by Rob Buyea
I wanted the pep rally, but I wanted the Thanksgiving showdown to be over more. Forget the secret-weapon play. That was a lost cause. I was a lost cause.
Coach Magenta had told the team about Stonebreaker, and we were working on a plan to deal with him, but after his story hit the news and the guys saw him on TV, they were nervous. You could probably say some of them were even scared. Scott was the worst. He fell to pieces. He went from catching close to 80 percent of my passes to dropping almost all of them again. We needed his head in the game, and I had a feeling we might need his secret-weapon play before we got done.
I found Magenta after practice and told her I was worried about the guys—Scott, especially. “This Stonebreaker kid is in their heads. They’re starting to crumble under the pressure.”
“Don’t panic, Gavin. This is normal. As long as you remain confident and keep leading us, we’ll be okay.”
“All right,” I said. I trusted her, but I kept thinking about the team. Maybe that’s why I was the one to come up with the brilliant idea this time. I had to ’cause everybody had Stonebreaker on the brain. Well, if they wanted Stonebreaker, they were getting him.
I remembered seeing a picture of our rival in Dad’s newspaper. I found it when I got home from practice and cut it out. I gave the picture to Woods the next morning at school and asked her to make me a bunch of photocopies. I took the copies and made every player on our team tape one onto the front of his helmet. I taped the extras all over the locker room. Stonebreaker was staring at us from everywhere when I got done. The guys got used to seeing him on the field. They got used to blocking him, tackling him, and running from him.
“He’s no match for your wits or my arm, and he’s definitely no match for your speed,” I promised Scott.
I don’t know if he believed me, but we kept working on his play. And as he got more and more comfortable with Stonebreaker glaring at him, he started catching my passes again.
“You’re ready, Stats Man,” Coach Magenta told him after our final practice. “Our secret-weapon play is in the plan.”
I fist-bumped him, but inside I was hoping we didn’t need his play. I didn’t want something bad to happen—and if Stonebreaker ever got his hands on Scott, it would be real bad.
Mr. Allen deserved an awesomest-principal trophy. His pep rally was the best.
He called all students and faculty down to the gymnasium shortly after homeroom. I ran so that I could get a good seat in the bleachers, but I didn’t get to stay in my spot for long. Mr. Allen had our team gather in the hallway outside the gym while everyone else went inside. We were still standing in the corridor when he got things started. We could hear him on the other side of the doors because he was using a microphone.
“Do I have sixth grade here?” he called.
“Yeah,” they chirped.
We laughed.
“Oh, come on,” Mr. Allen bellowed. “This is a pep rally. I need to hear you. Do I have sixth grade here?”
“YEAH!” they screamed.
“That’s more like it,” Mr. Allen responded. “How about seventh grade?”
“Ahh!” they shouted.
“And eighth grade?”
“Woot, woot!”
“All right,” Mr. Allen said. “Are you ready to get our undefeated Warriors psyched for tomorrow’s showdown? Are you ready to let them know we’re behind them?”
The gym exploded in screams and shouts and cheers. I got goose pimples.
“Okay, then,” Mr. Allen said. “Please welcome your Lake View cheerleaders.”
The doors to the gym flung open and our cheerleaders paraded inside. Somebody dressed in a Warrior mascot costume was with them. I’d never seen that before. It must’ve been a brand-new purchase. Our cheerleaders put on a performance that got the student body all fired up.
“Let’s hear it for our cheerleaders,” Mr. Allen said when he took the microphone again.
More craziness and yelling.
“And now let’s meet our team,” Mr. Allen shouted. “First up, number twenty-two, Justin Lopez.”
Justin walked through the doors, and the gym erupted.
Mr. Allen announced each player one by one, saving the eighth graders for last. Mark and Trevor got huge responses. And when Gavin got called, it felt like the roof was ready to come off the place. I thought Mr. Allen had forgotten me, because I was the only one left in the hall—but I was wrong.
“And last but not least. Let’s hear it for Stats Man, Scott Mason.”
I walked through the doors, and the noise almost knocked me down. I saw the team gathered in the middle of the floor. I ran to join the huddle, and then we started jumping up and down and cheering with everybody else.
When the noise died down, Mr. Allen grabbed his microphone again. “Now it brings me the utmost pleasure to introduce our spectacular coach, the first female football coach in state history, the extraordinary Coach Magenta!”
The gym went bananas, but it wasn’t just more noise. I saw all the teachers on their feet, giving Coach Magenta a standing ovation, and all the students quickly followed along. It was a screaming, cheering standing ovation.
Lake View Middle was in a frenzy, but I thought I heard the faint sound of a banging drum. Boom. Boom. Boom. The sound grew louder, and I could tell that other people heard it, too. Boom! Boom! Boom!
Mr. Allen directed the cheerleaders and our team into the bleachers, and then he hurried over and opened the gym doors. The high school marching band marched in next. Our pep rally went from awesome to super-awesome.
