 
## High School Football – The Temptation

### Paul Swearingen

### Smashwords Edition

### Copyright 2011 Paul Swearingen

### Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen at Smashwords.com

### High School Diversity – The Clash

### High School Yearbook – The Drama

### High School Newspaper – The Danger

### High School History – The Treasure

High School Football – The Temptation is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental.

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High School Football – The Temptation

Chapter One

What am I doing here?

Justin shuffled across the street crossing, stumbling slightly over the asphalt-filled cracks that ran like a broken spider web into the intersection.

I'm on foot, in downtown Nowhere, Kansas. The dang sun is beating on my fool head, and in about two seconds I'm going to have a sunstroke and start convulsing and puking. And no one is going to come and help my sorry ass into the shade. He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and checked the time: 10:50. What would the temperature be like in a couple of hours?

His left Nike caught another bump, and he stumbled again and looked around. That's right, fall on your face, right here on the street, fool. Mama always said, "Pick your feet up when you walk!" You want to be the only black kid in this town facedown on a concrete pavement hot enough to fry you?

He remembered the last time he'd actually been facedown on concrete, in the dark, and definitely not in the summertime. A foot hooked around his had brought him down, and a pain in his side had suddenly replaced the pain in his elbow as he felt a foot buried in his ribs. He'd rolled into it and brought down his attacker on top of him, but then Justin had twisted away, grabbed his face, and thumped his head on the concrete.

"Nice way to treat a brother," Justin had muttered. "Don't be asking me for any more favors, scumwipe." He had stood up and returned the favor of a kick in the side, but the figure had just moaned and then lay still. Justin then had walked away, careful not to step into the snow and leave footprints behind.

He shook his head and looked both ways to check for anyone who might have seen him stumble, but traffic was nonexistent. Nevertheless, he lifted his feet slightly and made it across the street with no more stumbles. With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the area from the street corner... a town square surrounded by vacant lots and mostly two- and three-story brick buildings, some with a scattering of cars angle-parked in front of them, a few boarded up with grass growing between the cracks of the worn, uneven concrete sidewalk in front. This place was dead, really dead. He had thought east Topeka was a prime candidate for the undertaker, but this town looked as if it had expired and been buried for the last century or two. And he was stuck here, a live kid in a dead town, and he'd better keep moving. He shook his head and headed in the direction of the school complex, following the directions that his mother had given him.

The scene between him, his mother, and his sister two weeks ago when his mother announced that they were moving to Niotaka had not exactly been pretty. She finally had yelled at both of them; his sister Sharice had cried and threatened to run away; he had said little, as he knew quite well what his mother was going through to make ends meet and was as stubborn as he when her mind was made up, and maybe it was time for a change for all of them. Good jobs didn't grow on trees, and even though she would make half again as much at the candy factory in town here than she had on the night shift at Frito-Lay in Topeka, it still just didn't seem fair that they had to uproot and change everything so suddenly, right before school was to start, so that he wouldn't get to hang in the halls and Vendoland. He'd really miss some of his friends, especially a few select females.

"Go get registered for school, Justin; we've only got a couple of weeks before school starts here, you know. Here's a signed check; do what you have to do and make sure you get a receipt for it. And see if you can pick up the forms for Sharice to enroll tomorrow. I need her to help me finish unpacking today." He'd left his mother and younger sister Sharice in the living room of their house, surrounded by cardboard boxes and wadded-up newspaper, pulling dishes and lamps and flatware out of them at random and depositing everything on the floor.

She was really serious. Until she had landed the new job, Justin was lucky to get her to turn loose of a five-dollar-bill so he could chill with his friends at the mall and not look like a fool when it came time for them to visit the food court. Unless 12-year-old Sharice was in tow. Then he could count on Mr. Hamilton showing up. But those events had been rare, lately.

The school administration building sat just off the main street and a few blocks north of downtown and was constructed of the same red brick as the high school building just behind it. Justin squinted at the sign in the window, hoping that he had the wrong place and could just give up and find a shady place so he could cool down, but no luck: the sign clearly stated, "USD #604 - Niotaka Public Schools... Administrative Offices". He turned to take one more look across the street.

"Hey, Stretch, you play basketball?"

The voice came from behind him. Justin turned to face the boy standing behind the partially-opened door of the building.

"You talkin' to me?"

The boy stepped fully out of the door and spat to his right into the gutter. "Ain't nobody else standing around in the heat out here." He grinned and took three long strides forward, his hand outstretched. "Name's Buck. My dad's superintendent here. I work around the office when he needs a little extra help now and then. I saw you hanging around out here and figured you were new in town and getting ready to go to school."

Justin grasped the hand. It was firm and steady. "I'm Justin Jefferson. Yeah, we just moved out from Topeka; my mom's got a job at the candy factory. And I shoot hoops." Which was close enough to the truth, if three-on-three counted.

"Great. Coach Arnold'll be happy to hear that; we graduated three of our starters this last year. This place isn't much of a football town, but wait until December. Sometimes there's a bigger crowd watching basketball practices, for girls and boys both, than show up for football games." Buck leaned against the side of the building and absent-mindedly scratched his ribs under his cut-off faded orange T-shirt.

"Well, now, I didn't say I'd play on a team. I haven't gone out for sports much since my freshman year."

Buck stared at him for a long moment. Justin tried to picture himself as the other boy saw him: close-cropped hair, a faded but clean T-shirt with the arms torn off to show muscular shoulders, jeans, run-down Nikes. And the two were looking each other eye-to-eye; Justin measured just a fraction under six feet, even.

"Not much to do around here but play baseball now, and later football, basketball, maybe wrestling or track in the spring. Except hang out, and most guys around here work in the fields."

Justin turned his head to the right and stared across and down the street. A dusty green Ford pickup moved slowly along the main drag.

"Yeah, I can see where you'd all want to get out of Dodge and find something living."

Buck grunted. "Oh, it's not so bad, especially on Saturday nights. Come on inside; I'll help you get registered. Oh, and hey, Stretch, don't believe all that you hear around here. Not all of us are rednecks in this town."

Justin grimaced and followed him into the building. It was definitely cooler inside.

Registration took only about twenty minutes; he had to fill out the forms that the clerk handed him, sign up for an activity ticket and yearbook, and choose between physics or biology, home ec or welding; all the other course choices for juniors were closed, as enrollment had taken place during the first week of August, and he had to take six solids, four of them required. It was going to be tougher here than it had been at Topeka High.

"You got time for a Coke, Stretch? I got some guys I want you to meet. They usually end up at the Dairy Spot about this time of day, after practice. Come on; I'll give you a ride." Buck was already pushing the glass door open.

"Nothin' else to do." Justin stuffed his receipt into the folder containing the information packet and enrollment papers for Sharice and followed Buck outside. It wasn't eleven yet, and again the heat hit Justin full-force in the face. He squinted his eyes. Buck pulled open the door of a rusty, white-over-yellow Chevy pickup. The squawk from the hinges echoed from the buildings.

"It don't look like much, but it runs and it's paid for." Buck clanged the door shut and twisted the key, which apparently he'd left in the ignition. A rumble assailed Justin's ears.

"Glass packs. Got 'em last month."

Justin nodded. He pulled at the passenger-side door, and nothing happened.

"Oh, sorry. You gotta lift and pull at the same time."

The door screeched open this time, and Justin swung into the sagging seat, careful not to step on the assorted stuff on the floor, including tools, boxes of nails and hardware, rope, wire, insulators, and other unidentifiable hardware in brown paper sacks.

"Don't worry about that junk; just kick it out of the way. I'm either going to have to make a trip to the dump or throw it into the back of the garage." Buck pushed the floor shifter into reverse, backed into the street without looking, and gunned it. The tires squeaked, and Justin's head snapped back.

"Makes my old man mad when I do that. Some day he's going to come rushing out the front door and have a heart attack, right in front of everyone. Good thing he wasn't there today, huh?"

"Oh, man. I'm not much good at CPR." Justin looked sideways at Buck.

"Yeah, well... I really shouldn't push it. He hasn't had an easy time of it here. We've only been here for three years, and he's never lived up to the rep of the last superintendent. If you believed what everyone in town said about him, that dude must have taken regular walks across the reservoir for fun." Buck spat out the window of the pickup, narrowly missing a Honda Accord coming from the other direction.

