Unstoppable

by Tim Green

  “Black Creek?” Harrison hadn’t heard mention of the school.

  “Their junior high team has its own turf field. You believe that? These guys live in the weight room from fifth grade on. Their coach is a maniac.”

  “He makes Coach Kelly look like a school nurse,” Rutledge said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Now, if we beat East Manfield—which, how could we not?” Rutledge shrugged. “And, if we get Harrison rolling, even Black Creek can’t hang with us. As long as Leo Howard is full of cat crap—which he usually is—then I’m going to make some space on my dresser for that championship trophy tonight.”

  “What about Leo?” Harrison asked, glancing at Justin.

  Rutledge took a gulp of soda and waved his hand in the air. “Cat crap. He said something like you’re not eligible to play.”

  “How could I not be eligible?” Harrison asked.

  “Exactly my point,” Rutledge said.

  “His dad’s with the D.A.,” one of the other boys said.

  “So what?” Justin said. “He’s gonna plant drugs in Harrison’s locker? Or, like, Harrison’s got some kind of criminal record? Like he’s some murderer. Hey, who’d you kill, Harrison?”

  The boys all grinned at him, chuckling at the silly joke.

  “Harrison?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  HARRISON’S GUT CHURNED AND he choked back the stomach acid in his throat. “You guys are crazy.”

  They all laughed out loud.

  “You should see your face!” Justin howled.

  The joy from the friendship and the football field drained out of Harrison. “My last foster father died. It was an accident. On the farm. I saw it happen.”

  The silence at the table got even bigger when the woman behind the register cackled with the guy making the subs after he spurted mayonnaise on his shirt.

  “Sorry, Harrison.” Justin spoke quietly and put a hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “We were just goofing.”

  “I know.” Harrison stood. “It’s okay. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  As he walked away, no one spoke. He stepped outside and saw Coach’s truck pulling into the parking lot. Harrison crossed the pavement and climbed in. Coach put the truck in gear and off they went.

  “How was Subway?” Coach asked, turning the corner and heading up Main Street. “I hope you didn’t ruin your dinner.”

  “Fine.”

  “Look, here’s that phone. I put my number and Jennifer’s in it for you already so you can call us if you want.”

  Harrison took the phone, something he should have been thrilled with but could only hold quietly.

  Coach took a closer look at him. “I thought you’d love a phone.”

  “No, I do, Coach. It’s great.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Harrison stared straight ahead at the traffic. “I told them, the guys.”

  “That you’re our foster child? That’s okay. I wasn’t trying to hide it; I just wanted it to come out naturally, and now it did.”

  “Not that. I told them about Mr. Constable—not that I killed him but that it was an accident.”

  “Of course you didn’t kill him, Harrison.” Coach pulled the truck over. “We all know what happened. Why would that even come up?”

  The words gushed out of Harrison’s mouth. “They were kidding. They didn’t know, but someone said it as a joke. Leo Howard’s dad is with the D.A. and Leo is telling people I won’t be here after tomorrow. Then someone joked that I must have been a criminal and I just told them. Can he do that? Stop me from playing?”

  “Leo Howard’s dad?” Coach’s face went from angry to confused to worried. “Oh boy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “OH BOY, WHAT?” HARRISON asked.

  Coach set his jaw and pulled the truck back out into traffic. “Let’s get your hair cut. Don’t worry about Leo Howard, or his father. I’ll handle them.”

  “But you said, ‘oh boy.’ Why did you say that?”

  “He’s just . . .” Coach swatted the air next to his head. “He’s a pain in the neck, and this is not what I need right now, but don’t worry. I’ve done battle with people worse than him.”

  Harrison thought about the picture of Coach in his Army uniform, ready for action in the desert. “You mean in the war?”

  “That’s not really what I meant, but I guess that fits.”

  “And they were trying to kill you.”

  “Yes, they were.”

  “And Leo Howard’s father’s not that bad.”

  “Maybe not.” Coach turned the truck into the parking lot of a small strip of shops.

