The Walk On (15 page)

“I don’t have Christine,” he hissed, looking around the crowded hall in case anyone was listening. He was beginning to regret telling Jonas about the Saturday lunch/interview. Jonas had been on him about it for two days now.

“Come on, she decides to do a story on a guy for getting knocked out?” Jonas said. “She likes you. Even with your head on sideways you should see that.”

“She said it was Coach Hillier’s idea.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jonas said. “Why don’t we ask Coach Hillier if that’s true?”

Alex thought that wasn’t a bad idea. “Let’s see what the story says when it comes out tomorrow,” he said. “Then maybe.”

Alex hadn’t gotten any scrimmage reps at all on Monday. According to Coach Hillier, this was because Buddy Thomas, after examining Alex prior to practice, had said he shouldn’t throw a ball much more than ten yards until Wednesday as a precaution against stretching his ribs in a way that might be painful. Alex was tempted to grab a ball during warm-ups
and hurl it as far as he could to show that he was fine, but he’d already done something like that once and that hadn’t worked out so well.

Most of his teammates stopped at some point, either in the locker room or out on the practice field, to ask how he was feeling. So did the coaches—except for Coach Gordon. Apparently, whatever Buddy Thomas had told him was all the information he needed. The one noticeable change was in the training room: Buddy repeatedly called him either Myers or Alex, and instead of having one of the student assistants tape his ankles for practice, Buddy did it himself.

On Wednesday morning, Alex walked into school a few minutes early and saw stacks of the
Weekly Roar
next to the front door. Christine had told him the newspaper was printed late on Tuesday so it would be waiting when everyone arrived the next day.

He needed to find some privacy to read the story, so he headed for the one place it was guaranteed: the bathroom. The first bell was still fifteen minutes away, so it was empty. He locked himself in a stall and sat. The game got four pages of coverage in the eight-page paper, though two of the pages were filled with photos, including one of him being tended to by Buddy Thomas. The caption said, “Cheap shot.”

The headline on Christine’s sidebar was
FRESHMAN QB CAN TAKE A HIT
.

He was relieved that Christine had kept her word and hadn’t used anything he had said off the record. He had worried that in his quest to impress, he might have trusted her too much. She had actually talked to a number of other people including Mercer’s Coach Alan Hale and David Krenchek,
the kid who hit him. Both had been very apologetic and had complimented him on how he had handled a difficult situation. Matt Gordon had confirmed that he had started calling Alex “Goldie” after first watching him throw a ball in practice. Only Coach Gordon was—surprise—less than gushy about him.

“He’s a freshman and has a lot to learn,” he said. “We’re all glad he wasn’t hurt seriously.”

The last quote was from Alex and it was accurate. “The next time I get that kind of attention, I hope it’s because of something I did rather than something someone else did to me.”

He read the story a second time and breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t see anything in it that would cause a problem. He sort of wished that Christine had written something that indicated he was a nice guy or that she liked him. She had mentioned they had talked while he “wolfed down a hamburger, proving that his appetite was unaffected.” But that was about it.

The most interesting story about the game was in the sports editor’s column by someone named Steve Garland. Mostly, Garland said it was hard to learn much from a 77–0 rout. But toward the end there was a paragraph that caught Alex’s attention:

The rest was about Cherry Hill being a more significant test, although only league play would decide how great this season might be. What interested Alex wasn’t so much that the sports editor would write a paragraph criticizing Coach Gordon but that the teacher who supervised the newspaper had allowed the paragraph to get into print.

That teacher was Coach Hillier. Now he had two questions to ask him at practice that afternoon.

Buddy Thomas officially cleared Alex to take part in all practice drills that afternoon. After looking his ribs over one more time, the trainer asked if he’d had any other symptoms since Friday: headache, nausea, lack of appetite. When Alex shook his head no, Buddy looked at him closely.

“You’re sure?” he said. “I know you want to practice. But if there’s anything at all, you need to tell me.”

“Honestly, Buddy, I feel fine.”

Buddy nodded. “Okay, Myers, I believe you. You’re clear.”

Alex jumped off the table with a big smile on his face. Buddy gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You’re a tough kid, Alex,” he said. “Hang in there.”

Alex felt like he’d just been elected to the football Hall of Fame.

He spent most of practice at the defensive end of the field, mimicking the plays that Cherry Hill Academy was
likely to run. He learned the third-string quarterback usually ran what was called the “scout team,” meaning that he ran the plays the defensive coaches expected the upcoming opponent to run, based on scouting reports. The week before, in part because Mercer hadn’t played a game but also—Alex suspected—because Mercer was so bad, there had been no scout team drills.

