Dinged, p.9
Dinged, page 9
Coach Toffler walks up to Ron and snatches the phone out of his hands. I fully expect him to ream me out, but instead, he lays into Ron. “So you decide to teach him a lesson by playing keep-away with his phone? How old are you, anyway? Show some leadership, Johnson!” Coach throws me the phone, but I drop it. “Damn good thing you’re not a receiver, son,” he says, then winks at me before walking back to the coaches’ office.
Everyone drifts away, except for Ron, who’s standing there red-faced. “Well, well. Boy Wonder has truly arrived. You’re untouchable now. Even the coaches won’t mess with you.” Then he leans into me, eyes flaring. “If you’re not careful, someone is going to kick the snot out of that cocky little head of yours. In the meantime, just keep winning and we’re all good.”
I look down at my phone and spot a crack in the glass. I curse silently, knowing my parents are going to make me pay for it. I stare at the broken screen, and right then a text comes in from Nina.
are you allowed to send texts during a game?
WWHS
WALTHORNE HIGH SCHOOL RADIO
TRANSCRIPT OF PLAY-BY-PLAY
ALFIE JENKS AND JULIAN HESS
ALFIE:
We’re midway through the third quarter, and Walthorne has been dominating play. With the score 43–13, we can look for Coach Toffler to start putting in some of the backups, but for now, Caleb Springer continues to lead the offense, and they’re on the march once again . . . It’s a first and ten on the Ramsdale thirty-two, and he swings a screen pass out to Ethan Metzger . . . Freshman Kenny Coleman is out front, leading the way . . . Metzger breaks one tackle and heads for the first-down marker . . . Oh, Coleman gets hit HARD as he tries to make a block!
JULIAN:
Kenny Coleman is down, Alfie . . . Now he’s on his feet, but we’ll have to keep an eye on him . . .
I can hear the CRACK! when Kenny gets hit, and I know it’s pretty bad right away. The rules are clear—helmet-to-helmet contact is not allowed—but sometimes when two guys are going in opposite directions at full speed, the helmets just get in the way.
No one is trying to hurt anyone, but people get hurt anyway.
That’s football.
After the hit, Kenny gets up and acts like everything is fine. It’s what football players do.
Kenny runs back to the huddle, and Ron smacks him on the shoulder pads, just like he did with me when I took that hard hit in the first game of the season. “You good?”
Kenny nods. “Yeah, yeah, all good.”
“Excellent!” Ron says. “Way to be tough!”
“You sure?” I say to Kenny, but he doesn’t answer. As I’m trying to figure out what to do, Brett Rose brings in the play from the sidelines. “Twenty-Four Scramble Brick Left.” Which is a complicated way of saying a run to the left side. Kenny’s side. Which means he’s going to get leveled again.
As we break the huddle, I notice Kenny still standing there. “What’s up?” I ask him.
It’s hard to see his eyes through his helmet, but his voice sounds off. “What’s the play again?”
I start to tell him. “Twenty-Four Scramble—” Then I stop, and tell him, “QB Keep, QB Keep.”
He nods, and takes his position. The team lines up. “PINEAPPLE!” I scream out, meaning I’m changing the play at the line of scrimmage. “STRAIGHT CHASE FOURTEEN! STRAIGHT CHASE FOURTEEN!” Which means a quarterback sneak, or keep.
Ron looks back at me. “What the hell?”
“That’s the play,” I tell him. “HUT!”
He snaps the ball, but it’s clear that some of our linemen didn’t hear me. They all start drifting left, ready to block, which leaves just me and Ron staring at their entire defense. I try to run behind Ron’s right shoulder, but only gain about half a yard before getting smothered by their middle linebacker and two other guys. Luckily, they’re clean hits, and I’m totally fine.
I pop back up just in time to see Coach Toffler sprinting out onto the field, way beyond where he’s supposed to go. “SPRINGER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING RUNNING A SNEAK! YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN KILLED!”
