by Paul Volponi
“Gets hard sometimes,” I answered, trying to sound humble.
“It has to be, right?”
“I know. I worry about him dealing with so much,” Mom said, squeezing my left arm.
I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming out in pain.
“Travis, promise us when that weight gets too heavy, you’ll talk to your mother and me,” Ms. Orsini said. “It’s not something you need to handle alone.”
“I will. I promise,” I said, slipping free from Mom’s grasp.
“Remember, you’re a quarterback, not a superhero,” said Mom.
“You’re also a teenager,” Ms. Orsini added, walking us toward the door, where another kid and his parents were waiting to see her. “Sometimes that can be the most difficult part.”
After we left there, I wanted Mom to visit Coach Pisano next. He took special care of his players and had given me an A-plus in PE. All I really had to do for him was not cut class and keep my gym clothes from reeking. I’d earned that privilege on the football field. I knew everything Pisano could possibly say about me would be positive. But Mom was headed to Mrs. Harper’s room, not to Coach Pisano’s, and I couldn’t stop her.
“For some reason, I can’t picture Mrs. Harper in my mind,” Mom said as we walked. “I remember Carter having her more than once. He didn’t have any problems. I think he got As in her class.”
“She’s older now and probably losing it,” I said. “She hates that I have a scholarship already, thinks it’s some kind of free ride I don’t deserve.”
“Everyone knew your brother would get a football scholarship. She didn’t have a grudge against him,” Mom said.
I shook my head, as if Mom hadn’t heard a word out of my mouth.
Mom wrote her name and mine on the sign-in sheet by Mrs. Harper’s door. Then she walked around the classroom, looking at some of the perfect test papers hanging up on the walls, while Mrs. Harper talked to another parent. If Mom was expecting to see any of my papers there, she wasn’t going to find one.
Mrs. Harper had dressed up for the night, and she’d used more hair spray than usual. She looked like Wolverine’s grandmother had dressed up for an old folks’ dance, with her hair pointier than I’d ever seen.
“Still can’t picture her?” I whispered to Mom, who shot me a glare.
As Mrs. Harper finished with the parent and kid ahead of us, she pulled out a quiz our class had taken that afternoon. I couldn’t believe she’d graded it so fast. Didn’t she have any kind of life?
“Mrs. Gardner, hello.” Mrs. Harper waved Mom up to her desk. “I’m ready for you now. Please be seated.”
I stood beside Mom, wanting to stay light on my feet in case metal claws popped out from Mrs. Harper’s knuckles and she tried to slice me.
“If you look at your son’s test scores, you’ll see exactly why I gave him a C-minus,” she said, showing Mom her marking book. “His highest grade is a B, and his lowest is a D-minus.”
“Travis seems to feel that you have something personal against him and his athletic success,” Mom said, flat out.
“On the contrary. What I have is a personal interest in him, along with every other student in my charge. I have to ensure that your son gets treated the same as everyone else, regardless of his other pursuits.”
“I don’t believe Travis is looking for special treatment,” Mom said.
“Good, he’ll only get what he deserves in my class,” Mrs. Harper shot back, as I started to feel like a ping-pong ball. “I’m solely here to teach.”
She passed the quiz from that afternoon to Mom. There was a C on top of the paper. I was almost relieved.
“Apparently you don’t understand absolute value,” said Mrs. Harper, pointing to a particular problem on my paper. “I’m surprised, because I called you up to the board last week to look at exactly this.”
“What’s wrong with this answer?” I asked. “Four’s worth more than negative four. Everybody knows that.”
Even Mom was nodding her head in agreement.
“Well, on the number line, they’re both four places away from zero,” Mrs. Harper answered. “They’re exactly equal. When it comes to absolute values, there are no negatives.”
“I see,” said Mom, sounding schooled.
After that, Mom sat down with me almost every night to go over my math homework.
