by Danny Lasko
I check on Tommy. Pillar two is clearly the hardest to get to, hiding in a ravine and guarded by two gargantuan hoodoos. Trinity’s players break for the last remaining pillar, ready to take Tommy out as soon as he catches a star. For this throw, I don’t need to see the future.
I chuck the star down field at least a hundred and fifty yards in the air, timed perfectly with Tommy’s arrival with Trinity’s enforcers, three of them, closing in. The best grip I’ve ever seen leaps two heads above everyone else and snatches the star with one hand. I watch as the largest of the enforcers lunges for Tommy’s legs, still in the air. But before the mug can get his arms around Tommy, he’s tagged by a blue ball of flame, immobilizing him. Rudy. Sneaks can use all kinds of weapons—a gun, a crossbow, a sling. Each of them fires the same thing, which is kind of hard to describe other than a small ball of fire that streaks through the sky. They interact with sensors on the suit and immobilize the player if hit in the right place. Rudy’s good. The other enforcers fall down from bullseye shots immediately after, letting Tommy land untouched within arm’s length of the strike zone. He jams the pillar, which responds by bursting into bright blue to create the complete circle.
With each pillar burning bright, a beam of light shoots from each one to the same point, just above the box canyon near the field’s center and about twenty feet below me. I pull out the key, a large white feather. I gotta say, it’s a bit embarrassing, but it isn’t my choice. If it were, it’d be a sword or a bat like my granddad’s, something I could really swing into the trove.
I wait a second longer, taking in the moment. The combined smell of hard-earned sweat and earthy rock will never get old. I flip my helmet screen. I feel the early fall breeze mingled with the shine of the Friday night lights dance on my skin. And soon, that shine will carry away the filth and grime of the lo-pry neighborhood, uncovering something infinitely better.
But that’s when I hear it. Something under the roars of the crowd, something out of place. A single tone, higher than I could sing it, though that’s not saying much. Light and airy but strong. I look around for its source but can’t spot it. I see Tommy bolting back my way, faster than he really needs to. In fact, he shouldn’t be leaving pillar two so vulnerable.
I look beyond him toward the visitors’ tunnel, and a golden shimmer catches my eye. It looks like a person but not like any person I’ve ever seen. It’s a he, I think. Short. Really short. With thin white hair. Long, past his shoulders. Pretty sure he’s standing still, but with an anxious energy that wants to explode. Fear freezes me. My mind is trying to connect memories and voices, and the closer they get, the harder it is to breathe. Before I can stop myself, I look for Linus in the band section. He’s smiling. He’s seen it, too. Why am I looking for Linus?
“Raysh!” screams Tommy into my headset.
I hear it before I feel it—a crack as though a body’s been broken in half. I’m knocked from my gaze by a couple of 350-pound Trinity Lions, followed by a third driving at my legs, knocking me off my perch and sending me tumbling down the peak. Now it’s really hard to breathe. Whether by accident or design, when one shield comes in contact with another, the sound alone will take your knees out from under you.
The shattering shield is the only sound that echoes through the arena. The entire crowd is dead silent, watching me lie there, wondering if I’ll ever get up again. I try to put their fears to rest.
“That’s it, Gaph. You’re done. Stay down!” yells Coach Mane into my com. The hit must have looked bad. Really bad. “Tommy’s coming to grab the feather and take the trove. You’ve done plenty. Stay down and protect the feather.”
I check myself over, and thanks to the shield, I’m not badly hurt. Just the wind knocked out of me.
“I’m fine. He just sacked me.”
“Fine doesn’t look like that, Gaph! Now stay down!”
No chance of that. I flip my helmet’s screen and pull myself up the peak again to the approval of 118,000 hurrahs, kicking my right leg out, looking for any pain in the knee. Nope. Knee’s fine. Lousy doctor. My other leg slips out from under me, and I slide a few feet before I catch an outcrop with both my hands. That’s when I realize I’m not holding the feather anymore.
I whirl around looking for it and finally spot it in the hands of one of the Trinity goons who tackled me.
“Rudy! They’ve got the feather!”
Rudy responds by nailing one of them in the back, who goes down like a stone. But not the one with the feather. Even if all the pillars are lit blue, if they destroy the trove with my key, Trinity wins.
ORDERRUDYTOHITKEYHOLDER feather drops into canyon, picked up by striker Trinity wins.
My heart freezes, my breath gets stuck in my throat. After riding the bench, after the injury, after Allen writing me off as a never-was, after the hype and hoopla of my return to the field, after finally seeing light at the end of the sewer, we’re going to lose this game because of a golden glimmer.
I spin around and find myself staring at Annie in the fourth row. I zoom my screen in. Her fiery emerald eyes pierce through the fear and heat my chest. She points to her eyes and then to me. I feel the blood pumping again. Her lips form two words: “Get up.”
ORDERRUDYTOHITSECONDENFORCER panics feather holder he stalls.
“North, north!” I scream to Rudy, jetting up the side of the mountain. “The guy without the trove key!”
“It’s my last shot!”
“Don’t hit the guy with the feather!”
