by Chad Kultgen
Brandy said, “Okay.”
They went into Brandy’s room, and Patricia looked through all of her various online accounts just as she usually did. She found nothing abnormal, nothing that was cause for alarm. Brandy said, “Everything look okay?”
Patricia said, “Everything looks good on these accounts. But isn’t there another account that we didn’t check yet?”
Brandy said, “No, that’s all of them.”
Patricia said, “I think there’s one more. Your Myspace account.”
Brandy said, “No, we just did that one, remember? You said you thought that guy named GoofSlop had no business being my friend and we defriended him.”
Patricia said, “Yeah, that’s right. That’s right. But, um, that’s not the Myspace account I’m talking about.”
Brandy could feel the cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. She had no idea how much her mother knew—if she knew anything at all or if this was some kind of psychological trick, an attempt to get her to divulge a secret, with her mother having only suspicion and no evidence of the secret’s validity. She wondered if her mother had been monitoring everything she did on the Freyja account; if her mother had read the blogs she’d written when she first created the account; if her mother had seen the pictures she’d taken of herself in gothic makeup and lingerie. She concluded that if her mother had known about the blog posts and the images, she would have said something a long time ago. If her mother knew anything, it was a recent development, and the only information she could have possibly gleaned from the Freyja account was that she and Tim were a couple, which, she reasoned, wasn’t that terrible.
Brandy said, “I only have one account, Mom. You just saw it.”
Patricia said, “Oh. Because I was under the impression that you had another account, one that you can tell me about freely and maybe avoid some of the punishment that’s coming your way, or you can keep playing dumb about it and get double the punishment. Your choice.”
Brandy still was unable to detect any hint in her mother’s accusation that enabled her to determine if this was all based on suspicion or if her mother had hard evidence against her. She chose to deny everything and hope that her mother had no evidence. She said, “Mom, I only have one Myspace account. I don’t get what you’re doing here.”
Patricia said, “Then I guess you probably also have no idea who TimM is.”
Brandy knew she’d been caught in her lie. She said, “Mom, I’m sorry. I just. I knew you’d never let me go out with him or see him or talk to him so I had to—”
Patricia said, “Lie to me at every turn? And engage in behavior that is absolutely unacceptable and more dangerous than you could possibly even imagine?”
Brandy said, “It’s not dangerous, Mom. I like him and he likes me.”
Patricia said, “Well, you can go on liking each other. But you can’t do it using the service provider that your father pays for every month. I changed the password on your account, so don’t even bother trying to log in. I have your cell phone downstairs, and I’m blocking your computer from the wireless router. And I know you probably think you can pick up the wireless signal from the neighbors, but you can’t, because I blocked their router from your computer. And if you try to set up another network through their signal, your computer will send me an e-mail, so don’t even try. I want you to stay up here and write me an apology—and it better be sincere. You are not to come out of your room for the rest of the night. Is that understood?”
Brandy was crying. She said, “Why are you like this? I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”
Patricia said, “If that was the case, then you wouldn’t be getting punished.”
Patricia left her daughter’s room listening to her cry.
Tim Mooney was looking forward to a night of doing nothing but playing World of Warcraft. He had been meaning to raise his reputation with the Oracles for some time, and viewed a Friday night with no other obligations as the perfect time to run a few daily quests with various factions that he had neglected.
His father usually left him money for pizza or fast food, but that wasn’t the case tonight. Tim looked in the usual places that his father normally left money, a note about food, or the food itself, and found nothing. He assumed it was just forgetfulness on his father’s part and made himself a sandwich, which he took into his room and set on his desk as he started up his computer. At the start-up screen, he noticed that the World of Warcraft shortcut icon was gone. He opened his hard drive folder, then opened the programs folder to look for World of Warcraft, and found nothing. He did an exhaustive search of every folder on his computer’s hard drive in an effort to find World of Warcraft but found nothing. Not wanting to reinstall the entire game, and not knowing exactly what was going on, Tim searched for possible explanations online and still found nothing explaining any spontaneous uninstalls of World of Warcraft. He reasoned that there must be something wrong with his computer and ran a full scan for viruses, spyware, adware, and so on. The scan returned nothing abnormal. He resigned himself to a fate that he was not looking forward to: reinstalling the entire game, a process he knew would take at least an hour.
He put the first of four disks needed to install the original game in his disk drive and began the reinstallation, eating his sandwich as he waited. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary as he ejected the fourth and final disc, having completed the original game’s installation. He accepted the end-user license agreement and began downloading the first of several patches that were necessary to play the game, the last of which indicated that it would take twenty-five minutes to download. Tim left his computer and went to the living room, where he spent twenty-five minutes watching an episode of Wife Swap that didn’t interest him. He then returned to his bedroom to find that the patch had finished downloading. He applied the patch and was finally ready to play World of Warcraft again.
