Secrets: The Hero Chronicles (Volume 1) (8 page)

“This is our house. No one comes into our house without getting a black eye!” Then all of the players jumped up, yelling and screaming.

“Boys, five minutes, then out on the field to stretch,” he said.

All of the coaches walked out of the locker room following Coach Miller. The locker room was still going nuts with excitement. Some players were head-butting each other; others were hitting each other’s shoulder pads. I felt like a fish out of water. What was I supposed to do now? I should probably get out of here and go to the field before being spotted again. I slid along the wall toward the door to escape this madness.

“So look what we have here.”

I turned and saw the only thing in this palatial locker room that could tarnish it, Oliver Rails. He walked down the middle of the locker room like he owned the place, talking to anyone who would listen.

“So there’s a JV player in our locker room. Are you lost, little boy? The JV hole is at the end of the hall.” Now all of the guys in the locker room were listening to him. I just stared at him, not sure what to do.

“So are you lost
and
deaf?” he sneered with a twisted laugh.

I was only ten feet from the door. I could make a break for it and hope for the best, or I could stand my ground. My heart started to pound. Then out of nowhere, I spoke. “I am supposed to be here. I am playing with varsity today.” I said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“No way. You can’t play with us,” yelled someone from the back of the locker room.

“I think you got it wrong, JV. No ninth or tenth grader has ever played on varsity, even during a scrimmage. Especially not a little punk like you,” Oliver said with a big grin, and he poked me in the shoulder.

From all around the locker room there was laughter, and some of the guys were yelling things like, “Go get him, Oliver!” and “Show him who’s boss.”

“So the only way to be on varsity is to be a pretty boy up on a billboard?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. The locker room fell silent. Oliver was now just inches away from my face. He was so close I could tell he was chewing some sort of mint gum. His face twisted in anger.

Someone yelled, “Hit him.” The locker room started to chant “Hit him! Hit him!” He turned back to acknowledge the chant. Oliver was looking away from me, and with a jerk he swung both of his arms back around to push me up against the wall.

Then it happened. Everything slowed around me like it had on the night with the lightning and the two people watching me during the storm. Oliver was turning to hit me with both hands, but his movement was in slow motion. His entire body was blurred like I was looking at him under water, and his movement was causing a wake in the air. Everything became almost still. I moved off to the side of his arms to avoid being hit in the chest. Then time resumed.

Oliver went right past me, stumbling into the wall and falling back onto the floor. The room was quiet; you could hear the music from someone’s headphones in the background. Oliver stood up and brushed his long golden hair out of his face.

“A slippery little shit, aren’t you?” He brushed the rest of his hair out of his eyes. “Well, JV, whatever reason you’re here, you aren’t welcome.” He pushed by me. He walked back toward his locker, throwing chairs out of his way and cursing under his breath.

I walked out of the locker room and took a deep breath of relief. I suddenly felt very sick. I grabbed my Tic Tacs that I had stashed in my pants and ate a couple.

Once outside, I walked to the stadium’s main gate. Moeller’s bus was already parked out front. I walked over the track, which was covered by plywood to protect it from our cleats. The rest of the team was on the field a few minutes after me. Coach Miller put me with the linebackers to stretch. Stretching went quickly and the scrimmage began. I stood in the back, hoping to avoid Oliver and any of the other players. I had no idea why I was here.

The second quarter started and we were losing 0 to 7. The huge scoreboard in the end zone was showing instant replays of the last play. I was mesmerized with how good the scoreboard screen looked. It had a clearer picture than our TV at home.

“Keller, Keller? Where are you?” Coach Miller was searching the crowd of players for me. “Keller, quit hiding and get your butt out there! Go in and play middle linebacker.”

I put on my helmet and ran out onto the field. I ran by the dejected varsity player who just got replaced by me. I ran up to the huddle. The guys in the huddle stared at me like I was the water boy or the mascot who accidentally ran onto the field during the game.

“Listen up! They’re killing us! This is embarrassing! Look at me! Forget about JV and do your damn job!” Chad, the defensive captain, was standing in front of the huddle, relaying the play the coaches were calling in from the sidelines. Chad was massive. He looked more like a pro-wrestler than a high school football player. “Fire 53, ready, break!” What was he talking about? I had no idea what “fire 53” meant. What was I supposed to do?

I ran up and stood where I normally did with JV. Chad was to my right. Maybe if I stayed close enough to him, it wouldn’t show that I had no idea what I was doing.

“Red 18, red 18!” the opposing quarterback yelled in a steady cadence across from us.

“Liz, liz, liz,” Chad yelled and the line shifted left. I didn’t move; I was frozen solid, not really sure what I was doing.

“Hut, hike!”

It was a running play right up the middle. I was not in the right spot. A player from the other side lowered his head and hit me, knocking me to the ground. The running back breezed right by me and was taken down ten yards past me. The whistle blew and the play was over.

I looked over at the sideline and there he was. Oliver was pretending to be me again, acting like I was a tree or something rooted to the ground. A group of guys around him were laughing. Down the sideline from him, Coach Miller was yelling. I knew it was directed at me. I ran back to the huddle determined not to let that happen again.

“Come on guys! They are running all over us!” Chad said.

“If JV was in his right position, we would have stopped him. They should send Josh back out to take his spot,” said one of the guys on the end of the huddle.

“Yeah, right. We haven’t been able to stop them with Josh, so let’s focus!” Chad looked to the sideline and got the play. “45 weak pass. On two, ready, break!”

Chad looked at me and mouthed the words, “Just hit someone.” The team settled into their positions. I ignored everyone else and I walked up to the middle. Out of the corner of my eye I could still see Oliver making fun of me. My muscles tensed and the fire smoldered.

