High School Football – The Temptation (first in the high school series)

by Paul Swearingen

  The downed branches made a pile almost as tall as Justin when he had finished. Mrs. Garrison must have been watching him closely from a window, as when he tossed the last branch on top of the pile and stepped back to survey it, he saw out of the corner of his eye the front screen door open and Mrs. Garrison step carefully across the porch, a glass in her hand. As Justin stepped up on the porch, he saw that the glass was wrapped in a lace holder and heard the ice tinkling in the glass. He downed half of the cold water in one long pull, and shivered.

  “Wow. That’s definitely cold! Thanks.”

  “Well, thank you for taking care of those branches for me. I could have called the city and they might have done it for me, but …” Her voice trailed off.

  “No problem. Glad to help out. I guess that’s what neighbors are for.” That was the first time he had ever been able to use that expression; the people next door at his old house in Topeka had been crackheads.

  She nodded. “The last folks to live in your house weren’t much for being neighborly, either. I heard that they never did pay the last three months rent, and they left trash all over the house and even out in the yard.”

  That would certainly explain the square brown patches of dead grass in the front yard, Justin thought.

  “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. My mom’s working at the candy factory now, and I’m taking care of things around the house.

  “Just the three of you, then?”

  “Yes. Sharice is going to be in the seventh grade. Oh, and if her cheerleading routines in the front yard get on your nerves, just let me know and I’ll take care of her.”

  “No, she doesn’t bother me at all. You know, it’s kind of nice to have kids in the neighborhood again. Most of the people on this block are retired. And their own kids don’t seem to come back and visit them very often.” Her jaw seemed to set, and she stared vacantly down the street.

  Justin finished the glass, and crunched on a piece of ice. “Well, if you need any help, don’t be afraid to holler. Maybe I can get Sharice to help out a little, too.”

  For the first time, the woman smiled. “She’s probably good help when she wants to be, isn’t she?”

  Justin smiled back at her. “I know that’s right. The problem is, she doesn’t very often want to be!”

  A phone rang from deep in the house.

  “Oh, I’ve got to get that. Just leave the glass here on the front porch when you’re done. And thanks again, so much.” She turned and stepped carefully through the door, and Justin took one last mouthful of ice and set the glass where she’d indicated.

  That was close, Justin thought to himself as he stepped across the street. But it just proved that some people have their own wall around them sometimes. Like T. J. It was going to take more than sweet talk to get through his big head.

  Chapter Seven

  Justin grunted. A dull pain shot through his back. He couldn’t breathe for the elephant standing on his back.

  “Felt good, didn’t it, Slick?” The voice of T. J. Watkins floated to him. Justin’s head cleared, and he realized that he was face downward on the turf, his helmet half off. He rolled over and slowly sat up to watch the retreating back of Watkins and the rest of the offensive team. Spitting mud and blades of grass, he pushed himself off the ground.

  “You all right, Jefferson?” the defensive coach called from the sidelines.

  Justin waved in the general direction of the bench and trudged towards the defensive huddle, the words that T. J. had muttered to him in the locker room earlier running through his mind.

  “You’re gettin’ too big for those britches, Slick. Coach picks out the losers, I mean the J. V. team, tomorrow. And you’re going to be on it. If you can still walk after today.”

  He merely stared at T. J.’s departing back and shook his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, man,” he had muttered to himself. Justin knew that his ball-handling skills had been improving steadily, although no one had said much to him either during practices or afterwards at the Dairy Spot. He knew that he probably had as good a chance as anyone to make the varsity team

  “You with us on this?” Karl nudged Justin in the huddle.

  “Yeah, sure. Run like hell to the far corner and catch the ball.”

  “You got it. And watch T. J. He’s hitting pretty hard today. Guess he wants to be the big gun on the defensive team, huh?”

  “Whatever.” Justin spat out another piece of grass.

  Eric turned and trotted towards the center’s position on the line, and Karl said, “All right, BREAK.” Justin moved to his position just behind the line on the far right side, checked to make sure that he wasn’t on the line and offside, and leaned forward. A few yards in front of him, T. J. set up his position.

