Unstoppable

by Tim Green

“No, that’s something more. That’s like being someone’s real kid.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know. That’d be crazy. I mean, you’re pretty old.”

  Harrison scowled. “It happens sometimes.”

  “Don’t get mad. I didn’t even mean you.” Justin wagged his head.

  “Who did you mean?”

  “Well, I live with my grandmother, and she’s not too happy about it. She even says so. I never thought there was a way out, that I could get a mom and dad, people to adopt a kid as old as you or me.”

  “Where’s your mom and dad?”

  Justin looked down at the sidewalk. “No one knows. My grandmother says my mom’s no good anyway. I don’t know. Everyone’s got some good in them, right? A little? No one ever said anything about my father.”

  “That’s me, too,” Harrison said. “Stuff happens.”

  “Now look at you. After Saturday’s game everyone in town will be talking about you.”

  “Maybe,” Harrison said. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know? Look what you did to everyone today. No one wanted a piece of you, especially me.”

  “Well,” Harrison said, “I guess we’ll find out Saturday. I don’t know because I’ve never done it. I’ve never played in a real game.”

  “It’s all the same.”

  “Did you ever have the feeling, when everything’s going well, like, it can’t last?” Harrison asked.

  “I think I know what you mean,” Justin said.

  “Everything seemed so great,” Harrison said, “like I was so high up it made me dizzy.”

  “That’s a good thing. That’s where you want to be.”

  “Yeah, but when it’s too good to be true, it’s because it is too good to be true.”

  “What do you mean?” Justin frowned.

  Harrison didn’t want to talk about the thing with Becky. Instead, he said, “I just feel like I got too high, and now I’m on my way down. That’s why I don’t know what’s going to happen Saturday. I just hope it’s not another disaster. That’s what my life has pretty much been—a disaster.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  THE BROOKTON HIGH SCHOOL team got clobbered 63–0 on Friday night playing the Clayborn Park varsity team in a sloppy mud game at Clayborn. The rain stopped sometime during the night and the sun broke through the clouds Saturday morning. The day was crisp and clean, perfect for football. Even though it was junior high football, the team got to play on the high school’s varsity field. The stands weren’t overflowing with five thousand people the way they were on a Friday night for a varsity game, but football in Brookton was big enough that a respectable crowd sat scattered throughout the stands in the sunshine.

  Harrison couldn’t help himself from searching for Becky’s blond hair. He didn’t spot her but knew most of the spectators wouldn’t arrive until closer to kickoff.

  When the Clayborn Park Junior High team got off the bus and marched onto the field like two columns of soldiers—tall, straight, and in lockstep—Harrison’s teammates got jittery.

  Harrison was standing behind the first-team offense as they ran some practice plays when Justin nudged him. “Holy moly. Check out the size of those guys.”

  Harrison looked over his shoulder. “Not as big as a thousand-pound dairy cow.”

  “Dairy cow?”

  “I used to work on a farm. Sometimes, for fun, we’d knock the cows over when they were sleeping, till I got beat for it.”

  Justin gave him a strange look, but Coach called for Harrison to take some turns at halfback with the first team and he bolted into the huddle.

  Clayborn won the toss and elected to receive. Brookton’s kickoff team let Clayborn return it to the fifty, and it was only three plays later that the Clayborn offense slashed right through Brookton’s D.

  “Holy moly,” Justin said, jogging off after trying to help block the kick on the extra point. “Are you sure those guys are in eighth and ninth grade, Coach?”

  Coach gave Justin an annoyed look and sent the kickoff return team out onto the field. Clayborn pinned Brookton down on its own fifteen yard line. Coach sent the starting offense in. Harrison buckled his chinstrap tight, clenched his hands, and bounced up and down on his toes, standing next to Coach on the sideline.

  Coach called a toss sweep. Varnett took the pitch and ran for the outside. Clayborn’s defense swamped him three yards behind the line of scrimmage.

  “Coach,” Harrison said, urgent, “put me in.”