“But it’s—”
“Rudy, if you ever want Lacey Morris to speak to you again, you will not take that shot!”
“Alright, I get it!” he yells back, blistering the goon without the trove key.
The last one standing glances back to see where his teammate fell. He’s panicked.
“I’m out!” shouts Rudy. I bolt up the side of the peak and leap at the top, grabbing a star from my pack. I could just tag him with it. Stars can be used to freeze opponents as well. But my mind sees a better option.
I chuck the star at his feet, forcing him to whirl around and face another star, cocked and ready in my hand. Instead of the fierce bullet he was expecting, I toss him the star as if I were playing a friendly game of catch. Instinctively, he reaches out and grabs it. Not more than a second later, Tommy leaps from a nearby cliff and smashes the Trinity player off the peak, the feather slipping from my opponent’s hand. Any player with a star in his hand can and should be tackled at any time.
“Go to it, Captain. It’s all you,” shouts Tommy as he raises his hands in the air to get the crowd going, something he loves to do.
I drop myself down into the box canyon, sliding along the slick rock wall. I pull three stars and chuck them all at the captive striker, now fumbling for his own stars to stop me. Mine tag him in the helmet and each shoulder. He’s hit the ground before I reach the canyon floor.
Most troves are destroyed with a feat of strength or intelligence. Some academies like to make the trove a puzzle while others just want to see the strongest player annihilate the thing. Not Allen. I stick the tip of the feather on top of the trove–a blue orb the size of a steamer trunk that flickers with light–and step back. Two seconds later, the orb melts into a puddle of goo revealing a small jar of white pills.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the first Escape match of the season, your Allen Eagles!” cries the announcer on the PA. “As a reward, each district household will receive twenty-five penicillin pills!”
The crowd screams for at least twenty minutes at the news. You’re not going to get the big-time stuff in a regular season game, like a water treatment plant or indoor plumbing. Instead, you get things like twenty-five penicillin pills that will treat infections. It’s old school. But it works. I’m surprised the cheers didn’t last longer. The win feels good. But the reward for
Allen feels a lot better.
But finding Annie, ignoring the hundred-thousand elated screams, the masses blurring around her and her beaming smile that makes her emerald eyes dance, that’s what feels best. Almost makes me forget about the sack and the golden glimmer. And the fact that I looked for Linus in the stands.
In the locker room, the coach hands me the game star in front of the team to a thundering ovation. Billy Jack strolls in and leans against the nearby lockers once everything has calmed down a bit.
“Birth of a legend?” I ask, greeting him. Billy Jack laughs.
“Fastest win on record,” he starts, scratching the graying stubble on his chin. “Most pillars activated by uninterrupted throws in a game and in a career if you count the other three from your first match. Fewest throws to complete the circle, longest throw and catch, a perfect run with zero opposing pillars lit. All records you broke tonight, and you know what everyone’s going to write about?”
“That I was sacked after the complete circle?”
“That you were sacked after the complete circle.”
“What are you going to talk about?” I ask, pulling off my left cleat. Billy Jack has been following me on his broadcasts since I was nine, back when I was just a sideshow at government fairs, knocking down every bottle they stacked. He’s no award winner, but he’s usually fair. It’s unusual for him to come to the locker room after a game. Then again, it was a pretty unusual game.
“Your coming out party,” he answers with a gleaming smile. “Against Trinity makes it all the more dramatic. There’s a new sheriff in town, and he’s got the biggest gun in the state. Does that sound all right?”
“In the state?” I ask, pulling off the right cleat.
Billy Jack chuckles.
“I’d rather it be about Allen,” I say without the smile. “They’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
“I’m happy for you, kid. This town is going to owe you something fierce. To think that this time last year, you were losing your passion for this game.”
I slow down, spending more energy than I should twisting my laces free.
“I mean, sure, it was a tough blow with the injury and all, but I’ve never known you to be the quitting type.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, thanks to me,” he answers. “Good thing I came along and helped you get back to your senses. Think of what you would have missed. What we all would have missed.”
His smile loses a step as he sits down beside me.
“It wasn’t just that you were sacked, Horatio. It’s how you were sacked. What happened to you just before Leno and Buck slammed you to the ground? I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you saw.”
“What do you mean?”
“You got sacked because you were distracted by something, like you were looking at the visitors’ tunnel. What was it?”
“You know,” I say, standing up and taking off my uniform, “I guess I just got caught up in it all and lost focus. Won’t happen again.”
I walk out of the locker room after an hour of interviews, special accommodations from the district mayor, and into a sea of cheers and screams. I know all 118,000 fans didn’t wait for me, but it feels like it. They keep me locked into the crowds, signing autographs, talking strategy, and high-fiving until they decide they’ve said congratulations as many times as possible without looking foolish and run away to their own celebrations. I’m enjoying every minute of it. I can’t remember the last time I saw such real joy on so many faces. On my face. I can’t remember because it’s never happened. It’s more than joy. It’s real hope.
I stay for as long as the crowd wants to, even looking for stragglers. Seeing the smile on their faces, the smile that literally sparkles, leaving an exhilarating trail of hope behind them, invigorates me. Escape squads are usually exhausted after a game. I feel like I could play for days.
