Initiation

by Phil M. Williams

  Carter stood on the sideline as Noah, Devin, Justin and the rest of the defense trotted out. The first two plays were much like the warmups with the running back being smothered in the backfield. On third and twelve, the Marauders blitzed, but Washington Heights kept their running backs in to pass block. Noah was one-on-one with their slot receiver, Scooter Brooks. The receiver sprinted up field fourteen yards and broke outside on the out. Noah was three steps behind. Scooter caught the pass for the first down. Noah dove at his feet, making a touchdown-saving tackle.

  Coach Pitts yelled from the sideline, “Don’t let him get you turned the wrong way. Watch his belt buckle.”

  The Washington Heights Warriors ran the ball on first and second down for short gains. On third and seven, the quarterback faked the handoff. Noah bit on the play fake. The quarterback launched a rocket downfield to Scooter on a corner route. Noah trailed by five yards, but the ball sailed beyond the receiver’s outstretched arms.

  The Warriors punted on fourth down. Coach Pitts scowled at Noah as he jogged off the field.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Coach Pitts said. “How the hell do you bite on a play fake on third and long? Get it together.”

  Kevin Lewis ate up big chunks of yardage slashing inside and outside. Luke capped off the drive with a touchdown pass to Dwayne in the back corner of the end zone.

  It was late in the third quarter, and the sun had long disappeared, replaced by the artificial glow of the stadium lights. The Warriors and Marauders were in a defensive stalemate until Scooter Brooks ran a double move – a hitch and go. Noah bit hard on the hitch. The receiver was wide open on the go for a forty-yard touchdown. After the extra point, the game was tied, seven-seven.

  “God dammit,” Coach Cowan said, tossing his clipboard. He turned to Coach Pitts. “Noah’s gettin’ torched. Get Carter in next series. They’ll keep comin’ back to number two until we shut him down.”

  Luke and the offense answered with a fifty-yard pass to Dwayne. The referee threw the yellow flag as Dwayne caught the ball over his shoulder with a defender still draped over his back. Three plays later Kevin scored on a sweep as the last few seconds ticked off the third quarter. The extra point was blocked. The score was thirteen-seven.

  After the kickoff, Carter stayed on the field. Devin gave him a nod. On first down, the Warriors ran inside. The running back was swallowed up by Zach and the defensive line – no gain. On second and long, Carter was locked up man-to-man with Scooter. Coming your way, they’re gonna test you. The quarterback faked the run and threw deep. Carter was stride for stride with the receiver as the ball sailed over their heads: incomplete. On third and ten, Scooter sprinted downfield, and turned around at the first down marker. The quarterback threw a bullet. The receiver reached to catch the ball over his head, his eyes tracking it through the sky. As the ball touched his hands, Carter planted his facemask in the middle of Scooter’s back, the whiplash jarring the ball loose.

  After the punt, the Marauders’ offense went three and out. When the Warriors lined up for that first down play midway through the fourth quarter, they hadn’t thrown on first down that entire game, and they hadn’t thrown a single pass at the Marauders’ skinny five-foot-eight cornerback, Devin. Past events don’t necessarily predict future events. The Warriors quarterback took the snap, and a three step drop. He let loose a bomb, high and deep, a tight spiral. Devin was hip to hip with the six-foot-one receiver, sprinting downfield, focused on the ball sailing toward him. He pressed the receiver toward the sideline with his backside, as if he was boxing him out for a rebound. Devin leaped and snagged the football, his vertical jump making up for his lack of height.

  Later, on the sideline, Devin couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

  Carter, standing next to him, grinned. “I’m glad you stayed awake for that one.”

  Devin laughed. “I hadn’t seen any action the whole game, but I had a feeling it was coming my way.”

  “That was a great play.”

  Kevin Lewis popped a fifty-yard run to take the Marauders deep into Warrior territory. It was first and goal from the nine-yard line with four and a half minutes left in the game.

