These thoughts went through her head in an instant, the moment John told her what had happened at school that day. He was late for the bus, so she couldn’t argue with him. But there was no way she was staying home.
She filed into the stands and took her place at the far end, near parents from the other school. Bomb threat or not, she didn’t enjoy sitting with the parents of John’s players. Not this year, at least. Rarely ever, in fact. It simply didn’t work to be involved that way.
After John took the job at Marion High, Abby had reveled in her role as the head coach’s wife. She had the idyllic sense that she would sit with the parents, chat with them, befriend them. And at first, she did just that. Those were the years when she invited parents over for Thanksgiving dinner and Saturday night socials.
“Be careful, Abby,” John would warn her. “You think they’re your friends now, but wait and see. Sometimes people have an agenda.”
Abby had hated his insinuation that the wonderful people she sat with at games were merely being kind to get their sons in good with Coach Reynolds. She disagreed with him time and again, insisting that people weren’t that shallow; football wasn’t that important.
But in the end John had been completely right.
One couple—people who were Christians and had shared many meals with the Reynolds—was the first in the office complaining about John’s coaching when their son didn’t get enough playing time. Other parents turned out to be phony as well, talking about Abby behind her back and then presenting big smiles and happy hellos when she came around.
They weren’t all that way, of course, but she’d learned her lesson about players’ parents, and she no longer took chances. For years now she sat by herself or with one of the other coachs’ wives.
Tonight, though, she had no intention of sitting with anyone. She would camp out in the far side of the stands and watch. Not the game, but the stands, searching the students for any sign of unusual behavior, any sign of Nathan Pike. She had seen Nathan enough times on campus to recognize him. Of course, Nathan and his cronies were easy to spot, dressed as they were in black clothes and spiked collars. Tonight Abby wanted to be the first to notice them, the first to recognize any indication that one of them might be about to blow the stadium to pieces.
The minutes ticked off the clock and halftime came, all without incident. Police were stationed throughout the stadium, some—Abby guessed—in plain clothes. But so far the most remarkable thing that had happened all game was Jake Daniels’s five touchdown passes. Abby was fairly certain that was a league record. Kade had been one of the best quarterbacks to come out of that area, and he’d never come close to throwing five TDs in one half.
The second half was uneventful as well. Jake was pulled in the third quarter and replaced by Casey Parker, who had two passes intercepted. Despite that, the Eagles went on to win by thirty points. As the final buzzer sounded, the crowd spilled onto the field, embracing the Eagles as though it hadn’t been a season wrought with controversy and parental complaints.
What did it matter now? The Eagles were going to districts.
Abby stood and made her way down to the field. Where is he, Lord? Where’s Nathan Pike? If he’s here, please, Father, show me. She scanned the crowd . . . and then hesitated. Had something moved along the far fence of the stadium? Cornfields surrounded the huge structure on three sides. A parking lot was on the fourth side.
Abby stared, eyes narrowed . . . Yes. There amid the tall corn . . . Abby could swear she saw movement.
Taking the stairs in an almost trancelike manner, Abby walked along the bleachers, drawing closer to the place where John and his players were receiving congratulations from hundreds of students and the entire marching band. The whole time she kept her eyes locked on the place in the cornfield.
Suddenly a figure emerged—a figure dressed in black.
Before Abby could do anything—before she could get close enough to be heard by John and the others, to run or duck or grab a police officer—the figure slipped through a hole in the fence and jogged through the crowd toward her husband.
“John, look out!” Abby shouted the words, and around her, a handful of parents stopped their conversations and stared at her.
Abby ignored them and set out in a full run, bounding down the stairs as fast as she could. Please, God . . . save them from this. Please, God. In Jesus’ name, I beg you . . .
She was on the field now, but the figure’s face was closing in quickly on John, placing himself in the center of the crowd of students and players. Even from fifty yards away, Abby could see the boy’s face.
It was Nathan Pike.
He was dressed in his usual black, but this time he had on a new garment. A bulky jacket.
“John . . . run!” Abby screamed the warning and drew the stares of dozens of students. “All of you, run! Quick!”
Some of the students did as she said, but most of them only stood planted in place, motionless, staring at Abby as though she’d lost her mind.
She was ten yards away from John when Nathan walked up to him and put his hand on John’s shoulder. At the same time, four officers darted through the crowd and gang-tackled Nathan to the ground.
“John!” Abby was faint by the time she reached her husband’s side. Her stomach was in knots and she couldn’t breathe. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What in the world . . . ?” John’s face was white, his eyes wide.
The circle of students had grown and tightened around the place where the police had Nathan pinned to the ground. The boy appeared to be cooperating. A slew of officers came from every direction and in a matter of minutes directed the students away from the action and out into the parking lot. John directed his assistants to accompany the team bus back to school.
“He’s clean,” an officer announced. “No bombs.”
