The Walk On

by John Feinstein

  Alex grinned in return. It was good to hear Matt sounding like Matt again.

  The news that Allentown would be the opponent came down as the players were dressing after the York Central game. No one was surprised. Allentown had lost one game all season, a nonconference game at Beaver Falls, who were the defending state champions and the only undefeated team in the tournament other than Chester Heights.

  “I’m not just saying this—they’ll be really tough,” Matt said as he carefully combed his hair. “We played Beaver Falls last year in the semis and they beat us pretty easily. They have most of their key guys back and they needed overtime to beat Allentown—even with a home-field advantage.”

  He turned to Alex, who had just put his shoes on. “I meant what I said, Goldie. You better be ready.”

  “I’m always ready,” Alex answered with a grin.

  Matt nodded. “That’s what I want to hear. Gotta roll.”

  “Where are you rushing off to?” Jake asked.

  “Have a date,” Matt said. “You’ll have one someday, Jakey, don’t worry about it.”

  “Hey!” Jake shouted at Matt’s back. “I’ve got a date too!”

  “Do you really have a date?” Alex asked, a little nervous.

  Jake sat down on the bench in front of his locker. “No,” he said. “But I could if I wanted to.”

  Alex didn’t doubt that. Everyone laughed. It had been a fun night.

  Alex wasn’t surprised when he got a phone call from Christine Whitford the next morning.

  “I played one series last night,” he said in semi-mock protest. “Why would you want to talk to me?”

  “Because you saved the season a week ago and your one series decided the game last night,” she said.

  He decided it would be more fun to argue with her while looking at her across a table at Stark’s, so he told her he would meet her there at noon.

  “Jake’s coming too,” she said.

  Alex slumped. Apparently, he didn’t have a date either.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because he’s honest.”

  “I’m not?”

  She paused. “You’re careful,” she said finally. “See you at noon.”

  They were both sitting at the back table waiting for him when he walked in one minute late.

  Jake looked at his watch.

  “You get lost?” he said. “Or were you doing a TV interview?”

  “Not too many second-string quarterbacks get interviewed on TV,” Alex said, sliding into a chair.

  “Unless they should be starting,” Christine said. “That’s what Steve is writing for Wednesday.”

  “Oh jeez,” Alex said.

  “Here’s the thing,” Jake said. “Matt did some things well last night—especially on the last drive. Problem is, Allentown North will take away the run just like York Central did. I don’t think Matt has much confidence in his throwing right now.”

  “So do you think Coach should bench him?” Alex asked, knowing how much faith Jake had in Coach Gordon.

  “No,” Jake said. “I think he should keep doing what he’s doing. We need Matt. But we’ll need you too.”

  “But you’ll have to pass to move the ball,” Christine put in.

  “Can’t fool you,” Alex said, causing her to give him a dirty look. “But seriously—fine, if Matt struggles to throw, then Coach will put me in.”

  “He only puts you in if he has to,” Christine said. “He almost waited too long in the Chester game out of loyalty to an inferior player.”

  “Why are you so tough on Matt?” Alex said, feeling a little bit angry. “Why is Garland so tough on Matt? The guy gives everything he has every day. He encourages everyone on the team—no one more than me—he’s a brilliant strategist, and he’s a very good player.”

  “He’s still not as good as you are,” Christine said. “Everyone knows that. Don’t you want to play?”

  “Of course I want to play,” Alex said. “I have played. You haven’t answered my question. Why are you so hard on Matt?”

  “Because they don’t like his father,” Jake said.

  “That’s not true,” Christine said hotly.

  “You mean you like his father?” Jake said. “No one likes his father.”

  “Except you,” Christine said.

  “I respect him,” Jake said. “The team is eleven and oh and you want to rip him!”

  “That’s not why we’re hard on him,” she said, then caught herself. “I mean, we’re not hard on him. We’re just being fair.”

  “Everyone has a different definition of ‘fair,’ ” Alex said.

  “I will say this,” Jake said, looking around as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “I hope Matt lightens up next week. I’ve never seen him as uptight before a game as he was last night.”

  “He was uptight last week?” Christine asked.

  Jake and Alex both nodded.

  “I think he was feeling as if he had failed the team against Chester, and Goldie had to bail us out,” Jake said. “He’s that kind of guy.”

  “Well, he may be uptight again this week,” Christine said. “Because Steve sent me his column this morning. The lead is pretty direct.”

  “What’s it say?” Alex asked.

  “It says, ‘If Matthew Gordon wants to coach a state-championship team this season, he’s going to have to bench his son.’ ”

  “Great,” Alex moaned.

  “Yeah, great,” Jake added. “That won’t make Matt uptight. But it will make his father crazy.”

  Alex didn’t get to find out how upset Coach Gordon was with Garland’s column. In fact, the subject never came up.

  He was sitting at lunch on Wednesday with Jake, Stephen, and Jonas discussing what Garland had written, not to mention Christine’s feature on Allentown North quarterback Ken Jackson, in which she had gone on at length about his 4.0 grade point average and how he had been voted king of the junior prom the previous spring.