“Mark 85, mark 85, hut, hike!”

The other team’s quarterback got the ball and dropped back to pass. I ran through the opposing team and hit the quarterback around the midsection right as he turned to throw the ball. I jumped up and ran back to our side. It felt good to get my frustration out. I was now eager to hear the quarterback yell hike again so I could hit someone else.

It was halftime. We ran across the track to the lockers that were below the home bleachers. I didn’t talk to anyone. I just sat and listened to Coach Miller yell. I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. My heart was racing, and I could feel the blood pumping through my veins. I also had that horrible bitter taste in my mouth. Was my anger the trigger to making me a better football player, or was it something else? If my dad was here, I bet he could tell me what was happening.

Toward the end of the fourth quarter, I hit the running back in mid-stride, forcing a fumble. Chad recovered the ball and I heard the crowd cheer. For the first time, I noticed that people were watching us. The stands were packed on both sides of the field. It was amazing how loudly they were cheering, and I was oblivious to all of it.

I jogged back to the sideline. I remembered that Cora was in the stands somewhere. I searched all around the outer part of the stands for her because that’s where she would normally sit, but instead I saw something that nearly knocked me off my feet—an angel, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She took my breath away. The sight of her made me lightheaded. Her long black hair was radiant, framing her face in such a way that it would make the Mona Lisa jealous. I didn’t know anything about her, but seeing her made me want to know everything about her. I felt peace for the first time in a long time just by looking at her, the type of peace you get from knowing everything was going to be all right. This angel instantly became everything to me. But how? It didn’t matter to me; nothing else mattered but her.

The euphoric feeling I was experiencing was interrupted when I bumped into a player on the sideline. I lost my balance and knocked over a table of drinks. I had turned around for just thirty seconds, but when I turned back toward the stands, she was gone. I searched the entire stands frantically for her, but I didn’t find her. Was she a dream or an illusion? Was she just something else that I couldn’t explain?

I then spotted Cora off to the side of the home bleachers, but she was not by herself. She was talking to a well-dressed older couple, and whatever they were discussing looked serious. Cora never talked to anyone out in public for any length of time.

The horn sounded to signal the end of the game, and both teams walked across the field to shake hands. A couple of the opposing coaches told me how well I played, but my thoughts were consumed by the mystery girl.

I followed the team to the locker room. Coach Miller was upset. He was yelling before we all were seated. All I could make out was, “Offensively we were pathetic. We barely won the game 17 to 7. If it weren’t for the defense scoring twice, we would have lost.”

I waited a couple more minutes to see if he said anything to me. I slipped out of the locker room to go get changed. This time no one looked at me. I got my equipment off, put my clothes on, and sat on a bench with my face in my hands to relax for a minute. My head was spinning. So much had happened in such a short period of time: Oliver not being able to hit me, Cora’s heated discussion. But the thing that I couldn’t get out of my head was the girl in the stands, my angel. I only saw her face for a couple of seconds, but I knew every detail of it like I had known her all my life. Who was she?

“Keller.”

Startled, I jumped up and swung around ready for a fight.

“Relax, son.” Coach Miller was right behind me.

“I’m sorry, Coach, for slipping out during your talk.”

“No problem, son. Sit down.”

I turned around and sat back down on the bench facing him.

“Keller, you had a great game. I’m proud of you. Most players could not have done what you did today. You handled the pressure with such ease. Come to think of it, most people could not handle that kind of pressure. I know you don’t know our defense yet, but you will. Keep it up!”

PARTY

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
couple minutes after Coach Miller walked out, the JV team came in. The mood was solemn; no one was talking. They looked like someone had died. Eric saw me and his solemn expression changed to a big smile.

“So, Eric, how was the scrimmage?” I asked him first before he could quiz me about the game. I was expecting to hear they lost.

“We tied, can you believe it? We tied. Why keep score if tying is a possibility? You should have seen Coach Hoff. He acted like a mad man—it was classic. He stormed across the field yelling at Moeller’s coaches, demanding overtime. Three of our assistant coaches had to pull him back to our side and get him on the bus. Coach was still yelling from the window of the bus as we pulled away. ‘Someone has to win,’ he yelled. ‘That’s why you keep score. I don’t care if it was just a scrimmage. Ever heard of overtime, you twits?’”

“Then why is everyone looking so upset?” I asked.

“Well, Coach Hoff wasn’t done. He yelled at us the whole way home.”

“Why was he so upset with you? You guys weren’t the reason it ended that way.”

“Coach Hoff said that we should have never been tied with such an inferior team in the first place. We should have killed them. So I’m wearing my track shoes to our next practice because I’m expecting a lot of running.” Eric’s smile returned to his face. “So did you dominate today or what?”

“We won 17-7.”

“Did you play?”

“I played for three quarters.”

“No way! You’re the man!” Eric, wearing just his game pants, jumped up on the bench and yelled, “Keller played three quarters today with varsity and kicked some serious butt.”

He was pumping his arms up and down. The atmosphere in the locker room changed instantly. Everyone started yelling and carrying on like they were at a party. If Eric wasn’t my ride home, I would have snuck out the back door.

“Keller, we have some celebrating to do. You are coming tonight, right?” Eric jumped off the bench, landing in front of me.

“Coming where?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? To the quarry party!”

“What’s a quarry party?”

“Well, it’s
the
party.” He rolled his eyes.

“I know it’s a party, but what’s a
quarry
party?”

“Twice a year there’s a party at the old abandoned Filler’s Rock Quarry outside of town,” Eric explained.