  Harrison followed him inside the salon. The bell jingled and the smell of chemicals and hairspray hit him like a wave.

  “Hi, Denise,” Coach said to a heavyset woman who was dusting hair off a black vinyl barber’s chair.

  “I’m ready for you.” She patted the chair.

  “Not me, him.” Coach pointed a thumb at Harrison.

  “Oh, great. What are we doing?”

  “Just cut it real short so my helmet fits,” Harrison said.

  Denise patted the chair again. “Right here. Your helmet? You got a new football player, Coach? That’s some shiner he’s got.”

  “Denise, this is Harrison. He’s our foster son, and it so happens that he is a pretty good football player.”

  Harrison tried not to glow.

  Denise cut his hair short, but both she and Coach figured out together that he should leave a bit more on top to give him some style to go with the close-cut sides and back. Harrison stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like an entirely different person, and not in a bad way.

  “Thanks,” Harrison said to Coach, uncomfortable at the sight of him opening up his wallet.

  “You’re very welcome,” Coach said, taking the change and giving back a couple bills to Denise as a tip.

  In the truck, Coach said, “You look good.”

  Harrison couldn’t stop running his fingers across the soft stubble. When Jennifer saw him, she gave a low whistle and said, “Handsome.” That made Harrison blush maybe harder than he ever had before, but partly because when she said it, Harrison immediately thought of Becky Smart.

  After dinner, Jennifer removed an apple pie from the oven and put it out on the table along with a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream. Harrison had never tasted anything so sweet and delicious, and Jennifer served him three portions before he finally could eat no more. Harrison did his homework at the kitchen table. Jennifer sat next to him and helped before they joined Coach in the other room. In the warm light of the living room, as darkness gathered outside and the three of them sat slowly flipping pages of their books, Harrison thought he might be in heaven. The good food and the long, hard practice left his eyes heavy and fluttering.

  “How about bed?” Coach said a little after nine. “You’ll be sore in the morning.”

  Harrison went to bed and lay there listening to the garbled sound of his new foster parents talking at the other end of the hall behind closed doors. When the nasty memory of Leo Howard and the look of concern on Coach’s face came to roost in his mind, Harrison was thankful to be too tired to pay them much notice. Instead, he turned on his side and went to sleep.

  In the morning, Harrison was sore. His whole body ached, but nothing more than his neck. He crawled out of bed, got ready for school, and hobbled downstairs into the smell of coffee and eggs crackling in their pan. Coach put down the paper and looked at his watch. “You’re moving slow. Don’t worry, you’ll feel better once the blood gets flowing.”

  Coach’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and scowled before he even answered it. “This is Coach Kelly . . . Yes, Mark. How can I help you? . . . I guess I can do that. My lunch break is at eleven forty-five. I can meet you in my office by the gym. . . . Fine, I’ll see you then.”

  “What was that about?” Jennifer asked.

  Coach frowned. “Leo Howard’s da
d wants to meet.”

  Harrison sat at his place and drank some orange juice, eager for the eggs Jennifer was sliding out of the pan and onto his plate. “Is that about me, Coach?”

  Jennifer froze, and a fried egg hung on the lip of the pan before dropping onto Coach’s plate.

  “What does Leo Howard’s dad have to do with Harrison?” she asked.

  Coach set down the paper and picked up his fork. “Nothing.”

  “It’s never nothing with that man, Ron.”

  “Harrison bested his kid yesterday. Leo’s not a bad player, but he grew up thinking he’s doing the rest of us a favor by just being around. The kids go along with it because he’s bigger and better than most of them, but Harrison rocked his world a bit.”

  “Rocked his world? What does that mean?” Jennifer set the pan in the sink.

  “Busted him in the mouth.” Coach took a bite of toast.

  Jennifer spun around. “Not literally? Harrison didn’t get into a fight with him—he didn’t punch him, did he?”

  “No, just blew through him like a bulldozer. Kid bruised his shoulder, I guess. Probably hurt his pride more than anything, but with a kid like that, pride hurts more than blood and bones.”

