Authors: Tim Green
Unstoppable (7 page)
HARRISON STARED UP AT
the sky, so pure and blue that the jet streams crisscrossed it like slash marks he'd seen kids make with chalk on the school sidewalks, marking off grids for tic-tac-toe. He heard a voice and blinked. It was Coach, but it sounded like he was at the other end of a long tunnel.
“Harrison? Are you okay?”
Harrison flexed his fingers and toes. “Did I make the tackle?”
Coach's short laugh echoed down the tunnel. “Stopped him cold. You okay?”
Harrison tried to sit up.
“You can't hit with the top of your head like that.” Coach unsnapped Harrison's helmet and slipped it off his head. “Here, look at me. I need to see your eyes and make sure you didn't get a concussion.”
“It looks easy on TVâyou just run around and knock people over.” Harrison rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm okay.”
Coach turned and tooted his whistle. “Coach Lee, get them going on inside run. I got him.”
Harrison saw Varnett limping away toward the next drill with the rest of the kids.
“Is Varnett okay?”
“He'll be fine. That's what knee pads are for. It was a great hit, but just don't drop your head. You gotta keep your head up when you tackle. You can break your neck, especially on special teams, like a kickoff, when you've got a running start and you slam into someone.”
“I think my neck's okay.”
“Your eyes are fine. You're okay, but let's get you a haircut after practice.”
Harrison ran his hand through the mess of sweaty hair on top of his head. “My hair?”
“I think your helmet will fit better if we cut it short.”
“Like yours?”
“If you want.”
“Mrs. Constable used to cut our hair. She said if we kept it long we didn't need a hat in the winter.”
“Well, Jennifer and I have plenty of extra hats.”
Harrison smiled.
“All set?” Coach asked.
“I'm fine,” Harrison said.
“Put your helmet back on then, and let's go.”
Harrison jogged beside Coach, strapping on his helmet. Coach ignored him when they got to the next drill, treating him like all the other kids, but Harrison felt warm on the inside when he recalled the image of Coach stepping outside himself to be nice when he thought Harrison had been hurt. Mrs. Godfrey was right.
Harrison watched Varnett and the other running back, Alan Simpson, take turns playing the position during the inside run drill. They'd huddle up with the quarterback and the offensive line, listen to the play, then line up, burst forward at the snap, take the handoff, and run. On another part of the field, wide receivers and defensive backs worked on the passing game. There were no passes in the drill they called “inside run.” Players on both sides knew the focus was run blocking, run defense, tackling, and tough running by the backs. After watching for a handful of plays, Harrison asked Coach if he could try.
“Sure,” Coach said in his gruff voice. “Work right into the rotation. You don't need an invitation.”
After the next play, Harrison stepped into the huddle beside the quarterback. Varnett said, “This is my spot, rookie.”
Harrison didn't move. He figured if Coach said he could have a turn, then he'd have it. Varnett tried to shove Harrison out of the way. Harrison turned and blasted him in the chest, knocking him backward so that he staggered into the group of players waiting for a turn. Varnett looked at Harrison with wide eyes.
“Coach told me to go in.” Harrison turned back into the huddle without worrying about whether Varnett was going to come after him. Something told Harrison it would work out just fine.
Coach barked the play as if nothing had happened. “Twenty-four lead.”
Harrison knew from the playbook, and from watching and listening, that a “twenty-four lead” meant that the halfbackâtwentyâwould get the ball and run it through the four holeâbetween the right guard and the right tackleâand that “lead” meant that after he took the handoff, he'd follow the fullback and run through the hole. The quarterback repeated the play and they broke the huddle. Harrison lined up behind Bulkowski, the fullback. Butterflies came to life in his stomach again. This would be his first real play and it felt hugely important.
The quarterback shouted the cadence. “Blue fifty-seven, blue fifty-seven, set, hike!”