  “You gotta give her a hard time about that,” Jonas said. “King of the junior prom? Seriously?”

  “She’s just trying to be a good writer,” Alex said.

  “She’s not,” said Jake, who had surprised them by sitting with them. Usually he only came over when Matt did. “That is not good writing,” he continued. “That is flirting in print. Dude, you need to protect your turf.”

  “My turf?” Alex said. “You’re the one who showed up early Saturday to hang out with her.”

  “Easy, tiger,” Jake said. “You know she and I are old news. Actually, we were never news. Anyway, we need you cool and calm this week.”

  The sentence was barely out of Jake’s mouth when Alex noticed Coach Brotman walking in their direction.

  “Myers,” Coach Brotman said, pointing a finger. “Need you right now in Coach Gordon’s office.”

  Alex glanced at his watch. Fifth period started in fifteen minutes.

  “Now, Coach?” he said. “But—”

  “Now,” Coach Brotman said with a kind of firmness that sent a shiver through Alex.

  He picked up his tray and his books. “Leave the tray,” Coach Brotman said. “The other guys can take care of it.”

  Now Alex was really baffled. He put the tray down and followed Coach Brotman, who was half running, half walking out of the room. When they got into the hallway, Alex pulled even with him and said, “Coach, what’s up?”

  Coach Brotman simply held up a hand and kept walking.

  When they got to Coach Gordon’s office, there were two other men in the room whom Alex didn’t recognize.

  “Myers, this is Mr. Turgeson from the Pennsylvania state school board,” Coach Gordon said.

  Alex took a step in Mr. Turgeson’s direction to shake hands, but the man recoiled as if Alex were carrying some kind of virus.

  “And this is Mr. Lyons, from LabCorp.”

  Mr. Lyons, who was standing against the wall, didn’t even nod at him, so Alex didn’t bother with attempting a han
dshake.

  “Coach, what is this about?” Alex said. He was now both baffled and scared.

  “What this is about, Mr. Myers,” the school board guy said, stepping forward, “is the results of your drug test from last week.”

  “Drug test?” Alex said. “What about my drug test?”

  The school board guy—Mr. Turgeson—took another step forward, almost into Alex’s face, before he answered.

  “You tested positive for a synthetic testosterone called”—he said some name that Alex never heard—“and your level was high enough that, even allowing for the possibility that you have an abnormally high level, it’s clear you have been taking steroids. If by some chance”—he was sneering now—“the B sample comes back clean, then you’ll be cleared. But the chances of that are close to zero. As of now, pending the B sample result, you are suspended from playing football—or any other high school sport—in the state of Pennsylvania.”

  Alex realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and shook his head, thinking he’d wake up from the nightmare he was clearly having. He didn’t.

  “There’s no way,” he finally said. “There has to be a mistake. I’ve never taken any drugs in my life, unless you count aspirin.”

  Turgeson laughed in a very unfunny way. “Are you a sports fan, Myers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever heard an athlete who has tested positive come out and say, ‘Yeah, I did it?’ Of course not. You’re all innocent.”

  “There is still the B sample,” Coach Gordon said. “I thought you didn’t consider someone guilty until you got the B sample back.”

  “We can’t prosecute anyone legally without the B sample,” Turgeson said. “We can suspend.”

  “What’s the B sample?” Alex asked.

  “We draw enough blood for two tests. If the first test comes back positive, we can retest with the remainder. On rare occasions it will show a different result. Very rare occasions. If the B sample comes back positive, we will then decide whether you should be prosecuted or face expulsion from school—or both. In the meantime, you won’t be playing on Friday.”

  Alex felt all the color drain from his face. He was scared and he was angry—angry because he knew someone had make a mistake and yet this Turgeson guy was acting as if he were Barry Bonds and Alex Rodriguez rolled into one.

  He turned to Coach Gordon, who looked very upset too.

  “Coach, I’m telling you, this can’t be right,” he said. “I don’t even know what these guys are talking about. There’s got to be something you can do. I’ll give another sample right now. This man”—he pointed at the man from LabCorp—“can test it right away and prove I’m innocent.”

  Coach Gordon shook his head. “Alex, it doesn’t work that way. I’m sorry. I believe you—I really do. We’ll wait for the B sample and hope it shows that this is a mistake.” He pointed at Alex but stared at Turgeson. “Does this look to you like an athlete on steroids?” he asked. “What do you weigh Alex—160?

  “One-sixty-six,” Alex said.

  “Some steroid user,” Coach Gordon said. “Use your eyes.”

  “We use science,” Turgeson said. “And his test is positive. Do you want to tell him or should I?”

  Coach Gordon glared at Turgeson for a moment and then sighed. “Myers, until further notice you are suspended from the football team. You may not come into the locker room or be on the sideline during the game on Friday.” He looked at Turgeson. “Happy?” he said.

  “Overjoyed,” Turgeson said. “Mr. Myers, we’ll be in touch.”

  He turned and walked out, followed by the man from LabCorp.

  The next few hours were a blur for Alex.

