Travis Starnes
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Second Down - Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2024-11-29 15:00:13 +0000 UTCI managed to avoid Elijah all day on Tuesday. Monday after practice, I made sure to walk in when Coach did, grabbed my stuff, and got the hell out of there. It wasn’t that I was afraid of Elijah and his bunch, but I didn’t want to deal with his bullshit, which was going to be extra because he blamed me for being benched instead of his own actions.
Hell, I’d tried to tell him that was what was going to happen if he kept playing these games, but Elijah was the kind of guy who could never see his own faults and always had to blame someone else for their own mistakes. I’d run into that type a bunch of times in my dream life, and they’d always ended up on the wrong side of everything eventually, causing themselves more harm than anyone else ever could.
I also went out of my way to avoid him all day on Tuesday, not even bothering to go to the locker room. Instead, I put everything with Jamal on the bleachers so he could watch them, and so I could just leave when practice was over instead of having to get trapped in the fieldhouse with him.
There was a moment he almost cornered me at lunch, but I managed to do an end run around the table filled with theater kids who were partially blocking the aisle, slowing him down. It was kind of like playing football, in a way.
That night, I was supposed to be at Eduardo’s house. I’d looked up the address he’d given me in the key map and he was across the whole city. Admittedly, Wheaton wasn’t a big place, but I didn’t particularly want to walk that far, so I convinced Dad, who had the night shift, to drop me off on his way to work. Thankfully, they were having a pretty early dinner so the time difference wasn’t that bad. I just had Dad drop me at the front of his neighborhood and took my sweet time walking the rest of the way.
Their house was nice. Wheaton was not a big town, but it did have a ‘good’ side and a ‘bad’ side. The good side was east of Main Street, where the city part, schools, and government buildings were located. Good didn’t necessarily mean rich. People like Coach Plummer lived just outside of town on what were essentially small, non-working ranches. It wasn’t even particularly more dangerous. I guess the only difference was the streets were a little nicer and the houses a little bigger, and we were further from the cattle ranches to the east of town, which could stink to high heaven if the wind was just right. Or wrong.
To people outside of Wheaton, they probably wouldn’t even notice the difference.
I’d dressed to be presentable enough, out of respect for his parents, and smoothed my shirt as I got to their front door and pressed the doorbell.
The door opened to reveal a man who had to be Eduardo’s father; they shared the same serious eyes. His work boots and paint-spotted jeans suggested he’d just gotten home himself.
“You must be Blake,” he said, extending his hand. “Come in, come in.”
I shook his hand, noting the firm grip. “Thank you for having me over, Mr. Guzman.”
Eduardo appeared behind his father, looking as uncertain as he did every time I talked to him. The guy had a major inferiority complex, which probably explained why it had been so easy for him to fall in with a gang.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey man,” I replied, following them inside.
The house smelled amazing, something with peppers and spices that made my mouth water.
“Elena, Eduardo’s friend is here!” Mr. Guzman called toward the kitchen.
“Welcome, Blake!” Eduardo’s mom’s voice carried from the other room. “Food will be ready in about ten minutes. Go ahead and wait in the living room!”
Mr. Guzman led us into a cozy space dominated by a comfortable-looking couch, a recliner facing the TV, and family photos on the wall. Eduardo and I sat down while his father settled into what was clearly his usual chair.
“So, Blake,” Mr. Guzman said, “how do you know Eduardo?”
“We started having lunch together at school. Eduardo’s a good guy to talk to.”
“Blake helped me out when some guys were giving me trouble.”
Mr. Guzman’s eyebrows rose. “That right?”
“I’d like to say I was just trying to do the right thing, but honestly, I really hate those guys. They’re bullies who think they own the school.”
“Well, you still helped my son. That makes you good in my book.”
I smiled and kind of half nodded. A part of me felt bad that I was consciously doing a lot of this because of what happened in my dream. Even with my new outlook on my life, post-dream, I’m not sure I would have gone out of my way so much to be Eduardo’s friend if it wasn’t for my attempts to stop what happened in my dream from coming true.
I looked around the room trying to not feel quite so awkward when a large photo on the wall caught my attention. Eduardo’s family was standing in front of a beautiful old stone house with some really impressive mountains in the background.
“Where’s that?”