* * *
I left Dad another message when we got home from open-school night. Only, he didn’t get back to me until the next day, late on Thursday night. When he did, I could hear the stress in his voice.
“Sorry I haven’t called. I just got a new apartment,” he said. “It’s been so hectic. There are cardboard boxes everywhere.”
“What do you mean, apartment? I thought you lived in a house,” I said, sitting on my bed watching SportsCenter.
“I need to tell you something. I’m separated from Heather now,” he said. “It all fell apart fast. That’s how it goes sometimes in relationships.”
“When are you coming back to Florida?”
“Well, I won’t get a real vacation for another—”
“I don’t mean on vacation,” I said. “I mean to live. If you’re not with Heather, there’s no reason to be in California.”
“Son, this is where all my business is,” he said. “I can’t leave my clients behind and start from nothing again. I’m too old for that. Now that I’m single, maybe you can come out here for an extended visit.”
“That’s all right, I get it. Stupid me,” I said, hanging up. I punched the nearest pillow enough times that Galaxy came running into my room to investigate. And for a while after that, I hardly noticed my elbow. I guess a few hours passed until it ached more than the rest of me.
The Gainesville Sentinel
Section D/Sports – Columnists
Top Prospect
Karen Wolfendale
This is the second in a series of articles looking at the life of top prospect Travis Gardner as he advances along his trek from freshman year of high school to a football scholarship at Gainesville University.
It’s fifty-five degrees in Orange Park, chilly for October. Freshman quarterback Travis Gardner blows into his throwing hand, working to keep it warm, and then tosses a football on the sideline. Though this is a road game for the Beauchamp Bobcats (3-1), it isn’t exactly hostile territory for Travis. The Orange Park Broncos are winless on the season (0-5), and many people here have packed the stands to see Coach Elvis Goddard’s project-in-the-making.
Travis sports a small cut on his chin, though not from his first loss as a high school quarterback, an ugly defeat at the hands of highly ranked Lincoln High. Rather, it’s from one of Travis’s first attempts at shaving.
“I just need more practice time, more reps. I’ll get better at it,” Gardner joked.
The Broncos appear energized by the attention a visiting player has commanded on their home field. In response, the team executes a seventy-yard double-reverse for the game’s opening touchdown, the Broncos’ longest play from scrimmage all season.
“Our turn now. We’ll get that score right back,” Gardner tells his teammates.
The Bobcats’ offense makes small gains throughout the first half. Travis’s rifle arm and deep throwing ability are not on display. Instead, Coach Adam Pisano elects to feature his team’s running game, along with an array of screens and short passes.
When Orange Park opens up a 14–0 advantage, the crowd wavers between wanting to witness the Broncos’ first win or see Travis light up the scoreboard.
“Come on! Do something, Gardner!” moaned one Orange Park resident. “Borrr-ing!”
Undeterred, Travis executes the conservative Beauchamp game plan, leading his team to a much-needed score moments before halftime.
“We’ll open things up more. We’re just getting started,” Gardner says before heading to the locker room.
The wind increases in the second half, and the temperature drops a few more degrees. Beau
champ attempts to open up its offensive attack, especially after the Broncos record another lightning-quick touchdown, extending their lead to 21–7.
“You have to stop these guys! You’re making it too easy for them!” Gardner tells his defense.
That criticism ignites a brief but heated exchange between Travis and several of the Bobcats’ senior defensive players. Though blowups are common among teammates, this one invites a larger question: Can a freshman lead upperclassmen through adversity?
“I’ve been under a microscope for a while. I’m used to it,” Gardner said before game time.
In the third quarter, Travis fades back to launch a long bomb. The quarterback doesn’t sense an Orange Park defender closing in on him from his blind side. Travis loses his grip upon impact and fumbles the football away.
A hard blow can disrupt a quarterback physically and mentally. After that big hit, Travis can’t restart his passing game, despite opportunities at open receivers downfield.