  Coach shot him a quick angry look. “Don’t ask me, Harrison. I know you’re here.”

  The words stung.

  Coach called a pass play to Justin. The quarterback rolled out and barely got rid of the ball before being smashed to the ground. The pass wobbled through the air and hit the grass near Justin’s feet. Harrison started to say something but bit his tongue.

  Coach Lee put a hand on Coach’s shoulder. “That pass play could work, Coach. Just roll him out the other way. The receiver was open.”

  Coach clamped his mouth tight, thinking. “No. Harrison, get in there for Varnett. Twenty-three dive.”

  “Twenty-three dive?” Coach Lee’s voice rang out. “Ron, it’s third and thirteen! You’re going to run it right up the middle?”

  Coach grabbed Harrison’s shoulder pad and shoved him out onto the field. “You heard me, twenty-three dive.”

  Harrison sprinted so fast to the huddle that he lost his breath. Varnett jogged away after flashing an angry look. Harrison told the quarterback the play.

  “Dive?” The quarterback wore a look of disbelief. “You sure?”

  Harrison nodded. “Hurry. We’ll get a delay penalty.”

  The quarterback called the play and broke the huddle. Harrison got into his position, trying to calm his breathing because he was beginning to feel light-headed, and that only increased his panic and the certainty that somehow, everything was about to fall apart.

  He had no time to think. The quarterback barked out the cadence.

  “Yellow, seventeen! Yellow, seventeen! Set. Hut!”

  Harrison took off for the three hole. The ball hit him in the stomach so hard, what was left of his breath escaped his body in a weak grunt. The crack of pads and the snarls and roars of the linemen filled his ears. Where the three hole was supposed to be was a crouched Clayborn defender, his black-and-orange jersey like a nightmare on Halloween. Before he could take even his first step with the ball, the defender smashed into him full speed.

  Harrison closed his eyes.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  THE IMPACT OF THE defender spun Harrison around, but he kept his feet. The only way to go was backward. That’s where Harrison went, looping back almost to the goal line, and stretching the defense out over the field.

  His instincts took over. Out in open space, he turned on his speed, racing for a small window next to the sideline. The play had broken down completely. Harrison’s teammates stopped blocking. All eleven Clayborn defenders were after him. His speed got him back to the line of scrimmage. Two defenders crashed into him, but this time, Harrison had an instant to lower his pads. He got up under them, using his raging bull move, goring them with his shoulder.

  The defenders flew through the air.

  He turned on the speed again, dodging a third defender and gaining ground upfield. Another defender dove at his legs. Harrison’s powerful knees, churning like a factory machine, smashed the player’s helmet and he dropped to the grass. Harrison had the first down now, but he kept going.

  When he stopped to juke another defender, two more jumped on his back, clinging to him like cobwebs. He surged forward and took them for a ride. The added weight slowed him enough so that two more defenders caught up and tangled his legs enough to bring him down. The whistle blew and the referee ran up to spot the ball.

  Harrison climbed off the grass and tossed the ref the ball.

  The ref looked at the field judge and said, “Did you see that?”

  The field judge co
uld only shake his head.

  Harrison jogged back to the huddle. His offensive teammates slapped his shoulder.

  “Nice run,” the quarterback said.

  Coach signaled in the play. The quarterback called a twenty-eight sweep, then scolded his line. “This time, you guys get some blocks for him, will you?”

  The offensive linemen grunted and nodded their heads.

  The team went to the line and the quarterback barked out the cadence, took the snap, then pitched the ball to Harrison. Harrison took off, this time in more open space to begin with, this time with his teammates making some blocks. He ran through one defender, over another, and past two more.

  Touchdown.

  Harrison took care to hand the ball to the ref, who said, “Nice run, son.”

  The offense stayed on the field and Harrison ran it in for the two-point conversion, giving Brookton an 8–7 lead. Harrison jogged off, heading for Coach.

  Coach didn’t even seem to notice him. He was busy giving the kickoff team instructions. Harrison hung near him, quietly accepting the praise of his teammates and wondering if he’d done something to displease Coach.