Tim Mooney entered his username and password, an action that had become a physical reflex for him when he was prompted by the site’s log-in screen, and received a message that read, “This account needs to be converted to a Battle.net account. Please [click here] or go to: [http://us.battle.net/account/creation/landing.xml] to begin conversion.” Tim retyped his username and password, assuming he’d made an error the first time and again received the same message. He had converted his account to a Battle.net account on the first day. It was mandatory to do so in order to play. He was unsure if this had something to do with the game being uninstalled from his computer, so he contacted the Blizzard support center via chat and, after some time spent waiting, finally received a response.
After a minute or so of chatting, the customer-support representative for Blizzard informed Tim that his account had been canceled earlier that day, and that a special request had been made to cancel the account as soon as possible, not even allowing for play to continue through the end of the month. When Tim asked who was responsible for this error, he was told that the account holder, Kent Mooney, had canceled the account.
Tim ended the call and stared blankly at the inoperable log-in screen. His father had canceled his World of Warcraft account. He should be furious, but found it impossible to generate anger. He just stared at the log-in screen, feeling detached from it all, having no control of any of it. He watched the “Pale Blue Dot” video on YouTube and found no comfort in it. Where before it had made him feel as though the insignificance shared by all humanity gave greater importance to each individual’s experiences, he now found that that same insight made him feel that nothing mattered. There was nothing anyone could do that would mean anything. The whole of life, of existence itself, was pointless. He went back into the living room and watched an episode of 16 and Pregnant, waiting for his father to return home so he could ask him why he had canceled his World of Warcraft account.
chapter
twenty-four
The second half began with a forty-six-yard kickoff return by the Culler Cougars and a subsequent touchdown and extra poi
nt after a drive of three rushing plays, making the score seventeen-seven in their favor. Coach Quinn could feel the head-coaching job slipping away from him. On the sideline he said, “We have to win this game. We have no other option. They have a good defense and a good offense, so we’re just going to have to be better. Hit your blocks and let’s make some plays out there.”
Danny Vance led the Olympians on a thirteen-play scoring drive of his own, culminating in a screen pass to Tanner Hodge for the touchdown and bringing the score to seventeen to fourteen. His thoughts of having sex with Brooke Benton had subsided to some degree, and he found it much easier to concentrate on the task at hand. The next kickoff was dropped by the Cougars’ returner and recovered by the Olympians on the thirty-five-yard line. Coach Quinn said, “That’s a gift from God, boys. Let’s not waste it.”
Danny Vance led the Olympians to another touchdown after eight plays, this scoring drive culminating in a pass over the middle to Chris Truby, making the score twenty-one to seventeen in favor of the Olympians. The score remained the same for the remainder of the third quarter and well into the fourth.
With three minutes left on the clock, the Olympians were forced to punt. Jeremy Kelms, assuming that he might have been one of the players Coach Quinn was referring to in his pregame speech, exerted himself to his fullest capacity as he kicked a thirty-eight-yard punt that put the Cougars on their own fourteen-yard line.
Coach Quinn gathered the defense before they took the field and said, “This is it. The game—hell, the entire season—is riding on your shoulders right now. You stop them, we win, we go to the playoffs. You don’t, we don’t. So don’t let me down.” He sent them onto the field and thought to himself how absurd it was that his professional future depended on the performance of a group of eleven thirteen-year-old children. He had no control in the matter.
After two successful three-play drives for first downs, the Culler Cougars found themselves on the fifty-yard line with one minute and twelve seconds left of play. Three rushing plays later, they were faced with fourth down and eight yards to go, with forty-eight seconds of play left in the game. Culler’s coach knew that a punt was pointless. He used the last of his time-outs and brought his offense to the sideline. He gave his players a speech very similar to Coach Quinn’s pregame speech, citing the fact that many of his players would not play in high school and this might very well be their last chance to do something meaningful on an organized level. He explained what they already knew: that without at least a first down, the game and their season would be over. He insisted that their best plan of attack was a run directly up the middle. It would be unexpected, as they had eight yards to gain for a first down. It was likely that the other team would spread the defense somewhat, in order to protect against a pass, and as long as the offensive line hit their blocks, the play should be successful.
The play was run just as Culler’s coach had instructed, and the Olympians’ defense was spread out just as he predicted. His offensive line hit their blocks just as they were asked to do, and the Culler Cougars’ fullback had an open hole straight up the middle, directly to Bill Francis, the middle linebacker. For Bill, the play happened in slow motion, each second storing itself in his memory forever. He would remember the images, smells, tastes, and sounds of the next five seconds for the rest of his life.
The Cougars’ fullback ran through the hole in the line and made no effort to sidestep, or spin, or in any way avoid Bill Francis. He lowered his head, tucked the football under his arm, and ran as hard as he could directly toward Bill Francis, who leaned back on his heels out of fear for the impact he could see coming. The Cougars’ fullback planted his helmet squarely in the chest of Bill Francis, who made an awkward attempt to tackle him but failed. Instead, Bill Francis found himself lying on his back, wheezing from having the wind knocked out of him, as he watched the Cougars’ fullback run unobstructed fifty yards down field and score a touchdown.
In the stands, Don Truby said, “Tim would have stopped him.”
Kent Mooney said, “I know. I know.”