Alex loved running the scout team. He got a lot more playing time and Cherry Hill apparently had an offense that liked to throw the ball, so he got the chance to show off his arm on a few occasions—though none of the offensive coaches were watching. They were at the other end of the field running plays against the scout team defense.

After the scout drills were over, the team gathered at midfield to scrimmage, as it always did at the end of practice on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Thursdays were usually reserved for special teams, although both Matt Gordon and Jake Bilney had told Alex that if Coach Gordon wasn’t happy with what he saw on Tuesday and Wednesday, the offensive and defensive units might be on the field on Thursday too.

“The later it gets in the season, the less you want the extra reps on Thursday,” Matt had said. “You’re tired, you’re sore. Though it’s worse for the linemen than for us because we don’t get hit.”

As far as Alex was concerned, the more reps the team ran the better, because it meant he had a chance to play. Matt got, by Alex’s count, eighteen plays, then Jake ran the next nine.

“Okay, Myers, you’re in there,” Coach Hillier said after Jake had badly underthrown a deep pass on his last snap.

A number of other third-teamers jogged into the huddle with him. The first play was a simple handoff. The second was a pitch play in which Alex had the option to run or pitch the ball as he turned upfield. He decided to pitch the ball, which led to a big run by third-string tailback Eddie Brackens.

“Nice job, Goldie,” Brackens said as he jogged back into the huddle.

Coach Hillier was standing right next to Alex. “Okay, fellas, this is it, last play,” he said. Alex tried not to show his disappointment. Three plays? When he heard the call, though, he perked up.

“X across, Z fly,” Coach Hillier said. “On two.”

As the players clapped hands and started toward the line, Coach Hillier put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Don’t force the Z if it’s not there, Alex,” he said. “Take what’s there.”

It was the first time he had called him Alex during practice. Did that mean something? He’d figure it out later.

The X receiver was Freddy Watts. He would go downfield about twenty yards and curl back into the middle. The Z was Darrell Winslow. He would run a straight fly pattern deep. Coach Hillier had read Alex’s mind. Of course he wanted to throw the ball deep to Winslow.

Alex took the snap, made a quick play-action fake to Brackens, and dropped back, bouncing up and down on his toes to stay balanced as he watched his receivers. Brackens had drifted to the right as a safety valve if nothing was open.

The defense knew it was the last play of the day and clearly had a feeling that on his first day back, “Goldie” might be going deep. No one bought the play-action fake and Winslow had both a cornerback and a safety with him.
Alex thought he might be able to fit the ball in between them, but in the back of his mind he heard Coach Hillier’s voice saying, Don’t force the Z.…

Okay, Coach, he thought, we’ll do it your way. Watts had single coverage and whoever was trying to stay with him simply couldn’t. He was wide open. Alex stepped up in the pocket and fired a bullet that almost knocked Watts over as it hit him in the chest. Watts caught it, stumbled, and then fell backward onto the ground, clutching the ball.

“Nice throw,” Alex heard Coach Hillier say softly from behind him. He walked up to where he was standing and added, “More important, smart throw.”

The horn sounded, indicating the last period of practice was over. Everyone jogged to the middle of the field, where Coach Gordon was standing. As Alex started to take a knee, Matt Gordon put an arm around him.

“Goldie,” he said. “You scare me.”

Alex was glad he hadn’t taken his helmet off. He wouldn’t have wanted Matt or anyone else to see him grinning ear to ear.

As soon as Coach Gordon had given his brief post-practice talk about making sure to get enough rest and remembering that the easy games were now over—he’d said the same thing on Monday and Tuesday—Alex looked for Coach Hillier, who was talking to Eddie Brackens. He stood off to the side and waited. Clearly, Coach Hillier was demonstrating a technique of some kind to the running back.

When they were finished, Brackens jogged off to the locker room and Coach Hillier turned to Alex.

“That was a good decision on the last play,” he said.

“Thanks, Coach,” Alex said. “Do you have a minute?”

Coach Hillier looked around for a moment as if searching for someone. But then he said, “Sure, what’s up?”

“I actually wanted to ask you a couple questions about the
Weekly Roar
.”

“Uh-huh,” Coach Hillier said.

Alex suddenly realized that both questions he had might be a little awkward for Coach Hillier to answer—the second one for sure.

“I was wondering,” he said. “Was it your idea or Christine’s to talk to me for that sidebar story she did?”

Coach Hillier smiled. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” he said. “Also very smart. Well, this probably isn’t the answer that you want to hear, but yes, it was my idea. I knew what happened to you was something people would be talking about, so I thought it made sense. I gave her your number.”

He was still smiling. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”