  At the snap, he ran across in front of T. J. as if he were merely feinting and then abruptly turned for the corner. T. J. nearly slipped but managed to stay a step behind him. Justin half-turned and continued moving toward the corner, his eye on Karl in the backfield, who eluded two pursuers and finally lofted the ball in the direction of Justin.

  Justin could see that the ball was slightly to his left and wobbling, and at the same time he noticed that T. J. had his eyes only on him. With the ball descending, Justin took a fake step to his right to lead T. J. in the wrong direction and then leaped to his left. The ball settled into his hands, and he recovered his balance but could not avoid stepping out of bounds. T. J. gave him a dirty look and opened his mouth but closed it and turned his back on Justin.

  “Nice play, Jefferson,” the voice of Coach Greene floated across the field. “Karl, you’re not getting set when you throw. You’ve got to get that leg planted first. Then throw it.”

  “Okay, Coach.” Karl nodded vigorously and slapped his helmet as the offensive team gathered around him.

  Justin half-listened to the instructions in the huddle and kept an eye on the defensive team. T. J. slouched just outside of the defensive group, his eyes on the offensive team.

  “All right, BREAK!” Karl shouted.

  Justin set up a yard behind the line, T. J. just in front of him. At the snap, he ran two steps toward the center of the field, crossing in front of T. J., who eyed him warily, and then he ran full force towards his usual corner. This time T. J. stayed a step behind him, even when he feinted to the right and sprinted left, his arms out as if the football were inches away. But T. J. kept one eye on the ball, which lofted in a perfect arc towards the left side of the field. As soon as the receiver’s fingers touched the ball, he lunged at Justin’s right leg, and both went down.

  Justin had never been injured on the field before, except for a few normal bruises, but he knew that the sharp pain that shot up his calf from his ankle was not from a bruise, and he tried not to yelp. T. J. put his hand on Justin’s chest and pushed off without out a word, but Justin could see the gleam in T. J.’s eyes through his face guard before he turned and trotted away.

  “Hey, coach, I think Justin needs some help out here,” he heard T. J. call out.

  Justin gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, but the first step on the injured right leg shot a sharper pain up his leg, and he tentatively hopped twice on his left leg but stopped, his right foot just touching the ground.

  “Hold on, Jefferson, we’ll get you off there.” The assistant and a water boy ran across the field. Gratefully, Justin draped his arms across his shoulders as they half-carried, half-staggered him across the field.

  “Get him some ice to put on that ankle, Steve. And stay off it for a few minutes, Jefferson, until Coach can look at it,” the assistant instructed as they deposited Justin on a sideline bench.

  Justin dumped his helmet on the ground in disgust and stretched the right leg out on the bench. The water boy trotted over with a plastic bag full of ice and handed it to Justin, who laid it carefully over his ankle. “Sorry about that, Justin.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Hey, I saw what T. J. did to you
out there. That’s bogus.”

  “Just forget about it, okay? You didn’t see nothin’.”

  “Yeah, right. I know what’s been going on out there. T. J.’s been after you!”

  “I said, forget it!” Justin barked at the water boy.

  “Okay, okay; whatever, man.” He backed away. Justin slumped back on the bench, his ankle now throbbing in time with his pounding heart.

  “Let’s have a look at that, Justin,” Coach Greene said as he dropped his clipboard. He dropped to one knee and palpated the ankle gently.

  “Ow!” Justin muttered through clenched teeth as he tried not to flinch.

  “Can you move the foot a little?” The coach lifted Justin’s leg an inch and looked inquiringly at him.

  Justin slowly rotated the foot. The ankle continued throbbing.

  “Okay, good. Looks like it’s just badly strained and not broken or even sprained, and you should be as good as new in a couple of days. Keep the ice pack on it for an hour or two now, and don’t walk on it any more than you have to for a day or two, or until the swelling goes down. I’ll get one of the assistants to give you a ride home today.”