Buck signaled a right turn and turned into the graveled Dairy Spot parking lot. Only a small amount of dust announced their arrival. Buck pushed open the door and strode to the rear of the crowded restaurant, Justin following a step behind. Seven pairs of eyes from a booth filled with girls followed them, but Buck walked past the booth and didn't even glance at them.

"Hey, guys; look at what I found wandering around outside the school offices!" Buck whacked Justin on the shoulder.

In a round corner booth six boys, almost clones of Buck, Justin thought, all wearing baseball caps and T-shirts, stared at him. None smiled.

Chapter Two

"Meet Justin," Buck said. "He says he shoots a few hoops, and he just enrolled for high school; goin' to be a junior."

The six nodded and mumbled their howdys.

"Move over; this booth'll take eight butts easy, or about four of yours, Eric."

"Aw, bite me," the big guy in the middle growled pleasantly.

"Later. Hey, Arlissa, two large Cokes, extra ice, over here, okay?"

The talk was easy, about jobs and girls and whether or not the football team would win any games this season. Justin drained his Coke and crunched on the ice, not saying anything.

One of the boys finally glanced at the clock over the pinball machine. "Hey, it's about dinnertime. I gotta go; my Mom'll kill me if I'm late again."

"Never miss a meal, do you?" Eric chuckled.

"You got it. You either, huh?"

"Hey, the center's got to be big and beefy, ya know?

"Big and barfy, you mean. I saw you on the sidelines hurling when the rest of us were still running wind sprints."

"Yeah, well, you didn't look so good yourself, Karl, after a couple of jogs up and down the field. I wish Coach would just let us start running patterns and hitting."

"Naw, not for another couple of days. State rules, you know. Hey, Justin, why don't you drop by tomorrow if you don't have anything else to do?" Karl said. "We start at 7:30 sharp, and Coach probably wouldn't have any objection to letting you run with us. You look like you're in pretty good shape."

Justin looked up to seven pairs of eyes on him, checking out his biceps. "Yeah, I worked out a little when we were in Topeka," Justin said. "But my game's basketball, not football."

Karl ignored the remark. "You ever think about being a receiver? Hold up your hands."

Justin complied. His hands were like his feet, long and wide. The boys around the table nodded.

"I think Coach will want to talk to you. It's no big deal to get on at least the JV team; you just have to have a doctor's certificate so when you have a coronary after wind sprints the school isn't liable," Buck said. "Coach'll be happy that anyone wants to join these guys for a morning of fun times on the old gridiron."

Justin looked around at the group. They didn't look as unfriendly as they did when he first walked in. "I don't think so. I had to get a certificate when I went out for baseball this summer, but it's probably buried in a box somewhere. And like I said, hoops is my game."

"Okay, Stretch," Buck said. "You can wait and be a big star on court later. Lord knows we haven't seen any on the field lately. That's present company excluded, gentlemen; no offense."

"Oh, none taken," Karl grunted. "We certainly don't see your butt out there, either, do we? Well, just give it some thought, Justin. We may not have any hotshots around here, but we do have a bunch of guys who actually provide some amusement once in awhile. It's not all that, but it's not all bad, either."

Buck slid out of the booth and stood up. "All right, guys, later. Justin, you need a ride, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so. We live on the other side of downtown. Uh... you know of anyone who's got a cheap car for sale? I'm getting tired of walking." Justin stole a look at Buck. "And Mr. Taxi here's not gonna give me free rides for the rest of his life."

Buck grinned. "No problem there, Stretch. Any of us who drive will stop for pedestrians. Even you."

"More likely something with nice legs, though," Eric added.

"You got that right," Buck agreed. "Not that there's any problem with your legs, Stretch."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather have one foot against an accelerator the next time I go down Main Street," Justin sighed. "And I'm not going to be too picky about what I'm seen in. I just need wheels to get around in."

"You know, my sister's going to college in a week or so, and I think my folks are going to get her a newer car in a few days." Karl rubbed his chin. "I don't think we'll keep the old one. It's no show car, a red four-door Cavalier with a nice collection of parking lot dings in the doors. But I know it starts every time, even in cold weather."

"Yeah, I don't want to have to walk away from any car in any weather when it quits running," Justin said. "Why don't you find out what your folks want for it and let me know? I'll have to... uh, check my finances and get back to you."

"Your mom's working, isn't she?"

"Yep. She starts at the candy factory next Monday."

"Well, my dad's a loan officer at the bank," Karl said. "I imagine we could work out something on the payments. And the car turned over a hundred thousand a long time ago, so I don't think they'll want too much for it."

"That's cool. Let me know, okay?"

"Let's hit the road, Stretch," Buck said as he tossed back a last mouthful of ice. "I got a load of work to do this afternoon. Later, guys." He pulled a cell phone from his rear pocket, flipped it open, and checked the screen. "Oops... my dinnertime, too."

The heat hit them again like a blast furnace, and Justin turned the wing window in to catch the breeze. "Buck, about playing football. I don't think I...

Buck cut him off. "Look, Stretch, you don't have to feel pressured to do anything you don't want to. But I want you to know something. We lived a couple of counties south of here before Dad took over as Superintendent here, and there were only a few black families in town where we lived. He was principal at the high school there, and he really tried to... well, to integrate things, you know? He tried to do more than just keep things legal. One of the teachers was black, and single, and one night his house burned down. There was talk he'd been seeing a white gal, a college student, and more talk that someone local had torched his house. And even though the state fire marshal was there to inspect what was left, they ruled it accidental, faulty wiring or something. I guess Dad could see what could happen to him, to us, and before the end of the year he resigned, even before he got his job here. There's not much trouble in this town, even though there are only a half-dozen or so black families living here, but there's still a difference. Sometimes it helps for someone like me to sort of push down the barriers, to get things started. But if you don't want to go out for football, it's all right. No one's going to think anything less of you."

Buck gripped the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight ahead, as the truck rolled down the street.

"Hey, man, I know where you're at with all this," Justin said. "When I walked out my front door this morning, I thought it would be hard enough for me just to walk down the street in this town."

Buck let out a puff of breath. "Naw. Last time we shot a minority around here was a couple of years ago. Seriously, sorry about the speech, but I had to be up front with you."

"I appreciate it. But like I said, my game is on the court, not the field."

"Well, I don't play football, either; not my kind of game. I play a little tennis, but I'm sort of saving myself for the basketball season."

"There you go. I don't want to brag but I've got some moves that'll... Oh, turn right at the next corner. We live in the third house on the right. Beige house with a brown roof."

"That one? Okay, Stretch, see ya later. Hope you got some good classes."

"If leftovers are good, I'm excellent. There wasn't much open."

Buck parked in the driveway in front of a dark-blue Jeep Cherokee, which still was full of boxes, and snorted. "More likely we'll be in nearly all of the same classes. There aren't very many required classes that don't include all of us juniors. And a few flunky seniors, too."

"Yeah, I know how that goes. Why do you think I had to sign up for mostly required classes?"

"All right, then. Later." Buck waved vaguely at him as he climbed down from the pickup. Justin watched as the truck backed into the street and roared away. When the sound died the sound of "Hold On, I'm Coming" floated out to him. His mom must have hooked up the stereo, and when she played Sam and Dave, it meant that she was in a good mood. Maybe too good.

Chapter Three

Justin pushed open the front door as far as it would go. A tower of empty boxes blocked it from swinging against the wall, and the floor of the living room was littered with crumpled newspaper and smaller boxes. More boxes, unopened, were stacked on the sofa and coffee table. His mother sprawled in the recliner, a glass wrapped with a beige napkin in her right hand, a cigarette in her left. The clattering from the kitchen told him that Sharice must either be washing dishes or breaking them so she wouldn't have to.

"Hey, Mom. I got enrolled." He dropped the packet of enrollment papers for Sharice on the coffee table.

"That's good, honey. You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

"No. I got a ride with a guy, and we stopped by the Dairy Spot, but I just had a Coke."

"All right. I've got some pizza thawing out in the oven; it should be ready in a minute or two. I had to take a break." She took a final drag on her cigarette and ground it out in an old green coffee cup.

Justin glanced at the glass in his mother's hand. Her eyes followed his to the glass.

"No, honey, I made you a promise. It's just iced tea. We've got a new life here, and I'm going to stay straight. Besides that, the first time I'd take a little snort the whole town would know. Two of the neighbors have been over already, and one of them walked right in the door. Didn't even knock; just stood right where you're standing and hollered until I came out of the back room." She shook her head.

