Secrets: The Hero Chronicles (Volume 1)

  **

  “What are you watching, Cora?”

  She was standing in the middle of the family room, wearing her apron. She was glued to the TV. “I’m watching Entertainment Now.” Cora rarely watched TV, especially shows that had to do with celebrities and Hollywood types.

  “We have a special guest with us today,” the female host said. “You may know him as Doc Hollywood. It’s the one and only Dr. Chase Letterby.” There was a roar of applause from the audience.

  “April, it’s a pleasure to be here with you as usual.” The doctor looked like he had come out of a soap opera.

  “So, Dr. Letterby—”

  “April, please call me Chase.”

  The two of them were clearly flirting with each other, not with words, but with their body language—and all on national TV. It made me sick to watch, but Cora was soaking up every moment.

  “Okay, Chase, it may shock our viewers to know that you are not a plastic surgeon.”

  “Yes, you are right, April.” He put his hand on her knee. She giggled. “I am not a plastic surgeon, even though I have had to do some plastic surgery in the past. I do a little of everything.”

  I looked at Cora and she was hanging on his every word.

  “Chase, you are too modest. I have heard you can do everything from taking out tonsils to brain surgery.”

  He just smiled at her and gave a larger-than-life, fake-sounding belly laugh.

  “So how did you get the nickname ‘Doc Hollywood’?” she asked.

  “April, I guess it’s because I have helped some celebrities over the years.”

  “Is it true that you performed a kidney transplant on Prince Matthew of Wales?”

  “Well, April, I don’t talk about my patients, but I can tell you that I have met him.”

  They both laughed.

  “Cora, why are you watching this garbage?”

  “I knew him from college. He was in med school when I was a freshman, but that was a long time ago.” She turned off the TV and walked back to the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk.

 

  Cora dropped me off at school at 7:30 the next morning. I had no idea where to go or who to see for tryouts. There were six large practice fields, some with soccer goals, others with football goals. On the other side of the fields were three baseball diamonds that any minor league team would kill to have. Sitting by itself in the distance beside the large parking lot was a stadium. This stadium looked like it was taken straight out of Ancient Rome for the gladiators to fight in. It was a work of art with its large arches and dramatic pillars and columns.

  I walked through the rose-covered front entrance and walked up to the same secretary who was there yesterday. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Gregory. I think he’s one of the football coaches. I am here for tryouts.”

  In the same monotone voice as yesterday, she said, “Coach Greg Hoff is on Practice Field One getting ready for football tryouts. It has several bleachers around it.” She looked at her watch and said, “The coaches should be having their coaches’ meeting right now by the first set of bleachers.”

  I walked back out the front entrance and headed toward the practice field with the bleachers. The day was already getting hot and the humidity was creeping in. There was a group of coaches standing off to the side of one of the three large sets of bleachers. By the bleachers was a large sign that said “Practice Field 1.” The coaches were all listening to a tall, older man. I stood a couple of feet away from the group of coaches, waiting for him to stop talking so I wouldn’t interrupt. One of the younger coaches saw me standing there and walked over to me.

  “What do you need?”

  “I’m Nicholas Keller. I’m here for tryouts.”

  “Tryouts started last week. Sorry, you are too late.” He began to walk away.

  “Excuse me. Coach Greg knew I was coming, and he told me to be here at 8:00 a.m.”

  He turned back to me. “New recruits need to head over to the white trailer outside the locker room to get their football gear,” he said, pointing to the side of the school. “And, that’s Coach Hoff to you, not Coach Greg.” He walked back to the group of coaches still listening intently to the tall, older coach.

  I walked to the side of the school where there was a white trailer right up against the building next to a door that read “Locker Entrance.” I looked inside the trailer. Football equipment was scattered around, and I noticed some movement in the back.

  “Hello. I’m here for practice. I’m a new student,” I shouted into the dark trailer. The movement stopped and someone started to come to the front. He was having a hard time getting to the front because there was no clear path through all the equipment. The man that emerged was as tall as he was wide. He was wearing a green Winsor Football visor soaked with sweat. He had a whistle around his thick neck and a name badge that said “Coach Stenger.” He stood there staring at me. He was gasping for air like he had just run a marathon. His shirt was also drenched with sweat.

  “Are you here for tryouts?” he wheezed.

  I nodded my head yes.

  “You know tryouts started a week ago?”

  “Yes, I know, but I just moved here. My counselor, Joy Lemmins, talked to Coach Gr—Hoff.”

  “Well then, that’s a different story. What grade are you in?” He took a deep breath.

