Double Fated (Book One)

by C.K. Mullinax

  Chapter Eighteen

  My squad had spent hours preparing our “exchanged” jerseys. They had small, LED lights affixed, that formed a circle and slash mark through the player’s numbers. The fronts’ also had strings of LED lights that spelled out and proudly displayed the words, “We Got UR MOJO”.

  Gunnar, or G. as Zack likes to call him, is in charge of the stadium lights, jumbo-tron and music. He had set-up a black-lighting system on our side of the field earlier in the day. The players would have no clue why it is there until we hit the field. I was forced to let Gunnar in on our prank, so he would know what we required and what music needed to be cued.

  Our exposed arms, legs and faces were painted with body art in fluorescent colors that would glow under the black lights. Everyone got to choose what theirs’ would display. Although my legs and face paint had messages for the rival team and specifically for Wally, my arms were reserved for my family. The message on them read “Gypsy Girl” and “Gypsy Pride”.

  We remained hidden in the back part of the tunnel while the announcer called out the players from both teams. The boosters’ welcomed our fellows on to the field. The crowd was equally divided between cheers and boos.

  The only way left to get a ticket to this game was through a scalper. So, the stands are packed to the top. My squad was waiting on Gunnar to cue the music, preparing for the big reveal.

  “Remember, before we perform our winning routine at half-time take off your jersey. They’re going into the pile for the boosters to sell at auction during tomorrow night’s donor appreciation party. You can keep the other stuff you swapped. Well, except you, Z.Z., I want you to return your tight-end’s credit card through Zack.

  “I’m proud of everyone here because no one said a word. This is going to be the most legendary prank in university history…” I declared and they agreed.

  LVU is unaware that they are walking into this game already owned by us. The jumbo-tron will play clips of our rival team surrendering to the cheerleaders. The clips also make comments and suggestions about their ultimate defeat. Why else would they “give it up” to their rival teams’ cheerleaders?

  Everyone knew this prank would get a huge reaction and we’d receive a certain amount of backlash. But, I don’t think any of us were prepared for what actually happened.

  Gunnar cued the music. Jarron hoisted me up on his shoulders. And, we emerged from the tunnel ready to demonstrate our “takedown”.

  A hush fell over the crowd as they tried to figure out whose side we were cheering for. Our outward appearance, along with the body art the spectators could currently see, made it seem as though we had committed mutiny.

  We had purposefully worked to create an atmosphere of confusion. We needed enough time to get into our positions in front of the black lights. That part of our plan worked, flawlessly.

  The switch in lighting shifted the focus from our visible ink to our fluorescent paint and the covert messages underneath. Every girl switched on their LED lit shirts and a re-mix of the “Wop” started playing. The jumbo-tron’s spectacular display flashed the words: LVU already gave it up to State’s championship cheerleading team! You’ve got nothing to bring!” Even the spectators who were too high up in the stands to see us got the gist of what was happening.

  My spotters lifted their girls over their heads. We stood frozen in formation in their palms waiting for the two second break in the music. We shouted, “State…go!” The music resumed and the guys launched us skyward, simultaneously. Performing one aerial summersault, the camera man somehow found the perfect place to capture the moment. The lights from our jerseys’ and the glowing, multi-colored body art made us look like a dozen tumbling rainbows.

  The video and the still pictures were incredible. But, that was the long and short of our overhead stunts. The multiple strings of LED lights, sewn into the shirts, were not designed to be roughly handled. Their awkward placement made it challenging for the spotters to catch us without damaging the wires. So, I had prepared my squad for the likely contingencies of being injured or their lights shorting out during our landing.

  Jarron managed to safely catch me with my jersey still illuminated. However, the price would be a rectangular-shaped bruise where the battery pack crushed into my side. Ignoring the radiating pain, I smiled and continued performing.

  Our players and fans went wild. Their voices were drowning out the music.

  We had already planned for this contingency, too. The routine I selected was basic and we counted out the steps in our heads.