  When the kickoff team jogged off and the Brookton defense took the field, Harrison stood right next to Coach so that he couldn’t miss him. Coach kept his eyes on the field, though, consulting with Coach Lee, who signaled in the defensive plays. Even though Clayborn marched down the field, the Brookton defense held on the ten, and Clayborn was forced to try a field goal, which sailed wide to the right.

  Harrison and his teammates cheered from the sideline as the kick wobbled crazily off to the side of the goal posts. Harrison tugged his helmet on, buckling it up to get ready to run out onto the field with the offense.

  Coach yelled, “Give me the starting offense.”

  Harrison paused and gave Coach a questioning look.

  “Not you, Harrison,” Coach said. “I want the starters. Varnett, get in there.”

  Harrison bit down hard on his mouthpiece to keep from shouting something he shouldn’t. Varnett jogged past him and slipped into the huddle with the rest of the Brookton offense. Harrison clenched his hands and watched. The first play was an inside trap. Varnett gained a yard. The second play was a toss outside.

  When Varnett picked up a first down, the crowd and the team cheered, but Harrison felt sick. It wasn’t fair. After the two runs he’d just made, it wasn’t fair that Varnett got to benefit from the team’s momentum. The next play was a pass to Justin, which he caught on a crossing pattern over the middle. The twelve-yard completion gave Brookton the ball on the thirty-four yard line with another first down.

  But, just as suddenly, the Clayborn defense exploded, dropping Varnett twice behind the line of scrimmage and leaving Brookton with a third down and fourteen yards to go. Coach called a time-out and the offense jogged over to the sideline to hear what he had to say. Harrison stayed close.

  “Okay,” Coach said. “I’m thinking Varnett on a toss. Leo, can you seal that outside linebacker to the weak side?”

  Leo Howard played tight end—half receiver, half lineman, and the widest lineman in the offense’s formation—and he nodded his head violently. “I got him, Coach.”

  “Good,” Coach said.

  The quarterback raised his hand. “Uh, Coach. No offense, but why wouldn’t we give it to Harrison?”

  Everyone turned to look at him as Harrison’s heart pumped excitement through his veins.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “YOU WANT TO GIVE it to Harrison?” Coach’s voice was stern, and he gave no sign of what he preferred to do. It was a real question.

  The quarterback looked around. Varnett and Leo were the only ones who sneered at him. The line and even Bulkowski nodded with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Please.”

  Coach paused, then said, “Okay, Harrison, get in there. Twenty-seven sweep. Get us a first down.”

  “How about a touchdown?” The words leaked out of Harrison’s mouth without him even thinking.

  Coach seemed to be fighting a smile. “I’ll take a touchdown, sure.”

  The offense jogged back out to huddle up behind the line of scrimmage. The quarterback repeated Coach’s play. They broke the huddle and went to the line. At the snap, Harrison took off. He snagged the pitch out of the air, tucked it tight, and flew for the edge of the formation.

  The outside linebacker that Leo was supposed to block came through clean. Harrison saw Leo lying almost comfortably on the ground and he couldn’t help thinking that Leo had simply let his man through to give him a clean shot at Harrison’s knees. Harrison darted his head and shoulders inside, then let his legs launch him outside. The linebacker whiffed completely, wrapping his arms around a puff of air.

  Harrison kept going. A cornerback took a shot at his legs. Harrison’s knees pumped like race-car pistons. He felt a bang and saw the cornerback drop like a swatted fly. A lineman on the loose had an angle on Harrison. The sideline was so close he’d have to go through the player if he was going to score. Harrison lowered his shoulder and blasted through the defender.

  The grunt of air leaving the lineman’s body sent a shiver of pleasure through Harrison’s frame. There were more defenders coming, but he didn’t have to mess with them. Instead, he put on a burst of speed and had enough time to look back before he crossed into the end zone. The crowd went wild.

  Harrison returned the ball to the ref, who said, “Another one, son. You can carry the rock.”