  Justin sighed. “All right, Coach. I’ll hit the showers a little early today so I don’t have to make them wait, okay?”

  “Sure; you won’t be on the field for the rest of today and probably tomorrow either. Just stay off it as much as possible and let it heal up.”

  Justin nodded, and Coach Greene slapped him on the shoulder with the clipboard and turned to walk away but stopped.

  “Anything going on out there, Justin?”

  “Like what, coach?”

  “Like maybe someone trying to put you down for awhile?”

  “Naw, I just wasn’t paying attention and let down my guard.”

  “Hmm. If you say so. Well, take care of that ankle.” And he turned and trotted back to the sideline.

  This is not cool, Justin thought to himself. And definitely not fair. T. J. had waited until the play was on the far side of the field before he pulled his little trick. And now Coach Greene most likely wouldn’t even consider him for the varsity team. Maybe he wouldn’t even start on the jayvee team.

  He jiggled his leg to settle the bag of ice, and the pain that shot to his knee caused him to catch his breath, but it didn’t seem to be as bad as at first.

  And he had promised Mrs. Garrison that he would mow her lawn this afternoon. Well, he’d just have to hobble over there and break his promise.

  * * *

  The ride home with the assistant was almost silent, except for the faint sounds of country music from the radio.

  “Thanks, Coach,” Justin said to the assistant as they pulled up into the driveway.

  “No problem. You able to get to practice tomorrow; you need a ride?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Justin shook his head. “I can get a ride with one of the guys, probably.”

  “Okay, then; see ya on the field. And stay off that foot as much as you can, you hear?”

  Justin sighed. “Right. Thanks again.”

  He shifted his weight to his left leg and stepped carefully toward the door. But it flew open, and Sharice stood in the doorway, gaping at him.

  “Justin! What happened?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a strain.”

  “Yeah, right. You look like Mr. Pegleg. Here, let me help you …” And she flew down the steps and put her shoulder under his left arm.

  “I’m all right, Shar,” Justin growled, but he leaned on her shoulder as they stepped up to the door.

  Justin flopped wearily onto the couch inside the door. “Shar, would you get me some ice water, please? I’m about parched.”

  “Sure!” And in a flash she was back with a tinkling glass.

  “Thanks, kid.” Justin emptied half the glass at one gulp and expelled his breath.

  “How you gonna practice tomorrow, Justin? Where does it hurt?”

  “It’s just a strain. And it should be better in a day or so, Coach said. But I gotta stay off it for a while, and I promised Mrs. Garrison across the street that I would mow her lawn today. You think you could go tell her that it may be a day or before I can get over there?”

  Sharice leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Nope.”

  “What do you mean, nope?”

  “I mean, nope, n-o, no. Justin, I can push that mower around that lady’s yard, same as you. Don’t I have to help out with earning money for the car?”

  Justin opened his mouth and closed it, speechless.

  “You look like a guppy doing that. Now, if you can help me get the mower started and gassed up and stuff, I can do it. Okay?”

  Justin closed his eyes and then opened them again to make sure that it was still his sister standing in front of him. There were times when Sharice surprised him, and this was definitely one of them.

  “Okay, fine; if it’s okay with Mom.”

  “Oh, she won’t mind. I’ll be careful. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve mowed a yard, you know.”

  “I suppose so. All right, after dinner we’ll do it.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to be in charge of dinner while mom’s at work, at least until school starts next week. I’ve got some chicken ready to fry, and you can make some mashed potatoes, okay?”

  Justin stared at her. First, she takes over my job, and now she’s bossing me around. Maybe next she’ll start driving me to school?

  “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered.

  A car horn sounded in the driveway, first a single beep, and then more insistently a triple beep.

  “Now, what?” he sighed.

  Chapter Eight.

  “It’s some guys in a red car,” Sharice peered through the door window and whispered to Justin. “Some of your friends?”

  Justin hopped to a window. “Looks like Karl. And Buck. Yeah, that’s them.”