  “How did you know his father was calling about you, Harrison?” Jennifer asked.

  Harrison had been watching the two of them like a tennis match. Now he swallowed and said, “He told Justin Rabin that I wasn’t going to be eligible after today.”

  “And?” Jennifer looked at Coach.

  Coach finished his last bite of egg and got up from the table. “It’s all hogwash.”

  “Why aren’t you looking at me?” Jennifer asked him.

  Coach stopped and turned. “What?”

  “In the eye,” she said.

  Coach slowly raised his eyes. His shoulders slumped.

  “There’s something you’re not telling us,” she said. “What is it?”

  Chapter Thirty

  “I’M HIS GUARDIAN AND his coach,” Coach said, sounding like one of the lawyers Harrison had heard from time to time making their arguments in the courthouse. “So there’s this rule about not having pads on for the first week of practice and I kind of glossed over that part because I want Harrison to get into the groove as fast as he can. It’s a silly rule for kids who are . . . who are . . . Well, not a kid as big and strong as Harrison. He laid waste to half the team. He wasn’t in any danger, I can promise you that.”

  Silence hung for a moment before Jennifer said, “But you broke the rules.”

  “I waived the rules. I’m his guardian, for God’s sake, and his coach. These rules are made up by people who have no idea.”

  Jennifer sighed. “But when Mark Howard gets onto this, he’ll press the issue, won’t he? Of course he will. He’s an obnoxious, pompous jerk.”

  “I can handle him,” Coach said.

  “Oh no. I can handle him, not you.” Jennifer tugged off her apron, wiped her hands, and threw it down in the sink. “I’ll get my briefcase and stop there on the way to my office. Don’t you speak with him.”

  “Jennifer, I’ll be fine.”

  She stopped and turned on him, pointing right at his face. “You’ve worked too hard for this, Ron Kelly. All those nights watching film in the basement? Standing in the rain scouting the other teams? Baking in the sun during two-a-day practices? Now Harrison comes to us—not because you tried to find a boy who was big and fast and strong, but because I needed a child in our home, and because he needed us. And now some fathead like Mark Howard is going to mess that up because Harrison knocked his kid over on a football field? I don’t think so.”

  “I said, I can handle it.”

  “He’ll tear you apart, Ron. You were wrong and you know it. He’ll know it, and he’ll use it to make you mad, and you’ll get mad. Worst case, you punch his lights out. Best case, you scream and slam your fist and the school administrators get involved and it’ll be a mess no one will be able to sort out. Let me do what I do, Ron. He might be a lawyer, but I’m a better one. Let me fight fire with fire.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “That you didn’t break the rules.”

  “But I kind of did.”

  “Really? Well, that all depends on how people interpret the rules, right? Now think. Was there anything, any piece of equipment at all that Harrison didn’t have on yesterday? I mean, it was his first day ever. Did he leave something behind?”

  “I put my shoulder pads on backwards,” Harrison said, trying to be helpful.

  “No.” Jennifer shook her head.

  Coach snapped his fingers. “Rib pads. I told him to forget his rib pads because they’d take too long to lace up, but you don’t have to have rib pads to play.”

  “But he has rib pads and he didn’t wear them,” Jennifer said. “So I can honestly say that he wasn’t in full pads, and I can say that you allowed him to wear some pads as a precaution. All I need is a thread, and I’ve got it. Trust me, Ron. You don’t want anyone but me to handle this.”

  Coach looked at Harrison and pointed a thumb at Jennifer. “Is she smart, or what?”

  Harrison grinned. He was used to lawyers using their tricks against him; he never imagined they could use the same tricks to help people.

  “Great,” Coach said. “Okay, Harrison, let’s get going. My new fishing boat is still in the picture.”

  “Don’t go buying a new boat yet,” Jennifer said.

  Coach stopped with his hand on the door. “You said you’d take care of it.”

  “I said I’d try, and I will.”

  “Then that’s it.”