“Mexico,” Eduardo’s father said, looking pleased. “We visited Eduardo’s abuela last summer in Guanajuato. Beautiful city.”
“That’s so cool,” I said, turning to Eduardo. “How did you like it? I’ve never been to Mexico. Must have been pretty different than here.”
“It was pretty nice. My grandparents live in this old house they’ve had forever, everyone knows them. They’re like celebrities in their town. My abuela makes the best food. You would’ve loved it.”
“I bet. What kind of stuff did you do while you were there?”
“Mostly spent time with my grandparents. My abuelo has this garden out back with these crazy-looking flowers, and he taught me how to prune them. My dad made me help fix the roof, though. That part wasn’t as fun.”
“It did you good,” his father said, getting a grunt out of Eduardo.
Before he could say anything, though, there was the sound of feet running, followed by the appearance of a young kid, maybe about elementary age, practically bouncing with energy.
“Alex,” Eduardo’s dad said, “come meet Eduardo’s friend Blake. He’s the quarterback for Wheaton High.”
“Uh, only on the freshman team,” I said, feeling a little self-conscious, but Alex’s eyes had already gone wide with excitement.
“You play football? Real football?” He plopped down on the floor between us, staring up at me with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“Americano,” Mr. Guzman corrected automatically.
Alex waved his hand dismissively. “That’s what I meant, Papá. I wanted to play but the coach said I was too small for peewee. So now I’m stuck with soccer.”
“Fútbol is the better sport anyway,” Mr. Guzman said firmly.
Alex groaned.
“I know, but it’s not the same.” He turned back to me, eager. “What’s it like playing quarterback? Is it hard?”
“It can be. You’ve got to learn the playbook and figure out what everyone on the field is supposed to do. Plus, you’re kind of in charge out there, so if something goes wrong, everyone looks at you.”
Alex started launching into more questions when Eduardo’s mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready!”
I silently thanked her for the rescue from Alex’s barrage of questions about playing football. Mr. Guzman pushed against the armrests of his chair, wincing slightly as he stood.
The kitchen table was already set, steam rising from bowls of rice and some kind of stew that filled the air with an amazing aroma of peppers and spices.
“This is pozole,” Mrs. Guzman said, placing a final bowl on the table. “I hope you like spicy food.”
“I love spicy food,” I said, though honestly, I wasn’t sure what counted as spicy to them versus what counted as spicy to me.
“We’ll see about that,” she teased, spooning some into my bowl. “Some people think they like spicy until they try real Mexican cooking.”
I picked up my spoon and took a careful bite. It was rich, complex, and yes, definitely spicy, but not overwhelming. The meat was tender and it had an interesting texture I’d never experienced before.
“This is incredible. I’ve never had anything like it.”
She beamed at me. “Finally, someone who appreciates good food! These two,” she gestured at Eduardo and his father, “don’t even comment anymore.”
“Because you already know how good your cooking is, Mamá,” Eduardo said.
“Such a good boy,” she said, grabbing his chin and squeezing a little before letting go. “So, Blake, do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah, I have a brother. He’s a little older than Alex.”
“Oh? Does he play sports too?”
“No, he’s not really into sports.” I quickly redirected the conversation. “They mentioned you work in Midlands. My dad makes that same drive every day too.”
“The drive can be rough some days. Elena said that he’s a deputy?”
“Yes. He’s been there about four years. He was in Abilene before that, but his boss got the job in Midlands, so dad followed him.”
The rest of the meal was split half with me trying to draw Eduardo, who was painfully shy, into it and half with Alex, who was about as opposite as his brother as a person could be, peppering me with questions.
As Mrs. Guzman started collecting the plates, I stood up to help, grabbing mine and Eduardo’s dishes.
“No, no,” she protested. “You’re our guest.”
“Please, I insist,” I said, following her to the sink with the plates.
She gave me a look not unlike the one she kept giving Alex when he wouldn’t mind her to stop asking about football during dinner, but let me follow her, finally taking them out of my hand and stacking them in the sink. When she turned on the faucet, I guess to rinse them, water suddenly sprayed everywhere, shooting up from where the spout met the base. Mrs. Guzman jumped back with a yelp.
“Esta cosa estúpida!” She said as she frantically tried to turn off the water.
