entire weight into the branch. It shifted sideways and broke free, but the sound of glass shattering behind him stopped him. He dropped the branch and stepped to the side of the driveway.
He hadn’t been able to see the door in the side of the garage before because of the branch, but now he could see that all but one corner of the door’s window was missing, and the broken end of a small, dead branch was just inches from the door. Apparently when the larger branch twisted sideways it speared the door glass with the dead branch.
“Oh, great,” Justin muttered as he stepped closer to the door to inspect it. But the sound of a shotgun being cocked behind him froze him in his tracks.
“Don’t move. At all. Trying to break into my garage, now, huh?”
Justin felt a trickle of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades. He raised both hands slowly. “No, ma’am,” he managed to croak. “I think the branch broke it out. I’m sorry. I’ll … pay for it.” He turned his head slowly. The woman stood inside a screened side porch, a shotgun cradled in her left arm but pointed directly through the screen at his liver.
“Yeah. Right. I don’t suppose you got the hint yesterday. I knew you were up to something.”
Justin turned slowly to face her, his hands still up. It wasn’t the first time a gun had been pointed at him, but the shotgun was a first. “You don’t understand. Look, I started to pile up your branches. Out front. Look!” The last word was more of a squeak, in spite of the fact that Justin’s voice had finished changing during his eighth-grade year. Or so he thought.
The woman pushed open the door with the shotgun, fixed it on Justin, and then looked out at the street.
“I just thought you might need some help,” Justin said. “Look, lady, no one is going to break into anyone’s garage in bright daylight. All right?”
The woman glared at him but slowly let the barrel of the gun drop until it pointed at the porch step. She grimaced. “There’s nothing in there but old tools and junk anyway. And the Fairlane in there hasn’t run for years.”
She shook her head and leaned the shotgun against the inside frame of the porch. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been jumpy since my house was broken into last month. But that was before you folks moved in. And I still think the scum who lived across the street, in your house, did it.”
Justin lowered his hands. “I’m … sorry I caused you any trouble. I just wanted to be a good neighbor and help out.”
She nodded. “I can see that now. How much you want?”
“What?”
“How much you want for cleaning up the yard?”
“Well … it’s the least I can do after busting out your window. Although … you know … it might have been an accident.”
“Oh, never mind that. Really, how much do you charge?”
“All right. How about a big glass of ice water.”
She stared at him, and he looked around the yard.
“And if the person who cuts your grass for you doesn’t show up, you’ll let me have first shot at it.”
Her face twisted. “I … don’t know. I can’t pay you very much.”
“All right; I come cheap when all I have to do is to cross the street. How about ten bucks and a frosty glass of lemonade or something, maybe Monday afternoon after the ground dries out?”
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