  “I’m going to be a tenth grader.”

  He went back into the trailer, climbing over and through the piles of football equipment. Inside the trailer it had to be at least ten degrees hotter than outside. A few minutes later, after a lot of banging and several curse words, he made his way back to the front carrying football pads, a helmet, and a white jersey.

  “Here, put these on,” he said. He was even more out of breath than before.

  “Where should I go to change?”

  “Right here. Just put the equipment on over your clothes.”

  “What about lockers?”

  “You only get to use the lockers if you are already in the program. You have to earn it.” He pulled out a small towel and wiped his red face.

  I took my equipment to the side of the trailer out of view from Coach Stenger and started to put on my pads. More guys began to show up over the next five minutes to get their equipment from Coach Stenger.

  “Hi, I’m Eric,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned around. Eric was shorter than me by a couple of inches. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he had a bronze tan.

  “I’m Nicholas.”

  “So are you new to the school?” he asked.

  “Yeah, just moved here. And you?”

  “No, lived here all my life, but this year my dad is making me try out for the team. Not that I wanted to, but he used to play for Winsor back in his glory days, so he wants to relive his youth through me.” Eric shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, turning to put on his equipment.

  Coach Stenger blew his whistle. “Let’s get out to the field, men! Let’s go! Let’s go!” He took the lead and trotted slowly out toward the field. We all walked behind his slow-paced jog.

  The hot August sun was beating down on the field. It had to be over 100 degrees. I felt like I could have a heat stroke at any moment. The cool water from the on-field water station didn’t quench my thirst, but it sure made the heat more bearable. I filled my cupped hands with water and dumped it over my head, providing some relief.

  There were coaches all over the practice field running different drills. I was assigned a group and told where to go. In the bleachers, people were actually sitting in the heat, watching players go through drills. While everyone else was doing drills, my group wasn’t. We were just running on the side of the practice field. Not only were we not taking part in drills, but we had also all been given football equipment that didn’t exactly fit. My equipment had to be at least two sizes too big. The jersey hung down to my knees, and every time I made a sharp turn my helmet wo
uld almost come off. It looked like I was wearing my older brother’s football equipment. Being only 5-foot, 9-inches and 145 pounds didn’t help either. I guess this is how they weed out new recruits. Let the equipment beat us to death.

  Coach Stenger blew his whistle. We all jogged over to him.

  “Okay, men, we only have five spots for the JV squad this year, and by the end of practice today you’ll know who made it and who didn’t. Now get out there and show us what you got!” Coach Stenger blew his whistle again with spit flying out of it, and we started to run up and down the side of the field again.

  We ran for about thirty more minutes. All of the coaches were now together in the middle of the field, including Coach Stenger.

  “Huddle up men!” One of the coaches yelled through a megaphone. We all circled around the group of coaches.

  “It’s time for the annual JV-varsity scrimmage.” There was some cheering. The cheers came from the bigger and older guys who apparently were on the varsity team. Most of the younger guys’ faces showed no expression; some looked terrified.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it, Nicholas. Coach Miller does this once a year. All we have to do is survive,” Eric whispered to me.

  “Who’s Coach Miller?” I asked Eric.

  “He’s the tall coach in the middle holding a clipboard. He’s the varsity coach, a legend around here. It’s his way or the highway. Did you see the billboards on the way here?”

  I nodded my head yes.

  “Those billboards were given to Coach Miller by some wealthy alumni to promote his team all over the state.”

  “Okay coaches, break up the guys into offense and defense. Let’s see what they got!” yelled Coach Miller in a deep, powerful voice.

  Coach Stenger divided the group of us into offense and defense and put us with the JV squad. I was put on defense. I didn’t know how he was dividing us up because we didn’t do any specific drills to determine our offensive or defensive skills.

  Those of us from Coach Stenger’s group stood out because we weren’t wearing the nice green practice jerseys that the JV players had on or the incredible gold practice jerseys that the varsity players were wearing. We all were wearing plain old, dirty white jerseys. The JV offense was the first to play against the varsity defense. I was lucky to be with the defensive squad, so at least I could watch first and try to learn something before I went out there to get killed. Eric was on the field playing quarterback in his white jersey, and every time he touched the ball, the varsity defense ran over him, usually leaving him flat on his back.

  “Switch!” someone yelled on the sideline. Both units came off the field. It was time for me to get in there, or at least that is what I thought. I stood on the sidelines waiting for my chance, waiting for the coach to put me in. Fifteen minutes had gone by and I still was standing on the sideline. I guess I should have expected this. It was my first day and the rest of our group had been practicing for a week already, if not longer.

