Author: Robyn Carr
The band led the floats down Thunder Point’s main street and they made two loops on the track around the football field. When the parade reached the track, Justin Moore jumped off the seniors’ float to go dress out for the game. There was a lot of noise, laughter and trash talk in the locker room and Landon acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, Jag Morrison wasn’t king of the school, just the prince of a very small clique. That was somehow a little less intimidating. Finally, as the band played the school song, the team burst through a paper sign stretched across the goalpost to the cheers of the crowd.
Landon didn’t have high expectations for the homecoming game. They’d beat Stafford High before and they weren’t a strong team. Good for homecoming and good for Jag. As Landon had expected, Coach Rayborough started Jag in the game. Landon didn’t mind staying on the sidelines, watching the game and other things. He caught sight of Cooper standing at the end of the bleachers for a while in the beginning, then he disappeared. He recognized Crawford Downy from his picture in the school’s trophy case. Downy was knocking fists with old friends, talking with the coach as if he was assisting.
But the game went downhill. Jag fumbled. He threw two incomplete passes and then he threw an interception and Stafford scored. The coach brought him in, talked to him, knocked him on the helmet, sent him back. Fumble, fumble, Stafford recovered the ball and ran it. Not too far, but they were clearly headed for another touchdown. Thunder’s defense rallied, got the ball and Jag threw another incomplete pass. The score was 7–0 Stafford. Coach wouldn’t want to get to halftime behind.
“Dupre!”
He was being brought in. Landon jogged over to the coach, got his instructions and went onto the field. He recovered the ball from Stafford. He went into the huddle, called the play, received the ball. He backed away from Stafford’s offense and made a perfect pass that landed them within running distance of a touchdown. When he next got the ball, he passed to a wide receiver and Thunder scored. The crowd went wild. Even though he hadn’t run the ball, they chanted his name, along with the wide receiver’s. But the attention wasn’t as much fun as executing the play—making it happen, getting a win. Landon just plain loved the game. He could feel the pressure and excitement of that down to his toes. By the half, they had Stafford by three points.
Landon figured the coach would pull him now and let Jag have another shot, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t let Jag play again until the end of the game, when they had Stafford by fourteen points and there wasn’t much time left. Jag tried valiantly to score and failed, but at least he didn’t give the ball to Stafford.
During a time-out, Eve crept over to where he stood on the sidelines with the team and whispered that they were still decorating the gym for tomorrow night’s dance, if he wanted to help. He told her he’d be there after the game.
When the game ended, Thunder High had a big win and were rewarded by screaming, thumping, yelling noises from the stands. Landon got a lot of fist bumps and slaps on the back, and he congratulated his teammates, too. He noticed that Jag was morose, lagging behind the team, but he ordered himself to ignore him as they jogged off the field and into the locker room.
He’d barely gotten his shoes off when the coach called him to his office. He stepped into the small room with a glass window to the lockers to find Downy leaning one hip against Coach’s desk.
“Here he is, Downy. Meet Landon Dupre. Landon, this is Crawford Downy. He took us all the way to the state play-offs last year.”
Downy put out his hand. “We had a good team. Nice to meet you, Dupre. Good job out there.”
“Hey, thanks,” Landon said, taking his hand. “I’m sorry I never got to see you play.”
“Maybe you’ll end up at State and we’ll play together.”
“How did you end up at State?” Landon asked.
“Scholarship. State wasn’t the only option, though,” Downy said.
They talked a little bit about Oregon State’s record, about the fact that Landon was hoping for some help with college tuition, about double-dating for the dance. Downy continued, “Anyway, we have lots of time to talk about college life this weekend. I got sucked into decorating tonight, because that’s where Ashley’s going to be.”
“Then I’ll see you there. I was recruited by Eve.”
They shook hands again. By the time Landon got back to the locker room, most of the team was either dressing or exiting the showers. In the coach’s office, he could see Downy. He looked completely at home, still leaning on the desk, laughing with his old coach while Coach Rayborough leaned back in his chair.
Landon stripped down, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the showers. From his office, the coach could see the locker area; the coach’s office was a no-female zone while guys were dressing. The shower area and the latrines were out of sight. The last three guys, toweling off and laughing, exited the shower just as Landon was going in.
“Great game, Dupre!”
“Show us the Thunder, Dupre!”
He just smiled and went about his business. He was planning to make it fast. Eve was in his very near future. He was lathered up, his hair loaded with suds, when he heard his name. “Dupre.”
He pried open one eye and peered at Jag Morrison, leaning in the doorway to the showers. He was fully dressed in pleated pants, thin-soled brown shoes and a navy sweater. The sleeves were shoved up on his forearms to show off his gold watch. His hands were in his pants pockets, one leg crossed over the other. He was a damn GQ ad.
“What?” Landon asked. “Little busy here.” He let the spray hit him, rinsing off much of the dripping soap.
“No one likes a wise guy, Dupre. Don’t think you can come here and just take over. I told you, this is my turf.”
Landon wiped a hand down his face. “Where’s your posse, Morrison? You don’t usually come at me alone. I figure you’re afraid I’ll wipe up the floor with you.”