"She was nice, though. Brought over half of a chocolate cake."

Justin carefully lifted a box off the coffee table and sat on the end. "Yeah, I met some guys who'd just finished football practice. Oh, and Mom, I think I'll go down and watch them tomorrow. Is that all right?"

"Football? Already?"

"Yeah, they've been practicing for a week or two. I'll help you clean up these boxes and stuff this afternoon and work on the yard, too. Oh, and is my copy of the medical certificate from baseball in with your papers in the filing cabinet?"

She gave him a sharp look. "I think so, honey. You can look... if you can find the filing cabinet. It might be in my bedroom downstairs under some boxes."

He chuckled. "Okay, I get the hint. We'll get this place shaped up today. So it's all right?"

"Well, I guess so. Just be careful. It gets pretty hot around here."

"No problem, mom. It was hot playing baseball afternoons in Topeka, too."

"Oops... I smell pizza. I'd better take it out." His mother shifted her bulk forward.

"No, you stay put. I'll get it out." Justin jumped to his feet, stepped over a box, and headed for the kitchen.

"Never mind, I got it!" Sharice already had both hands encased in mitts. "You get enrolled?"

"Yep. And I met a bunch of football players. I'm going to watch them practice tomorrow."

The oven door banged shut as she whirled around. "Football? Cool! Can I come and watch, too?" She turned and carefully opened the oven door. Pepperoni fragrance filled the kitchen.

"Naw, it'll just be practicing. Just something to do around here. Nothing to see, yet." He noted the slump of her shoulders. "I'll let you know when it's time."

Sharice expertly slapped the pizza onto the counter and cut it into six wedges, and then she laid them on plates. "Here, take yours and Mama's out into the living room. I'll bring glasses and napkins and the Dr Pepper."

Justin smiled at his sister's sudden sense of domestic responsibility. "Yes, ma'am!" he nodded to her and stepped into the living room.

His sister followed two steps behind. "Oh! And guess what! We're going to get a car, you and me, Justin!"

Justin stared at his mother. She nodded, chewed vigorously, and swallowed. "You're both going to need transportation to and from school, and with my hours, I'm not going to be able to provide it. Justin, that means you'll be expected to drop Sharice off in the morning and pick her up after school. It's going to be a new responsibility for both of you. You'll have to share it, including taking care of it and paying for the insurance. Understood?"

Justin and Sharice both nodded in unison, and Sharice deposited a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper and glasses on the coffee table and skipped back out to the kitchen.

"But how are we going to pay for it?" Justin asked.

"I've got enough in my savings for a down payment, and you'll be expected to help out with payments when you can. All right?"

"Well... I guess I can ask around about a job. And one of the guys thinks he'll have a cheap, I mean an inexpensive, car for sale in a few days."

"Can I get a job, too?" Sharice re-entered the room with a wad of napkins in one hand and her own plate of pizza in the other. "I want to help out, Mama. It should be my responsibility as much as Justin's."

"I know, Shar. Maybe I can ask around at work and see if anyone needs a good babysitter. Okay?"

"Yeah, Mama. Oh, Justin, let's get a red car. Maybe a convertible?"

Justin and his mother exchanged glances and smiled.

* * *

The afternoon proved to be a workout for the three of them. By seven o'clock, the bulk of the boxes were stacked next to the garage, waiting for recycling later, and only a few boxes to be unpacked later were left on the enclosed porch in back. Justin even had time to run the lawn mower around the small yard, although he decided that he'd wait and chop down the horseweed along the back fence later. He didn't want to run out of things to do just yet, and besides, the sun was about to melt him down.

He was on the last lap around the yard when he realized that a silhouette of a man was standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, hands on hips. Justin pushed the lawn mower across the last stand of grass and let up on the safety handle. After the noisy lawn mower, the silence almost echoed.

"I don't want to keep you from your work," the man said. "You Justin Jefferson?"

"Yes, sir. And I'm done mowing." Justin pulled a rag from his back pocket, mopped his face and arms, and stepped to the sidewalk. "I'd shake hands, but... "

"That's all right. I'm Coach Greene. Football coach, not to mention wrestling and track. I hear you might be interested in playing football with us this season."

So news does travel fast in this town, Justin thought. "Well, I guess some of the guys I met today at the Dairy Spot thought I should come over to the field tomorrow and check it out."

"That's what they said. And I suppose they told you we've only won a half-dozen games in the last three seasons."

"Something like that."

"Well, it's the truth. Justin, it's no secret that I'm probably a much better wrestling coach than a football coach, and both the wrestling and track teams send a pretty good group of athletes to state each year." Coach Greene paused and looked across the yard. "I'd really like to have a winning football season this year, too."

Justin nodded, wondering where this was all going. He finished rubbing his hands with the rag, looked at it, and stuffed it into his back pocket and pulled up his t-shirt to wipe his face.

"The biggest problem is... well, it's the same old story: attitude. The players think they're going to lose most of the time, and that's exactly what happens when it gets tough in the tight games, even though they've got pretty much the same abilities as the other teams do. I've told the team already that if we don't have a winning season this year, I'm resigning. We play nine games, seven of them against other league members, and we need to win at least five. And... if I resign one coaching job, I won't have a prayer to keep the others."

Justin squinted at the coach. Do I really need this pep talk? he thought. A game's a game, and a job's a job. And if you lose one, you just go after another, right? And what would be so wrong with just packing up and leaving this dead town?

"Well, you've got the general picture, Justin. I don't want you to think you'd be joining a bunch of losers, because they're not. They just need a little spark to get them going, to change that losing attitude. And I can't promise you a place on the starting team, either. You'd probably play on the jayvee team for awhile. We're sort of light on receivers, though. You ever play much football?"

"Uh... well, I played in middle school. And I went out for the team when I was a freshman. But I got cut because... I didn't pass all my classes. So I wasn't really eligible for sports last year. I played some baseball this summer, though."

Coach Greene took off his cap and rubbed his thinning hair. "All right, I understand. We can help you stay eligible. We have a couple of study programs for those who have problems with their classes."

"Coach, I didn't really say I wanted to play football. I'm not sure..." Justin's voice trailed off, and he looked across the street at the house on the other side. That yard needed more work than the Jefferson's yard had, he noticed.

"I'm not trying to pressure you, son. It's just that we've already been practicing for a couple of weeks, and most kids who move here want to go out for some sports. There's not really much else to do in town. There's still room for you on the team, if you really want to be a part of the action."

Justin looked at the top of one of his green-stained sneakers and then faced the coach. "I don't know, Coach. I suppose I could get involved in something here. I wasn't really into anything at Topeka High, and I can't say that I made very good grades, either. But my mom expects me to make something out of myself here. And I guess I can't go back to..." His voice trailed off.

"Fair enough. Like I said, we can help you with the academics. In fact, about half of both the football and volleyball team members show up for the before-school study program, and some of them don't really have any problems with their grades. They just need a quiet place to study for a half-hour or so. But you'll have to make up your mind that you want to do your best on the field. You'll have to provide that winning attitude yourself. Now, I brought you a high school activities association physical exam form. You'll have to get an examination before you can really practice." Coach Greene pulled a folded paper from his hip pocket and handed it to Justin.

"I've got a doctor's certificate from when I played baseball this summer, coach. Will that do?"

"Well, it might get you on the field for a few days, but we're liable for anything that happens to you. Bring it with you tomorrow and I'll take a look at it. But you'll need to see Doc Giles this week. He only charges about ten bucks for a sports exam, and his office is right down town on Main Street."

"All right. I'll give it a shot. What time, and where's the field?"

"Seven a.m. sharp. And the field's two blocks west of the Dairy Spot, just north of the high school. We'll see you there." Coach Greene took a step to his right but turned back and thrust his hand at Justin.

"Welcome to the Niotaka Eagles, Justin. I think you're going to like it here."

Justin took the coach's outstretched hand.

"Thanks, Coach. I'll be there."

Chapter Four

Justin's head jerked as he retched, and retched again. Behind him, from the center of the field, he could hear chuckles.

"C'mon, guys, haven't you ever seen anyone selling Buicks before? Let him finish!" the voice of Eric floated across the field.

Justin wiped his eyes and spat a final time. His knees were shaking, but he managed to stand up, not looking at the remains of cornflakes on the sidelines. Not looking at him, an assistant coach handed him a water bottle.

