by Kara Bietz
“Yes, ma’am,” Julian says, a smirk pulling on his lip. Probably for the same reason I’m laughing; no one would ever refer to Bucky as “that sweet Brian” other than Ms. Birdie.
“Hey, I didn’t know you played football at Crenshaw, Mr. Figg,” I say, grabbing a second sandwich. Skipping breakfast this morning was probably a mistake, but I had been way too nervous to think about chewing and swallowing.
“Class of nineteen, uh… never mind all that,” Figg says, laughing. “I’ll never tell.”
“Thomas was the kicker,” Pastor Ernie says, grabbing Figg’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I was the equipment manager.”
“You two knew each other in high school?” Julian asks.
Pastor Ernie and Figg share a look. “Not exactly,” Figg says, smiling.
“We found each other again after a lot of years away from Meridien,” Pastor Ernie says. “It wasn’t until then that it dawned on us that we graduated just a few years apart.”
“Did you guys have the Taylor prank tradition way back then, too?” I ask them.
Pastor Ernie starts to laugh. A big hearty sound from his belly. “Oh, sweet Elijah,” he says. “It was the highlight of the season even ‘way back then,’ as you so kindly put it. Though we probably weren’t quite as creative as some of you boys are now.”
I can see Julian’s face starting to pinch. “Hey, we better get packed if we’re going to be ready when Bucky gets here,” he says to me.
We walk down the hallway together toward our rooms, and I can see the muscles in Julian’s neck and back are flexed and tight.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“If I have to hear one more word about how steeped in tradition Crenshaw is, or the Taylor prank is the most important thing in the world”—he rolls his eyes—“I’m seriously going to hurt someone.”
“Can I ask you something without you flying off the handle?”
“I can’t exactly promise that until I know what you’re going to ask, can I?” Julian chuckles.
“How come it bothers you so much? All the tradition?” I ask, standing in Julian’s doorway while he pulls a few pairs of shorts from his dresser.
Julian shakes his head. “You know how much pressure it is? To not only win the games, but to pull off pranks, lead the team, get a scholarship. And all of that with the eyes of the entire town on me. My dad…” He shakes his head again and goes back to his dresser.
I walk into the room and sit down on the bed. “Your dad what?”
“My dad was good at everything.” His voice catches. “Birdie tells me all the time about what a good quarterback he was, that he got straight As, that the whole town loved him. He was some kind of hero around here. How am I supposed to live up to all of that?”
“I don’t know that anyone expects you to be exactly like your dad,” I say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize what I’ve said. That’s exactly what everyone seems to expect from me.
Julian ignores my comment. “When Figg told me how my dad tried so hard to get rid of the prank tradition, I thought, YES! Here’s something I can actually do that he didn’t manage to do first. Or do better. I just… I just want to think he’d be proud of me if he was still around,” Julian says. “And seeing all the trouble the pranks have caused… I want to think he’d be proud of me trying to do something different.”
My stomach still churns around the realization of how alike Julian and I actually are. “I think he’d be proud,” I tell him.
Julian lets out a long sigh. “Thanks, man. Let’s get our stuff packed up. I need to tell the team tonight that we’re not doing a prank. We’ve got football games to win, and if Coach Marcus expects us to do that, we’re going to have to keep our heads in the game. Stephens City was like peewee stuff compared to what we’ve got coming up.”
“Are you sure tonight is the best time to break the news?”
“We’re all going to be together. The quicker I can get everyone’s attention off the pranks, the quicker we can focus on actual football.” He clamps his mouth shut and focuses on packing his bag.
I stuff my own black duffel with an extra pair of shorts and my bathing suit. I honestly don’t know what else to throw in for a campout. Or if I’ll even need another pair of shorts. I’ve never done anything like this before. Or had friends to do this kind of thing with.
I meet Julian in the living room.
“I’ve got two sleeping bags and a tent, and I threw a package of hot dogs in a cooler. Probably need a few water bottles and some sodas and maybe a bag of chips,” he says, heading for the kitchen. “Maybe we can talk Bucky into grabbing some doughnuts and kolaches on the way down.”
Ms. Birdie and Pastor Ernie and Figg have moved to the back patio, where they’re sitting on the wicker furniture and reminiscing about their favorite Crenshaw memories. I wonder if every game day will be like this, with the house filled with laughter and food and just a warm feeling. I stand in the living room and soak it up.
Bucky’s truck pulls up in front of Ms. Birdie’s driveway, the engine rumbling loud enough to shake the front screen door.
“We’re out of here, Birdie!” Julian shouts toward the back door, swinging his bags over his shoulder and tossing one of the sleeping bags to me.
“Be safe, boys! See you tomorrow! Love you both!” she hollers back, all three of them waving through the door.
“Love you, Birdie!” Julian yells, ushering me out the door.
I need the step to get into the sprawling back seat of Bucky’s Ford. Julian climbs in beside me, throwing the bags between us on the worn bench seat. Ms. Birdie’s entire car could probably fit into the cab of Bucky’s truck.
“So, tell us about this new development, loverboy,” Julian says to Bucky as he buckles his seat belt. “You finally got Camille to look twice at you, huh?”