I ignore his question and point at Kenny instead. “He’s gotta come out.”
Coach looks confused. “Who, Kenny? Why?”
“Because he’s not right. He’s hurt. He took a real shot on the last play.”
Coach calls a time-out, and everyone runs over to the sideline to grab water. Coach goes up to Kenny. “What’s going on? Are you hurt? You get hurt on that hit?”
“Nah, I’m good!” Kenny insists. Then, as if to prove it, he adds, “I’ll get a break at halftime, Coach. It’s fine!”
Coach glances quickly over at our trainer, then puts his arm around Kenny. “Well, we’ve already had halftime, son. So let’s go over and take a little break now—what do you say?”
Kenny nods, like a little kid. “Sure thing, Coach. Sure thing.”
The rest of the guys have their heads down. No one wants to watch, but everyone wants to listen.
The ref blows the whistle, and we head back out onto the field. We huddle up, and Ron does what he always does when we come back from a time-out, which is to clap his hands and start yelling. “Let’s get after it, boys! Let’s get AFTER IT!”
But this time, I interrupt him. “Ron, are you serious right now? ‘Let’s get after it’?”
He glares at me. “You got a problem, Springer? You’re sitting there, a freakin’ freshman acting like the coach and the captain all rolled into one, and you’re asking ME if I’M SERIOUS?”
“Yeah, I got a problem,” I say. The rest of the team falls dead silent. No one talks to Ron this way—especially a freshman—but something inside of me doesn’t care about that right now.
“If you don’t want me to act like the captain,” I tell him, “then you be the captain! You need to look out for the players. Kenny got rocked, he was clearly messed up, and you didn’t care. You asked him if he was okay—what do you think he’s gonna say? Of course he’s going to say he’s okay! And then you let him line up for the next play? That’s bullshit, and you know it. He could’ve gotten seriously hurt. He might be seriously hurt right now. And you were fine with it! Because that’s football, right?”
Ron is something I’ve never seen him be before—speechless. It’s like he’s so mad, he forgot how to talk. His eyes are burning into mine, but he doesn’t say a word.
One of the other seniors, an overweight but quick lineman named Seamus, says, “Caleb, you need to shut up. Everyone needs to shut up. We got a game to play.” Of course he throws a few swear words in along the way. More than a few, actually.
The ref blows his whistle. “DELAY OF GAME!” We get penalized five yards.
Coach Toffler starts jumping up and down. He’s literally hopping mad. “RUN THE PLAY!” he keeps screaming. “RUN THE DAMN PLAY!”
Eventually, we do. It’s a sweep wide right. We score, and there are a few high fives, but something’s missing. Something’s changed.
When I run to the sideline, Coach doesn’t even look at me. He just says, very softly, “Take a seat. You’re done for the day.”
Fine by me.
We win, 49–20. In the locker room, no one celebrates.
20
“Why’d you come out?”
My dad has me cornered in that section of the parking lot he hangs out in, and he’s peppering me with questions.
“What did Coach say to you during that time-out? What was going on there? He seemed upset—why was he upset?”
I’m used to his questions after the game, and usually I answer them all. But today, I’m not really in the mood. “Dad, we won big. We were running up the score. Kenny got hurt on a pass play. Why are we even passing at all when we’re up thirty? I was glad to come out.”
My dad shakes his head in disgust. “No one should ever be glad to come out.”
“I thought you played great,” says my mom. I see her looking around, wondering who might be eavesdropping. She’s always been a private person, which isn’t easy when your husband is a local celebrity.
“He played good for two and a half quarters,” my dad says. “After that, no sign of him! Maybe I should talk to the coach.”
“Don’t do that!” I say quickly. “Please. Let me handle it.”
“Handle what?” I hear a voice say behind me.
A female voice.
A voice I know.
I turn around to see Nina, with a not-quite-smile on her face. “Hey,” she says. “Handle what?”