Mr. Guzman pushed himself up from his chair, giving that same little groan again, and came over to join us, pulling open the cabinet beneath the sink.
As he bent down to look underneath, he let out a sharp grunt of pain, his hand flying to his lower back.
“Hector!” Mrs. Guzman said, nudging me aside and helping him to stand back up. “Your back. Go. Go. Sit back down. You know what the doctor said.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted through clenched teeth, but let her guide him back to his chair.
While they were doing that, I dropped to my knees and looked in the open cabinet under the sink. The problem was obvious, the coupling connecting the faucet to the water line had come loose.
“Do you have a wrench?” I asked.
“No, no,” Mr. Guzman said firmly. “We can’t let you…”
“I help fix stuff at home all the time. It’s just a loose connection. Five minutes, tops.”
“We’ll call a plumber,” he insisted.
Mrs. Guzman tutted at him and disappeared, reappearing with a toolbox. “Here you go, Blake.”
“Elena-” Mr. Guzman started.
“Eddie,” I said, using the nickname Alex had used for his brother a few times. “Come give me a hand.”
Eduardo hesitated for a second, clearly unsure what was happening, but joined me at the sink.
I pointed to a section of the piping and said, “See this coupling here? It’s just worked itself loose. Hand me that wrench, the bigger one.”
I walked him through what I was doing, explaining how to check if fittings were properly aligned before tightening them. It was something that broke in a lot of sinks, especially in older, poorly maintained homes. I’d lived in a lot of shitty apartments in my dream life, and had to fix this a bunch of times.
Finally, a place where something from my dream life actually helped me in this one. In a few minutes, I had it fixed. Standing up, I turned on the faucet. The water flowed normally, no leaks.
“¡Gracias a Dios!” Mrs. Guzman clasped her hands together. “That’s been broken for weeks. With Hector’s back...”
“What happened?”
“An accident at work last month,” Mr. Guzman said. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” his wife said. I’d clearly touched a subject they’d fought about before. “He can barely bend over and is always in pain. He’s stubborn though. There’s so much that needs fixing around here, which is just making his back worse.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
“I could help. I’m pretty good with basic repairs. I’m sure Eduardo doesn’t mind helping me with them. Actually, I could tackle some projects on Saturday.”
“Oh, we couldn’t…” Mr. Guzman began.
“That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Guzman exclaimed.
“Wait, what?” Eduardo said.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Better than studying all weekend, right?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Now that I started thinking about it, this was a great idea, even if it did eat up some of my weekend. I’d been slowly eating lunch a little more with Eduardo, but I’d also had to do almost all the talking. He’d been so reluctant to engage and he hadn’t agreed to sit with the other guys yet. If this was going to work and I was going to keep him out of the gang, I needed him to build a set of friends here in Wheaton, and that would only work once I got him to open up to me.
Eduardo looked uncertain. “I guess...”
“Great,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder a second time, grinning from ear to ear like I’d just won a prize.
“It’s settled then,” Mrs. Guzman said, beaming. “I’ll make lunch for you boys.”
Mr. Guzman opened his mouth to protest again, but his wife gave him a glare not even the bravest of men would have challenged.
He swallowed whatever he’d been about to say and instead said, “You’re very kind to offer.”
“It’s no problem at all,” I assured him. “Really.”
***
As well as things were going with Eduardo, things were going badly with Elijah and his bunch. I’d managed to avoid him most of Wednesday too, even though he’d become more aggressive in trying to corner me.
He’d almost done it at lunch, but Brandy had pulled Mason away to go do something and I had Miguel and Tyrell with me. Elijah was a coward at heart and only did his bullying when he outnumbered his victims. I guess it was hard to intimidate someone when you had to watch that person’s friends just in case they tried to kick your ass.
I’d known I wouldn’t be able to avoid them forever, but I’d hoped for a few more days at least. It was foolish, but I hoped that he would calm down after a few days.
Unfortunately, they managed to corner me in the hallway that led out of the school and to the fieldhouse just before I got to the door. I could have turned around and walked the other way, I guess, but it was an empty hallway behind me, and I didn’t particularly feel like running away. Avoiding them, sure, but I wasn’t going to run from him.