"Here, rinse out your mouth, and take it easy for a few minutes."

"You all right, kid?" Coach Greene called from the field.

"Yeah, sure," Justin managed to croak.

"All right, men, let's knock off a little early today anyway; it's past ninety already, I think," Coach Greene said as he shaded his face with his clipboard so he could check out the sky. From horizon to horizon, not a cloud promised relief.

"I'm sorry, Coach," Justin mumbled. He spat in the general direction of the cornflakes and handed the bottle back to the assistant.

"It happens, man." The assistant tossed the bottle in the general direction of the bench and trotted towards the locker room. "All right, gentlemen, we've had enough fun today. Hit the showers and cool off."

Most of the players were finished and gone by the time Justin was struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head. His eyes re-focused on the only other black team member, T. J. Watkins, who was standing two feet in front of him.

"Hey, man, that shirt gettin' too tight for you?"

Justin shrugged.

"Been workin' out a little, aintcha? But it didn't help you when you had to blow your breakfast, did it?"

Again Justin didn't answer. He'd noticed that T. J. hadn't said anything to him on the field. The other team members had at least a passing comment or two, when there was time for small talk. But T. J. had managed to stay away from him.

"Let me ask you something," T. J. continued. "Did Coach Greene come to you with a sad speech about the team being a bunch of losers and how he was going to quit if we didn't start winnin' games?"

Justin pulled on a shoe and balanced the other on his right knee before he answered. "He said that there was an attitude problem with the team. And he might quit if we didn't have a winning season."

"Yeah, well, I think we all got the same speech before the season started. What it is, is that Coach Greene's the one with the attitude problem, not us."

Justin pulled on the right shoe and leaned back against the cool concrete.

"And let me tell you something else, Slick. Don't get any big head ideas about being the star receiver when it come time for us to draw positions. You look to me like you belong on the line anyway."

Voices drifted down the hallway, and Coach Greene and the assistant came into sight.

"Whatever, T. J. I'm just going to go out and play football and have some fun."

T. J. glanced over his shoulder. "That's right, Slick. And go easy on breakfast tomorrow." He slapped Justin on the shoulder and sauntered down the hall, muttering a rap line to himself.

The two coaches stopped in front of Justin. "Getting tips from T. J. already, eh?" Coach Greene followed T. J.'s departing figure until he was out of sight.

"Sure, Coach. He might just have something there about going easy on breakfast." Justin stood and stretched.

"And that's about the end of his expertise," the assistant grinned. Coach Greene glared at him, and the assistant raised both palms and walked quickly down the hall.

"Justin, you remember what I said about attitude last night at your place?"

"Sure, Coach."

"Well, let me just say for the record that I liked what I saw on the field today. Now, you were definitely a little rough around the edges, but you weren't hot-dogging it, either. I think we can make a ball-player out of you, if you can take directions."

Justin stared at the coach. "I can take directions, Coach. What do you want me to do?"

"Like I said, just take directions. And the first one is, 'Think for yourself'." He stared down the hall. "Get my drift?"

Justin pictured T. J.'s frown and nodded. "Got it."

"All right, then, son. I think you'd better go see Doc Giles for your physical this afternoon. Bring the certificate with you tomorrow, and we'll see you tomorrow morning." He slapped Justin on the shoulder and trotted down the hall after the assistant.

Friends and enemies seem to be easy to come by in this town, Justin thought. Let's see if either is still in the parking lot.

No team members' cars were left in the parking lot, so Justin squinted against the sun and strode across the field in the direction of the Dairy Spot.

As he walked along the cracked sidewalk, he noticed sharp contrasts between some of the yards. Most were carefully manicured, with flowers and shrubs strategically placed in front of the houses, but a few had wilted-looking lawns which apparently had not been mowed for a week or more, although they weren't really to the point of being called shaggy. Maybe there was some quick cash waiting there for him, he thought. But first he'd better check it out with the guys.

The juke box wailed something about a phone booth in Cheyenne, and the electronic sounds of a pinball machine echoed across the vinyl benches and red-topped tables. The guys were in their usual round booth at the back, the girls closer to the front. This time they kept talking, and Justin couldn't help but notice their eyes following him. He nodded in their general direction without saying anything. No one had paid him much attention in Topeka, and he usually had to do something stupid to get a female to notice him, like snatching a note or a book away from her, which usually got some kind of screaming reaction. Well, that was kid stuff, he decided. In this town, you just strut your stuff and take your chances on who or what was going to pay attention.

From the back, Karl spotted Justin and waved him back.

"Come on down, oh great spewer of breakfast," he yelled at Justin.

"Yeah, we've been waiting for you, chief," Eric said. "I guess you know that it's an old Eagle tradition that he who sprays, pays. Drinks are on you, my man."

Justin pulled an empty chair up to the table, pulled a five out of his pocket, turned the pocket inside out, and sat. "It's great to be an Eagle, guys. But this is as far as the old dollar stretches. I'm a little short today.

"No problem, dude," Eric said as he patted his pocket. "I got you covered. Hey, Arlissa, seven large Cokes, and go heavy on the ice, okay?"

"All right, man. I'll take care of you tomorrow." Justin flashed him a grateful smile.

"No hurry. Do it when you can."

The conversation was primed for talk about money and included discussion of expensive girls and cars and even the hog and cattle markets. Justin just listened, not really understanding the fine points of topping the market in Kansas City nor of attracting the attention of certain named females.

After Arlissa slapped the round of Cokes on the table, the only sound was the swishing of ice in plastic tumblers. Justin waited a decent interval before he interjected a question.

"Speaking of money, which is easy for YOU guys, are there any jobs in town? For high school kids?"

The group looked at each other collectively and shook heads.

"No, most of us do farm work," Hank grunted. "Except for Eric there, who somehow managed to land a job with his favorite commodity, groceries, at the AG."

"Hey, I want you all to know that the only grocery packing I do there is in paper bags for little old ladies. And the place is a real sweatshop, too."

"Yeah, I can see you sweating now in that air conditioning. You wanna come out and try out the air conditioning on an open tractor sometime?" Hank wiped his forehead. "Yeah, maybe some tractors have all the conveniences, but my dad says a sunshade is good enough for us."

"Okay, no openings." Justin stared at his tumbler. "Now, what if someone were to... knock on doors and offer to mow lawns, trim trees, that sort of thing? You think people in this town would go for it?" No one spoke

Eric broke the silence. "Depends on how much you charge, and who you are; you know, how well they know you, and stuff."

Justin looked around the group. Might as well kill two birds with that old stone. "What if I were, say, T. J.?"

Karl, the only senior in the group, and the leading candidate for quarterback, cleared his throat. "What's on your mind, Justin?"

"Well, two things. One, I've notice that some of the yards in town could use some attention. And I actually did a little work for a lawn care company back in Topeka, so I know how to take care of a yard."

He paused and looked around the group. "And two, what's up with T. J.? He's not here now with you, with us, and I get the definite impression that he thinks he's God's gift to the football team."

The chuckle traveled around the booth. "Yeah, we were just saying when you walked in that you and T. J. definitely are not alike, man," Karl said. "If you know what I mean. No offense, of course."

Justin grinned. "None taken, dude. We may all look alike, but T. J.'s definitely way out there."

Karl nodded. "He really has a thing against Coach Greene this year, too. Last year he was a hot dogger, too, but this year... man! It's a wonder Coach hasn't kicked him off the team."

Eric snorted. "Like anyone's going to get bumped from this team. I bet if some junior high snotnose walked out on the field, Coach would play him first and ask questions later. Why, even you have a chance, Justin!"

"Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence, G. Anyway, so if I walked up to some front door, you know, after wading through knee-high grass, and I knock on it and some white lady opens it and I say, 'Good afternoon, ma'am; your yard is a mess, and for twenty-five bucks I can spiffy it up in no time,' what's she gonna do?"

"That's easy," Eric said. "She's going to slam the door in your face and call nine-one-one and say, 'Send the sheriff over, quick. This black dude's trying to jack me out of twenty-five bucks for a fifteen-dollar yard!' The table erupted in guffaws, and Eric and Karl high-fived, almost knocking over a Coke.

"Yuk, yuk," Justin grimaced. "Okay, so you're trying to say that maybe I won't cause any problems if I go around knocking on doors."