  Facing our side we had no intention of turning around to look at the former owners of our jerseys until the final chorus. But, unbeknownst to me and my squad, LVU’s entire coaching staff was headed straight into enemy territory. They were being led into war by their head coach. Wally and a few of the other players were tagging along too, violating the rules in the process.

  The referees blew whistles, but none of us could hear it.

  Security ran to the field in an effort to stop them, but we didn’t see them rushing that way either.

  The crowd got louder. We assumed they were getting swept up in the moment. This was their expected reaction. And, we are trained to concentrate on our routines no matter what’s happening around us, anyway.

  Coach Wibley, along with Lyle and several others, went rushing out on to the field when they saw security struggling. They met our rivals in the middle. The guys were shoving, yelling and fighting.

  Footage would later reveal that Wally pulled his head coach back and helped him dodge most of the foray. The two of them were determined to get to us and their misplaced “mojo”. They managed to covertly scramble around the mid-field melee. But, they couldn’t sneak around the cameras. Their every move was being streamed live on one of the jumbo-trons.

  My Cheer Babies were still counting steps, smiling and oblivious to the brewing trouble. Because we couldn’t get our cues from the music, we had to focus on each other. So, we didn’t even see the crowd pointing and motioning for us to turn around.

  Lyle and Coach Wibley noticed the enemy approaching my squad. They waved for our other players to head them off.

  The LVU players that had originally stayed in their zone had plans to advance. But, security effectively corralled them, keeping them contained where they were.

  Before I knew what was happening, Coach Nullis was in my personal space. He had to duck to avoid being backhanded, but that didn’t seem to faze him. Like a skilled prize fighter, he avoided my unintentional assault and started yelling over my shoulder.

  I felt a hand yanking at the back of my jersey. Automatically grabbing the front to stay dressed, I pulled in the opposing direction. My face ended up mere inches away from Coach Nullis’ sweaty armpit.

  I instinctively flinched away from the offensive odor, tripped myself and fell backwards. Jarron easily caught me and we tumbled together to avoid injury. Landing a safe distance away from the arguing men, I realized incredulously that it was LVU’s head coach, trying to undress me.

  Coach Nullis was obviously giddy with the stunt we were pulling, as evidenced by the look of amusement on his face. I assumed he was poking fun at Coach Sizelend and his team.

  My squad scattered, as the unforeseen guests invaded our routine.

  Wally Baxter had been stuck to his leader’s back, but he saw a clear shot to get to me.

  The crowd had their cell phones out, videoing the pandemonium. They were attempting to silence their neighbors and hoping to capture what the coaches were saying. That would be wasted effort, because I was inches away from them and I couldn’t hear any of it.

  Jarron had just helped me to my feet, when we were suddenly thrust back into the middle of the action. Although I’m not sure whether Wally was trying to grab me or his jersey, he reached in my direction.

  My spotter/body guard was on high alert by that point. Jarron reacted without hesitation. Pumped
on adrenaline, he gracefully tossed me behind him. Then, he violently pushed Wally away.

  We watched in shocked amazement as #4 went sailing like he had been caught in the updraft of a hurricane. His body almost collided with an approaching, Lyle.

  Unfazed by his flight and crash landing, Wally sprang back to his feet, red-faced and shaking. He was focused on Jarron and didn’t look behind him.

  Lyle took him down with a tackle.

  Wally effortlessly wiggled free. But, escaping the grasp of an off-duty sheriff’s deputy wasn’t as easy as getting away from another player. The deputy was preventing Wally from moving.

  Determined to restore order, the referees, along with anyone in authority, separated players and coaches.

  The chancellor was the only person permitted to walk through the makeshift police line at the tunnel’s entrance. He was attempting to reason with LVU’s head coach and get Nullis’ tongue under control at the same time.

  The deputy and a security guard kept Lyle and Wally separated. But, they couldn’t make them shut up no matter how many times they demanded it.