  “Keller!” shouted Coach Stenger. “Get out there and play middle linebacker.”

  I ran onto the field. My big helmet bounced around, making it hard to always see. I had no idea where I was supposed to stand to play middle linebacker. After three years of football, I still had very little knowledge of the game. I stood in the center and waited, hoping I was close to the right spot.

  “Hut, hut, set, hike,” the varsity quarterback yelled. He dropped back and disappeared behind the enormous wall of guys protecting him. Then, out of nowhere, I was hit in the head and knocked to the ground. My helmet popped off immediately. Several hands helped me up; one handed me my helmet.

  One guy said, “Don’t worry about that. They’ve been doing that to us for the last twenty minutes.” I looked over at the varsity players.

  “Man, I didn’t see him until I was running over him. They suck!” I recognized who was speaking. It was the tall blond from the Cougar Football billboards. He had his helmet off, showing them how he had knocked me to the ground and using his own helmet to show how mine came off. They were all laughing with him, at me. My body started to become tense; my muscles started to seize. I could feel my muscles pushing and pulling against each other, and then acid erupted in my stomach, sending an intense bitter taste to the back of my throat. My lungs seized and I coughed, gasping for air.

  “Okay, let’s do it again!” a coach yelled.

  Instead of getting sick from the taste, it made me even angrier than I already was. Somewhere in my stomach was a burning sensation, a fire of sorts. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything around me. Thump, thump, thump. I became very focused. The new sensation in me stopped. Now, all I wanted to do was go after that billboard boy and hurt him for embarrassing me like that.

  “Set, fox, 18, set, hike,” he yelled and then disappeared again. My muscles tightened so hard, they felt like they were going to pull away from my bones. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there, right in front of me. I saw a small opening between two of his bodyguards.

  I lunged through the hole with such quickness that neither of them moved. He was in my sight. I was moving so fast that he didn’t have time to react. I hit him with all of my strength, drove him to the ground, and ran back to where we huddled up before the play. Green jerseys swarmed all over me, jumping up and down, yelling.

  “Varsity on the line. You owe me two suicides for that hit Oliver took,” Coach Miller yelled.

  I jogged over with the rest of the JV squad. Everyone was hitting me on the helmet saying, “Good job! Nice hit!” Coach Stenger gave me a high five. The other coach walked over to us.

  “Well, I’m glad Joy called me yesterday, Keller. Great hit. Okay men, good job! Take a knee and watch varsity run; then hit the showers. Good practice.”

  The bitter taste of acid still lingered and my muscles ached.

  We watched varsity run their suicides. When they were finished, we all headed toward the lockers. I jogged over to the white trailer to take off my equipment.

  I was so tired that it was hard to take off the oversized equipment. I pulled my shoulder pads and jersey off at the same time. There standing in front of me, blocking out the sun, was a winded Oliver. I felt like I was in Jack and the Beanstalk, and I was Jack staring up at the giant.

  “Next time,” he poked me, “it won’t be that easy, JV runt.” He pushed past me, and the newfound fire inside me burned red-hot.

 

  “Keller, nice tackle,” Coach Hoff yelled from the sideline. They must have seen something in me they liked because I made the JV team after only one day of tryouts. Eric says it’s because I flattened Oliver. It must have been, because running the sideline during tryouts wouldn’t impress anyone. Eric also made the team but swears his dad paid Coach Hoff.

  “Set, hut, hut, hike,” Eric yelled from across the line of guys. Eric got the ball and dropped back to throw it. I ran through the JV guys like they were stuck in mud and hit Eric square in the numbers before he could do anything. The ball went flying out of his arms and he hit the dry, hard field with a thud.

  “I don’t care how much my dad paid Coach Hoff; he should have cut me because getting hit by you in every practice sucks.” Eric was slow to get up. I helped him the rest of the way up.

  “Good job, men. Hit the showers,” Coach Hoff yelled. I had been getting a lot more playing time over the last couple of weeks. I still had no idea what all of the plays were or where to stand on the field, but they kept putting me out there. For the last three years of football, I had never stepped onto the field to do anything other than drills, but now I was part of the team. I had changed—well, not physically, but on the inside. When Oliver laughed at me, it did something to me. It took everything in me to control it at times, especially during practice.