"Naw," Karl answered. "Just don't forget to use the deodorant after the shower. Seriously, we've never had the problems here that some of the bigger cities in Kansas had. I suppose having a college here makes a difference in attitude. Niotaka's not Wichita, so you do what you like here, as long as it's not illegal, man. And as for T. J., forget him. He's more blow than go."

Justin nodded silently. Things were not that much different here than it had been on the east side in Topeka, he thought. Except for the "illegal" part. Maybe this afternoon he'd push the lawn mower across the street and see if he could raise some quick cash.

"Oh, hey, Karl, you think your sister's car's going to be for sale?

"Yep. She doesn't know it yet, but there's a yellow convertible down at Herbert North Chevrolet with her name on the title; I helped my dad pick it out yesterday after practice. We're gonna give it to her this weekend, and by Monday we should have the old one ready to show. You wanna come by and look at it Monday afternoon?"

"Bet," Justin grinned.

Chapter Five

The lawn mower and a metal can filled with gas parked behind him on a cracked sidewalk, Justin stepped carefully onto the porch. His footsteps echoed hollowly, almost as loud as his knock on the screen doorframe. He waited a few seconds and knocked again. His hand was raised for the third knock when the white door behind the wooden screen door cracked open a few inches.

"Yes?"

Justin could see that the owner of the voice was an older woman, but she kept the door open a precise three inches, and he could not see into the darkened interior behind her.

"Hello. My name's Justin Jefferson. I... we just moved into the house across the street. I just mowed my lawn the other day, and I couldn't help but notice that...

"No thanks. I'm getting it mowed by someone else."

Justin nodded. "Oh. That's fine. But if you ever need help with it, just let me know."

"I don't think so. Anything else?"

What did she really want? Justin thought. Miracle cleaning fluid? A set of encyclopedias? Perhaps a copy of Malcolm X's autobiography?

"No. I guess that's it. Thank you for... "

The door closed before he could finish his sentence. Perhaps a volume of Miss Manners' etiquette? It would be a cold day before he crossed this street again, he decided.

He picked up the gas can and pushed the mower into the street, glancing behind him at the house. A drape quickly flipped shut in the window to the left of the door. All right, lady, don't have a panic, he thought. I'm getting off your property as fast as I can.

The next stop down the street was more profitable, however. In an hour's time he earned twenty dollars and had downed a large glass of lemonade, pink lemonade at that. By the time the sun had dipped into a bank of clouds in the west, he'd scored three for nine, and the ones who turned him down did so with a smile, informing him that they just hadn't gotten around to taking care of their yards yet.

At least he'd be able to pay off Eric the next time he saw him. And with any luck he'd be able to earn enough to add to his meager savings and have enough to make payments on Karl's sister's car. Even though Niotaka was small, he'd had enough of being on foot. His mother started work next Monday, on the early shift at 6:00 am, too early for him to ride with her to practice or later to school, and Sharice had informed them after enrolling that no school buses ran inside the city limit to pick up students. He would be expected to drop Sharice off at the middle school a block away from the high school, although his mother could pick her up after school while he went on to practice.

Yeah, having a real job would be a lot better than what he was used to doing back in Topeka.

Sharice, in shorts and t-shirt, braids flying, was practicing cheerleader routines in the front yard, and he turned loose of the lawn mower and imitated her until she stuck her tongue out at him and stomped her foot.

"You're stupid, you know?" She folded her arms and glared at him.

"You're uncoordinated, you know?" he grinned.

"Oh, yeah? How about this!" She did a quick cartwheel, threw both hands together in the air in front of her, and yelled, "Rah! Now you try it."

"Maybe tomorrow. I gotta go count all the money I earned working today."

Immediately she was a step away from him. "Oh, let me help you count it. How much?"

He pulled the folded money, three fives, two tens, and a twenty, from his pocket, pretending that they were a larger bundle of cash and flipping them so that his sister could not get a good look at them. "Forty, seventy, ninety-eleven, two hundred, and change."

She glared at him. "Oh, come on. How much?"

He put the bills back in his pocket. "Enough. Maybe I'll go buy a car tomorrow."

Her eyes grew wide. "You really didn't... "

"No, not yet, but I'm gettin' there. Anything cold to drink in the house?"

"'I'll get you a nice glass of iced tea. You just wait there!" She practically flew into the house, and Justin grinned. Maybe giving the kid sister rides wouldn't be so bad after all. He pushed the lawn mower into the garage, and by the time he closed the folding doors, Sharice was back with a tall, tinkling glass.

"Thanks, kid. Maybe I'll give you a ride sometime."

"Promises, promises. I don't see no golden chariots out front. Oh, you mean a car! You got keys on you?" She slapped the side pocket of his jeans, and he pretended to splash tea from the glass on her. She twisted away and ran, giggling, disappearing around the side of the house. Too tired to chase her down, he leaned against the garage door and sipped from the glass. She was getting taller, those legs stretching out, and he might have a little trouble catching up with her anyway. Maybe she's the one who should be called "Stretch".

A flicker of light distracted him. He looked up at the sky, waited, and was rewarded by a flash of sheet lightning in the northwest. Good; mowing had been dusty work today, and rain on the lawn meant grass growing all that much faster.

* * *

Justin lay stretched out on his bed, earphones on and his favorite CD in his portable player, when the storm hit. The wind rattled the window and the rain beat on his window, only slightly dissipated by the rusty window screen. He watched the ash and hackberry trees bend in the onslaught during each flash of lightning. Suddenly, a small branch broke free and slapped against the side of the house. Well, more yard work wouldn't hurt him, he decided. And he'd have all of the weekend ahead of him to clean up storm debris; tomorrow was Saturday. The storm gradually died down within a half-hour, although thunder continued to grumble and the rain fell steadily. Justin eventually fell asleep with the sound of rain splattering in a puddle outside his window mixing with old-school rap from LL Cool J.

Chapter Six

He was on a motorcycle, headed west on a darkened highway, chased by something he couldn't quite see. His motor thrummed steadily underneath him, but the steady rhythm soon changed to a knocking sound. He desperately tried to increase the throttle, but the pounding continued...

"Justin, wake up! It's past nine o'clock, and Mama says you have to get up and get the branches out of the yard!

He awoke with a jerk. "Uh... all right, all right, Shar. I'm awake."

"You'd better be. Breakfast was over a half-hour ago."

Justin grunted a reply and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, glancing out the window and trying to ignore the aches that ran up and down his stiff back and legs. He blinked, and blinked again. What he thought was going to be only one branch to clean up had multiplied to a dozen or more, including one that looked to be as big around as his head. So much for a fun Saturday.

When he appeared at the living room entrance, Sharice glanced up from the cartoons she was watching. "I saved you some French toast, Justin, but you'll have to warm it up in the microwave."

"No problem. I've given up cold cereal for a while. Any juice left?"

"Just grapefruit. And pru-u-une!" She made it sound enticing.

Justin grimaced. "You should try it sometime."

Sharice stuck her tongue out at him but passed up the opportunity for a rejoinder, instead ignoring him in favor of Bugs Bunny. Justin sighed and tried to set his taste for soggy French toast.

* * *

Justin dragged the last branch onto the curbside pile he had made, where the city truck could pick them up later. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky, and the humidity was definitely up. He had to stop and mop his face, and as he put the handkerchief away, he glanced at the yard across the street. Leaves and branches, mostly smaller ones, littered the yard, but he could see one larger branch leaning against the front of the garage.

He stuffed the handkerchief in his hip pocket and walked across the street. It was shadier here and cooler; the trees were older and taller than those in his yard.

"It's cooler over here than across the street, at least. Here goes nothing," he said to himself. He picked up a branch and deposited it next to the driveway, glancing at the house. No motion at the windows; the front door was shut. He picked up several larger branches and dumped on the pile.

The driveway to the garage was littered with leaves but otherwise clear except for the large branch against the front corner of the garage. "Might as well take care of that one, too," he muttered as he strode to the garage.

The branch was almost heavier than he could manage, and it seemed to be caught on something. Justin paused, caught his breath, and threw his entire weight into the branch. It shifted sideways and broke free, but the sound of glass shattering behind him stopped him. He dropped the branch and stepped to the side of the driveway.

He hadn't been able to see the door in the side of the garage before because of the branch, but now he could see that all but one corner of the door's window was missing, and the broken end of a small, dead branch was just inches from the door. Apparently when the larger branch twisted sideways it speared the door glass with the dead branch.

