by Andrea Cale
The pain was something his pride had managed to keep hidden from his buddies as the night at the Gentlemen’s Club unfolded. The guys had been too preoccupied with Caroline’s captivating performance on stage to notice Devin’s peculiar, frozen stare. They hadn’t recognized Caroline beneath the blonde wig like Devin had. They hadn’t noticed Devin’s long trip to the men’s room immediately following her dance either, where the quarterback had removed his cell phone from a pocket of dollar bills and quietly listened to Caroline’s voice message from earlier that day, when the world had appeared so differently to him.
“I just wanted to say how great you were on TV today,” she had said. “I had no clue of your family’s connection with this game. Made me feel even more thrilled and honored to meet ’em. Anyway, I know you’re busy, and I’ve got a lot of studying and sleep to catch up on, so I’m gonna turn in early tonight. I’ll just say congrats again. Talk with you soon, I hope. Bye.”
A sobering sleep later, Devin reached for his cell again to listen to her sweet voice from his bed.
Talk with you soon, I hope. Bye.
Her voice didn’t sound so sweet to him anymore. Anger had begun to replace the shock. He grew tense in a bed that had seen many girls come and go, even during his short time with Caroline. She had been the only one who really mattered, though. She was the only one who had ever truly excited him. She was the only one who had the potential to straighten out his immature and selfish ways, he thought.
The alarm clock sounded again, reminding Devin that life was going on with or without him, and that nine minutes had passed since he was supposed to start preparing for practice.
Caroline’s voice entered his head again and joined the alarm clock. He felt like everything was mocking him.
I’m. BEEP. Going. BEEP. To. BEEP. Turn. BEEP. In. BEEP. Now.
Devin’s stomach felt less hungry as the prospect of life without her as his girl became more real with each sober second that he was awake. His mouth was especially bitter from either the taste of sleep, past beers, or the sight of Caroline nearly naked on stage as dozens of men watched her with eyes that pretended to undress the rest of her.
His strong fingers hit the snooze button as he decided to skip breakfast and instead use another nine minutes to plot the harshest revenge—one that would rip away from Caroline the thing she needed most if Devin were successful.
Caroline’s cheerleading coach sat on the sidelines of University of Boston’s practice field reviewing a fresh clipboard of information packets following a meeting with university staff regarding the Orange Bowl Festival’s calendar of events. The staffers were gone now, leaving her with only the sound of UB’s starting kicker, who booted away at the ball with field goal attempts he’d probably practiced a million times before. She looked up at the player and sensed the pressure riding on him to be successful at any moment, whenever his team needed him most. She had watched enough football games to know that he was often the young man needed in the last moments of any close game.
A chill ran through her body as she fought to control her own feelings of anxiousness. She thumbed through the details of the Orange Bowl Coaches’ Luncheon, the Orange Bowl FANfest, and the Orange Bowl Tailgate Party—all events her team was expected to attend on top of participating in the big event. Her small staff was already helping her coordinate travel and lodging logistics for her team. Her assistant coach was busy selecting the latest music and finalizing new routines that were special for the bowl. She wished she had access to an intern who could serve as a liaison for all the cheerleaders, making sure each got to and from the various functions together and on time. She considered the cheerleading captain as someone she could lean on, but the coach was realistic and instantly dismissed the idea. The captain was in her senior year and wouldn’t want to be playing secretary during her last hurrah at the Orange Bowl, she thought.
She watched the kicker successfully boot another one through the uprights, and a smile crossed her face. The coach thought of Caroline. The freshman had seemed burdened by the fact that she had received the coach’s only scholarship. Caroline appeared to feel like she needed to work harder to deserve it. The rest of the team admired her. They would listen to her. She was the perfect choice for taking on extra duties for the bowl game. Caroline would happily embrace the favor, her coach thought.
“Um, hi there. I need to ask you a favor.”
The woman’s brainstorming was interrupted as she looked up and saw Devin Madison standing over her. He had seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Oh, I startled you. Sorry. Your assistant coach at your office just said I might find you here,” he said smoothly.
The coach immediately recognized the quarterback.
“Devin, hi,” the coach had said with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure. Listen, congratulations on the bowl game announcement. What could I ever do for you?”
“I hoped to have a quick word with you confidentially.”
Something about his artificial smile made the coach feel uncomfortable.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Well, I’ll cut right to it. I know this great college, my football team, and even your squad live up to the highest moral standards.”
The coach wondered if she heard him correctly over his use of the word even.
“We all have high standards and expectations,” she agreed in a tone meant to remind him that she was the grownup and he was still a student. “I wonder what you could be getting at, Devin?”
“Well, I’ll just drop the bomb. I’ve heard that one of your girls works at a men’s club. I don’t know if this is in violation of the rules or code of ethics to be on your team, but as the quarterback for this school—a college with a great reputation that I obviously care greatly about—I thought I should pass this information along to you in case things need to be…fixed.”