  “They’re done,” Carter said to Devin.

  Kevin Lewis went in motion. On the snap, Luke turned and tossed the football to Kevin. The Warriors’ outside linebacker was coming on a blitz. He rammed his helmet into the ball and it squirted out of Kevin’s hands. The Warriors’ safety scooped it up with nothing but green in front of him. The safety raced down the Marauders’ sideline, eighty-five guys watching, stunned. Dwayne took a deep angle from the opposite side of the field, catching the kid from behind at the nineteen-yard line. The score was still thirteen-seven, Marauders on top.

  “Defense!” Coach Cowan called out, his face red.

  On first down, the Warriors’ quarterback rolled out, looking for a receiver. Everyone was covered, so he ran it, getting out of bounds after six yards. On second down, Carter was man-to-man on Scooter. He ran a bubble route behind the line of scrimmage. The quarterback threw the ball into the dirt a few yards behind the receiver. Everyone stopped on the incompletion except for Carter. The ball was live. Carter scooped it up and sprinted downfield, five yards ahead of the nearest player, before the Warriors realized and gave chase. It felt like slow motion, the ball skipping on the ground and bouncing into his arms as he caught it in stride and motored down the field, the end zone getting closer, the sound on mute. As he crossed the goal line, sound burst back into his consciousness. The fans stomped on the aluminum stands, cheering. The announcer called out his name. He tossed the football to the referee and was mobbed by the defense, all ten of them making the eighty-yard jaunt down the field. They threw a flag for excessive celebration.

  * * *

  Carter stood in his black Marauder sweatpants and a T-shirt. He slammed his locker shut. Zach and Justin strolled by dressed in their street clothes.

  Zach lifted his chin to Carter. “Good game.”

  Carter nodded, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder.

  “You’re comin’ to the party, right?” Justin said.

  “It’s at my house,” Zach added.

  “I’ll see you guys there,” Carter replied.

  Carter stopped at the locker room door and glanced around the empty room. Used athletic tape, paper Gatorade cups, and clods of turf littered the floor. He walked into the hallway. Coach Cowan was locking his office door with a briefcase in hand. His face was haggard, his eyes red.

  “I expect you’ll be on time for films tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, sir,” Carter replied.

  “Were your parents at the game tonight?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We’re at home again next week. You should tell ’em to come, because we’re on the road for three weeks after that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Coach Cowan and Carter walked out of the locker room together. The parking lot was empty except for a Chevy Suburban and Cowan’s pickup truck.

  “Need a ride?” Coach asked.

  Carter looked over Cowan’s shoulder. Amber stood in a short sundress, cowboy boots, and a grin. Coach Cowan glanced back then turned to Carter.

  “Don’t do anything stupid tonight,” he said.

  – 10 –

  Sociology Sucks

  The garage door was open, the afternoon sun high in the sky. The makeshift weight room was cramped, but orderly. Carter picked up a metal Olympic bar and set it on the bench press. Forty-five-pound metal plates leaned against the rack. He grabbed onto the lip of a plate and heaved it onto the bar, sliding it into place before repeating the ritual on the opposite side. He lay down on the bench, his feet still planted on the concrete. Easing the barbell off the rack, he lowered the weight to his chest and pushed. After ten repetitions, he set the barbell back on the rack. He stood up and stretched his upper body. He added another forty-five-pound plate to each side.

  With everything in place
, Carter entered the basement through the garage. His dad sat in front of the computer, entranced by the tiny pixels on the screen. Carter passed him quietly and walked up the basement steps, taking two at a time. His mother was in the kitchen placing a casserole in the oven. She wore sandals and tight designer jeans that hugged her thin legs and hips. Her dark hair was streaked with auburn highlights.

  “Hey, Mom, can you spot me for like five minutes?” Carter asked.

  Grace shut the oven door and turned toward her son with a smile. “Sure, sweetheart. I just need to take the casserole out in twenty minutes.” She took off her oven mitts and set them on the counter. She followed Carter down the basement steps.