  In the huddle, the quarterback called a twenty-three dive for the two-point conversion. Harrison plowed through the defense like a lawn mower through a leaf pile and put Brookton up 16–7. This time, when Harrison jogged off with his teammates slapping his helmet and shoulder pads and the crowd standing on its feet stomping the metal bleachers in a thunderstorm of noise, Coach met him at the sideline.

  Instead of slapping his back, Coach grabbed either side of Harrison’s helmet and pulled his face close. Instead of a jubilant grin, Coach’s face was tight, his eyes wide and lit with craziness, even tears.

  His voice was a roar. “Harrison!”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  HARRISON HAD GROWN USED to hearing his name shouted, growled, and spit out like a curse word. That was the path life had led him down. So he couldn’t say Coach’s expression and the sound of his voice were unfamiliar, even if they were completely unexpected.

  “What, Coach? What did I do?”

  “What did you do?” Coach’s eyebrows disappeared up under the bill of his cap. His voice burst forth like floodwaters. “What didn’t you do? You did everything. You ran. You hit. You dodged and spun and stiff-armed. You were perfect, Harrison!”

  Coach’s face trembled, but not with rage. His eyes stayed wide, hovering just outside the metal cage that protected Harrison’s face. “You’re unstoppable.”

  “Why aren’t you smiling, Coach?”

  Coach blinked and drew back as if he’d been sprayed. “Smiling? I can’t smile. I’m amazed. I’m floored. I’m shocked.”

  “You seemed mad.” Harrison didn’t take his eyes off of him.

  “Mad? No, no.” Coach shook his head. A smile erupted on his face, a big, toothy, tongue-wagging smile. He held his face close and whispered. “Don’t you see? If it had been me putting you in there at that critical time, they never would have accepted you. But I didn’t ask for you to go in; they did. Your teammates. They practically begged me.”

  Coach laughed, and Harrison did too.

  “Come on,” Coach said. “Let’s go break Clayborn’s chops.”

  Chops were broken. Harrison ran for three hundred and thirteen yards. The final score was 56–21 and, in the end, it was the Brookton team—instead of Clayborn—who tackled Harrison to the ground with everyone laughing and reaching out just to touch him.

  Harrison laughed until he cried.

  It wasn’t until he was home with Coach and Jennifer that the joy of
the victory melted away enough to allow other thoughts to creep into his head. The three of them sat together on the living room couch watching a movie. Jennifer must have read his expression.

  She reached across Coach and tapped his arm. “Whatcha thinking about, Harrison?”

  “Nothing.” He didn’t want to spoil the evening. “Just football.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Good.”

  Harrison returned his attention to the movie. Jennifer reached for the popcorn bowl and offered him some before she put her head back down on Coach’s shoulder.

  He decided that he really didn’t even feel that bad about missing the dance. He couldn’t dance anyway. It wasn’t until he lay awake in bed that the image of Becky slow dancing with Adam Varnett flooded his mind. He turned over and pulled the sheets tight, comforting himself with the thought that Varnett couldn’t be having too much fun after losing his starting job.

  The next day Harrison, Jennifer, and Coach put on nice clothes and walked to the big stone church that stood guarding one end of Main Street. Church pushed Harrison into a daze. All the singing and prayers, the soft words and the fiery ones, were things he just didn’t get. What made this time different was the minister talking about him. The sermon was about new beginnings and how everyone can find the right place if they’ll just try to work hard and believe. The minister didn’t say Harrison’s name, but it was him, Harrison was sure.

  He said, “ . . . or a boy who comes from another place and finds his gift is to play football, and he runs for three hundred and thirteen yards and all of a sudden, his life is different. He may not be different, but his life is, because everyone around him sees him as something new, a new beginning.”

  Jennifer shook Harrison’s knee and winked at him, then tried not to smile.

  On the walk home, Coach said, “The last player to make Reverend Lindsey’s sermon went on to play four years at Notre Dame.”

  “Did he make it to the pros?” Harrison asked.

  “Not the pros, no. He’s a heart surgeon.”