Every muscle in Abby’s body felt weak with relief. She gripped the sleeves of John’s jacket and buried her face in his chest. “I thought he was going to kill you, John. I . . . I was so scared.”
She whispered the words, so the other coaches couldn’t hear. The entire staff was privy to the bomb threat, so none of them was surprised at what was happening.
“It’s okay, Abby. It’s all over.” John ran his hand over her back and took her fingers in his. Then they walked to the place where Nathan still lay on the ground in handcuffs.
The police nodded their okay, and John walked up to the boy’s side. “Did you do it, Nathan? Did you make the call?”
Nathan shook his head, his eyes wide and frightened. “They keep asking me that.” He gulped, his words sticking in his throat. “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Abby clung to John’s arm, her body shaking from the adrenaline rush. The kid was lying. He had to be.
John tried again. “You weren’t in class today.”
Nathan blinked. “I . . . I went to the library. I had an English paper due and I needed some place quiet. I swear, Mr. Reynolds. I don’t know what they’re talking about.”
An officer stood near Nathan’s head. “Why’d you sneak in through the hole in the fence?”
“I was coming back from . . . from the library and thought I’d swing by. I saw the score and wanted to . . . to congratulate Mr. Reynolds. It was a big game.”
The story had more holes than a sieve, but that wasn’t Abby’s problem. All that mattered was that John was okay. John and the students and players. She closed her eyes and rested her head against John. God, thank You . . . thank You so much.
The police pulled Nathan to his feet and led him to a waiting police car. Before they left, an officer approached John. “You think he could be telling the truth?”
“It’s hard to tell with Nathan.” John thought for a moment. “I’ll say one thing though. In all the time I’ve known that boy, I’ve never seen him afraid until today. If I didn’t know his past, I’d swear he was being straight with you.”
> The officer jotted something on his notepad. “Thanks. We’ll take that into consideration.”
Before long, John and Abby were the only people left in the stadium. He folded his arms around her and held her close. “You’re shaking.”
“I thought . . . I thought he was going to blow you up right there.
Before I could do anything to help you.”
“I told you not to come.” Despite the reprimand, his voice was gentle, and Abby was glad. He wasn’t mad at her.
“Right. Like I could sit home while someone might be out here trying to hurt you.” She pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. “I had to come, John. Nothing could have kept me away.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She grinned. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“You won!”
“We did.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” The scoreboard was still lit, as were the stadium lights. Groundskeepers would clean up for another few hours before shutting the place down. “Now we get to go to districts.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.” She worked her hands up the side of his face.
“I’m not. The parents hate me, remember?”
“Not if you’re winning.” Abby ran her finger lightly over his brow.
“These parents are different. Jake Daniels told me who’s writing the letters. It’s Casey Parker’s father.”
“No surprise there.”
“Hey.” He brought his face close to hers and kissed her. “Thanks for being here tonight. Even though I asked you not to. It means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.” She kissed him back, breathing in the scent of him, trying not to imagine how different the night might have played out if . . .
She couldn’t finish the thought.
“You look tired.”
“I am. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Ahhh, Abby.” He brushed his face against hers, clinging to her the way she clung to him. “Sweet, Abby. I’m sorry. I hate thinking of you afraid like that. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”
“What about you?”
“I’m a little wired for that.” He pulled his gym bag over his shoulder and led her toward the parking lot. “I think I’ll go back to school and correct papers. I’m about two weeks behind. Can you give me a ride?”
She grinned. “I’d love to.”
“My car’s at the school.”
They talked about the game on the ride home, and when Abby pulled up in front of the school, she turned to John and yawned. “Will you be late?”
“Maybe. Could take me until one or two if I have enough energy.”
“Don’t forget about our dancing lesson tomorrow.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as he climbed out.
“I won’t be that late, don’t worry.”
“Yeah, but I want you to have enough energy. Paula’s pretty demanding, you know.”
John laughed. “See ya later, Abby. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Abby drove away knowing it was never more true.
Eleven
THE PARTY WAS PACKED WITH TEENAGERS AND JAKE Daniels was on top of the world. All except one thing.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Nathan Pike and Casey Parker.
Nathan, because Jake had watched the whole arrest thing go down. In fact, he had the best view of anyone, since he’d been standing a few feet from Coach Reynolds when it happened. At first he’d been terrified, certain Nathan was going to whip out a gun and they’d all be dead.
But then he saw Nathan’s eyes.
Jake and Nathan had never been good friends, but back a few years ago they’d been acquaintances. They’d known each other enough that they’d say hi and help each other with an occasional homework assignment. As Jake had risen in athleticism and popularity, Nathan had spiraled in the opposite direction.
Jake had been honest when he told Coach Reynolds Nathan was a freak. That’s what the guy had become. But that night on the field when he saw Nathan’s eyes, he knew deep in his gut that Nathan had nothing to do with the threat that day. He was scared as a guy could get.