"Oh, great," Justin muttered as he stepped closer to the door to inspect it. But the sound of a shotgun being cocked behind him froze him in his tracks.

"Don't move. At all. Trying to break into my garage, now, huh?"

Justin felt a trickle of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades. He raised both hands slowly. "No, ma'am," he managed to croak. "I think the branch broke it out. I'm sorry. I'll... pay for it." He turned his head slowly. The woman stood inside a screened side porch, a shotgun cradled in her left arm but pointed directly through the screen at his liver.

"Yeah. Right. I don't suppose you got the hint yesterday. I knew you were up to something."

Justin turned slowly to face her, his hands still up. It wasn't the first time a gun had been pointed at him, but the shotgun was a first. "You don't understand. Look, I started to pile up your branches. Out front. Look!" The last word was more of a squeak, in spite of the fact that Justin's voice had finished changing during his eighth-grade year. Or so he thought.

The woman pushed open the door with the shotgun, fixed it on Justin, and then looked out at the street.

"I just thought you might need some help," Justin said. "Look, lady, no one is going to break into anyone's garage in bright daylight. All right?"

The woman glared at him but slowly let the barrel of the gun drop until it pointed at the porch step. She grimaced. "There's nothing in there but old tools and junk anyway. And the Fairlane in there hasn't run for years."

She shook her head and leaned the shotgun against the inside frame of the porch. "I'm sorry. I've just been jumpy since my house was broken into last month. But that was before you folks moved in. And I still think the scum who lived across the street, in your house, did it."

Justin lowered his hands. "I'm... sorry I caused you any trouble. I just wanted to be a good neighbor and help out."

She nodded. "I can see that now. How much you want?"

"What?"

"How much you want for cleaning up the yard?"

"Well... it's the least I can do after busting out your window. Although... you know... it might have been an accident."

"Oh, never mind that. Really, how much do you charge?"

"All right. How about a big glass of ice water."

She stared at him, and he looked around the yard.

"And if the person who cuts your grass for you doesn't show up, you'll let me have first shot at it."

Her face twisted. "I... don't know. I can't pay you very much."

"All right; I come cheap when all I have to do is to cross the street. How about ten bucks and a frosty glass of lemonade or something, maybe Monday afternoon after the ground dries out?"

"That's not very much. Tell you what; I could add a ham sandwich to that."

Justin pretended to frown. "Maybe with a slice of cheese?"

"Hmph. And I suppose you'll be wanting lettuce and mustard and maybe butter on it, too?" Her mouth twitched.

"Naw. Margarine is fine."

"Margarine it is. What's your name again?"

"It's Justin, ma'am. Jefferson."

She turned toward the front door but hesitated and turned to face him. "I'm Mrs. Garrison. Thank you, Justin. And I apologize for..." She hoisted the shotgun slightly.

Justin grinned back. "No problem, Mrs. Garrison. I probably should have asked first."

She nodded, turned, and let the screen door bang shut, and she disappeared into the house.

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."

His ankle was throbbing by now, and he took a couple of Tylenols. He really should get off it for a while. What would his tolerance for pain be if someone really cleaned his clock on the field? Memories of young men writhing on the turf at games he'd watched last year invaded his mind while he scrubbed chicken grease off the blue cast-iron skillet.

Sharice was engrossed in cheerleader routines in front of the house, the lawn mower, gas can and oil can parked on the sidewalk.

"You gonna try out for cheerleader, Shar?"

"You bet! Don't they always have cheerleader tryouts during the first week of school?"

"I suppose." Justin checked the oil dipstick. Just a little under full; no need to add any.

"And I'll have a much better chance here in a smaller school, don't you think?"

"I don't see why not." He tucked the gas can spout into the filler neck and carefully poured.

"Justin, do you think I'll be a good cheerleader?"

Justin twisted the gas tank lid on. "Of course. The best. You'll be showin' these country kids what's up the first time you have a game. Now, listen up. Try not to hit any branches bigger than my thumb." He poked his thumb so close to her eyes that she had to look at it cross-eyed. "See my thumb? Gee, you're dumb." He grinned at her.

"Oh, Justin, that's old. You do that to little kids."

"And that makes you... ?"

"Well, I'm a kid, but not a little kid. Now, let's get this lawn mowed."

Mrs. Garrison peered at the pair of them a little suspiciously as Justin explained why his little sister and not he was mowing her lawn. But he assured her that she was experienced, too, and that he would be supervising every move Sharice made. Sharice glared at him, then. Am I always going to make women mad at me? Justin sighed silently. I gotta learn how to talk to them right, I guess.

* * *

Justin slapped the ten that Mrs. Garrison handed him into Sharice's hand. She opened her mouth, but stopped, pushed it into her pocket, and faced Mrs. Garrison.

"Thank you, ma'am. Please let us know when we can help you again."

"I will, young lady. And now, if you'd do me the pleasure of drinking this lemonade up, on my front porch... " She gestured toward a tray at the top of the steps with three frosty glasses on it.

Sharice took four big gulps from hers and doubled over in pain from the cold. "Oh, Justin, it HURTS!"

Justin sipped leisurely at his glass. "I bet. Slow down, Shar."

"Try breathing deeply, dear." Mrs. Garrison winked at Justin. "That helps sometimes."

Sharice crossed her eyes and pinched her nose, gulping in warm air. "Whoosh! Not much, ma'am."

Justin shook his head. "Always happens, Mrs. Garrison. My sister is a glutton when it comes to cold lemonade. Umph."

Sharice kicked Justin in the shin and glared at him. "But when she wants to, she does good work," he continued. Even her cooking isn't bad."

"I made fried chicken for dinner today. And Justin had three pieces! Now, who's the glutton?"

"Well, I certainly can tell you two are brother and sister," Mrs. Garrison chuckled. "You're just like my own grandkids, when they're here. Pity it isn't very often." Again she stared vacantly down the street.

"Yes, ma'am," Justin said. "We fuss a little, but we can take care of ourselves if we need to, like when our mom is working."

"Your mother is at the candy factory now, is she?"

"Yes; she's on the line, but she thinks with her experience she'll be able to move up to supervisor in six months or so."

Mrs. Garrison fixed Justin with a hard stare. "I'm sure she's capable, Justin. But don't be surprised if she doesn't move up very fast. She and all the others were brought in because they're cheap labor and non-union. We had quite a tizzy at a council meeting about a year ago when the candy factory moved in. We weren't happy about... well, forgive me, but what we thought were riff-raff being brought into town. I guess we should have been a little more tolerant, but you know how people in a small town are when things change."

Sharice stared at her, but Justin nodded. "No offense taken, Mrs. Garrison. We understand, and we don't like change any more than you do. Why, Shar was even going to run away from home when she found out that we were going to move out here. Ow." He rubbed his shin in response to Sharice's kick and gave her a dirty look. "Maybe I'll start charging you a buck a kick and deduct it from your wages next time, young lady?"

Sharice giggled. "Go ahead. Maybe you'll have to do the next yard on one foot, Hopalong?"

Justin sighed. He'd never win, ever, when it came to dealing with women.

Chapter Nine

The main hall of the high school was noisy, with long lines of impatient students bunched in front of tables loaded with boxes of orientation material. Many of the students, like Justin, wandered away from the tables in front of the office with a schedule card in their hands, looking at the room numbers on the doorframes. Justin peered at his card, ambled toward the next door, and then turned an about-face and headed in the opposite direction. The hall smelled of floor polish, new clothes, perfume, and bubble gum, and at the far end, the sun silhouetted the moving figures. His ankle was still a little tender, although he wasn't limping, but if he wasn't careful in watching the time he might not...

"Hey! It's nice to see some ebony in these ivory halls, if you get my drift." Justin felt a slap on his shoulder and jumped. He gritted his teeth and turned to offer his opinion of anyone who disturbed his concentration and looked straight into a face deploying a wide grin and large, dark eyes surrounded by swinging, frosted braids.

"Well, don't look so surprised, my brother. I'm Ranaé Taylor. Been here for three years, and you're only about the fourth black person I've seen walking through good ole Niotaka High."

Justin opened his mouth, but a bell rang and cut him off.

"That's the five-minute warning bell, so I gotta run. See ya, Justin. Oh, if you get elected Stuco room rep, I'll see ya in meetings; I'm the vice-president this year." And Ranaé disappeared into the crowd.