The band put on an incredible performance, and afterward we had our cheering contest to see which grade had the most spirit. I screamed my head off, and we won. Mr. Allen presented our grade with a new trophy—the bronze warrior. That’s when I realized that our pep rally marked the beginning of a new tradition. It felt really awesome to know we were the first ones to start it.
The final event of the pep rally was the team relay race. I was running anchor for our squad. Gavin put me in that position because the last person had to sprint across the floor to the finish line, and I was the fastest. But the last person also had to run through a poster of a Titan, and as I got closer, I saw that someone had taped the picture of Stonebreaker over it—the same face that had flattened me in my nightmares.
Coach Magenta had told me I was ready and that my secret-weapon play was in the plan, but it wasn’t until I tore through Stonebreaker that I believed her. We won the relay race and I got my cotton candy, and it tasted so good.
The guys who land in the Pro Football Hall of Fame all have something in common. They’ve all played in big games. And the ones who’ve been lucky enough to line up against other greats in those contests have had parts of their legacies written in those moments.
Maybe I was only in eighth grade, but I knew that this Thanksgiving showdown was where my legacy would start. If things didn’t go well, my story could die on the field, and if Stonebreaker got ahold of me, I could die, too, but if things went our way, then the writing next to my name in the Hall of Fame would begin with this game. If things went like I’d dreamed, this game would be worthy of mention in the Hall of Fame, not just ’cause of me and Stonebreaker, but also ’cause Magenta would cap off an undefeated season in her first year—and as the first-ever female coach in our state history. Any way you sliced it, this was a big game. Huge. It was a game that would be talked about for a long, long time—maybe even forever. But the best part wouldn’t be in any of those conversations. The best part happened before the opening kickoff.
When I led the team to the sideline after warm-ups, I spotted Mrs. Woods standing near the bleachers. Scott’s grandpa was next to her. And in front of them, perched in his wheelchair, wearing a winter hat and with a blanket covering his lap and legs, was Coach.
I jogged over. “You made it.”
“Coach insisted we come,” Mrs. Woods said.
I swallowed.
“Ready, Valentine?” Coach croaked.
I nodded.
“Fight hard,” he said.
“Till the last play,” I promised.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Scott said, joining us. “Hi, Coach. Hi, Mrs. Woods.”
“We came to see your secret-weapon play,” Grandpa said.
Scott gulped.
“He’s ready,” I said, patting him on the shoulder pads.
Scott’s grandpa winked at me. “Go get ’em, boys.”
I locked eyes with Coach one more time, and then me and Scott turned and jogged back to the sideline.
“What do you say we win this one for the old-timer?” Coach Magenta said.
“And for you,” I added.
The officials called captains, and I walked to the middle of the field for the coin toss. That was when I came face to face with Stonebreaker for the first time.
“You Davids?” he said.
The brute was even bigger in person. “You Stonebreaker?” I responded.
“You’ll know after I hit you the first time.”
I wasn’t about to let his trash talk psych me out, but you better believe I was nervous. Once I stepped into the huddle for our first possession, all that went away, though. It got replaced by the eye of the tiger. Welcome to legacy time.
We put together a solid opening drive. We had a string of good plays, including a couple of tough runs from Mark and a big completion on my first pass, but then we were forced to punt after Stonebreaker stuffed us on third down.
Our defense answered the call. Trevor and Mark showed they could hit and tackle just as much as Stonebreaker. When I saw that, I got pumped.
The first half was everything it was supposed to be, a battle between our top-ranked offense and the Titans top-notch defense. We had a few strong drives, but still no points to show for it. The score was notched at 0–0. Stonebreaker was definitely the best we’d seen, and he hit harder than anyone else we’d played against—I could vouch for that. He knocked the snot out of me on one sideline tackle, but I did what the greats do. I hopped right back up and showed him I wasn’t backing down. That play mighta been the most important one of the first half, ’cause after my teammates saw that, they were ready to go and fight with me—and for me.
The second half was more of the same, a back-and-forth battle. We still hadn’t found the end zone, but by the fourth quarter we were putting together longer drives, which meant Stonebreaker stayed on the field, getting more and more tired.
We got the ball back with less than five minutes to go, and Coach Magenta dialed up our no-huddle offense. It was her genius idea to put this into our offensive game plan over the last week of practice ’cause she knew we might need it. Stonebreaker’s tongue was dragging like Otis’s. We got inside the red zone, which meant we were less than twenty yards from the end zone. We were so close, I could taste it—and I got too excited. I put too much pep on my next pass, and it bounced off Trevor’s hands. Stonebreaker made a huge interception off the tip and ran it out to the forty-yard line before I knocked him out of bounds. He didn’t pop up right away ’cause he was exhausted.
I glanced at the game clock on my way back to the sideline. I went from tasting the end zone to choking on a probable tie. We didn’t have overtime in our league, so our only chance was to get a quick stop and get the ball back right away.
Randi would claim what happened next was thanks to destiny, and maybe that was part of it, but it was Coach Magenta who had made sure we were always the better-conditioned team, and boy, did that make a difference. Trevor refused to quit. He was so mad about that interception that he ripped through the line and sacked the Titan’s QB on third down. The ball was knocked loose, and Mark was there to recover the fumble. We had seventeen seconds and no time-outs. This was it.