I’m shocked to see her, and I find myself moving to put myself between her and my dad. “Wait a second, were you at the game?”
“Saw some of the second half. So exciting. Not.” She leans in to speak softly. “Did you actually text me at halftime? Isn’t that illegal or something? Is that why you weren’t playing?”
“Kind of but not really,” I tell her. “The whole game was weird. I sort of got in trouble.”
My dad hears that. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Nothing, Dad.”
He notices Nina. “Who are you?”
Before she can answer, I do. “This is Nina, Dad.”
“Who?”
“Nina Rojas. My friend, remember? I told you about her.”
My dad frowns. “No, I don’t remember.”
“She’s a musician, Dad. I went to see her play.”
“Oh yeah,” he says.
My mom steps up. “So nice to meet you, Nina! Caleb speaks so highly of you. You must be a very special girl.”
Nina smiles shyly. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“What did you think?” my dad asks Nina. “Did you think Caleb should have been taken out of the game in the third quarter?”
“Uh, I . . .” Nina looks at me for help.
“She came late, Dad,” I say.
But he’s not going to let it go. “She was there; she can answer for herself.” He looks over at Nina. “Well?”
Nina straightens her back, and I suddenly know what’s coming. You only get shy, quiet Nina for so long.
“Well, to be honest, Mr. Springer, I’m not a huge fan of football.”
My dad looks confused. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t get it at all. The rules are really confusing. And I think it’s dangerous.”
I feel my body tense up, waiting for Nina to say more, to go into all the stuff that we talked about, the stuff about how what’s happening to my dad could end up happening to me, the stuff that made us get into our first real fight.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything else.
My dad isn’t sure what to make of this girl, and my mom grabs his arm to make sure he stays in control. Eventually, he just shakes his head and starts to walk away, but then he turns back.
“Life is dangerous,” he says, loud enough for anyone around to hear. “Get used to it.”
My mom and dad head off in the direction of some other parents, who are talking about the game. I look at Nina. “I hope he’s not going to talk to the coach,” I tell her. “That would not be good.”
“I don’t want to talk about football anymore,” Nina says.
“Yeah, me neither.” A few seconds later, I add, “So, uh, why did you come?”
“You asked me to.”
“You mean that text? I just asked if you were here.”
“Well, I took it to mean, ‘I hope you’re here.’ So I came.”
“Oh.”
I watch as my parents talk to some other people. Nina watches me watch them.
I turn back to her. “Hey, how’s the band going?”
“It’s going great,” she says. “I’m actually late for rehearsal. We might have a really cool gig coming up next month.”
“That’s awesome. Go to rehearsal! I’m all good here, I promise.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Any chance you can come to Jensen’s later? Around seven?”
“Sure.”
“So we’re good?”
“We’ll see,” Nina says. But she’s smiling as she says it.
I give her a quick hug before anyone can notice.
Nina looks me over. “I’m glad you texted.” She pauses. “Is something wrong? Or did you just want to see me?”
I wait for a few seconds, trying to decide how to answer.
“Both,” I say finally.
21
“Are you guys over your fight?” Eric asks.
I’m sitting at Jensen’s with Eric and Jamie, having omelets and fries.
“You mean with Nina?”
Eric rolls his eyes. “No, with Rihanna.”
“HA!” cackles Jamie.
“I’m not sure it was a fight, exactly,” I say. “More like an intense conversation. And yes, we’re over it.”
Eric looks slightly disappointed, but he tries to hide it. “Good stuff!”
“So, what happened at the game today?” Jamie asks. “You get into it with Ron?”
“Nah,” I say. “Just the usual.”
“It looked like you guys were going at it pretty good. Coach too. And then you got benched.”
“We were way ahead.”
Eric lets out an annoyed little laugh. “Dude. We’re your friends. Your best friends, I thought.”
“And you and me have been playing football together since before we could walk,” Jamie adds.
Eric challenges me with his eyes. “So what gives?”
