Payback Time (12 page)

The undefeated season was gone.

T
HERE WAS AN ACCIDENT
in the parking lot, so Kimi and I sat in the dark for half an hour while tow trucks cleared the cars. At Peet's, we got tea and went upstairs. She scrolled through her photographs while I opened my laptop and got to work on my story. Because of the car crash, I had to hustle to meet my deadline.

My headline read L
INCOLN
F
ALLS TO
I
NGLEMOOR
. I followed that with a brief description of each of Inglemoor's scoring plays, and a line on how Dieter would have run wild had it not been for Angel Marichal and all the tackles he made. I didn't come right out and say that McNulty had been out-coached, but it was there between the lines. When I finished, I downloaded Kimi's photo of the Inglemoor receiver crossing the goal line with the clinching touchdown and e-mailed all of it to Chet the Jet with five minutes to spare.

"Okay then," Kimi said, and I watched as she opened the manila envelope and pulled out the photocopies of Angel's school records.

She turned the pages over one by one, holding them sideways so we could both see. On top was the registration page. After that came a medical insurance form, followed by an emergency contact sheet, neither of which had been filled out. "Flip to the real stuff," I said.

"Let's do this one page at a time. Systematically."

She flipped to the next page—a counselor's notes on a meeting with Angel.
Student missed appointment
was written across the top. "No surprise there," she said. "I sometimes wonder if he's said one word to anybody at school."

"Keep going," I said.

Then came a page recording another missed meeting. And then another. She flipped the page over, and we both froze.

We were looking at a nearly clean sheet of white paper. At the top, in large bold capital letters, were the words
RECORDS REMOVED: BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
Printed underneath was the name Hal McNulty, and beneath was McNulty's signature, along with the date: July 1. I stared at the page, trying to figure out what it meant. "Flip," I said.

Kimi did. Another nearly pure-white page:
RECORDS REMOVED: VACCINATION HISTORY.
Below, again, McNulty's name, printed, signed, and dated. She flipped again:
RECORDS REMOVED: STANDARDIZED TEST SCORES.
She flipped:
RECORDS REMOVED: HIGH SCHOOL REPORT CARDS.
She flipped.
RECORDS REMOVED: MIDDLE SCHOOL REPORT CARDS.
Page after page, all removed by McNulty on July 1.

"That's the last page," Kimi said, looking up. "What's it mean?"

"It means McNulty doesn't want anybody to know anything about Angel Marichal."

Kimi turned back to the top sheet, the registration. She'd gone right past it the first time, but now we both read the page slowly. "Look," she said, tapping the line that read
Expected Date of Graduation.
"January fifteenth."

"He's here for one semester," I said.

She looked up. "This fits with the cheating thing, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "It sure does."

"But it seems so stupid to cheat in high school football. Who cares?"

"McNulty wants to get back into college coaching. He's said that, from the first day he came here. Once Horst graduates, and Warner and Westwood, and the rest of this senior class, the team will nosedive. McNulty has to take the state title this year, or at least make it to the title game. He does that, and he'll get a college offer. Maybe not as a head coach—it's more likely he'd be an assistant. But he can work his way up."

She bit her lip. "If McNulty needs to win so badly, why doesn't he start Angel? Why doesn't he play him constantly?"

"I've thought a lot about that. I think he's playing it smart. If Angel became a big star early in the season, some opposing coach might start asking questions like 'Where did this guy come from?' So McNulty saves Angel for crunch time, sticks him in for the crucial plays, and then gets him off the field before he makes too big of a splash. That's why he has Angel wear different numbers—to throw other coaches off his track."

Kimi looked back toward the papers. "Did you see the date the records were pulled?"

"July first. Why?"

"Remember the first day of practice? That was in mid-August and McNulty acted like he didn't know Angel's name or anything about him. The whole thing was a charade."

We sat, both silently thinking. Finally she looked back at me. "Where does Chet the Jet fit into this? Why does he cut Angel's name out of your stories?"

I told her what Chet had said the one time I'd asked.

"And you haven't asked him since?"