  He watched Karl twirl a key ring as he walked up the sidewalk; Buck stepped out of the car and pretended to dust off a fender. Before Karl could step up onto the porch, Sharice had the door open and her best meet-and-greet smile ready.

  “Hey, you must be the little sister,” Karl grinned at her. “Well, what do you think, Stretch? Is it worth seven hundred to you?”

  For the second time in five minutes, Justin’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Sharice’s eyes, never leaving Karl, widened.

  “Okay, no need to get excited. I knew you wouldn’t be walking much for a day or two, and the car’s definitely available, so why don’t you just try it out this week, and we can come to terms on, say, Friday?”

  “Ah … sure. But what about insurance and stuff?”

  “No problem. As long as you don’t go climbing telephone poles with it, and I don’t think we have to worry about traffic around here. Our policy covers second under-25-year-old drivers, as long as you have a valid driver’s license.”

  “Yeah. It’s easier to get the ticket than the wheels these days.”

  “Well, if it works for you, and if seven hundred bucks sounds good by Friday, we’ve got a deal. And Dad said you can stretch payments out over six or eight months if you need to.” Karl glanced at his watch. “Okay. You up to driving it now? I could use a ride back home; I think dinner’s about ready at my place, and I hate to miss the first round.”

  “You’re on. Shar, if you can fetch my wallet on my dresser, I’ll even let you ride.”

  “Okay-y-y.” Sharice disappeared up the staircase, and her voice floated back at them.

  “Way to go, Stretch. You got her trained already?”

  “Naw. She’s always like this around company. Especially football players.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. I’ve got one at home, too, nine going on nineteen. Completely useless and untrainable, though.”

  Sharice’s feet tapped a staccato beat down the stairway, and she slapped the wallet into Justin’s hand. “Can I drive on the way home, Justin?”

  “No way, Shar. You don’t even know
how to drive, and you definitely don’t have a license.”

  Her face twisted into a grimace, but she brightened as she tugged at the front door handle.

  “It’s cute! Can I sit in front?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Karl said. “My man Buck and I always wanted to be chauffeured around town anyway.” In the back seat, Buck propped open a rear door with a foot.

  Justin pulled the door all the way open. “In you go, my good man,” he said to Karl in his best imitation of an English chauffeur.

  “Right spo’ting of you, old top,” Karl shot back. Sharice giggled.

  In the back seat, Buck cleared his throat. “Yo, Justin. About that bum leg of yours. You need any help with that little problem?

  Justin looked at Buck in the rear-view mirror and inclined his head and eyes towards Sharice. “No, I’m good.”

  “Mmm … yeah. Maybe later.”

  Justin nodded.

  Sharice’s giggles continued throughout the ride as the three continued a fake travelogue commentary through Niotaka, and Justin couldn’t resist a tiny squeak of the tires to irritate Sharice when he accelerated at the town’s only stoplight.

  “Omigawd, we’re in the presence of Mr. NASCAR, I do believe,” Buck snorted.

  “I’m telling Mom!” Sharice added.

  “Oh, yeah? How you gonna have enough strength to tell anyone anything after you have to walk all the way across town?” Justin shot at her.

  “Never mind,” she grumbled. “Oh, there’s some guys in front of the Quick-Shop. Do they go to high school, Justin?”

  “Probably grade school; don’t get excited, Shar.”

  She stuck her tongue out at Justin. And giggled.

  * * *

  The fried chicken was a little crispier than Justin thought it should be, but he simply smacked his lips and emitted a “Yum!” when Sharice looked at him inquiringly after she loaded his plate and he took a big bite out of a drumstick. After all, she had volunteered to push a lawn mower around a rather large lawn, in warm weather, at that, while all he would have to do would be to sit around and watch her. For a kid sister, she wasn’t too bad.

  “Fair’s fair, little sister. I’ll wash the dishes if you’ll push the mower out and get the gas and oil out of the garage.”

  “Okay, bro. You need any instruction on the finer points of dishwashing?”

  “Gee, thanks, you being such an expert and all, but I think I can figure it out.”