He must have been waiting there for a while because he looked bored as I turned the corner, although that boredom shifted to almost glee when he saw it was me and I was alone. He was feeling brave because he had Mason with him. I was both taller and outweighed Elijah, but no one other than Tyrell outweighed Mason.
“Hey, traitor!”
“Fuck off,” I said, trying to walk around them.
Mason put himself in front of me, like he was blocking for Elijah. I took a step back, mostly to keep them out of my peripheral.
“I don’t know how you managed to convince coach to bench me, but you’re going to regret that shit.”
“No one had to convince coach of anything. I tried to tell you your little game was going to come back and bite you in the ass, and here we are. How many passes do you think you can drop before he was going to bench your ass? If you played the game, tried to win it instead of whatever pissing contest you’ve invented between us, you’d still be first string.”
“Bullshit. Coach sees me in practice. He knows I’m better than Wayne.”
“He also sees you during the game and how you and Jake and Hunter keep blowing plays. You can’t be so stupid to think this isn’t your fault.”
Of course, I knew that wasn’t true. Elijah was exactly stupid enough to think he had nothing to do with this. To him, everything he did was perfect and anything that went against him was some kind of conspiracy. He was just dumb enough to think he had everything figured out.
“You’ve had this coming,” Elijah said. “Ever since you turned your back on your real friends.”
“Real friends? You guys were never real friends. The only person you’ve ever cared about is you. I just grew up enough to realize it. Maybe you should think about that too, Mason. He’ll only have your back as long as there’s something in it for him. As long as you’re okay being his little buddy.”
I think for a second that might have penetrated Mason’s thick skull. It didn’t last. Mason wasn’t bright enough to think for himself. Hell, the fact that I’d made him think even for a second seemed to piss him off. Like I’d forced him into an unnatural position.
We’d started to draw a crowd, mostly other players on their way to the fieldhouse too. I couldn’t pay much attention to them. Elijah had started to move to my right as Mason took a step toward me. I could see him thinking about taking a swing at me long before he lifted his hand.
I’d never been much of a fighter, either when I was younger or in my dream life, but I had ended up in a few. Working in construction, as I had in the dream life and spending your nights in bars with the guys from work, eventually everyone did. Someone would get drunk enough to say something that couldn’t be looked past or you’d get someone like Elijah on the crew, guys who peaked in high school but still wanted to act like the big man on campus, trying to prove something.
The two things I knew for sure were that I didn’t want to face Mason in a straight-up fight and I didn’t want to fight two guys at once.
So I took Mason out before he could swing, stepping in toward him and driving my knee up hard, catching him right in the nuts with as much power as I could muster.
He doubled over almost instantly as I took a step back and turned enough to face Elijah. The step back hadn’t been part of any plan or anything, but Elijah had started his swing right as I was doing it, so his fist sailed in front of my face, whiffing entirely.
I’d just cocked my own fist back, ready to return the favor, when someone said, “What’s going on here?”
I didn’t see who the teacher was, but it was obvious that’s who’d said it because the crowd immediately started to scatter like roaches when the lights came on.
I wasn’t going to stick around, bolting out the door past Mason, who was now down on one knee, and toward the fieldhouse. There were enough people that it would be impossible for the teacher to figure out who was actually involved.
Say what you wanted to about Elijah, he wasn’t going to rat me out. Besides the fact that they were just as culpable as I was, it would have made him look weak in everyone else’s eyes.
And that was the thing he was really afraid of.
Comments
Chester Goetzinger
Yes, he gets hot quickly but shows excellent control. Really admire his restraint and thinking.
Dwight Palmer
Hair trigger for Blake? Have we been reading the same story. Blake has shown patience like Job, certainly more than I have.
Darryl Graney
If you come up against a two on one situation having a "hair trigger for aggression" is definitely the way to go. The quicker it can be turned into a one-one affair the better and the Marquis of Queensberry rules are out the door. Also, I have yet to meet a decent footballer that by nature is not aggressive.
Travis Starnes
I'm not sure I would agree he has a hair trigger. We're 13 Chapters in and he's thrown no punches aside from defending himself when they were clearly looking to fight him.
Phil
Interested in seeing how you will craft this so Blake doesn't get thrown off the team for fighting since he seems to have a hair-trigger for aggression and is too willing to throw the first punch.