“Honestly, I don’t see what all the fuss has been about,” says one fan. “Gardner looks like a normal freshman, some good plays followed by some bad ones.”
When the clock runs out on Travis and his teammates, Orange Park wins 28–7.
“It’s a disappointing loss, for sure,” Gardner says. “I can’t remember the last time I dropped two straight games. We have to get over it and beat Citrus next week. That’s all I can focus on right now.”
Frustrations rise among several Bobcats, who argue with each other as they board the team bus. But Travis, whose arm is already wrapped in ice, steers clear of any further conflict.
Without traffic, it’s a ninety-minute ride back to Alachua.
Sometimes no bus is big enough for a football team that has just lost a game it was supposed to win. That’s probably true for the Bobcats, who appear to be going through an intense case of growing pains.
Chapter 25
The morning after our game against Orange Park, I had to buy a second bottle of Tylenol. Before going down to the football complex to see Harkey, I popped a pair of pills in case he needed to touch my elbow. I texted Carter that I was coming, and for some reason, he insisted on meeting me. He was pedaling away on one of the complex’s stationary bikes when I walked in.
“Your elbow’s still sore?”
“I wouldn’t say sore,” I said. “Stiff, maybe. You hear about Dad?”
“Yup, he called me two nights ago, right after he spoke to you,” Carter said, slowing down his RPMs.
“Surprised he’s not moving back to Florida?” I asked.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“How come?” I asked, with Harkey heading in our direction.
“Because I stopped believing in fairy tales,” Carter answered. “I already learned the hard way.”
“So tell me what’s happening. Stiffness in the joint?” Harkey asked me, cupping my elbow in his palm once he reached us. “More so in the morning when you first get up?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Any of this hurt?” he asked, manipulating it.
“Not really,” I answered, trying hard not to wince.
“It’s probably just some mild tendonitis,” Harkey said. “Not unusual for a quarterback to have. The elbow joint wasn’t designed to fire a football forty yards. But the more muscle you build, the more padding you’ll have against these hits.”
“I used to get that same stiffness,” Carter said. “I started doing a rock climber’s exercise for it. Here, put your arm out straight and bend the wrist back for a count of ten.” He climbed down off the bike to demonstrate. “It builds up the forearm and takes pressure off the elbow.”
“Actually, that’s a very good exercise,” Harkey said. “Try that five or six times a day for a few weeks. Then let me know how it’s feeling.”
“Okay, but you don’t have any special exercises? Or supplements I can take?” I asked Harkey. “Like you did with Alex, when he was rehabbing his knee.”
“No, this is simple ABC stuff. Stick with that stretch. If you’re still sore after the season, once you’ve rested it, you may have a more serious problem. Then we’ll address it together,” Harkey said, heading toward the door. “I’ve got to move. There are some things I need to check on before the game tonight.”
As Harkey left, I grabbed a Gatorade from a small refrigerator.
“You want one?” I asked Carter.
He shook his head and took a swig from a bottle of water hanging from the bike.
“Hey, Trav, fill me in on anything Harkey ever gives you—new exercises, vitamins, anything like that.”
“Sure, but why?”
“I’ll probably major in physical education. I could be a coach or a trainer one day. Observing Harkey could be good experience for me. Besides, there are no secrets between brothers, right?”
“I’m down with that. Fam all the way,” I said.
* * *
That night, the Alabama Crimson Tide rolled into Gainesville. The Crimson Tide was one of the elite teams in the nation, and a win could clinch Gainesville a number-one ranking. ’Bama had won the National Championship a few seasons back, earning a crystal football. In a crazy accident, some player’s father bumped the table the football had been resting on while trying to take a photo with it. The trophy fell and smashed into a million pieces. The athletic department wouldn’t give out the guy’s name. That was probably a smart move, because Crimson Tide supporters are as insane for their team as Gator fans.