  We jogged to the locker rooms. We were on Practice Field Two. It was a lot smaller than Practice Field One, which was the field that varsity used for practic
e. It wasn’t dry like ours was. Their practice field was watered daily, and the lush green grass was nicely groomed with fresh lines painted on it every morning. Every day we had to jog by it to get back to the lockers to change. The three bleachers along the varsity practice field were always filled. It was unbelievable that people would show up on these hot days to watch a football practice—not even a game, a practice. I was on the team, and I wished that I didn’t have to be out in the sun, in the scorching August heat. People took pictures, and there was always at least one news crew filming the practice. Wow, this town needed to get a life. We had just jogged past the bleachers when Coach Miller called me over. Eric was next to me and pushed me in the direction of Coach Miller. “You are busted, Keller,” he said, running on.

  Coach Miller was an imposing figure. For a man in his sixties, he looked like he could play pro football. He was watching the varsity team practice. I jogged up next to him.

  “We’ve been watching you and we like what we see. For the next scrimmage against Moeller, we want you to play with varsity.” I was stunned. “How does that sound to you?”

  “G-G-Great, Coach! Thanks!” I said, almost bursting with excitement.

  “And, Keller, don’t let me down.” He looked into my eyes.

  “I won’t, Coach.”

  Suddenly, I heard a loud metallic crack and spun around. One of the large light towers used by the TV stations was falling out of the bleachers and heading right for us. I pushed Coach Miller out of the way as it crashed and sent pieces of glass and metal everywhere.

  “What are you trying to do, kill us?” Coach Miller yelled into the stands. “I am going to ban whoever is responsible for this.”

  Several news crew members scurried out of the stands. Through the bleachers and the smashed light tower, I saw the same sea green truck that I had seen at the rest stop. I moved to see it better, but it sped away.

  “You okay, Keller?”

  “I’m fine, Coach.”

  “Okay then, go get cleaned up while I deal with these hooligans.”

  I sprinted back to get changed. I couldn’t believe I was almost killed. But, at least I was going to break my three-years-of-not-playing streak, and I was going to do it playing with varsity. JV hadn’t had a scrimmage yet. Their first one was the same day as varsity’s scrimmage. I was looking forward to playing with JV, but the chance to play with varsity was a dream come true.

  When I got off the bus, I ran the ten-minute walk to my house. I was so excited to tell Cora the incredible news. I bounded up the walkway and through the front door, slamming it with a loud thud. Cora came running down the stairs.

  “Is everything okay? Nicholas, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing’s the matter. Everything is great. I think I might actually play in the next scrimmage!”

  “That’s wonderful!” Cora was excited too, because for the last three years she had sat in the stands waiting for something to cheer about. Now she would get her chance. “That is great news!”

  “Well, it’s just a scrimmage, but I have to start somewhere.”

  “Nicholas, I am so proud of you.”

  “Wait, the best part is Coach Miller, you know, the varsity coach, told me he wants me to scrimmage with them!”

  Cora’s face turned to stone. The air in the room felt like it was sucked out. All of the excitement was gone.

  “How can you go from not playing the last three years, to playing with varsity this year? You’re just a tenth grader. Is the team really that bad?”

  “Gee, thanks! What happened to the excitement?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, it has nothing to do with you. I mean, you have never played in a game before at the smaller schools, and now they want you to play varsity for a school that is known for its football team. There will be,” she paused and took another deep breath, “a lot of people watching you.”

  “I finally feel like I fit in somewhere,” I said, “and this is how you congratulate me. First you tell me that it would be impossible to make the team, and now that I’ve made the team and will actually play, you’re not even happy.”

  Cora didn’t say anything. She walked into the living room and sat on the couch. She crossed her arms and stared out the front window. Her legs were bouncing around more than her usual nervous twitch.

  After a minute, she spoke in a very calm voice. “Nicholas, I’m sorry for how I acted. I am so proud of you—you know that! We will make this work somehow. I can’t wait to cheer for you during the game.” She got up and walked over to me. I was still standing in the hall rooted to the ground. She gave me a big hug and walked into the kitchen.

  I wasn’t buying the “I’m proud of you” routine. Why was she acting this way? She was so happy at first, but as soon as I mentioned varsity, everything changed. But why? I knew there would be more people watching, but there would be people watching the JV scrimmage, too.

  I retreated to my room after a long, hot shower to escape Cora. She was busy cleaning the already clean house, and from the smell of it, she was cooking an “I’m sorry” dinner. I couldn’t stop being angry at her. Nothing I tried to do or think of made me feel any better. I just wanted to be mad. The fire in me was feeding off my anger. I turned on some Simon and Garfunkel. It was my mom’s favorite. She would listen to them when she wanted to relax, and I needed to relax. My stomach muscles were in knots from being angry.

