by A. L. Priest
When the next play was called, Flick signaled a bang-eight—a post in which the receiver trucks downfield and then moves to the center to catch a pass at high speed. Efram let his defensive teammates know, and this time neither Johnson nor Rector questioned him.
The Giants hiked the ball, the linemen moved into action, and Johnson and Rector were soon on top of the Giants receivers. So when the Rhodes quarterback threw the ball, it was a simple matter of Rector slowing down, moving inward, and leaping into the air before he snatched the ball. The crowd booed the Troy interception.
From there, it all went downhill for the Giants.
By the second quarter, the Trojans were up seventeen to zero. By then, the whole defensive team looked to Efram before each Giant’s play. When the Trojan offense took on the field, the defense—even the linemen—cheered as though they’d won already.
“Strong D today!” Johnson crowed, smiling. “James here’s calling the shots! Big ballin’, shot callin’!”
“What’s that?” Colby asked. “What’s this about?” The defensive coach seemed alarmed.
“James here’s been predicting the future. He knows what the Giants are gonna do before they know themselves!” Watkins said.
Colby peered at Efram, his eyes narrowed. His face looked like curdled milk. But he said nothing.
The next time the Troy defense took the field, Flick signaled to Efram once again. And Efram saw Coach Colby looking at Flick.
As Colby went over to speak with Efram’s friend, the imminent Giants’ play drew Efram’s attention. Johnson, Rector, and Watkins looked at Efram to clue them in on the play, but Efram had to shrug and play dumb.
The Giants gained speed on their next play. Although Efram managed to tackle their receiver, Rhodes still passed the ball for a first down. When Efram came up from the tangle of human bodies on the field, he could see Colby arguing with Flick, whose face was scrunched up in anger.
By the next play, Flick was nowhere to be seen. Coach Colby stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Efram
“What’s up, man?” Rector asked Efram. “You lose your mojo?”
Efram seethed and turned to look for the Giants offensive coach himself. The thing was, only Flick had committed the Giants’ signals to memory. Efram had no intel for his teammates.
The Giants took to the line of scrimmage, and the Trojans matched them. At the hike, the Giants backfield crossed the grass. The Rhodes offensive line bellowed like a wounded beast as the quarterback launched the ball in the air. It arced downfield until the Giant’s receiver had it in his hands. He sprinted for the end zone. Touchdown.
The Rhodes Central High stadium erupted in cheers and celebration. The Giants offense hiked the ball again, then set it, and the Giant’s kicker put the ball through the goal post.
By the half, the score was seventeen to fourteen.
When the horn sounded, signaling the half, Efram found himself confronted by Coach Colby.
“I don’t know what you and your little friend think you are doing,” he spat, grabbing Efram’s arm as he made his way back to the locker room. Colby’s voice was low, as if he were nervous that he’d be overheard. “But I’m not going to sit here and let you make a fool out of me.”
Even at sixteen years old, Efram was four inches taller than Coach Colby, and he was sure he weighed considerably more too. With a quick twist, he jerked his arm away. Colby’s eyes widened in surprise.
“No,” Efram said. “We’re not trying to make you look like a fool. You do that just fine on your own.”
“Don’t mess with me, James,” Colby hissed.
“Why are you even here?” Efram asked. “You don’t do anything. Flick’s a better coach than you.”
Colby’s face became so red with anger that for a moment, Efram thought he might be having a heart attack.
“One more word from you, you’re off the team.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me,” Coach Colby said. The man turned and walked off.
“What happened out there, man?” Johnson said to Efram once they were in the locker room.
“Nothing,” Efram said. From the other side of the locker room, Colby watched him with lidded eyes.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Johnson exclaimed.
Efram looked around, nervously. Other players were watching them now.
“I mean nothing,” Efram said. Part of him wondered why he was covering up his and Flick’s plan. But when he looked at the hatred glowing in Colby’s eyes, he knew he had to be careful.
“You were calling plays like you were in their huddle, man,” Rector said loudly. “And then it all stopped!”
Efram was shaking his head when he heard Coach Zachary say, “What’s this?”
Rector turned to the head coach. “James. He was feeding us the Giants’ plays.”
Coach Zachary glanced at Coach Whitson and then at Colby, whose lips were pursed in disgust.
“Is that right, Efram?” Coach Zachary asked. When Efram glanced at Colby, Coach Zachary’s eyes widened.
Zachary came and stood close to Efram. Quietly, he said, “It’s fine, Efram. Don’t worry about Colby.” He waited until Efram nodded. “Were you calling the plays?”
“Yes,” Efram said. “But only because Flick and I figured out the Giants’ hand signals.”
“You did what?” Coach Zachary looked half tickled and half surprised.
“We looked up the Giants games on You-Tube and decoded their hand signals.”
Coach Zachary began to laugh, eyes closed. He laughed for a long while. Finally, he said, “Who’s this Flick person?”
“My friend, Flick …er, Frederick… Washington.”
“Wait, the kid with the mohawk?” Coach Zachary asked.
“Yes.”
He laughed again. He turned to Coach Colby. “You ran him off?”
“Well, I…”
Coach Zachary made a chopping motion with his hand, silencing him. “You’re a fine PE teacher, Jim. But you’ve gone too far this time. Go find that kid and bring him back.”
Colby left the locker room, hanging his head. For a few minutes, Coach Zachary questioned Efram closely regarding everything he knew about the Giants’ play list, the signals. Efram explained the process that he and Flick had gone through.
The players listened, some laughing, some in awe.
Soon, Colby appeared in the doorway with Flick, an ashamed look on the coach’s face. To Efram, Flick looked even smaller than usual in the fluorescent light of the locker room.
Coach Zachary drew Flick aside and spoke to him for a few moments, though Efram couldn’t make out what he was saying. Near the end of their conversation, Zachary extended his hand and Flick shook it, grinning.
Coach Zachary turned to the rest of the team.
“Boys, allow me to introduce you to Flick Washington, the newest member of the Trojan football team.”
The locker room filled with clapping and laughter. A broad smile spread across Flick’s face.
“Somebody get this kid a jersey,” Coach Zachary said.
The rest of the game was a massacre. With Flick feeding the plays to the defense, the Rhodes Giants were unable to move the ball. The Trojan offense wore down its opponents into exhaustion.
The game ended thirty-two to fourteen.
As sirens sounded, Efram ran over and grabbed Flick into a great bear hug.
“Hoss, you’re gonna break my ribs!” Flick exclaimed, laughing. “Wait a sec.”
The other players saw what was happening and clustered around, grabbing Flick’s feet. In a moment they had him above their heads, carrying him off the field.
Later, after it was all over, Efram and Flick rode near the back of the team bus. The spot was a position of honor—what the team liked to call the “bouncy” seats. When the bus hit any kind of bump, those in the back nearly went flying.
Flick looked over at his friend and said, “Thanks, man. For everything.”
<
br /> “Hey, don’t get all feelings on me,” Efram said, grinning.
“Don’t worry.”
“Does this mean I can ask your sister out on a date?”
“Don’t push it, man,” Flick said.
“Is that a yes?”
“Thin ice, hoss. You’re walking on thin ice.”
“What is a ‘hoss’ anyway?”
“Heck if I know,” Flick said.
“So that’s a yes on Marimae?”
“Shut up, man.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“I will hit you.”
Efram laughed. And after a moment, Flick did too.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.L. Priest is a writer from Little Rock, Arkansas.