Everyone took off, including Harrison. He followed the fullback, heading for the four hole. The quarterback extended the ball into Harrison's stomach. Harrison panicked. The defensive linemen were shooting through the gaps like the offensive line was a leaky bucket.
The ball dribbled to the ground, a disaster.
Shouts filled the air.
“Fumble!”
HARRISON DIDN'T THINK. HE
just scooped up the ball and held it tight.
CRASH!
Someone blasted him from the side. Harrison spun and churned his legs, driving forward, hungry to at least get the ball back to the line of scrimmage so the broken play wouldn't be a complete disaster. Another defensive player came at him. Harrison dipped his shoulder and exploded up, knocking him back. Harrison saw an opening in the line. He drove toward it, pumping his legs.
A linebacker met him in the hole. They smashed into each other and Harrison spun again, keeping his balance and finding himself suddenly in some open space. He took off into the heart of the defense. Another lineman threw his arms around Harrison's legs from behind. Harrison staggered, but his legs seemed to be working on their own and kept right on chugging. He broke free and accelerated, opening the gap between him and the biggest defenders.
There was only a single safety left and when Harrison saw him, he didn't try to run away but instead headed right for him, lowering his shoulder pad like a weapon and blasting through the safety, knocking him out of the way like he was a barn fly. Harrison heard the whistle, but he just kept running, all the way to the end zone, where he spiked the ball, bouncing it off the grass so that it flew through the air. He turned around with his fists raised to the sky.
“Touchdown!”
“Harrison!” Coach marched toward him, his face red as a fire engine. “You do that again, you're off this team! Take five laps around the field, and you better make them
fast
!”
Coach pointed toward the far end of the field. Everyone stared.
Harrison had no idea what had happened. His mouth sagged open and a small, confused noise gurgled up from his throat.
“Go!” Coach stabbed his finger in the air again.
Harrison started to run.
HARRISON HEARD THE TWEET
of Coach's whistle and the inside run continued without him. A single hot tear streaked past Harrison's nose. He ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but he sniffed and blinked his eyes dry.
He ran fast, like Coach said. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs went numb, and as he ran, he scolded himself. He scolded himself for ever believing people could be nice to him, or things could ever make sense, or that he could ever fit in. He was alone in the world, and that's all he'd ever be. He wasn't going to be fooled by Mrs. Godfrey's soft voice, or Jennifer's kind words, or Becky's friendly smile, or Coach taking him fishing and promising a haircut. He was going to be smarter than that. Those things were all window dressing. They weren't real, and at the end of the day, all he could really expect from people was meanness and anger and insults.
What he wanted to do was run right off the field, off school grounds, through the village, out of town, out of the state, out of the entire country. He wanted to run to Canada and start a new life, maybe living on the street. That's how crazy his mind was, but in the end, he finished his five laps and stood gasping for breath, ready for more cruelty and punishment. The team kept doing inside run, but no one said anything to Harrison, and he ignored them right back. He just stood there, off to the side, watching but not participating.
Coach acted like he wasn't there until he blew his whistle and shouted, “Good work. Get a drink.”
The team rushed for a water spigot that stood off on the edge of their field, closer to the JV field. A pipe stuck out of the ground with a faucet someone turned on so that streams of water burst from a long plastic pipe suspended chest-high by legs on either end. Harrison watched the team lining up behind one another like cows at the trough. He didn't notice that Coach was beside him until he spoke in his gruff voice.
“Harrison, why in the world did you do that?”
Harrison's face twisted with rage and confusion. “I don't even know what you're talking about.”
COACH STARED HARD AT
him for a moment. “Really?”
Harrison shook his head. “I thought I was supposed to run them over. I know I messed up on the handoff, but I did the best I could to get the ball back and try to gain some yards.”
“I know that,” Coach said, “that was incredible. That wasn't the problem.”
Harrison looked at Coach in total confusion.
“You can't spike the ball, don't you know that?” Coach asked.
“No,” Harrison said.
“Are you for real?”