I spot my mom, Kathryn Gaph, leaning against the back fence. I get my dark hair and olive skin from her. I like when she comes out of the house. She’s so beautiful when she dresses up. Before I can cross the lot to her, the lights from an old yellow VW van blind my eyes, and its old diesel engine roars in my ears.
“My brother!” shouts Tommy Briggs, popping out of the driver’s side. Cars are scarce around Allen Academy. But somehow, Tommy Briggs smiled his way into one.
“Mrs. Gaph!” he calls out, running to the fence ahead of me. My mom puts her hand to her turtleneck, something she does when she’s bracing for a debate. “Mrs. Gaph, can Horatio come out and play? He just had the biggest night a player has had, you know, in history, and his team wants him to celebrate. How ’bout it, Mrs. G?”
The most wonderful and troubling thing about my mom is that she has this ever-present twinkle in her eye. I don’t know what it means or where it came from. Even worse, no matter how I try to rationalize it, it just doesn’t belong with the rest of her. I wish it would.
Her eyes switch between Tommy and me.
“Alcohol?”
“I promise, not a single drop will pass his virgin lips.” The yellow VW erupts with piles of laughter. I just shake my head. I have no interest in drinking. My mom knows this. But she’s also a mom, so she has to ask.
“I’m holding you responsible, Thomas,” she says, trying to tease Tommy.
“You got it, Mrs. G. Come on, man. Party needs to be started!” Tommy pushes his way back into the driver’s side and closes the door. I walk to my mom and stand a couple of feet in front of her.
“I like him,” she says to me. “He’s special. Do you know his parents?”
“No, never met them,” I tell her. “They live in San Antonio.”
“Hmmm,” she answers. I wait for a minute until I can’t stand it any longer.
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask.
“You were wonderful, Horatio.”
“Thanks.”
“Your father—”
“You don’t need to.”
She nods. She doesn’t really want to talk about it, either.
“I’d better go,” I say. “The guys are waiting.”
“Yes,” she answers. “Go have fun. Be home by midnight. I trust you.”
“You need a ride?” I ask.
“No, I’ll take the Blue Line.”
I turn toward the VW van.
“Horatio,” starts my mother. “The sack after the circle, we need to talk about it.”
“Okay,” I say, puzzled. I don’t think my mother has ever wanted to talk about anything. I remember the last time I tried. It was the first day of academy, and I tried to tell her all about it—my new teachers, the classes, how I met Tommy when we both tried to open a classroom door from opposite sides. But she just responded with her usual “mm hmm”s and “I see”s. I think she means well. We just don’t know how to talk to each other.
Tommy Briggs has reserved the front seat for me. In the back, Hogsworth and Sneak Rudy Gaines squash the middle where one of our reserves, Riley Little, unfortunately sits. He’s 6-foot-3, a buck twenty. We call him Maypole.
“Your mom,” says Maypole, “is a speeding ticket.” The rest of the guys look at each other and then back at Maypole.
“What are you talking about?”
“’Cause she has fine written all over her!”
“That’s Sooth’s mom, freak!” says Rudy.
“I know. That’s why I started with ‘your mom.’ Duh. I haven’t seen anyone wear a turtleneck except in my grandpa’s photo albums. Why is she so nervous all the time, though? Man, she’s so fine, she doesn’t have to worry about nothin’—”
“One more word, dude,” warns Tommy, “and you’re crawling home.”
“Why crawling?”
“’Cause you can’t walk with broken l
egs!”
I can feel Tommy glancing between me and the road.
“’Sup, man? You okay?”
“Me? Yeah. Why?”
He shrugs. “’Cause for a guy who did what you just did, you don’t look right. In fact, you’ve been weird most of the day.”
“I’m good.”
“You know, if it was that thing at lunch—”
“It was not the thing at lunch,” I say, trying to stop the conversation.
“Oh, man,” says Maypole. “That was awesome. That band geek got all mad. I thought Raysh was gonna bash him.”
“Never seen you foam up like that, my brother,” says Tommy.
“I told you, forget it.”
“No, I’m just saying, I feel like I started the whole thing, and if I did, you know, I’m sorry about that. I was just messing with you for what your girl did.”
“Yeah, that was awesome,” adds Maypole.
“You know we’re your team, right?” he says with his patented smile. “You know that, right?”
“And I didn’t mean anything about your mom, Raysh,” says Maypole, “except that she’s hot.”
“Man, shut up!”
Maypole’s not the problem. Linus, then Billy Jack, now my mom. They all figured something more than a sack happened. But nothing has happened since, and I’m with my boys now, so as far as I care, whatever the golden glimmer and the wispy white-haired man is, it’s over. Tonight is about Allen.
The party is in full swing by the time we roll up to the house. Barry Druxley’s place. His dad runs one of the biggest cattle ranches in Texas, and the Citizen who owns it is generous. He’s one of the exceptions to the rule around here. Standing outside the door, bathed in the warm yellow glow of the porch light, I see her, and my worries vanish.