  The pitter-patter of rain against the window took me by surprise. It was the first time it had rained since we moved. The rain would help the brown, withered plants get back some of their life. Hopefully, it would do the same for me. There were several claps of thunder off in the distance, and the rain intensified. I turned my music off so I could listen to the storm. When we lived in Oklahoma there were storms every night during the summer. They would put me to sleep.

  I turned off my desk lamp, which was in front of my window, so I could see the lightning better. The thick, swirling black clouds that reached up to heaven rolled toward our house. It was getting darker outside. The storm rolled over the top of our house. The black clouds swirled around in the sky until it became pitch black. It was as dark as a starless night, and it was only 6:00 p.m.

  The lightning lit up our small backyard and the woods lining it like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I noticed there was something just beyond the tree line. Another flash of light illuminated the tree line again, exposing two silhouettes. There were two people standing down in the trees. I knew somehow that these people, these spectators, were watching me. I didn’t know how or why I knew this.

  My heart began to race. I wasn’t scared, but my body was reacting to the sight of them. A crooked, long bolt of lightning came racing out of the sky toward the two. Right as the lightning approached them, everything slowed down before me. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. I could see the lightning make its way slowly toward the ground with all of its jagged edges shooting off in different directions. The two disappeared back into the woods right as the lightning struck a tree near where they had been standing, shattering the tree, leaving only charred remains. I wanted to race into the woods after them to see who they were. But, my curiosity would have to wait because I had developed a sudden painful headache that made me dizzy. I crawled into bed to relax and recover, listening to the storm, wondering who they were. My head pounded.

 

  The day of the scrimmage had arrived. I hurried and ate my lunch, which was of five-star restaurant quality.

  “My scrimmage is at 1:00 p.m. at the high school,” I reminded Cora, who was sitting with me at the table.

  “I know. I’ll be there,” she said, not looking away from her newspaper propped up in front of her.

  “I just want to make sure that you don’t go to Moeller, because that’s where JV is playing.”

  “I am well aware of where you are playing today.” I could tell that Cora was still unhappy, but I wasn’t going to worry about her because today was the
day that I had been waiting for my whole life; I get to play in a football game just like my dad. He would have been so proud. His son was playing varsity.

  “How are you getting to school?” Cora’s voice interrupted my daydream.

  “Eric is picking me up,” I told her.

  “Isn’t he on the JV squad?”

  “Yes, but he has to take the bus to Moeller from the high school.”

  “No, I meant is he old enough to have his license?”

  “Yes, his birthday was in June.”

  Cora went on reading, seeming to be content with Eric taking me to football. “So where are you meeting him?”

  Two loud thuds came from the front door. I had told him where we lived. I had forgotten another one of our rules: never tell anyone where we live. I jumped up quickly to get out the door before I was scolded.

  “Before you go, finish your juice. It’s hand-squeezed,” Cora said to me, pointing at the cup of juice. I drank it and quickly ran to the door.

  “Nicholas, please do not tell anyone else where we live, and no more breaking the rules. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  “You better not or we will move. We can’t take any more risks.”

  “Okay. See ya, Cor—Mom!” I shouted as I opened the door.

  “Let’s go, Keller. I don’t want to be late.” Eric had on his green JV game jersey. I was wearing the gold game jersey that Coach Miller gave me.

  “Nice jersey. I can’t believe you are playing with varsity. Well, I better get the big star to his debut.”

  I opened the door to his old black VW Beetle, which was in mint condition. “I don’t think I’m actually going to play. I’m probably a backup just in case someone gets hurt.”

  Eric smiled and turned up his car stereo. A new song came on the radio. “Keller is going to be a varsity rock star,” he sang, replacing the words with his own. It would have been annoying, but Eric was funny.

  I got dressed in the pitiful JV locker room down the hall from the varsity locker room. It was weird being the only one in a gold jersey in a sea of green. Eric wouldn’t stop talking about me playing varsity.

  “Dude, you are so lucky to be playing with varsity, and to think you are only a sophomore. No sophomore or freshman has ever played on varsity, not even Oliver. When Coach Miller started coaching he made the rule that no underclassman would play on varsity no matter what. It is going to piss off Oliver to see you playing varsity, which is awesome. You nailed him during tryouts, and now you are up on varsity. This can’t get any better. The only thing that would be better is if I could see his face when you walk into their locker room.”

  I had noticed how much Eric liked to hear himself talk. I don’t think he needed to actually have anyone around him to talk, but unfortunately he had half of the locker room listening to his every word.

  “Listen, it’s just a scrimmage,” I said, hoping to shut him up. Was Eric right? Was I really the first underclassman to play varsity? No way! There had to have been someone else.