The coach sat in stunned silence for a moment as she watched the kicker slam the football into the uprights in a failed attempt from only thirty yards away.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Tommy!” Devin yelled toward the field.
The cheerleading coach instantly questioned the motives of the young man who had just preached to her about morality. She mentally scanned her roster of girls and couldn’t come up with a single one who she thought could pull off living some kind of hidden life.
“Who?” she asked boldly.
“I’ll tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Why?” she asked even more boldly.
Devin’s temper ignited. He wasn’t used to being questioned by a coach, not to mention a cheerleading coach. In fact, he wasn’t used to being questioned by anyone except his father. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the world seemed to revolve around him. That thought made him even angrier.
“Listen, let’s not worry about why,” Devin said. “Don’t you have things you need to do—like teach some extra rah, rah, rahs or make some more signs with my name on it? Or how about this one, expose a girl who’s been exposing herself?”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like yours.”
“Devin, you’re asking me to pull someone off my team with allegations that are so far unfounded.”
“So you would pull someone from the team for something like this?”
“Listen, I’ve never come across anything like this. I guess what I’m getting at is that I need more information first.”
“Fine, but you didn’t hear it from me. I’ve got enough on my plate. I don’t need drama off the field.”
The kicker booted a ball just short of the field goal from thirty-five yards away.
“Oh, what the hell, Tommy? Am I making you nervous? How do you think you’re gonna feel when the entire nation is watch—”
The cheerleading coach cut him off before he had the chance to berate his teammate more.
“Fine,” she said. “We have an agreement. Your hands are clean of t
his if that’s what you really want. Who is it?”
“I heard it’s Caroline.”
The coach suddenly realized Caroline was somehow the unlikeliest and likeliest of her girls to pull off something like this.
“Where?”
“From what I hear, it’s the Gentlemen’s Club. That’s one of the ones on LaGrange Street in Boston, so I’m told.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You do that.”
Without a goodbye, Devin jogged onto the field to have a word with the kicker. He ran off as quickly as he appeared, but his visit left the coach feeling rattled on the sidelines as though she’d been sacked by one of the defensive tackles. As she watched the quarterback and kicker talk, she instantly had a newfound dislike for the beloved hero and a deep respect for the unsung kicker.
Within the hour, the coach was drumming her fingers on her office desk and searching for some phone numbers.
“There is way too much to do right now to be playing detective,” she said aloud to herself as she dialed the number to the club and felt as though she were having an out-of-body experience. “This is the last place I thought I’d be calling when I woke up this morning,” she added over several rings.
“Hello, this is Phil,” said an out-of-breath man on the other end.
“Phil, hi. I don’t know where to begin, really, but can I speak with the manager?”
“I’m the GM,” Phil said cautiously. “How can I help?” A conversation starting this way typically doesn’t end well, he thought.
“This may sound strange, or maybe not. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m a cheerleading coach at a local D1 college, and I have a girl on scholarship here. I’ve heard that she may, um, dance at your establishment. Since this could be a potential conflict of interest for the team or her scholarship, I guess I’m asking whether you could confirm the information for me.”
“No, no, no,” said Phil. “She doesn’t work here.”
“I haven’t even given you a name yet,” the coach said, already sensing truth to the quarterback’s accusation.
Phil scratched his head in the familiar spot and quickly began backtracking.
“I mean, yes,” he said. “I can confirm a girl’s employment, but I was just saying no because I know the girl you’re talking about, and the last thing I would want is any trouble for her. Caroline’s a good kid—a great talent—but an even better kid.”
“I know,” the coach agreed.
“There’s a but,” Phil said. “You would be pleased to know that she quit last night. She didn’t give a reason, although I always sensed she was troubled over working here. Who isn’t? Myself included. A bunch of the girls said that some prominent members of the football team from your school—Caroline’s school—were here last night. Sometimes girls get spooked when they run into people they know.”
“Was the star quarterback among them, by any chance?” the cheerleading coach asked.
Phil’s long pause gave away the answer the woman already suspected.
“I really can’t comment further on the patrons,” he said. “But anyway, she’s no longer employed here. I see no conflict of interest anymore. She’s a good kid, that one.”
“Thanks. All I wanted to know is whether she is working there. I got my answer.”
Sensing they were on the same page with the girl’s best interest in both of their hearts, Phil dared to extend the conversation.
“Do you mean to tell me, though, that there are people out there who would ruin a girl’s future because of her line of work? Would you really drop her?”
Caroline’s coach went on to explain that she wasn’t yet aware of the rules for scholarship athletes in that type of scenario.
“I wanted to look into the situation myself without causing a big splash,” she said. “But, yes, sadly, there are people out there who apparently care more about bringing someone down than focusing on their own greatness and achievements.”
Armed with firsthand information, the coach hustled back to the practice field in an attempt to end the drama over Caroline before it fully took off. She positioned herself on a sideline bench and kept busy flipping through the pages in her clipboard of Orange Bowl events and appearances. She correctly anticipated Devin’s second effort to seek her out. The coach soon felt an unsettling series of taps on her shoulder blade.