Jag took a step into the shower room. “In your dreams. I just stopped by to tell you your party is about over here.”
Landon laughed at him. “Is that so? Kind of looks more like your party already ended. Now get out of here, unless you’re only here to view some naked male.” Then he turned, presented his back and leaned into the shower. After a few seconds he looked over his shoulder and sighed in relief. Morrison was gone.
Both palms braced against the wall, Landon let the hot water wash over his head and down his face. He’d never spoken a word to Morrison before the trouble began. A couple of practices before school started had revealed Landon to be the stronger quarterback and that was all it took. Don’t think you’re going to start the game, Dupre. This is my team. That first threat had worked out pretty well for Jag—Landon hadn’t started. The coach gave Jag every opportunity and only put Landon in when Jag couldn’t carry or pass the ball. But he couldn’t keep him out all the time, and it wasn’t long before Jag told Landon to trip and drop the ball. When that didn’t work, Jag and his gang of three started delivering their physical threats—a slug, a shove, an attempted trip. That night under the bleachers had been the worst episode. Cooper had saved his ass, but he’d got the message: they’d hold him down to beat him up.
“Dupre.”
He turned suddenly and just as suddenly an elbow or a bat or whatever it was slammed the side of his head into the hard tiles. The shower handle hit him in the ribs. On the way down, as he scrambled for something to grip, the lever hit him in the face.
Then it was lights-out.
“He’s a damn fine ball player,” Coach Rayborough was telling Downy. “But he’s having a little trouble fitting in.”
“That’ll pass, if he’s a good guy,” Downy said.
“That’s what I think. He works hard, never misses a practice, plays his heart out, supports his teammates...”
“How about grades?”
“Never had a problem with his grades,” Coach said. “Not like some of the seniors on the team, who are hanging on by the hair on their teeth.” He looked through the window into the quiet locker room. Everyone was gone, even the trainers. “Let’s shut ’er down.”
“Good idea,” Downy said. “I’ve gotta go string lights and blow up balloons tonight. If I play my cards right, it could all end in a date.”
They were laughing as they exited the office. Before turning off the lights, the coach looked into the locker room. There were a few wet towels strewn over benches. “Someone forgot to close his locker,” he muttered, walking toward the open locker.
The dawning came slowly—the locker was not only open, the player’s clothes were inside, the duffel holding his football uniform and gear sitting on the floor, shoes under the bench, shower running...
“Hey!” he yelled. “Somebody in there?”
No answer. Coach Rayborough walked toward the showers. It wouldn’t be the first time some idiot left the water running. They get a little hyper after a—
“Downy! Call nine-one-one!”
The coach shut off the shower and knelt beside Landon. The second he lifted the kid’s head, Landon started to groan. His head lolled.
“Jesus, Dupre, what the hell? You pass out?”
“He didn’t pass out,” Downy said from the door. “EMTs are on the way.”
Landon tried to sit up, moaning.
“Stay down, Dupre,” the coach said. “What the hell happened?”
But Landon kept struggling to get up, his arm flailing.
“Coach.” Downy grabbed the towel off the hook by the shower and tossed it at him. “Cover him up. He didn’t pass out. He got jumped in the showers. Who did it, Landon?”
Landon just groaned and reached a wet hand toward his face. His jaw was already starting to swell and his lip was bleeding. He could feel the goose egg rising on his forehead.
Downy crouched. “Tell me before the EMTs and cops get here.”
“Cops?”
“Landon, this asshole is not getting away with this,” Downy said. “Was it Morrison?”
“Morrison?” the coach asked, clearly astonished.
“He’s a prick, Coach,” Downy said. “I’ve been watching him knock kids around since the fourth grade. He gave my little brother some trouble until I stepped in.”
“Morrison?” the coach asked again. “I never saw that in him!”
Downy looked at him. “Of course you didn’t,” Downy said. “Trust me. Was it Morrison?” he asked Landon again.
And Landon nodded weakly. His vision had cleared and he was thinking straight, though he had one hell of a headache. He could pretend that a powerful whack on the head caused him to weaken in front of the coach and Downy, spilling Morrison’s name. But that wasn’t it at all. He’d had enough. So, the guy had been doing this to anyone he perceived weaker since he was a little kid? Big surprise. Time for him to be stopped.
“It was Morrison,” Landon said. “This wasn’t the first time. He had his boys hold me so he could punch me out once. And he ordered me to throw a game so I’d look bad and he could play. Said it was his team. His school.”
The coach’s eyes grew narrow and steely. News about a less-than-loyal player got to him the worst. Downy stood slowly, went into the locker room and grabbed a stack of towels. He propped one under Landon’s head and used a few more to cover his shivering body. “Stay calm. They’ll be here pretty quick and they have blankets. Who do we call for you?”
“My sister. Sarah. She’s in my phone. My locker.”
“Got it.”
“You’re going to be okay, Dupre,” the coach said. “You seeing double or anything?” Landon shook his head. “That’s a good sign. You have to stay down. In case there’s something wrong with your back.”