  Coach Hoff walked into the locker room wearing his typical short grey coaching shorts and his green polo shirt with clipboard in hand. “Let’s go, team, out to the bus. We leave in five.”

  Everyone stood up and filed out. Eric was the last one through the doors and yelled back to me, “Hit some Moeller varsity chumps for me, Keller! See ya, star!”

  I got up and headed toward the varsity locker room down the hallway. Coach Miller was standing outside of the locker room. He looked at me walking slowly.

  “Keller, if you don’t hurry up, I am going to send your butt back to JV.” I jogged to where he was standing and walked through the double doors.

  The entire team was sitting in plush green and gold chairs, watching one of the coaches drawing up plays on the chalkboard in the front. I walked along the wall to the back of the room. All eyes were on me. I searched for an empty chair in the back. Oliver didn’t look away until I was in the back and sat down. No one could stare at me all the way in the back, not even Oliver.

  Looking around I realized that I had never been in the varsity locker room before. It was incredible. The school colors, green and gold, were everywhere. Each of the varsity players had his own polished green locker with his name engraved on a gold plaque above it. The lockers were big. I could stand in one easily with room to spare. The JV lockers were each the size of a small bread box. I could barely fit my clothes into them.

  Instead of benches, each locker had its own green and gold chair. Throughout the locker room there were big flat screen TVs. I couldn’t believe that this was a high school locker room; it had to be a pro-football team locker room. The JV locker room looked like a janitor’s closet compared to this mecca of football. Now I knew why Eric couldn’t stop talking about me playing with varsity.

  Coach Miller walked up to the front of the room. He talked about the defensive plan we were going to use against Moeller. Coach Miller had been the head coach for the last thirty years and had won seventeen division championships and eight state championships. Cora had given me the run down about the football program and Coach Miller after I made the team.

  Coach Miller is a legend in Winsor and the whole state of Illinois. He was the only shining star on Winsor’s team when he was in high school. He set a bunch of state records himself. He was offered dozens of scholarships to most of the college football powerhouses around the country to play linebacker, but he turned them all down. His dad wasn’t well and his mom had died years earlier, so he decided to stay close to his dad. He worked at the local apple farm, and most importantly, he joined the volunteer fire department. Winsor only had a volunteer fire department because of how small the town was back then. While serving at the fire department, he saved dozens of people from fires. So not only is he a legend, but a true hero.

  Coach Miller continued drawing elaborate defensive plays, which I didn’t understand at all. JV taught me the basics and I barely understood those. After fifteen minutes of talking, Coach Miller abruptly went down on one knee and bowed his head, looking at the ground. The room went quiet and everyone bowed their heads, too. I watched him intently, not knowing what he was doing, but as quickly as he went down on one knee, he was back standing on his feet.

  “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!”

 

  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.

  “Are we allowed to be there?” I asked.

  “No, not exactly, but Filler’s Quarry has been shut down for a long time. There are over 1,000 acres of quarry, so each year the varsity football captain picks where in the quarry the party will be held. This year Oliver has picked a part of the quarry where there is a cool man-made lake with a long dock. This place is great for the rite of passage.” When Eric said “rite of passage” his eyes lit up.

  “Eric, what’s the rite of passage?”

  Before I could finish the question he started talking. He was just dying for me to ask him. “The varsity captain also picks a player from the team to compete in some sort of challenge called the ‘rite of passage.’ Last year the varsity captain, David Jones, set up a cage. He filled it with water to make mud. Then he put a greased pig in it, and the first one to catch it won. At the first party he challenged his twin brother, John Jones, and at the second party he challenged Oliver.

  “There are two of these parties?”

  “Yeah, there are two; I already said that. Come on, Keller. Keep up. One in the summer and one in the spring. At the summer party he challenged his brother, like I said. It was more like a pro-wrestling match between the brothers. But, when Oliver was challenged at the spring quarry party, it was definitely a match to see who could win. Oliver was a sophomore and David was the outgoing senior captain. The spring party is when the senior captain challenges the next possible captain, or if he is a junior captain, he challenges the next strongest player to prove he is still worthy of being the captain.”

  I looked around. Everyone was hanging on his every word, and Eric loved every bit of it. Eric continued, “When David and Oliver started the challenge they both tried to corner the pig, but when David realized that Oliver was faster, he tried to wrestle Oliver away from the pig. But David wasn’t able to catch Oliver; he was too fast for him. Finally, Oliver got past David and pinned the pig against the fence, catching it. I’m sure Oliver has something crazy in store for one of the varsity guys tonight. I think he challenged Chad.”