I shook my head.

Kimi frowned, and then she checked her watch. "I've got to get home," she said, gathering up the papers. "Okay if I keep these?"

"Sure."

"One more thing, Mitch. Does the loss to Inglemoor change everything?"

I shrugged. "At first I thought it was a big deal, but the more I think about it, I'm not so sure. The loss will drop Lincoln out of the top ten in the state rankings, and McNulty won't like that. But if they beat Bothell next week, both teams will finish the season 7–1 and in a tie for the league title. If that happens, Lincoln would get the invitation to the state tournament because they'd have won the head-to-head game. That's always the tie-breaker. Once you're in the tournament, rankings don't matter at all."

"I hope they beat Bothell," Kimi said. "If you're right about Angel and we're able to break the story, I want it to be big. Nobody will care if Lincoln is just some team whose season is over."

E
ARLY
S
ATURDAY MORNING,
I checked the online version of the
Times.
My headline was there, and so was every word I'd written about Inglemoor's touchdowns. But there was no photo, and Chet the Jet had cut all mention of Angel.

What was going on? Had the guy who'd told me to keep clear of Angel phoned Chet the Jet, too? That was hard to believe. Chet was a professional writer. Even if the guy had called, Chet wouldn't be scared off by some anonymous phone call. So was it McNulty? He'd told me to feature Horst in every story. Maybe he'd said the same thing to Chet, and maybe Chet was going along, but that was a lot of
maybes.

The
Seattle Times
wouldn't run anything I wrote about Angel, but the
Lincoln Light
would. His name ran like a thread through all my stories, but I could do more. The second issue still hadn't been published. I got out my cell and called Alyssa. "How's the paper looking?" I asked.

"Not so good," she said, discouraged. "I wish the other writers were like you. I'm so sick of hearing 'I'll have it for you tomorrow.' We need to get an issue published, and I'm still three stories short."

"Maybe I can help. I've got an idea for a feature on a football player who's new to Lincoln. It won't be too long, and it will fill some space."

"I'd like to say yes, Mitch, but the paper is already top-heavy with your volleyball and football stories."

"Come on, Alyssa. You're the one who said that all kids read is sports. And you want to get an issue out in October, right? This story will be good."

There was a long pause. "Okay, go ahead."

I cut the connection and got to work. Two hours later, I was done.

MAXIMUM IMPACT

Angel Marichal, a transfer to Lincoln High this year, has played a major part in the football team's success despite limited playing time. Marichal's heroics began with the Mater Dei game, where his fourth quarter interception saved the victory that started the Mustangs' season rolling. Marichal continued his contributions with extraordinary special teams in the following games. A one-man wrecking crew on punt and kickoff coverage, Marichal has forced three fumbles, two of which he recovered himself. All three turnovers led to Lincoln touchdowns and played a huge part in the resounding victories. From his middle linebacker position, he has picked off three passes and knocked down at least a half dozen more.

Marichal plays behind Darren Clarke at middle linebacker. However, when the game is on the line, Marichal is on the field. Against Inglemoor, Coach McNulty lifted Clarke and had Marichal play the entire second half. Even though Lincoln lost the game, Marichal's speed and strength held Inglemoor star running back J. D. Dieter in check. In fact, had Marichal played the entire game, many observers believe Lincoln would have won.

Offensive players like QB Horst Diamond garner the headlines in the
Seattle Times,
but ask any coach and he'll tell you that it's defense that wins championships. Marichal's speed and strength make him an intimidating presence. Don't be surprised to see Marichal play more minutes in the future. With Horst Diamond leading an explosive offense and Angel Marichal spearheading a suffocating defense, this is a team that could still make it all the way to the Tacoma Dome.

When the second
Lincoln Light
finally came out, a spotlight would be shining right on Angel. There'd be no more playing Mr. Anonymous at school, no more hiding in the shadows.

O
NCE
I
FINISHED THE ARTICLE,
I changed into sweats. For the first time in four days, it wasn't raining. I was about to head out to do my run when Kimi called. "Did you see today's
Times?
" she said. "No Angel."