“Hey, sometimes things just naturally happen,” Bucky says, the tips of his ears turning pink.
“Sure. Natural. Like you haven’t been dreaming about being with Camille since kindergarten.” Darien backhands Bucky on the shoulder.
“Exactly! I gave Camille space. Let things simmer. It all came together exactly like it should have,” Bucky says. He’s laughing, but his whole face lights up when he says the name Camille. We’re teasing the shit out of him, but I can tell that he really cares about her a lot.
It makes me smile to think of the two of them together. Somehow, they just work.
Julian talks Bucky into stopping for doughnuts, and we’re on our way after that. We take off down the highway, windows open and Bucky’s new stereo pumping out a steady playlist of Crenshaw’s best hype songs. Bucky, Darien, Julian, and I all sing loudly, our voices fighting with the wind at highway speeds, and we’re all laughing like maniacs by the time we pull off the road and into the sand, headed for beach marker forty-eight.
Nate and a few other guys have got a good bonfire started by the time we pull the truck up next to the dunes and grab the gear from the back.
“I’m sleeping back here,” Bucky announces, standing in the bed of the truck and rolling out an air mattress. “Everyone else, find your own spot.”
“Let’s get this tent set up before it gets dark,” Julian tells me. “I’m no good with this kind of stuff, and trying to do it in the dark would make it even worse.”
I pull everything out of the ripstop bag and have it set up in no time, without any help from Julian. As smart as he is, he sure doesn’t have a whole lot of mechanical aptitude.
“How’d you do that?” he asks, standing next to the setup, scratching his head.
“Easy. There’s really only one way to put it up.” I laugh.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Otherwise I’d be sleeping in the sand tonight,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder and heading for the fire with the package of hot dogs he brought. “Hot dogs on the fire, I can handle. Thankfully. Want some?”
He hands me a long fork, and I thread a couple of hot dogs onto it
and hold it over the glowing coals. I glance around at the team goofing off in the sand, splashing one another in the water and just talking by the fire. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is having a good time. My chest almost aches.
I have this feeling that I really missed this, but how can you miss something you never had before?
I pull my phone from my pocket and take a picture of my hot dogs hanging over the fire and text it to Frankie. She texts back a picture of Coley, fresh from her bath, wet curls springing from her head. It’s been only a couple of days, but she looks older somehow.
“Who’s that kid?” Julian is peering over my shoulder.
I click the power button and shove the phone back into my pocket as quickly as I can. “A cousin,” I mumble.
I feel like an ass for chickening out of telling him about Frankie and Coley at the dance last night, but his words about the pregnant cheerleader still sting. Maybe I’ll tell him tonight later on, when there aren’t fifty other guys listening in. One thing’s for sure, I don’t want to leave it for Frankie to tell him when she gets here. Maybe if he has some time to get used to it, he’ll be nice to Frankie and not judgmental. I know that would kill her.
“Hey, gather round here, Guardsmen,” Julian yells over the crashing waves and the conversations around us. “I’ve got some news for you.”
“Taylor praaaaaaank!” someone yells, and everyone laughs.
The team moves closer to where Julian is, and I try to back away. I have no idea how they’re all going to take this news, and I really don’t want to be a part of it at all. I wish Camille were here to stop it. Or at least ease the tension that’s sure to follow this announcement.
“Actually, it is about the Taylor prank,” Julian says, and everything falls silent, the air full of anticipation. The only noise is from the rolling ocean and the logs popping in the fire.
Julian hesitates for a beat too long. “What’s going on, Cap?” Bucky says.
“Well,” Julian starts. “I think we’re not doing a prank this year.”
“Wait, what?” Darien yells from the other side of the fire.
“Listen,” Julian goes on. “Not playing a prank is the ultimate prank! Taylor will be so distracted at the game, waiting for us to make our move, that they won’t be able to concentrate on playing actual football. They’ll constantly be looking over their shoulders, wondering what’s coming. We’ll tan their hides at homecoming. Pretty much a guaranteed victory! That’s what we all want in the end, right?” Julian really tries to sell it. He stands up on a boulder and holds his arms out like he’s giving an epic before-game pep talk.
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, dude,” someone says.
A bunch of mumbles flutter through the crowd, but no one outwardly disagrees with Julian. I think they all respect him too much for that. But the mood of the team kind of falls flat, with no one sure how to respond.
Julian watches our teammates give one another sideways glances and lowers his arms. His face falls a little bit.
“We beat Stephens City!” I yell suddenly, raising my arms high in the air, and the team turns toward me and cheers. I may want no part in this discussion, but I can’t leave Julian hanging like that. “Bucky, turn that music up!”
Bucky starts the hype song again, and the guys start grabbing one another’s shoulders and jumping around in the sand, singing along. I grab onto Darien and Nate and add my voice to the celebration and then motion with my chin for Julian to come, too. He steps down from his boulder and joins in, but his face isn’t as triumphant as it was a little bit ago.
This probably won’t be the last conversation we have about the prank. Not by a long shot.