  “You got owned, Dude! So, take that whine home to your momma…you’re embarrassing yourself,” Lyle shouted at Wally.

  “A ‘your momma’ and a pathetic pun…that’s the best you got, Slim Sticky??” Wally retorted.

  “Better than what you’ve got…your team was taken down by a bunch of little girls flashing their cleavage!” Lyle remarked.

  “That’s all good, bro…they’re national champs, right?? Your team hasn’t got enough juice to beat us on the field. So, you send the only victors’ at State to do it for you…”

  Lyle said something else that I couldn’t hear. Evidently, Jarron heard it because he burst out laughing.

  “Check the jumbo screen, Slim Sticky – your girls’ have gotta leave this campus to find a real man…” he commented and made an obscene gesture.

  Before Lyle could sling another barb, the chancellor ordered him to be quiet or risk ejection. Once he was confident that Stick was contained, the chancellor walked over to me to perform his investigation. He was making a valiant attempt to keep a serious, stern expression. But, I could see amusement and school pride reflecting in his eyes. He is giddier than Coach Nullis…

  “There has been an accusation of theft. Krista, did anyone on your squad steal an LVU jersey?” he asked me, loudly.

  “No sir! They surrendered them during a flash mob we staged. They belong to us. Everything that happened was captured on video…”

  The head referee was standing near us and overheard my proclamation. I couldn’t hear everything he said to the chancellor, but I did hear the words “infraction” and “ejection”.

  “Hold on, ref! Don’t do that! Please…” I stated, before being dismissed.

  The coaches and players started loudly opposing the decision. Even the chancellor got swept up in the heated debate, realizing his star player would be among the casualties getting the boot.

  Thinking quickly, I had a potential plan to salvage the wreckage. But, I couldn’t get any of them to stop fussing long enough to listen.

  Falling back on my g-mom’s advice, I had no choice remaining. I created a bigger scene than they were making. Shouting about strange, unrelated topics, I made a loud commotion worthy of a patient in a mental ward.

  Jarron found my psychotic rant, comical. But, even he stepped back, fearing I might accidentally smack him with my over-exaggerated arm movements.

  I glimpsed Freddie laughing and wiping away tears. He later informed me that he had the time of his life seeing them all come unraveled and watching my performance.

  My squad members are accustomed to my unique style. My selection of making a scene wasn’t a foreign concept to them. But typically, it’s one of them that created a stir and forced my hand. The whole squad gets the penalty if I have to resort to having a meltdown. This rant wasn’t directed towards them though. So, they were also highly entertained watching it.

  The chancellor, referee and both head coaches finally took notice. I instantly switched off my rant and shocked them by smiling sweetly. Confused and dumbfounded, they attempted to calculate what I might do next. I struck while I had them off balance. Leaning in for an impromptu huddle, I demanded their presence through a gesture. This was the most privacy I could get in the middle of this cluster fuss. Too astonished to refuse my offer, they complied like I had some power to force them into it.

  “This capacity crowd will turn into a lynch mob if anyone, on either side, gets ejected from this game before it even gets started. And, lemme point out, that you can’t pay for this kind of advertising. It’s good exposure for both colleges. Everyone’s fired up and ready. So we should capitalize on this opportunity and let the players, play and the coaches, coach….” I suggested.

  Coach Sizelend was getting an up-close of my glowing body paint. Then, he leaped to a conclusion based solely on my heritage.

  “Oh, I get it now. Give Baxter his jersey, Miss Con-Pom…” LVU’s coach ordered me without thinking, after reading my arms.

  Coach Nullis, the chancellor and the head referee all gasped in shock at his blatant social slip-up.

  “The proper term is “gypsy”. I’m quite proud of who I am, as you can plainly see. And, for your information I didn’t con him out of it. I got my Baxter trophy through a more than even exchange…” I revealed and watched his face drain of color.