  “I hope that’s it, but I make no guarantees,” she said. “You two get to school. I’ll call you and let you know how it goes.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  IN MATH CLASS, LEO Howard sneered at Harrison but said nothing. Harrison could hear Leo muttering things under his breath from time to time, but he stayed busy paying attention to Mrs. Zebolt. When the teacher called on Harrison, he was ready. He stepped up to the board and finished the problem without a pause.

  Mrs. Zebolt sniffed. “Not bad, Harry.”

  “Harrison.” The name popped out of Harrison’s mouth without him thinking.

  “Excuse me?”

  Harrison stood in front of the class feeling big and awkward and silly with his new haircut and his discolored eye. “That’s my name.”

  “I know. Harry.”

  “That’s not my name, Mrs. Zebolt. It’s Harrison.”

  “Harrison. Harry. Stop looking for trouble and go back to your seat.”

  “Hey, Harry!” Leo Howard crooned from his seat. “Harry Johnson.”

  The class giggled. Mrs. Zebolt adjusted her little round glasses so that they sat crooked on her face. “Never mind that. Sit down, Harry.”

  Harrison stood rooted to the floor. He crossed his arms and gritted his teeth. “No.”

  “You’ll sit down right now or you’ll sit in the principal’s office.”

  Harrison felt tears welling up in his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek. “My name is Harrison.”

  “Come on, have a seat, Harry Johnson.” Leo Howard patted Harrison’s seat.

  “I told you I knew about your past and I also told you it wasn’t going to be that way here. Go!” Mrs. Zebolt’s face turned red. “Right now, to the office.”

  “Harrison,” he said.

  “You go, mister!”

  “Call me Harrison. That’s my name.”

  Mrs. Zebolt dug into her desk drawer and came up with a wooden ruler. “You don’t tell me!”

  The teacher raised the ruler and switched it at Harrison. He snatched the ruler instinctively and snapped it in two as easily as Leo’s pencil before he chucked the pieces against the grease board. The broken ruler clattered to the floor. Mrs. Zebolt’s mouth fell open before she ran to the phone on the wall, snatched it up, and shouted, “I need security in my classroom! I need the police!”

  Har
rison didn’t move. He stood like a stage actor, looking out over an audience entranced by a magical performance, round and oval faces whose mouths and eyes strained wide in disbelief and were lit by the excitement of a mob.

  In the corner, only Becky Smart looked worried.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  HARRISON SAT AT THE end of the conference table. The principal, Mr. Fisk, sat at the opposite end. On one side of Harrison was the baby-faced Officer Lewin and Mr. Sofia, the guidance counselor. On the other side Coach stared down at his clenched hands. Officer Lewin was the chubby cop who gently led Harrison out of the classroom by the elbow. Once he saw the uniform, Harrison’s feet came unglued from the floor.

  “Coach Kelly, we just can’t have Harrison disrupting classes in this way.” The principal wore a sad and tired face with wrinkles built up on his forehead beneath the shiny dome of his head. Little wisps of gray hair surrounded his ears. Dark plastic frames held lenses thick enough to shrink his eyes. “I understand Harrison has had a troubled past, but this is a school, not a reformatory.”

  The door swung open and Jennifer slipped inside before closing it behind her. She slid a chair into place between Coach and Harrison and put a hand on Harrison’s leg, giving it a good squeeze.

  “I got here as fast as I could,” she said.

  Mr. Fisk cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I was just saying that maybe we should be looking to find a place better suited for someone with Harrison’s . . . issues.”

  Jennifer’s back stiffened. “What issues?”

  The principal looked from Coach to the policeman for support, lowered his voice, and said, “Mrs. Kelly, we all know Harrison has a history of violence. He completely disrupted Mrs. Zebolt’s math class today, and everyone’s talking about what happened in football practice yesterday. I’m thinking of Harrison as much as the other students. The best thing we can do is find him another place.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “FOOTBALL PRACTICE?” JENNIFER SEEMED to have to fight to keep her voice from exploding. “Kids are supposed to be aggressive. It’s football, Mr. Fisk.”