And that bothered Jake for two reasons. First, because it wasn’t right that Nathan was arrested over something he may not have done. And second, because if Nathan didn’t do it, who did? Whoever it was, he was very likely still walking around, making plans.
Then there was Casey Parker.
Jake had entered the locker room before the game that night and told everyone first off that the rumors were true. Someone had called the school and threatened to kill people at the game that night.
When the commotion settled down, Jake told the guys there was only one thing they could do about the threats. They could pray. Two and three at a time, the guys had dropped their gear and made their way over to Jake. In less than a minute, the whole team was gathered in a huddle—everyone except Casey Parker.
“This is a public school,” Casey snapped at them. “It’s against the law to pray.”
In the past three weeks—since Jake had been meeting with Coach Reynolds again and being kinder to kids like Nathan Pike—the friendship with Casey had cooled. In the locker room earlier, Jake would have refuted Casey, but one of the other players did it first. “A kid can pray anywhere he wants.”
Several others reiterated this truth with grunts and “Yeah, that’s right” and other such things.
Casey sat off to the side while the rest of them prayed for God’s protection over not just the game but every person in attendance. When the prayer was over, the team formed a tight circle and did their usual chanting and cheering to get fired up for the game.
Casey didn’t join in any of it.
He sat by himself all night. Coach didn’t call his number until Jake had six touchdowns. It was no surprise to the other Eagles when Casey took the field and promptly threw four incompletes and two interceptions. After that the coaches went to a running game to kill the clock.
On the bus ride back to school, Casey didn’t say a word to the rest of them. When talk about the party came up, he split without a goodbye or anything. Jake tried to forget about it. After all, this was his night. His team had survived some sort of weird death threat and won the game. Big time. They were even going to districts.
It was time to celebrate. Big time.
He looked around. The party was at some girl’s place, a freshman cheerleader, Jake thought. The girl had a huge house, lots of food, and parents who didn’t mind them gathering there. Most of the team had showed up, but not Casey. A group of guys Jake didn’t know that well walked up to him.
“Nice game, Jake . . . way to throw it.”
“Yeah, was that like a record or something? Six touchdowns?”
Jake had been asked a hundred times so far, but he was polite as he answered. “A school record. Tied with a league record.”
“That’s so cool. Way to go.”
The guys left, and Jake leaned against the kitchen counter. Some of the kids had beer in their cars outside. They drifted in and out, downing a few beers and then returning to the house. The girl’s parents didn’t mind the kids drinking as long as it wasn’t on their property.
That was fine for them, but not Jake. Not tonight. He’d promised his dad that he wouldn’t drink and drive, and since getting the new car, he’d kept his word. He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with ice water. Besides, he wanted to savor the night, not lose it in a haze of drinking. He’d done that too many times over the summer. He was smarter now.
The party had been going on for two hours already, and it was after midnight. Jake wanted to be fresh for practice in the morning. A few more minutes and he’d call it a night.
At that moment, the front door opened and Jake stared. Casey Parker walked in, his arm around Darla Brubaker—the girl Jake was planning to ask to prom. Jake set his cup down and gritted his teeth. Whatever sort of stunt Cas
ey was trying to pull, it wasn’t going to work. Casey searched the room until his eyes landed on Jake. Then he turned to Darla and kissed her on the cheek.
Jake looked away. What was Casey’s problem, anyway? He was acting like a total loser. If Darla wanted to hang out with a jerk like that, let her. Still, he couldn’t help but look back at the couple, still standing near the front door.
Casey whispered something in Darla’s ear, and the girl giggled and took a seat in the corner of the room. When she was gone, Casey sauntered into the kitchen. Something about his expression looked almost hateful.
“Jake.” He nodded once and leaned against the opposite counter. “Nice game tonight.”
“Thanks.” Jake grabbed his cup again and took another swig of water. “Hey, what’s eatin’ you, man? You weren’t yourself out there.”
“Let’s just say the praying thing freaked me out, okay?”
Jake uttered a single laugh. “It worked, didn’t it? No one shot us while we played the game.”
Casey slammed his fist onto the counter. “Enough about prayer, okay? If you weren’t a junior, I’d take you out for pulling a stunt like that before the game.”
“Stunt?” Jake frowned. He didn’t like Casey’s insinuation.
“I saw you . . . talking to Coach the whole ride up to North County.” Casey crossed his arms. “The thing I don’t get is this: You’re already his favorite little go-to guy. Did you really have to let him talk you into praying? I mean, haven’t you sucked up enough these past few weeks? Dropping into Coach’s room and acting all buddy-buddy.”
Jake set his cup down and took three steps closer to Casey. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on. You’re part of Coach’s C-squad. Guys like me don’t have a chance.”
“C-squad?” Jake’s mind reeled. What was Casey talking about? What the heck was a C-squad?
A Time to Dance Page 42