I’m just about to tell them what happened when Nina gets there. I immediately tense up. “I know I’m a little early,” she says. “You guys in the middle of something? I can come back.”
“Kinda,” Eric says.
“Okay, cool,” Nina says. She starts to walk away, but something about that just feels wrong to me, so I get up and grab her arm. “No, stay. Hang with us. I was just telling them about what happened at the game.”
Nina sighs. “Football? Again?”
“We like football,” Jamie says. “So sue us.”
“Easy, bud,” I tell him.
Eric stands up. “Actually, I just remembered I have to go.”
Jamie takes the cue and also gets up. “Yeah, same.”
“Wait, what?” I say.
Eric turns halfway around—not quite enough to look at me. “Yeah, no, it’s all good.”
“Are you guys for real? I’m sitting here making sure we get to hang for a while before Nina gets here, and then she gets here ten minutes early and you decide to take off? That’s bull.”
“So glad you cleared a few minutes in your busy schedule for us, dude,” Jamie says. “We know you got a lot going on, it’s cool, we don’t want to be in the way or anything.”
I throw up my hands. “Okay, fine. Like it’s my fault I’m starting QB on varsity. So sorry it takes up a lot of time. Whatever. Later.”
“Yeah, later,” Eric says. Jamie just nods, and they walk away. Nina and I sit quietly for about a minute. I wave to some other kids. Nina looks at the menu, just for something to do.
“Do you need to go make that right?” she asks, finally.
“Nah, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, then I’ll change the subject,” she says. “I’ll even change it back to football. Can you tell me what happened at the game?”
“Yeah, fine.” I actually think it might help to talk about it. “Kenny got hurt on this one play, pretty bad. I don’t know if the crowd could tell what was going on, but I was pretty sure he got, like, a concussion. But he didn’t want to tell anyone that he was hurt because he didn’t want to look like he was being soft.”
“Man, what a great game,” Nina says, bitterly.
“Then Ron and I got into it a little bit,” I go on.
“Love Ron.” Nina’s on a sarcastic roll.
“Yeah, well, he’s the captain, and in case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t like me very much. He wanted Kenny to stay in the game, but I told Kenny he had to go out. I told the Coach, too, and I called a different play without telling the coach, to protect Kenny. So yeah, I got in trouble.”
Nina stares at me.
“But you know, like I said, I was helping Kenny,” I add, trying to get her on my side.
“You made sure a teammate who was hurt didn’t keep playing,” she says. “That’s a step in the right direction, Caleb, but I don’t think you deserve a medal or anything.”
“I’m not saying I deserve a medal. I just want you to know that I’m hearing what you’re saying, and I’m taking the safety of the game seriously.”
She looks at me for a long second, then her eyes soften. “And they say jocks are all muscle and no heart.”
I feel a surge of warmth through my body. “I’m at least thirty-eight percent heart.”
Nina laughs and puts her hand on mine. “Am I being a big nightmare about this?”
I laugh, mostly out of relief that she’s not going to yell at me anymore. “You are, kinda, actually.”
“I don’t mean to be. And I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
She takes a sip of my milkshake. “I know how much football means to you and your family. I don’t want to take that away from you. All I can ask is that you think about it, about what the dangers are, and as long as you play, be incredibly careful. Or, as careful as you can be.”
“I am careful.”
“And don’t try to stay in a game just to be a tough guy macho man, like your pal Kenny.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
I sit there quietly for a few seconds, just soaking up the fact that she’s not telling me to quit football.
“Thanks again for coming to the game, even if you missed me play,” I say.
She shrugs. “No biggie. I mean, you came to my concert, remember? It’s only fair that I show up.”
I finish off my shake. “Yeah, I guess.”
She smiles. “I actually did get there in time to see you play for a few minutes, before you came out. I enjoyed it. I didn’t want to, but I did. You’re so damn good at that idiotic game.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
We’re officially over our first fight when she leans over the table and kisses me. For more than a few seconds.