  Coach Gordon explained to him that the school would have to announce that he had been suspended due to a positive drug test. If it didn’t, the board of education and the state high school athletic association would make the announcement.

  “We don’t have to do it until tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow at noon, to be exact. I’d recommend you go home and talk to your parents so they know. If you want to take tomorrow off from school, I think your teachers will understand. If you want, I can talk to them for you. Once the announcement is made, you’re going to get mobbed. I wish I could tell you different, but it’s true.”

  Alex wasn’t thinking about that. He was trying to figure out how.

  “Coach, how could this have happened?” he asked. “I don’t even take vitamins.”

  He knew that many of the players took vitamin supplements that they bought at GNC. After the drug testing had been announced, several had been nervous that there might be a banned substance of some kind in one of them.

  “Did anyone else test positive?” he asked.

  Coach Gordon shook his head. “No, thank God,” he said. “I’ll be honest, Alex, I wouldn’t have been shocked if a couple of the other guys had some kind of supplement or something in their system, but not you. Can you think of anything you might have taken to make your testosterone level shoot up like that?”

  Alex was shaking his head as he spoke. “Nothing,” he said. “Unless there’s testosterone in a Stark’s burger or McDonald’s French fries.”

  Coach Gordon put a hand on his shoulder. “Go back to class, try to get through the day.”

  He walked back to his desk and opened a drawer. He took out a pad and wrote something on it. “Here’s a late slip for fifth period.” He paused. “I’m really sorry this happened.”

  Alex believed him. He hadn’t been this nice all season. He would rather not have seen this side of his coach.

  Alex was completely zoned out during his history and English classes. If someone had screamed that the building was on fire, he probably wouldn’t have budged. Walking down the hall to French class half dazed, he heard someone calling his name. He turned and saw Jonas.

  “Hey, man, have you lost your hearing? I called your name like five times.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So what happened with Coach?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean nothing? You don’t get called to his office in the middle of lunch for nothing.”

  The two-minute warning bell was ringing. “I’ll tell you later,” Alex said. He had been thinking of a lie to tell but realized it was pointless. Jonas would know soon enough. Everyone would know soon enough. As he watched Jonas walk off looking a little bit miffed, it occurred to him they might not be teammates anymore.

  “Us versus them,” he said to himself as he walked down the hall. “I’m not us anymore.”

  He brooded about that throughout French class. At one point he realized that the whole class was staring at him.

  “Monsieur Myers!” Mademoiselle Schiff was saying, apparently not for the first time. Everyone was giggling.

  “Oh,” Alex said. “Sorry. I mean, pardonnez-moi.”

  “Monsieur Myers. Êtes-vous malade?”

  She was asking if he was sick.

  “Non, Mademoiselle,” he replied. “Je suis très fatigué.”

  “D’accord,” she said. And then in English, “Try to pay attention, Monsieur Myers. The game isn’t until Friday.”

  More giggling. Mademoiselle Schiff speaking English was never good. It meant she was really angry.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle,” he said. And then, again, “Pardonnez-moi.”

  Mercifully, she moved on.

  By the time class ended, Alex had made a decision. He followed Christine out the door and called her name. She stopped and waited for him.

  “Boy, did you space out in there,” she said. “What was—”

  He waved a hand at her to stop. “Listen, I have to talk to you,” he said.

  “Why don’t you call me after practice,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I have to talk to you now. Not here—somewhere away from school. But right away.”

  She was looking up at him with concern on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you s
ick? You know we can’t talk now. You can’t be late for practice.”

  “I’m not going to practice today,” he said. “I may not be going ever again.”

  “Walk with me,” she said.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as they unhooked their bikes.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “Just follow me.”

  They rode in the opposition direction of Stark’s and the other places where kids hung out after school, including the McDonald’s.

  They finally turned into a neighborhood with yards starting to fill up with fallen leaves. Christine wound down a road called Trotter’s Lane for a little while, then veered right onto the cleverly named Trotter’s Court. She pulled into the driveway at the third house, a comfortable-looking, two-story redbrick house.

  There was a screened-in porch off the side of the house and she rode around to it and pulled open an unlocked door. He followed her and they parked their bikes inside.

  “When in doubt, go home,” she said.

  She used a key to open a door that led from the porch into the kitchen. “My mom is at work until six o’clock,” she said. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Coke?” he asked.

  She opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Coke. Then he followed her to a family room. He was cold and winded from the bike ride and the shock of the day, but the Coke felt good going down. He sat on the couch and breathed deeply for the first time in hours.

  “So,” she said, leaning forward. “What in the world is going on?”

  He started to say their conversation had to be off the record, then realized it didn’t matter. He took another deep breath and told her everything.

  Her mouth was hanging open when he finished. “Are you sure you didn’t take something by accident?” she said. “Matt told me a lot of the guys take supplements.”

  “Matt?” he said. “You talk to Matt a lot, don’t you?”

  “Just sometimes,” she said, reddening suddenly. “He’s helped me—and Steve—out sometimes.”

  That bothered Alex in a way he couldn’t completely put his finger on.