“You have a knack for sneaking up on people.”
“Being elusive is my job here,” Devin said. “I’ve got two minutes. Let’s take a quick walk?”
The coach wasn’t sure whether the quarterback was posing a question or making a demand, but the conversation—the closure—was something she wanted nonetheless.
“So, did you look into it?” he asked as they walked.
The coach decided to stick to the most basic facts.
“Yes.”
Devin couldn’t hold back a smug smile.
“I took your information very seriously and personally called the manager of the club this morning,” she said. “Good news. He said he doesn’t employ Caroline there. Good thing, because she is one of my best. It sounds like a bad rumor. Unless you have proof otherwise, I consider this case resolved.”
She watched Devin’s smile disappear with a twitch. She stopped walking and looked at him with disappointed eyes that dared him to say he had seen Caroline dancing at the club. She took a gamble that he wouldn’t.
“That is good news,” Devin said weakly. “I wouldn’t want someone like that representing our team.”
“Yes. This is a time to focus on positive things and positive people. Karma is not something any of us want to be messing with right before a major bowl.”
The cheerleading coach had no idea just how superstitious Devin was—right down to refusing to drink the same favorite sports drink of his competitors. Maybe it was his family’s history of failed attempts. Maybe it was his father’s obsessive ways being passed down to the golden boy. Ever since the bowl game announcement, Devin had been drinking orange juice even though he knew the act made no sense. He gave a nervous laugh.
“So you really believe bad things happen for each act of negativity, do you?” he asked.
“Um, I guess. Who am I to say for sure? It never hurts to stay positive, though. This I know.”
“Whatever. I’ve got to get back to practice.”
“Good luck, Devin,” the coach said genuinely.
The player didn’t know if she was wishing him well in play or life. He pretended not to care.
She watched him jog back to the field as the team’s kicker attempted a fifty-yard field goal.
CHAPTER 25
JP
The Destined One
The stairs of the home in which JP grew up made squeaks and creaks that sounded exactly how the small running back’s sore joints and aching muscles felt. As he slowly crept upstairs to his childhood bedroom, he longed for a few moments of rest in the familiar old bed with the same faded, gold-striped sheets that had comforted him through years of overcoming small obstacles. JP noticed a newly framed article celebrating him overcoming a major one.
The unfamiliar piece contained a trio of news photos capturing each of the key breakaways that had led to JP’s three touchdowns in a game that had secured a trip to the Orange Bowl for his fellow Syracuse Orange and Navy. He drew the frame in toward his tight, small chest to read the caption.
After a fall and a fumble that started off the biggest game of his life, Syracuse College’s new running back, JP Hemmings, recovered and took control of the matchup against Tennessee to give his team the only points of the game. SC Head Coach John “Flash” Robbins, a man who gave the running back starting time amidst heavy criticism, called the player’s “magical hat trick of touchdowns the truest examples of grit, talent and inspiration” he’d ever seen.
JP’s smile showed off a rare pride that he attempted to contain, for even in the lonesome stillness of his old room where no one was watching, he was still humble. He never wanted
to take a winning performance for granted. He didn’t want to get too confident. And he didn’t want to work any less hard toward an even more important game to come. Maxine’s caption made him feel comforted nonetheless. It hadn’t even mentioned his size, he noted. JP felt relief, too, over Coach Flash’s credit—in print—for sticking up for him during unpopular times.
JP carefully hung the frame in its new place, straightened it with precision against the old plaid wallpaper that served as a leveling tool for many framed certificates and articles over the years, and removed his heavy sweatshirt in preparation for overdue rest. His dark skin felt as comfortable as ever against the soft sheets, but he tossed and turned in failed attempts at sleep. He was coming off the excitement of winning a critical game for his team and exceeding even the harshest critics’ expectations. Then there were all the endless press interview requests, more intense practices, and attention from newfound fans wherever he went.
In the kitchen downstairs, the professors spoke excitedly in hushed tones and supported their overwhelmed son the best way they knew through the loving act of family cooking. The well-fed professor rolled his signature garlic meatballs in clean palms as his wife stirred some homemade gravy. A chattering lid alerted them that another pot’s boiling water was ready for the lasagna noodles.
In marriage, parenthood, and life, the couple was regularly able to communicate with each other in shorthand.
“Can you put them in, Mum?” asked the professor. “My hands.”
“Got it,” she sang as she opened a box of lasagna noodles.
“You’re chipper right now.”
“Right now,” she admitted. “It’s because I feel like I’m being productive. I feel like I’m actually doing something that can help my son.”
“You make it sound as though the boy is headed for Doomsday. The boy is instead a superhero right now.”
“He is a superhero and I’m happy for him and proud of him, but wouldn’t you say that the fans and media set unrealistic expectations for superheroes? I fear this is all too much for him. It’s happening too quickly.”