  Finally realizing his monumental, politically incorrect blunder and knowing he had an audience when he said it, Coach Sizelend was appropriately terrified of the impending fallout. Making a prejudicial reference to one’s heritage is grounds for much more than stadium expulsion. Before anyone of them could react and make this situation worse, I grabbed the bull by the horns.

  “I’m not willing to trade with #4 for the jersey, again. But, you and I can possibly work out an arrangement. That is if you’re willing to strike a deal with a fair-minded gypsy girl…” I told him, demurely.

  He and I both knew he was going to accept my offer. I just handed him a way out. His acceptance is the only way to smooth over his egregious social error. But, as a head coach, he can’t just accept it without putting up some kind of tough guy debate.

  “What deal??” he asked, treading lightly while simultaneously saving face.

  “If your team is losing at half-time then, you and your coaching staff will agree to dance with me and my squad on the fifty. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you the moves. Since you and your staff will be getting schooled by my championship squad, you’ll agree to exchange your lucky whistle, at the conclusion as payment. That’s a fair deal, right?”

  “What happens when half-time arrives and we’re kicking your as…um, butts? And, that’s how it’s going down…so, what’s in it for the winners?” he questioned with a little more confidence.

  “Highly improbable since State’s got your mojo. But, in the very, very unlikely event your team is winning at half-time, we’ll surrender all the jerseys back to their original owners…”

  Coach Nullis crossed his arms and nodded his head…proud and satisfied with my show of confidence in his team.

  “Deal…” Coach Sizelend agreed.

  “Now Ref, are you willing to let us strike this bargain of truce? Or, would you rather talk infractions, expulsions and risk inciting a riot?” I inquired.

  The referee wasn’t happy about being backed in the corner, but he had to concur with our plan. He ordered Coach Sizelend and the LVU players back to their benches. He also made a big production over ejecting them if they ventured over to our side, again.

  Before he blew the whistle, I heard the referee warn both coaches that he would be watching for intentional fouls. Any player caught demonstrating unsportsmanlike behavior would be ejected with no further warning.

  Wally Baxter paid me the strangest look and I winked at him in reply. As far as he and I are concerned, the matter is ha
ndled and over. Unfortunately, his teammates’ did not get the memo. They were making obscene gestures and using profanity.

  Jarron wasn’t ready to let it go either. My spotter stepped between us and did something. The LVU players turned and ran like they had a gun being pointed at them. Wally Baxter gave me another odd look and then, followed his teammates without saying a word.

  “What just happened??? What did you do???” I asked Jarron.

  His face was clouded with shadows when he shrugged his shoulders in reply.

  I kept on pestering Jarron for the information because whatever he did made those rude players completely ignore me for the rest of the game. They wouldn’t even glance in my direction.

  Stuck in the mystery, my spotter wasn’t going to reveal. The most I got out of him was a mumble about being on the clock and not to sweat the details.

  The game started on a delay, so the coaches could alert their players to keep their tempers in check or suffer the penalty. We performed our opening routine from the top to keep the crowd engaged. My battery pack met painfully with my side for a second time, but my smile never wavered.

  By the time the players took the field everyone was ready. The intensity could actually be felt in the stadium. I watched the score bounce back and forth. When the two minute warning sounded in the second quarter we were down by 10 points. I prepared my disheartened squad for the inevitable.

  Then, Stick caught a ball with the tips of his fingers and rushed it in for a touchdown. The crowd went wild. After scoring the extra point, LVU took possession of the ball, but their receiver got a little too enthusiastic. Instead of downing it and running out the clock, the guy decided he had a wide enough gap to go for it. He made it nearly sixty yards before being tackled and losing his grip on the ball.

  With only a few seconds left until half-time, our kicker was sent out to make the play. He scored a field goal, tying the game and leaving me and Coach Sizelend with an unexpected problem. Neither one of us planned for this contingency, although we really should have.

  So much for my gypsy bargaining skills…

  In the end, we both would make a concession.