  Jim peeled his eyes from the computer screen to glare at Carter and Grace as they descended.

  “What are you doin’?” Jim said to Grace.

  “Helping Carter,” she said as she passed, not making eye contact.

  In the garage, Carter sat on the bench. His mother stood behind with her hands on the bar. He glanced back.

  “I probably won’t need help on this one,” Carter said. “So don’t touch the bar unless I say help.”

  Carter pressed the bar off the rack. His upper body bulged, his veins popping on his arms as he moved the weight up and down. He exhaled as he pushed and inhaled as he lowered. After eight repetitions he placed the bar back on the rack.

  “I might need your help on the next one,” he said as he stood.

  He picked up a twenty-five-pound circular plate from a neat stack along the wall.

  “I still can’t believe how good you’re doing,” Grace said. “You should have heard how the other parents were talking about you in the stands. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

  Carter’s face felt hot. “Thanks, Mom. It’s only been four games. We’ve got a long way to go.” Carter slammed the weight on the bar and grabbed another from the stack.

  She smiled, showing crow’s feet in the corners of her small blue eyes. “Still, you should be very proud of all your accomplishments.”

  Carter slammed the weight on the opposite side of the bar. “Thanks.”

  The basement door opened and Jim’s mammoth pale frame squeezed through. He eyed the weight on the bench press before frowning at Grace’s feet. “You shouldn’t be out here in sandals,” he said.

  Grace glanced at her shoes then to her husband. “Oh it’s fine. Carter knows what he’s doing.”

  Jim nodded, his jaw set tight. “He does, does he?” He glared at Carter. “How much you got on there?”

  “Two seventy-five,” Carter said.

  Jim crossed his meaty forearms and chuckled, exposing his gap. “You can lift that much? What do you weigh, like a buck fifty?”

  “One sixty-seven.” Carter waved his arms back and forth.

  “Step back,” Jim said to Grace. “You’re not gonna be able to pull this thing up when it crushes his chest.”

  Carter frowned. Grace stepped aside.

  “Don’t touch it,” Carter said to Jim, “unless I say help.”

  Jim had a crooked grin. “How many you doin’?”

  “Two.” Carter stretched his arm across his body.

  “You gonna do this, or you just gonna stand there?”

  Carter sat down on the bench and took a deep breath. He lay back and reached up, spacing his hands evenly on the bar. Carter took three rapid breaths and pushed the bar off the rack, the full brunt of the weight bearing down on his torso. He inhaled as he lowered the weight to his chest. As it touched him, he exhaled and pressed upward, his entire body taut. The bar moved slowly upward, stopping at the top. He took three rapid breaths and eased the bar back down again, this time bouncing the bar off his chest before pushing it upward. The bar made slow progress. Carter’s back arched, his face glowing red. Jim put his hands under the bar, but didn’t touch it until Carter slammed it back onto the rack. Carter sat up, the red draining from his face.

  Grace clapped, smiling.

  Jim scowled at his wife. “He bounced that second one. That doesn’t count.”

  Carter rolled his eyes.

  “You just continue to amaze me,” Grace said to Carter. She turned to Jim. “You know Carter was in the paper again today. They called him a superstar transfer.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Jim said, “is why other teams don’t run at you more. As small as you are, that’s what I’d do.”

  Carter took a deep breath. “I play in the middle of the field. They run at me all the time.”

  “If it were me, I’d send a big tight end right at you, one of those big basketball players. He could just push you out of the way and grab the football like a rebound.”

  “That would be offensive pass interference.”

  Jim shrugged. “If I were playin’, there’s no way I’d let someone your size tackle me.”

  Carter clenched his fists. “Maybe you should talk to the Alexandria Central coach, give ’em some pointers, since you know so much.”

  Jim glowered at his stepson. “Watch your tone.”

  “He doesn’t look smaller than the other kids,” Grace said.