Stuco rep? Not if he could help it. Miss Vice-president was on her own, and Justin wasn't in the mood for any more fun-filled activities.

The rest of the day was filled with jostling students, teachers reciting only slightly-varied room rules, brightly-colored, crisp textbooks or faded, sloppy ones being handed out, and in a couple of classes, homework assigned to be due the next day. Justin couldn't remember in his fifth-hour class what he had just eaten for lunch, although he was sure he had eaten enough, as his stomach wasn't rumbling, and the white faces that he had passed in the hallway blurred into a composite which faded into a brown face with large eyes, framed by frosted braids.

The final bell rang to end his sixth-hour class. Justin's locker was on the same floor, and he was able to get the locker door open before the hallway filled. He dumped the books for the classes that he remembered had no homework for the next day and was about to clean out his Trapper-Keeper when he felt a firm grip on his elbow.

"All right, chump," a voice intoned into his ear.

Justin turned and looked into heavy-lidded eyes under a shock of stringy, light-brown hair. He couldn't tell if they were bloodshot or not.

"Hey, Tony. I thought you were still back on the east side in Topeka."

"Until yesterday I was. But then my mama got a job just like yours did in the candy factory. Hey, you gotta minute?"

"Naw, man, I got football practice in a coupla minutes. Coach don't tolerate tardies, neither."

"I'll walk you over there. I gotta business proposition."

Justin stared at him. "You know I don't do that stuff, man."

"Aw, it ain't like that. Just listen."

Justin sighed and slammed and locked his locker. Tony had been busted at least once for dealing, and the last Justin knew he had been trying to finish up his sophomore year at the second-chance school, a year behind his former classmates. He thought that he had a good chance to leave his past behind in Topeka, and he didn't have a very good feeling about Tony showing up in Niotaka.

Several of the football players headed toward the stadium nodded to Justin but gave the two of them a cynical look as they passed.

"No smokin', now, Justin," Eric catcalled, and Justin pantomimed a drag on an imaginary cigarette.

"Let's talk over here, behind the bleachers. Hey, how's your dad getting along, Justin?"

Justin froze. "What the hell's that supposed to mean, Tony?"

Tony leaned against a column and pulled a pack of Camels from his pocket. "Smoke?"

Justin shook his head and gestured towards the field. "Look, I got better things to do than to jawbone with crackheads, you know?"

Tony shielded the cigarette from the wind and lit it, taking a long drag and inhaling it. "Don't be so hostile. He gets out of Lansing in what, five, six years?"

"All, right, Tony, let's cut the crap. What is it that you want from me?"

"Chill, man. You don't gotta be belligerent and stuff."

Justin stared at him.

"All I want from you is names. You know, prospects. Like anyone who might want a little something to smoke now and then. I'm new here, and I don't know anyone but you. And your family."

"Like I grew up in Mayberry, here? And I keep a list in my sock drawer?"

"Yeah, well, let's say you have more connections with the natives than I do." Tony gestured towards the football field.

"Maybe."

"And maybe you don't need a rep here in Mayberry like you did on the east side in Topeka?"

Justin gritted his teeth. "Well, what if I just can't help you out? Far as I know, weed isn't a high priority item in Niotaka. I have no clue if anyone is smoking around here or not."

"That's your problem. And protecting your reputation is your problem, too, chump. Which I can help you with if you help me out a little."

"Well, thanks a lot, pal. How nice of you to drop by and help out. Now, get lost. I got practice, and I'm late already."

"I don't think you quite understand, G. You give me names, you protect your lily-white reputation, so to speak."

Justin stared at Tony, who outweighed him by perhaps 10 pounds. He'd be a perfect linebacker, he thought. Nope, they don't take linebackers who have to take a smoke break between quarters and can't stop coughing. And the stringy hair would have to go.

"I don't think YOU understand, chump. Maybe you fried your brain a long time ago? Now, get the hell out of my face."

Tony took a step toward him, but stopped. "Big mistake, football jock. Watch your back from now on, and keep your ears open. Never know what you may hear from the back row!" He turned away, chuckling to himself, and pulled a cell phone from his hip pocket and stared at the screen, pecked at the keyboard with both thumbs, and stared again.

Justin shook his head, turned, and trotted to the stadium and almost ran into Buck as he turned the corner

"Wait up, Justin. We gotta talk." Buck plucked at his sleeve, and Justin gritted his teeth.

"Not now, man. Coach Greene's gonna be torqued enough as it is."

"He'll wait. I told him I needed to see you for a sec."

Justin dropped his book bag. "All right, shoot."

Buck gestured past Justin's shoulder. "What did that loser want, anyway? Something you can't help him with, I hope?"

"Something like that. He's from Topeka. And he's definitely from the past."

"I hope so. My dad... " Buck dropped his eyes and scuffed his toe. "I mean, we were warned about that clown showing up here. He's bad news."

"Yeah, you got that right."

"Okay, Justin. Bottom line is that if you need any help, you got it."

Justin stared at Buck. "Help, as from the top down?"

"No, not quite like that. We... I... well, there's more than one way to deal with bad influences like that greaser. And your T. J. problem, too."

"Yeah. We had our ways in the big city, too, and I learned how to take care of myself there. Look, I gotta get going before Coach Greene does his atomic bomb imitation, okay?"

"Don't worry about Greene. I can handle him. Just keep me in mind if you get pushed into a corner by that hairball, Tony. Ya know what I mean?"

Justin nodded, they clasped hands, and he picked up his bag and jogged into the locker room.

Coach Greene glared at him as he dropped his book bag on a bench and peeled his shirt.

"Sorry, coach. Old friend from Topeka. I couldn't shake him."

Coach opened his mouth, stopped, and shook his head and turned to the rest of the team.

"All right, ladies, on the field. We'll start with wind sprints to run off all that cafeteria food you grubbed today."

A chorus of groans answered him.

"We gotta game against Lincoln in four days. You all want to end up like grease spots in the middle of the field? We've been scouting those boys, and they average about 10 pounds on you in the backfield and 20 on the line. You're gonna have to outrun those bozos, or they're squash you like a buncha maggots. All right, on your feet and outta here!"

Chapter Ten

The next four days for Justin was a succession of being bumped in the hallways, whirring classroom fans stirring up hot air, droning teachers, surprise quizzes for which he wasn't ready, standing in line in the steaming cafeteria, and wind sprints and hard hits during practices. His ankle mended quickly, so that by the middle of the week it felt normal and not at all puffy. He didn't see Tony at all, and by the end of the week he had all but forgotten him.

The Friday afternoon pep assembly seemed like a whirlwind of blaring trombones, cartwheeling cheerleaders, and twirling pompons that somehow came together at the end with a unison rendition of the school song. Justin mumbled through it, trying not to look at the half-sheet of blurry lines someone at the door to the gymnasium had pressed into his hand. The highlight of the assembly had been the roof-rousing cheer after all of the football team had been ordered to the center of the gym and the senior football players had been individually announced, but Justin felt that somehow he was in the wrong place and should have stayed on the bleachers with the rest of the students, even though he noticed that the orange and black jersey he wore all day brought him a few admiring glances in the hallways. He even got that wide grin from Ranaé before sixth hour, and again a vision of dancing, frosted braids stayed with him until the dismissal bell for the pep assembly.

He'd agreed to pick Sharice up today after school, as there was no practice on Fridays, game days. He had expected to find her chatting with other girls when he picked her up at the side entrance of the middle school building, located in the next block from the high school, but she was sitting alone on the curb, her head on her fists, unsmiling. She slammed her backpack into the back seat so hard that the car rocked, and she stared straight ahead through the windshield.

Justin glanced at her as he pulled away from the curb. "Nice day to you, too. Okay, little sis, what's up?"

"Nothin'." Her lower lip began to jut.

For two blocks, no words passed between them. Then, at the stoplight, Justin watched a tear course down her cheek. "What's wrong, Sharice?"

The tear turned into a flood. "Oh, Justin, I can't be a cheerleader. They already had tryouts, and unless someone quits the team or gets kicked off, I won't have a chance until next year!" She rubbed her cheeks and sniffed.

"Well, how about going out for volleyball, then?"

"Too late. I'm always too late. It's not fair!"

"Well, we'll be around next year, probably, and you'll have your chance then."

"I don't want to wait. I want to be a cheerleader THIS year."