“Okay, Scott. It’s time,” Coach Magenta said.
He looked at me, and I nodded.
“I can’t. I’m not ready,” he squeaked.
“Scott, if you try and fail, it’s okay,” Coach Magenta said. “But if you don’t try at all, that’s going to be hard to live with. That will always bother you. Not trying is not okay. You’ve got to try—for us, but more for you. You can do this.”
He gulped. “Mr. Allen told me the same thing.”
“Well, he’s a smart guy,” Coach Magenta said. “After all, he hired me for this job.”
Scott chuckled.
I looked at Coach Magenta with the eye of the tiger, and then I pulled Scott along and we jogged out to the field and stepped into the huddle. I didn’t even need to call the play.
“Catch the ball, and we’ll do the rest,” Trevor promised. “We’ve got your back; you know that. We’ve always got your back.”
We broke from the huddle and lined up in trips right, with Scott just off the line of scrimmage. The ball was snapped. I took a one-step drop and turned and threw him a beauty. The ball hit Scott in the chest and popped straight up into the air.
Stonebreaker was charging like a madman. If Scott had seen him, he probably woulda peed his pants right there on the field, but the kid never took his eyes off the ball. It flipped end over end and fell back down into his hands. He tucked it under his arm like I’d taught him and turned up field. He’d lost valuable time by not making a clean catch. The defense was closing fast. This play was designed as a quick hitter, not a slow-motion play. But Scott had never been worried about the running part; it had always been the catching part. He’d made the catch. Now the race was on. He sidestepped the first defender and put the burners on. Stonebreaker’s outstretched arms grazed Scott’s back, but that was as close as he got. Scott was a magician doing his disappearing act—there one second, and gone the next. The Titans never had a chance.
I raised my arms in the air. There would be a sentence in the Hall of Fame about the Warriors stats man and his secret-weapon play, hailing Scott Mason, the perfect star on that fateful afternoon.
My favorite part of the game was after Scott scored the game-winning touchdown. He didn’t do a big spike with the football or any kind of end zone dance or celebration. He found the nearest official and ran over and handed him the ball and shook his hand. Meanwhile, his team was going nuts, jumping and hugging, and the crowd in the bleachers was jumping and hugging, too.
Natalie and I got down and ran onto the field. I found Gav and threw my arms around him. “You were great,” I said.
“Thanks.”
I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to lose him, but he eased up, so I stepped back. “I had to find you before everyone else gets to you,” I said. “You’re going to be busy for a while.”
Sure enough, Meggie was right behind me, running up to hug her big brother. We laughed.
I looked around and spotted Natalie hugging Trevor. Maybe it was the energy and craziness of the moment, or maybe Trevor really couldn’t wait any longer, but he asked her right there on the spot, “Natalie, what’s going on with Robbie Holmes? Are you okay?”
Her answer was not one that anyone could’ve expected. Natalie raised onto her tippy-toes and planted her lips on his. She kissed him! Beautiful-looking Natalie had her arms wrapped around a sweaty, grass- and dirt-stained football player—and she was kissing him. My mouth hung open, but no one was more surprised than Trevor. He was all smiles when it was over.
“Everything’s great,” Natalie said. “Stop worrying.”
I was pretty sure the only thing Trevor was thinking about after that was Natalie’s lips, but that performance definitely left me wondering what she was up to.
Natalie kissed me! She kissed me. Right on the fifty-yard line. Forget “no PDA.”
“Everything’s great,” she said. “Stop worrying.”
What can I say?
I did. I wasn’t thinking about anything but our kiss.
Scott was the star—but I was the man!
BRIEF #16
December: Starring Robbie Holmes
By the end of my meeting with Mr. Holmes, one thing was made clear: his family was his main concern; they’d always been his top priority. So the question became how to help.
By Thanksgiving I’d spent considerable time with Robbie Holmes and had captured a host of valuable moments with him on video. I used our school break to get those videos in order and edited so that they were ready to roll when we returned to school. Robbie was the perfect approach. He was going to soften everybody up with his cuteness, and then I’d hit them with the rest of the story. I had lots of energy behind me, not only as a result of our big win but because after the game Mr. Allen had informed me that the league’s superintendents had committed to establishing a policy with stricter guidelines about transfers before the next school year. Our show had helped make a difference, and we were going to do it again.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, calling my broadcast teammates to attention. “Welcome back. I hope everyone enjoyed the break, but now it’s time to get to work; we’ve got a big week ahead of us. I know some of you have been wondering what I’ve been up to. You’re about to find out.” I began handing out the day’s script. “You’ll note that I’ve carved out additional time for my segment this morning so that I can introduce my new story.”
“What is it?” Scott asked. “Is it a feature about our big game?”
“No, my piece is not about your game,” I said, “but if you look at the script, you’ll see that there is also an extended block for Randi to do a sports recap, and we can definitely do more about the game throughout the week. I know there is loads we can talk about related to that incredible victory, so don’t worry.”