"I saw it."

We talked in circles for a while, getting nowhere. Finally I mentioned that I was about to go running. "I was, too," Kimi said. "How about we run Green Lake together?"

I agreed, but after I hung up I wasn't so sure. The thought of running the lake with Kimi was scary. Could I keep up? I was running more and walking less all the time, but Green Lake...

When I drove up to her house, she came out wearing her John Lennon cap, a white T-shirt, and black shorts. Tucked under her arm was the envelope containing Angel's records.

I drove to the parking lot by the pitch-and-putt golf course. Just as we got out of the car, a couple of the guys from school—Brandon Moyer and Ian Suzuki—came flying around a turn and slowed to a stop, their run over. Both looked from me to Kimi and then back to me again.

We stretched a few minutes before starting. Kimi was light on her feet, almost as if she were gliding. I didn't pound as much as I did when I'd first started running, but I didn't glide.

One lap around Green Lake is about three miles. I counted the yellow stripes that mark off every quarter mile. One ... two ... three ... four—or was that really five? Had I missed one?
Just keep moving,
I told myself.

I could see our starting point, but I wasn't sure I'd make it, when Kimi slowed. "I use the last quarter mile to cool down," she said, lacing her hands together behind her head. "You go ahead."

"No," I said. "I like to cool down, too."

She'd hardly broken a sweat; I was drenched. But I'd done it. In the trunk I had a clean shirt and a towel. I went to the bathroom by the crew house, splashed some water under my armpits, dried myself off, and put the fresh shirt on.

"How about we go to Jamba Juice?" Kimi said when I returned to the car. "We can talk there."

We both ordered raspberry smoothies and carried them to an empty booth. She placed the envelope onto the table between us. "I want to show you something."

She was about to take Angel's records out when I stopped her. I'd been thinking about how Brandon and Ian had looked at her and then at me, as if she were matter and I were antimatter: the slightest touch and the whole universe would explode. "I think I should take it alone from here," I said.

Her eyes flashed. "I thought we were partners."

"We are partners, only..."

"Only what?"

"Kimi, if we prove Angel and McNulty are cheating—and I think we will—the entire football season will go up in smoke. You know how excited everyone is. Parents, teachers, and kids—they'll all hate you for blowing the whistle on Angel. They'll say that he was second string, that he didn't play much, that you're just out to make a name for yourself."

"They'll say the same about you."

"I know, but it's different for me."

"How is it different?"

Why was she doing this? Why was she making me say it out loud?

"How is it different?" she repeated.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to phrase it in a way that didn't make me seem pathetic. "Nobody notices me at school. I'm like a piece of furniture—I'm just there. But you're Kimi and ... well ... you're wonderful, and everybody thinks you're wonderful. You've got a million friends, but they won't be your friends if your name is connected to this story."

She stared at me, making my face turn red. "You're not just a piece of furniture to me, and I'm not quitting."

"Kimi, I don't think you under—"

She stopped me. "I do understand, and I'm not changing my mind, so there's no point in talking about it anymore."

We sat silently for a moment. Then she spread the papers out on the table. "I went over everything again last night"—her voice was businesslike—"and there's something in here we didn't notice." She pointed to the bottom margin of the registration page. "Look."

I could barely make out some numbers that had been incompletely erased. "What are they?"

"Seven digits—a phone number. My guess is that it's the number of Angel's last school. I bet Mrs. Cressy called about something and then scribbled this number down. I'll look up Houston area codes and call all the possible combinations on Monday. If one of the numbers turns out to be a high school—"

"And I'll go back online again to search for a picture of Angel on the websites of Houston high schools. He's probably using a phony name, which would explain why I didn't find anything on him when I first looked. As good a player as he is, there have to be photographs of him on some website, somewhere."

We talked a little longer, rehashing things we'd said earlier. Finally she gathered the records together and put them back in the envelope. "One last thing," she said. "I understand what McNulty gets by cheating, but what does Angel get? Why would he sneak into some high school two thousand miles from his home just to play football?"