  Eric took a deep breath and looked back at me. “So what time do you want me to pick you up?”

  Everyone was staring at me. Unfortunately, this time blending in with the crowd involved me going to a party. If not, it would definitely draw more unwanted attention.

  “What time does it start?” I asked.

  “9:00,” Eric answered.

  “Pick me up at 8:00.”

  “Great! We need to make sure we get there early enough to get front row seats for the night’s festivities.”

  On the car ride home, I thought of how to convince Cora to let me go, that I had to go because it was the only way for me to blend in. To my surprise, Cora agreed with me with no arguing or convincing. She even threw in “Have fun at the party,” and “You did great in the game today!” I thought about asking her who she had been talking with in the stands, but instead I ran upstairs quickly to get ready, not wanting to press my luck.

  As much as I wasn’t looking forward to going, a part of me was curious to see what this quarry party was all about. I had never been to a party before except for the one that Andy and I had crashed before I moved here. But, this time I was actually invited.

  Cora prepared a sandwich and left it on the table with a note saying, “Have fun tonight. Don’t stay out too late. Love, Cora.” I ate the sandwich in my room and listened to music until Eric showed up.

  Eric blew his car horn right at 8:00 p.m. I ran down the stairs and out the front door, just in case Cora had changed her mind. Eric was sitting in his Beetle with his music blaring. The base was thumping and rattling his little car. After five minutes in there, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned down the music.

  “How do you still have your hearing after listening to music so loud?”

  “Did you say something?” he asked, pretending like he couldn’t hear me.

  He turned the music back up again and started to head bang. He definitely had the right hair for it. His long brown hair danced around to the beat of the music. I wished he’d pay more attention to the road than the music.

  We spent the drive listening to the deafening rock music. When we got to the first gravel road outside of town, right off the main street, Eric turned down the radio. There was a worn out wooden sign that read, “Filler’s Quarry.” Eric pulled out a piece of paper. On it were handwritten directions
and a crudely drawn map.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Directions to the party.”

  “You need a map?”

  “Yeah, there are over a hundred roads throughout the quarry and as many entrances. This makes it impossible for anyone like parents or cops to crash it without a map, even though almost everyone in town knows we’re having the party tonight. These quarry parties have been going on since my dad played football. I think my dad was jealous. He would have come if I’d invited him or if he’d found the map. I had to hide it in my boxers. He’s having a midlife crisis.”

  We drove up and down gravel roads that all looked the same for ten minutes. Never once did I see a sign of another car, but just when I thought we were completely lost, I saw the glow of lights up ahead. There were at least a hundred cars parked all around a lake. Eric turned up his music again and we rattled into a parking spot. I got out quickly.

  A group of JV football players were standing next to an old wooden dock that reached to the middle of the lake. This was no average lake that you would find out in the woods. It had been dug out and filled with water over time. The lake was enormous. There were a couple hundred people surrounding the lake next to the parked cars. There were several large lights on poles around the lake and some stretched over the water. The water was grey and murky. There were piles of rocks all around the lake, blocking all of the other possible entrances. There was only one way in and out.

  Eric and I walked up to the group of JV guys at the end of the dock. Eric blurted out, “So what’s the rite of passage and who did he challenge?”

  A guy I barely recognized from the team spoke up.

  “Oliver challenged Chad, and you will never believe what they have to do! Oliver got an old car and they are going to drive down the dock. The last one to jump out before the car hits the water wins!”

  “No way!” Eric said. “The dock will barely fit a car. Where are they supposed to land when they jump?”

  “They are going to jump into the water.”

  “No way!” Eric said again, even more excited. “Where did he get the car?”

  “He bought the car from the junk car dealer in Alexandria. You know, the one with the big chicken out front.”

  In an even louder voice, Eric shouted, “This is going to be the best rite of passage challenge ever!”

  By the time it was 9:00, it looked like most of the school had shown up. I stayed with the pack of JV guys who were standing close to the dock, so I wouldn’t be noticed in the crowd. All of the varsity squad was standing where the dock connected to the gravel road. It was incredible that this many people were here.

  “Eric, what do we do now? Are we just supposed to stand around and wait for this challenge thing?” I asked.

  He looked at me shocked. “Of course and . . . we look for hot girls!” He brushed his hair out of his eyes like he was in a shampoo commercial.