Harrison shrugged and sputtered. “I guess so. That's what they do on TV.”
Coach shook his head. “This is junior high school football. Spiking the ball is a fifteen-yard penalty. It's unsportsmanlike. It makes your whole team look bad, your school, and especially your coach. I don't let anybody do that. Sportsmanship is first with me. I cut a kid last year for spitting on someone after he made a tackle. I just won't have it. It's more important than winning and losing. It's a life lesson that goes way beyond football. Do you understand?”
Harrison tried to understand. Finally he said, “I don't, Coach. I'm sorry. I'm just being honest. I don't see how it's okay they do that in the NFL but it's wrong here.”
Coach glanced impatiently at the team. Some of the boys were finished drinking and headed back toward Coach, strapping up their helmets as they jogged.
“Can we talk about it later?” Coach asked.
“Sure.”
“And in the meantime, can you promise me you won't do that again?” Coach asked.
“I won't do it.”
“Good. Can you run like that again?”
Harrison smiled big. “That's all I want to do.”
“Good. We're going to do some team work now. I'm going to have Coach Lee work with you off to the side on taking a handoff. You watch for a few plays, then when I give you the nod, you get in there. Also, I liked the way you shoved Varnett right back when he tried to take your spot in the huddle.”
“That was good?” Harrison asked, his forehead wrinkling up under his helmet. “That wasn't unsportsmanlike?”
“No, that was just standing your ground and being tough,” Coach said. “That was good.”
“Coach, you're making my head spin.”
“Relax. You'll get it, and when you do, Harrison, I think you could be great. But that was just one run. Maybe you were just lucky.”
Coach gave his whistle a blast. “Let's find out.”
HARRISON HAD NEVER BEFORE
felt so much joy for such a long period of time, and when they lined up and ran sprints and Coach called them in to wrap up practice, Harrison didn't want it to end. There were a couple times where two defenders got onto his legs at the same time and then another one or two players were able to topple him over, but otherwise, every time he touched the football, Harrison sprinted, blasted, spun, and plowed his way into the end zone. He was bigger and faster than everyone. He was like a man among boys.
It was more than just his size, speed, and strength. It was his intensityâeven Coach said so. There was a well of fiery red anger inside him that he could just tap into when he had the ball in his hands. It would erupt out of him, and then he could just cap it until the next time he had the chance to hit within the rules of the game. It was magical, and it left him calm and tired and happy.
During the course of practice, Harrison had sent three kids to the sideline with bumps and bruises. One of them was Leo Howard. In fact, Harrison had looked for Leo during the mayhem of each play. If Leo was even close to being between Harrison and the goal line, Harrison attacked him. Harrison wasn't sure if he really did hurt Leo's shoulder or if Leo faked it just to avoid Harrison's repeated punishment. Either way, the big red-headed linebacker couldn't even look at Harrison as the team buzzed about in the locker room changing into their street clothes.
The only thing that felt better to Harrison than taming Leo Howard were the words he heard Coach Lee say to Coach during practice. After a thirty-yard run into the end zone that had Harrison leaping over two tacklers and dragging three more across the goal line on his back, the coaches told Harrison to take a couple plays off. He stood huffing behind the huddle when Coach Lee leaned close to Coach and whispered in a voice loud enough for Harrison to just make out, “That kid is
unstoppable
.”
Coach glanced at his assistant. “Harrison? I know. I just wish he could play this week. We've got to get this one. Then next week,
with
him? This whole team will be unstoppable.”
“And you'll get the varsity job.”
Coach grinned. “I know no one does this for the money, but it'll be a nice pay raise for us both. I've had my eye on a new fishing boat.”
Harrison banged his locker shut and swelled with pride as he remembered the coaches' words and that
he
, Harrison Johnson, would be able to bring such good fortune not only to the entire team but to his new family.
“Hey.” Justin jabbed Harrison's shoulder. “Like I said, a monster.”