  Jim smirked. “Come on Grace, they got a three-hundred-pound lineman.”

  “I don’t play on the line,” Carter said.

  “I’m just surprised your coach wouldn’t want some kid that was my size playin’ in the middle.”

  Carter exhaled. “You think size is all you need to be a good football player? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Watch it.”

  “No, I won’t watch it. We got plenty of big kids that sit the bench, because they suck.”

  Jim dropped his arms and clenched his fists. “You will watch it.”

  Carter ignored him. “They might be big, but they’re slow, they’re weak, and they don’t wanna hit anyone.”

  “When I played, I was big, strong, and I hit everything that moved. I hope you don’t run into anyone like me.” He chuckled.

  “Jim, nobody cares about your J.V. football career,” Grace said.

  Carter stifled a laugh.

  Jim narrowed his eyes at Grace, then at Carter. “I didn’t have time for football. I had to work. I wasn’t born with a god damn silver spoon in my mouth.”

  “You wouldn’t even make the scout team here,” Carter said. “I could probably run the forty backwards faster than you can run it forward.”

  “Carter, stop it,” Grace said.

  “Let him keep talkin’ shit,” Jim said. “Let’s see him back it up in the real world.” Jim stomped out of the garage, down the driveway, and into the street. He motioned for Carter. “Come on, tough guy. Put your money where your mouth is.”

  “Jim, stop this,” Grace said. “This is getting out of hand.”

  “Come on out here too,” Jim said to Grace. “You can judge the winner.”

  Carter and Grace walked into the street.

  “We’ll start here,” Jim said, pointing to the long crack in the asphalt in front of them, “and we’ll go to the end of the last townhouse on our row. That looks close to forty yards.”

  Carter shook his head. “More like thirty, but it doesn’t matter what the distance is.”

  “Go stand across from the last townhouse,” Jim said to Grace. “Hold your hands up and we’ll go when you drop them.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Grace said as she walked down the street.

  Carter bent over and touched his toes. He lined up on the crack beside Jim, one foot forward, one foot back.

  “What are you doin’?” Jim said. “I thought you could beat me runnin’ backwards?”

  Carter turned around, his back toward the finish line. “How am I supposed to see Mom drop her arms?”

  “You shoulda thought of that before talkin’ all that shit.”

  Carter placed his right foot forward, pigeon-toed, his left foot back, and his knees bent. Jim put one foot forward, his toes over the line. Carter turned his head to the left, watching his dad. As soon as Jim’s
calf flexed, Carter pushed his right foot into the asphalt before sprinting backwards with a fluid stride, his arms pumping back and forth. Jim’s heavy footfalls were a yard in front. Halfway to the finish line, he passed the bulky sergeant. Carter smiled at his father as he passed the finish line a few yards ahead of him.

  “God dammit, Arnold,” Jim said to himself.

  Carter and Grace laughed and walked toward the garage.

  “He got you,” Grace said to Jim.

  Jim tightened his jaw as he followed. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t just run him over in a game.”

  “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is,” Carter said with a smirk. “Since you’re so big and strong, you should be able to lift more than me.” Carter motioned toward the bench in the garage.

  “Oh shoot,” Grace said. “I’ve got to get my casserole. You boys play nice.” She ran into the house.

  Jim stood in front of the bench, eyeing the bending bar on the rack.

  “You gonna do this, or you just gonna stand there?” Carter said.

  Jim sat down. Carter moved behind the bench.

  “Do you want a spot?” Carter asked.

  “I got it,” he said.

  “All right,” Carter said, his hands up.

  Jim rolled his neck, lay back, and put his hands on the bar. He pushed the bar off the rack. It plummeted straight down onto his chest, bouncing a few inches in the air before pinning him to the bench. His face was beet red. He squirmed under the pressure.

  “Help,” he said.

  Carter stepped forward, grabbing the bar with a reverse grip. He pulled upward with all his might. The bar dropped onto the rack with a dull thud.