· twenty-one ·
JULIAN
Eventually, the sun starts to dip behind the dunes, and someone turns the music down to a manageable volume. We all stick by the fire, though, toasting marshmallows and talking about the game. Someone brings out a case of beer, but I don’t really notice anyone drinking it.
Bucky plops down in the sand next to me and Elijah, and pretty soon Nate and Darien join us.
“Tell us you’re joking, Cap,” Nate says. He’s holding a Coke in his hand and has a wary smile plastered on his face.
“I’m definitely not joking,” I tell them. “This tradition ends here.”
“Listen, we all know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise,” Bucky says. “How about if we come up with the prank, and all you have to do is help us carry it out?” The rest of the group nods in agreement.
I glance over at Elijah. He’s sitting in the sand with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He doesn’t nod along with the rest of the group, but he still looks at me expectantly.
“Look, we really just need to focus on the games coming up, guys,” I say, trying to reason with them. “Every single one of us has got something to lose this year. Scholarships, all-conference status, ammunition for why you’re the best sibling. It’s just too risky! What if someone gets hurt? Or suspended or arrested? What if one prank ended your entire football career?”
Nate groans. “Come on, Cap. It doesn’t have to be something that could get us in trouble. Can you at least consider it?”
“My dad will never let me live it down if we don’t do something,” Bucky says. Bucky’s dad and even his grandfather have almost made a career out of reliving their Crenshaw Guardsmen glory days.
“Not to mention what Taylor will say about us,” Darien says, throwing a rock out toward the ocean. “How are we going to look them in the face after the flag incident if we don’t at least try and retaliate?”
“Yeah, what about that?” Bucky asks. “What if they show up to homecoming with something epic planned and make us look ridiculous? You’re so sure that we’ll throw them off their game, but they could just as easily do it to us by catching us off guard,” he reasons.
“You owe it to us to at least think about it,” Nate says, poking at the fire with a long stick. It pops and crackles as sparks float up into the dark September sky. “A good captain is supposed to listen to his team, not rule with an iron fist.”
I glance at Elijah again. His eyes reflect the bright flames, and he nods almost imperceptibly in my direction.
I let out a long breath. “I don’t know yet, guys. I can’t just make up my mind right now.”
Bucky turns to me. “So, you’ll at least think about it?”
My lips pull into a straight line. “Yeah.”
We all watch the fire crackle in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness of the conversation putting a damper on the earlier celebratory feelings.
“Can we talk about my epic block again?” Elijah says, breaking the tension.
Everyone starts laughing, and Darien pelts Elijah with a marshmallow. Elijah jumps up and drops a handful of dried seaweed on Darien’s head, and that starts a massive game of chase up and down the beach, all of us flinging dried seaweed at one another and dodging marshmallow bombs.
The game ends when we run out of marshmallows, and everyone retreats back to the shrinking fire or to their tents or pickup beds. Elijah and I stay by the fire until the last dying embers finally turn black. I pour a bucket of sea water on top of them before dragging myself into the tent Elijah pitched earlier. I’m still grateful he was there to help with the tent; otherwise I’d be sleeping in the sand using a rock for a pillow. I’ve never been any good at putting up tents or putting together IKEA furniture or anything like that. I can see too many possibilities.
“Well, that didn’t exactly go over well,” I say to Elijah, lying down on top of my sleeping bag.
“I think maybe everyone’s just a little disappointed. I mean, it’s a thing the whole team looks forward to. I understand that you think it’s a distraction, and I agree, but, um… maybe not everyone else does,” Elijah says, his voice quiet but insistent in the dark.
I know he’s right, but I can’t let it go. “It’s just way too easy for things that start ou
t small and harmless to grow into something that you can’t control. We’ve got to try to at least get a regional title. That’s the only way I’m going to get a scholarship. I need everything to line up just right if I have any chance at getting out of here.”
“Did your dad get a scholarship?” Elijah whispers in the dark.
My gut sinks. “No.”
“He made the most out of it, though, didn’t he? Why are you so hell-bent on leaving Meridien? Leaving Texas?”
I roll over to face him. “Why aren’t you so hell-bent on leaving Texas? I mean, there’s so much more out there. Didn’t living in Houston make you want to see more of the world?”
I can feel Elijah shrug next to me.
I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to get away from here, even just for a few years, to see something else. I know my dad was happy here, and so many other people are, too. But I want to see all the oceans, not just the Gulf of Mexico. I want to taste food from all over the world. I want to see snow thick enough to ski in and ice strong enough to skate on. I want to know how small I look next to a giant sequoia tree. I want to know what the leaves look like in New England in October. I don’t know what “purple mountain majesty” even means.
I’ve seen pictures of all that stuff, but I want to know what it feels like. I want a reason to wear a scarf and winter boots. To put on mittens and roll myself a snowman taller than me. I’ve soaked up enough Texas to last me a lifetime. Show me something else, world.
Sometimes I feel that so deeply I want to scream it as loud as I can.
“Don’t you ever think about leaving Texas? Even a little bit?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” Elijah says. “Everyone I love is here.”
I frown. “It’s not like you could never come back,” I say. “I just want to see more. At least for a little while.”
“Texas is home,” he says softly. “I’m not sure what else I need.”