Harrison blushed. “It was fun.”
“Fun for you. The rest of us need three days off. Do you live in the village?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You want to get some Subway?”
“Subway?”
“A sandwich. A lot of us go after practice on our way home. We're supposed to keep our weight up, you know.”
“No. Thanks, though.” Harrison didn't have any money, but he didn't want to say that was the reason.
“Aw, come on. My treat. I cut three lawns on Sunday and the cash is burning a hole in my pocket.”
“You get money for cutting lawns?” The idea of work wasn't strange to Harrison, but getting paid for his efforts had been unthinkable.
“Sure, a lot. People in the village like their lawns cut. Twice a week, some of them.”
“Could I do that?”
“I can help you find some work, sure.”
“So I'll let you buy me a sub,” Harrison said, “but only if you promise I can cut a lawn to pay you back.”
Justin laughed. “You don't have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Justin shrugged. “Sure, you can cut one for me. We can go into business together.”
“Hang on, will you?” Harrison left his new friend and found Coach in his office.
After knocking, Harrison went inside and closed the door behind him. Two metal lockers stood in the corner by a private bathroom. The scent of mold crept into Harrison's nose. Coach sat at a desk facing the wall, drawing up plays.
“Sorry about hurting those guys,” Harrison said.
Coach's serious face broke into a grin. “That's part of the game. They're all fine. This team needs to be tougher, is the problem. Don't you worry about it.”
Harrison stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Can I go to Subway and get my hair cut later? Justin's going to pay, but I said only if he lets me cut one of his lawns to pay him back. He said I can go into business with him. Can I do that? Can I work and make money, or do you need me to work at the house?”
Coach tilted back in his chair and thumbed his hat back on his head so the brim stood up almost straight. “Work at the house?”
Harrison shrugged. “You want me to work, right?”
“You can help out a little, I guess. Take out the trash. Maybe cut the grass, but I'd pay you for that.”
Harrison narrowed his eyes. “You'd pay
me
? Why?”
“That's what families do. When kids help out around the house, they get paid for it. Not everything, but jobs like that, the grass, shoveling the driveway, digging a ditch.”
“You don't have to do that,” Harrison said. “You feed me, I need to work.”
Coach sat up and put a hand on Harrison's shoulder. “Everyone under our roof gets fed. That's not a big deal. Trust me.”
“So is Subway okay?”
“Sure. Tell you whatâI'll head over to the phone store and get you a cell phone, then I'll pick you up at Subway and we'll go get the haircut. Lots to do before six-thirty. Jennifer likes to eat right at six-thirty.”
Harrison nodded because Mrs. Constable put the food on the table at the exact same time every night as well. “Did you say a cell phone?”
Coach leaned back in his chair again and it squealed in pain. “So we can keep in touch. Most of the kids seem to have them. That all right?”
Harrison felt a rush of excitement. “I'd love a cell phone.”
“I'll get you the basic plan,” Coach said. “If you want to use it more and text all the time like the rest of these characters, you can pay for that with your lawn money. Deal?”
“Sure, Coach. Thanks.” Harrison turned to go but stopped halfway out the door at the sound of Coach's voice.
“And Harrison?”
“Yes?”
“That was some performance out there today. You're one heck of a runner.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Harrison hurried back into the locker room but slowed down when he saw Justin standing in the middle of a small group that included Varnett, Bulkowski, and Leo Howard. When Leo saw Harrison, he poked a finger in Justin's chest, said something, then faded out the door with his buddies, leaving Justin alone in the corner.
“What was that about?” Harrison asked, scowling at the door.
Justin's face was pale. He swallowed and nodded in the direction Leo and his buddies had gone. “He is such a rat, and now he's got it in for you big time. His dad's some lawyer in the district attorney's office and, I swear, he thinks he rules the world.”
“What's that got to do with me?”
“I'm not sure,” Justin said, “but he said when his dad gets done, you won't be playing on this team after tomorrow.”