  The crowd was unaware of our deal. So, when LVU’s coaching staff joined their leader and met my squad on the fifty yard line, the spectators were perplexed but thrilled. Everyone stood up and joined in the fun. We taught our rival team’s coaches the basic moves to the “Wop” and they danced with us.

  Then, all eyes and cameras were riveted as Coach Sizelend bid farewell to his sixteen season lucky whistle and handed it over to me. I removed my hard earned #4 jersey and handed it over to the head coach in exchange.

  I spun my whistle around my index finger as the coach ripped the backing away from Baxter’s jersey. It took him less than a second to yank out the strings of LED lights that I had spent hours on, meticulously positioning. He tossed them to me before he ran toward the tunnel.

  The crowd loved the dance and our exchange. They cheered and shouted, noisily.

  My squad placed their still lit jerseys in a pile. Zack had the mats ready and motioned for us to perform. I shook my head, covered my ears and pointed to the stands. He ran over to me in a panic.

  “Get goin’…go!” he demanded.

  “We have to be able to hear the music, Zack. This is a dangerous routine…” I attempted to inform him, but he interrupted me.

  “This is my tail on the line!!”

  “I’m not risking my athletes’ necks’ for anything! We have to hear the music for the cues. Tell the crowd to shut it and we’ll perform. You and I are shouting in each other’s faces and I can barely hear our conversation,” I declared.

  The clock was at the five minute countdown before the crowd provided us enough of a lull. I gave Gunnar the signal and we got into position to perform our winning routine. Zack put his face in the palm of his hands. I think he was crying from relief.

  When the music started, the LVU spectators started making noise. Once again, we were struggling to hear the song. Then, for some strange reason, right before the most hazardous stunts were performed the crowd got quiet…well barely enough for us to hear the music, but it was still helpful. Grateful for the divine intervention, I said a quick prayer.

  Replays of our performance on the jumbo-tron revealed the reason for their unexpected reprieve. Wally and some of his LVU brethren had slipped onto the field to watch us cheer. Realizing what we were risking and how the commotion was causing a perilous disturbance, they motioned for their spectators to quiet down.

  Their turnaround was a far cry from the threats and obscenities they had provided to me, earlier. I suppose Baxter’s happy to have his mojo back in his possession and made his friends show their appreciation.

  The second half of the game was just as exciting. The players were giving 110% and both sides were striving to be the victor. Wally didn’t throw a single interception and Stick never fumbled.

  The game headed into overtime.

  Freddie, who had a front row seat for all the action, was biting his nails from anxiety. He happened to glance in my direction before the football was hiked. He removed his fingers from his mouth long enough to smile and wave at me.

  The last play of the game was the most thrilling moment of the night. Lyle was being constantly surrounded. So in desperation, our quarterback threw the ball to an open player. But, he overshot his mark. The ball grazed the tips of Yates’ fingers and went sailing, wildly. Then, from virtually out of nowhere, Lyle leaped over an LVU defense player, grabbed the ball and stumbled twice. His knee never touched the ground, though. He spun to the left and then, to the right narrowly avoiding getting stopped. He regained his footing and took off running. He was tackled right before his feet touched the in-zone. The upper half of his body had crossed into touchdown territory.

  Everyone was looking to see if a flag had been thrown. But, the referees motioned that the game was over – our team won.

  Our spectators were celebrating in the stands. Coaches shook hands and so did the players. Wally and Lyle appeared to be carrying on a full-fledge conversation. I couldn’t tell if they were arguing or just having a discussion. Neither one of them took a swing or pushed the other.

  Then, the celebratory Gatorade splash bath took center stage. I watched Freddie participate in baptizing Coach Nullis, Coach Wibley and he helped carry Stick around on his shoulders.

  Zack had already collected our remaining LVU jerseys and locked them in the coach’s office for safekeeping.

  I started gathering equipment and truly believed my eventful night was rapidly coming to a closure. But, the evening’s excitement was far from over…