  There was a loud sound from behind us. I swung around, and at the entrance to the lake was a late model primer grey car with one of the headlights out. The car revved its engine and backfired. Thick black smoke plumed out of the tail pipe. The guys around the dock scattered. The crowd began to cheer. The car’s wheels began to spin, shooting rocks backward. For so much revving and spinning of its wheels, it didn’t go very fast.

  As soon as the car hit the dock, both car doors flew open. The car looked like a plane going down the runway. The car was quickly running out of dock to drive on. A group of varsity players raced behind the car. With about half of the dock left, the passenger in the car jumped and landed feet first into the water with a big splash. The driver was still inside. Half of the guys chasing the car stopped to help Chad up onto the dock. Then, with barely any dock left before the car plunged into the water, Oliver dove out of the car head first, entering the water in a perfect dive. The car went off the edge of the dock and hit the water with a large splash. The car’s engine gurgled and sputtered, then died. The car sank into the depths of the lake in a matter of seconds.

  The crowd roared to life. The rest of the varsity team pulled Oliver out of the water. He threw both arms up in the air, and the crowd cheered even louder like he was their king who was about to address his loyal subjects.

  Oliver was eating up the attention. I thought I could actually see his head getting bigger. I looked around the lake at the cheering crowd. I noticed one person who wasn’t cheering in the middle of a group of girls. She was very noticeable, sitting on the hood of a blue sports car with her arms folded. I moved through the crowd of cheering JV guys to get a better look at the one other person who didn’t buy into the Oliver hype. Maybe she could be an ally or a friend. To my surprise, it was the girl from the stands, my angel, and she was no illusion. She looked mad, arms crossed, but still as beautiful as she was earlier at the football game. Even with such an obvious disapproval for what was going on, she still was a bright light in these dark surroundings. Eric hit me on the arm.

  “Dude that was incredible, wasn’t it?”

  “She sure is,” I said under my breath.

  “Oliver is definitely the big man on campus now! There is no doubt about it!”

 

  The beginning of my first day at school went by quickly, but now I was trapped in fourth period biology with two of Eric’s friends. The two girls, whose names I didn’t catch, couldn’t believe I was playing varsity. I tried to diffuse them by emphasizing that I had only played in a scrimmage, but it didn’t work. All they wanted to do was talk about it. Mrs. Bellhorn, our teacher, had to be over a hundred years old and completely deaf. They talked straight through her entire “Welcome to Science” speech without her giving any reaction to the talking. The bell finally rang, setting me free. I hurried out of the classroom and lost them in the crowd of people in the halls.

  My first day of school was almost over, but still no angel. I recognized some of the guys from the football team. It still amazed me how many people went to this school. I wondered why Cora hadn’t picked a large school like this before. It was so easy to blend in and get lost in the crowd.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me. Can I have your attention, you busy little bees?” I recognized that person’s voice; it was my counselor, Joy Lemmins. She was being broadcast throughout the entire school using hundreds of small TVs mounted in the halls. She was wearing a flashy pink-plaid jacket. Her glasses were pulled down to read the announcements that were in front of her on a table.

  “If everyone could report to their homeroomies,” she laughed at her little joke. “I know you were just there this morning, but we need to have our annual 10-10 Earthquake drill. Earthquakes are serious, so please listen to your teacher carefully so that we can keep you safe. Please go there now.”

  She smiled at the camera for a second. A voice from outside of the viewing area said, “Cut,” but she was still on the TVs. She stood up and got her large jacket button caught on the table. She tugged so hard to free herself that she broke the button, and the force sent her falling backwards into the backdrop. She landed on her back, feet straight up in the air. She started to scream a high-pitched squeal. Then the screen went blank. The students all around me were laughing at her.

  I didn’t feel like laughing; I wanted to escape this horror. I didn’t want to take part in this earthquake drill. The thought of it made me sick to my stomach. I swallowed almost an entire pack of Tic Tacs on my way to homeroom, but I still felt sick. I sat down in Mr. Nickel’s class. He was a very tall man who looked like an eagle with his pronounced nose and little hair. He showed no emotion, so when he spoke it sounded robotic like he was reading a speech for the first time. He proceeded to talk about why earthquake safety was important, and coming from him it sounded even worse. I tried to block out everything he was saying. I didn’t want to hear it; it hurt too much. It hurt too much to remember. After his speech, he instructed us on how to protect ourselves from an earthquake.

  “If we have another earthquake like the one
on 10-10, the safest place is under your desk. So do it now and put your hands over your head until the bell rings. When the bell rings, you can go to your fifth bell class,” he squawked.

  I curled up in a ball under my desk with my hands over my head, and I tried to fight the voices from the past coming back to haunt me, reminding me of everything I was trying to forget.