The Cougars scored their extra point, bringing the score to twenty-four to twenty-one in their favor. The Olympians kicked off to Tanner Hodge, who returned the ball to the thirty-four-yard line with twenty-six seconds left in the game. Danny Vance gathered himself and led the Olympians back on the field for their final offensive attempt. He knew they likely had enough time for three plays, which had to result in a touchdown. A field goal would result in a tie, which would put their overall record at six wins, two losses, and one tie. This was an identical record to the Pound Squires, who had a higher points-per-game average than the Olympians, a factor that would determine which team would receive a playoff berth.
The first play of the drive was a thirteen-yard pass completion to Chris Truby for a first down, leaving twenty seconds on the clock. The second play was a pitch to Tanner Hodge, resulting in a seventeen-yard gain, leaving twelve seconds on the clock. The third play was another pitch to Tanner Hodge, resulting in a gain of twelve yards and leaving five seconds on the clock. Coach Quinn called his final time-out of the game and brought his team to the sideline. His team needed twenty-four yards for a touchdown, and they had one play left. He had become used to the idea that the outcome of this game—and, consequently, his career—was out of his control. He looked to Danny Vance and said, “Danny, this is your moment. You’ve grown a lot this season, and I think you know better than anyone on this field what play is going to get us in that end zone. I believe in each and every one of you guys, and your season comes down to the next five seconds. Okay, now, Olympians on three. One, two, three—Olympians!”
Danny jogged back onto the field and into the huddle. He saw Brooke on the sidelines cheering, her position slightly exposing her buttocks. He thought briefly about winning the game and then celebrating by having sex with his cheerleader girlfriend. He felt no more ready, psychologically or emotionally, to have sex than he had at the beginning of the season, but the idea of sex as a trophy for his victory was alluring. He assumed the Cougars would be playing a deep-pass prevention defense, so he called an X flat left, a pass play designed to be thrown to a receiver approximately eight to ten yards from the line of scrimmage in order to gain a first down.
Chris Truby said, “But we need to score a fucking touchdown here, man.”
Danny said, “We need to get twenty-four yards down the field to do that. If they’re going to give us the first ten, I say we take it. I’ll put the pass right in your numbers, Chris. No one will be near you. Catch it and run your ass off.”
Chris said, “Thanks, Coach.”
They broke from the huddle and approached the line of scrimmage. Danny initiated the play, and everything unfolded before him just as he had assumed it would. The Cougars were backed up to protect against the deep pass, allowing Chris to slip into the flat with no one covering him. Danny threw him the perfect pass he had promised, and Chris caught it. Chris turned to run upfield and saw that he had to beat only two defenders; the rest had been so spread out that they had no chance of getting to him before he reached the end zone. He employed a spin move to avoid the first defender, and as he approached the second defender, he attempted a head fake. But he was unsuccessful in duping the free safety, and he was tackled on the eight-yard line with no time left on the clock.
Danny Vance looked at Brooke Benton on the sideline. She was frowning in a display of sympathy for Danny. He stayed on the field longer than necessary, staring at the scoreboard, slowly accepting the fact that his season was over and his freshman year in high school would be more difficult than he expected or wanted in terms of winning the starting quarterback position on the junior varsity team.
He thought about all the decisions that led to that moment—decisions made by both him and Coach Quinn. He wondered whether, if he had not gone against Coach Quinn’s early desire to run the ball so much, it would have made a difference. He came to no conclusion. Once all the other players had lef
t the field, Coach Quinn said, “Danny, come on,” and Danny joined the rest of his team as they made their way into the field house.
Coach Quinn had no interest in coaching eighth-grade football at Goodrich Junior High School for another year, but that was beyond his control. As his team gathered around him in the field house, he said, “Guys, you played hard. That’s all I asked of you, and you gave me that. Sometimes in life things just don’t work out the way they’re supposed to, and you have to learn from that, pick yourself up, and give it another shot. Those of you who go on to play high school football: Remember tonight and become stronger from it. Those of you who just played your last organized football game: You should remember this night, too. Remember that, for one night, you put it all on the line and gave your best effort for something. That’s an important thing, an important moment in your life, and even though we didn’t get the win tonight, you guys should all be proud of a great season and a great last game. Olympians on three.”
They all put their hands together in the middle of the field house and the words rang hollow to Danny Vance as Coach Quinn said, “One, two, three—Olympians!” He hung his shoulder pads in his locker next to his helmet, knowing that he would not wear them again that year. His next set of shoulder pads and his next helmet would be issued to him by the North East High School equipment manager. It was over.
On the drive back home, Jim Vance told his son many of the same things Coach Quinn had told him in the field house: to be proud of his effort, to realize that something was to be learned from the experience, and to know that he had played well. Danny wondered if he could have played better, if he could have led a scoring drive in the second quarter had he not been preoccupied with thinking about Brooke and having sex with her. He reasoned that he might have been able to win the game. Jim said, “You know, if anyone is to blame, it’s that Bill Francis kid. Jesus, what kind of tackle was that supposed to be? He was sitting back on his heels, not moving into the tackle at all. It looked like he was scared out of his mind. You can’t beat yourself up.”