Defenses on both teams dominated from the start. It was a low-scoring game—and really physical too. Carter had to throw more blocks than running pass routes.
“Going undefeated is a test of fortitude. You have to win them all to play for it all,” Coach G. told his players at the half. “Who are you going to be in life—a champion or an also-ran? The margin that separates the two can be razor-thin.”
The Gators had the lead midway through the fourth quarter when Alabama finally punched one into the end zone to forge ahead, 7–3.
I didn’t care how good the defenses were playing. Football is an offensive game. You can only win by putting points on the scoreboard. As far as I was concerned, both quarterbacks—the one in red and the one in blue—were dogging it.
With a little more than two minutes remaining, the Gators’ D stripped the ball away and recovered it on the ’Bama nine-yard line. I could feel tremors from the crowd’s stamping feet.
“That’s the break we needed!” Carter hollered, strapping on his helmet and heading back onto the field. “Let’s capitalize!”
The Gators prepared to bring ’Bama to the bottom of the mud in a death roll. I wished I could be out there at quarterback, leading them. But all I could do was cheer.
My elbow twinged as Billy Nelson released a first-down pass to one of his wide receivers. Incomplete, overthrown by a mile.
That’s his nerves. He needs to settle down. Where’s the calmness and execution? I thought.
Coach G. must have been thinking the same thing, because he sent in a running play next. The Gators pounded the ball down to the four-yard line, with their fullback scratching and clawing for every extra inch he could get.
Now Gainesville had two downs left to score. A stillness came over the stadium, from the air to the ground. But my heart was beating hard.
On third down, I watched Nelson’s eyes as he dropped back to pass, searching right and then left. The Crimson Tide defense had Carter completely covered—he couldn’t get himself free. Neither could anyone else. A look of panic crossed Nelson’s face before his throw burrowed into the turf.
At fourth down, Coach Goddard wasn’t interested in a field goal.
“Champions score touchdowns from here,” he bellowed. “That’s us. Go for it.”
Carter exploded off the line of scrimmage at the first “Hut.” He shed his defender with a swim move, circling one arm over the other, and then turned open in the end zone. But Nelson never saw him. His eyes were locked onto
another receiver. I wanted to grab the ball out of the QB’s hand and deliver it to Carter myself.
The pass went way wide. The receiver dove for the ball, but he didn’t come within three feet of it. Carter fell down to one knee, covering his face mask with both hands, while the Crimson Tide defense celebrated.
Alabama took over, and the Gators never got another chance. So I tweeted exactly what I felt and hit Send.
@TravisG_Gator <3-brking loss. If U want a ring QB can’t pass that bad. Choked on final play.
Carter’s Take
I sat at my locker, trying to deal with the loss to ’Bama. Every part of me was hurting, inside and out. We’d flushed our entire season down the toilet—that’s how it felt. More than anything, I tried not to focus my anger at Billy for failing to find me in the end zone.
Then, suddenly, he was in my face.
“Tell your loudmouth brother I’ll knock him from here to tomorrow!”
“What are you blabbering about?” I shouted, with my forehead jutting till it nearly touched his.
“His tweets, Carter! His stupid tweets!”
A couple of our teammates separated us. Once I was clear, one of them held out his phone. He was about to show me what my brother had tweeted when Travis walked into the locker room.
Billy broke free from the guys holding him back and headed straight for Travis. I bolted there too, intercepting him before he reached my brother.
“Back off!” I screamed, shoving Billy away. The two of us almost came to blows over it, as I shielded Travis behind my body.
Coach G. came charging out of his office.
“If either one of you picks his hands up, it’ll be the last thing you do as a Gator!” he shouted. Everything except my emotions came to an instant halt.
Travis stayed behind me, completely shook. He honestly looked like he had no idea what was going on.
“Let me see that phone,” Coach G. said.
As he read the tweet, I could see the veins in his neck bulge. He turned a bright red. I was actually scared for Travis and what might happen next.