Justin shook his head. "Well, at least you can still cheer for the team from the bleachers. Why don't you make sure that you sit in the front row and wave a banner or pompon or something so that the sponsor notices you? Don't they have a pep club or something like that in middle school?"

"Yes. I joined it yesterday."

"Well, there you go, Sharice. Run for office or something. Volunteer for a project. You always were good with paintbrushes, and they always need someone to help with the signs. You can do that for now."

The corners of her mouth quirked. "Do you really think they'd notice me if I sat on the front row and yelled real loud?"

"Notice you? They'd probably have to pass out earplugs to the players out on the field. Yeah, I can just see the cheerleaders cringing in pain, crying for someone to haul you away before their eardrums break."

"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny." Sharice wiped away the last of the tears and folded her arms. But Justin noticed that her lip didn't stick out any more and that she seemed lost in thought.

Justin pulled the car into the driveway and shut off the ignition. "Listen, I have to be back at school to dress out for the game by 5:30. Are you going to the game?"

"Of course, silly. I can walk, but what about afterwards? I don't think Mom would be very happy with you if she found out that you made me walk home in the dark."

"Hm. You could always get a ride with Mom, but I suppose that would be way too early for you. I guess I can drop you off, but you'll probably have to wait until we get done in the locker room, Could take up to an hour, maybe as late as 10:30. Okay?"

She flashed him a smile. He knew that she'd be in her element hanging out with the rest of the crowd waiting for the football players to emerge from the locker room. "Okay, Justin. I'll wait for you."

"But maybe just this time. Maybe you could get a ride next time? You never know, I might have a... er, someone else to drive... ah, home, and I might not be able to give you a ride." The vision of swinging braids attacked him again.

"Oh, yeah? I don't suppose that someone else might be a gu-u-rl, huh?"

"Well, you never know. Or I might have to take a turn giving someone on the team a ride home. And you wouldn't want to be a little nuisance, now, would you?"

"Oh, no, Justin. I'd just sit in the back like a little mouse, not saying a thing. I wouldn't be a nuisance, promise!"

"Yeah, right, and you'd be cheesin' it all the time back there. Well, we'll talk about it later. Grab your bag and let's get something to eat; I have to be back pretty quick."

* * *

The two slices of pizza felt like lead in Justin's stomach as he strapped on his pads. He bent over to pull on his cleats and immediately had to straighten up and take a deep breath. Next time he'd go easy on the grub before a game. Maybe he'd get lucky and wouldn't have a chance to go in before the pizza was digested, so he wouldn't have to embarrass himself and the ol' home team by yakkin' in front of a thousand fans and players. Well, a hundred. The jayvees' first game wasn't until next Thursday, so he knew that Coach Greene might substitute liberally later in the game to give the varsity players a chance for a breather during the game.

On the field, the squads ran easy drills designed just to loosen them up, more for show than for practice. Then they were back in the locker room, the coach mumbling something to them. Finally, as the sun started to disappear behind the stand of trees to the west of the field, the roar of the crowd wrapped around them as they ran back onto the field and through the hoop the senior cheerleaders held. Eric crashed through a banner that seemed to read, "selgaE oG" and a shadow of something else, maybe a blotchy eagle, that disappeared as the rest of the front line smashed through it. Justin tried to find his mother and Sharice in the crowd behind him, but they were lost in the sea of yelling faces.

Green Branch quickly scored two touchdowns in the first quarter, one on a fumble, before the Eagles' defense came together and started slowing the green and white tide. The other players ranged up and down the sideline, an assistant coach occasionally yelling at them to stay behind the white line. Justin stayed towards the back of the pack, not moving except to stay with the group as it moved, mostly towards the Green Branch goal line. Green Branch fumbled three times in the second quarter to nullify any scoring attempts, and the buzzer sounded just before a Green Branch pass bounced out of bounds, the scoreboard showing 13-0.

Halftime and the third quarter were jumbled together, too, for Justin, although his stomach seemed to be returning to normal, but when Coach Greene roared at him to go in, his head was clear. When Karl barked his number in the signals, his feint to the right and short run downfield put him into perfect position for the flea-flick screen pass that nestled into his arms, and he barely felt the blows as he was tackled and knocked from his feet. He held onto the ball, and he refrained from cracking a smile as the announcer called, "Eagles gain six yards. Second down." He knew that it was the longest gain for Niotaka so far in the game.

"That's the way to hold onto the pass, Justin." Karl smacked his helmet as he joined the huddle. "Now, they won't expect the same play twice in a row, but this time we'll sweep right and I'll throw left. Don't run too far out, Justin; keep them on your tail. Ready? Break!"

As soon as Justin broke through the line three players surrounded him. He dutifully trotted towards the right side of the field, and as Karl rolled to his left and cocked his arm, Justin broke suddenly to his left, the three so close that he could smell them. As the ball left Karl's fingers, Justin jumped and reached for an imaginary football, but as he came down the three peeled away towards the Niotaka receiver, who tucked in the pass but was snowed under by Green Branch players. "Three-yard gain, Eagles. Third and inches," floated across the field.

"Okay, Justin. Think you can run a little?" Karl asked when they returned to the huddle.

"No problem. I'm ready."

"Okay, guys, draw play, Justin up the middle, Joe, you play receiver to the left. Just get the first down, Justin; don't try to get long yardage unless they fall down and play dead on us. Ready? Break!"

Justin balanced on the balls of his feet. Karl called the signals so crisply that Justin could hear his words echo. The crowd had fallen silent, sensing that the Eagles were finally starting to come back.

The snap was sudden, and Justin was almost caught off guard, but the handoff from Karl was smooth. Justin veered slightly to the right and charged through the line. He felt a tug on his jersey, a hand slap his knee, and suddenly he could see goal posts in front of him and to his far left green jerseys just now turning away from Joe. He didn't remember running thirty-odd yards, only that he seemed to float the distance, and when the goal line flashed past him he stopped, knelt for a moment, and then flipped the ball to the official who was still running toward him with both arms in the air. Then the roar from the crowd washed over him, and he realized that the entire team was pounding his helmet, his back, his rear, and he remembered to grin. Still, he caught a glimpse of T. J. hanging back at the edge of the crowd. T. J. was not smiling.

"That's the way to get a first down, Stretch," Karl grinned at him through his helmet as they headed for the 20-yard line.

"Sorry I didn't slow down. Won't happen next time!" Justin grinned back.

"Don't even try it. All right, gentlemen, we need to get the conversion to stay in contention. Shouldn't be a problem on the kick as long as the line holds."

The line was solid, and although Hank's kick was close to the right goalpost it was still rising as it sailed over it and the heads of the group of middle-schoolers gathered outside of the end zone to haul it in. "The score is now thirteen to seven," the announcer intoned with just a hint of excitement in his voice.

Justin searched the sideline, but there were no defensive substitutes lined up, and he settled into the backfield as Hank nestled the ball carefully into the plastic holder. Again the kick was to the right, but it settled into the arms of a Green Branch player on the fifteen-yard-line. He attempted a cross-field run but was brought down on the thirty to the cheers of the crowd.

The first-down attempt was stopped at the line, and again the crowd roared and kept it up so that the Green Branch quarterback had to hold up his arms to plead for silence. The snap seemed to Justin to be uncoordinated, and the handoff worse. Justin saw the ball rise into the air. Fumble! He and T. J. were closest to the ball and both dove for it at the same time that three Green Branch defenders tried to fall on it. Justin had both hands on it and was starting to tuck it to his chest when he felt an arm snake under his wrist and snap the ball into the waiting fingers of a startled Green Branch player.

"Don't be a hot dog, Sport," hissed into his ear.

He jerked his head. T. J. glared at him.

"You heard me. Back off. Or else." T. J. pushed off from Justin's back, and Justin could only watch the referee indicate Green Branch possession.

"Homie there must have gotten the payoff," he heard from his left. He stood up and stared at the Green Branch player's back.

"C'mon, Justin, get into formation," Eric called to him. "Shake it off!"

He shook his head and trotted back to his position. Was he the only person on the Niotaka side of the field that knew what was going on?

T. J.'s eyes were on him as he settled into place, and he shook his head slowly, very slowly. Justin knew exactly what he was communicating to him.

Chapter Eleven

Sour notes from the band room floated through the open windows in the American History classroom. The band stopped and started three times before the march music continued, only to stop again. Justin half-listened to the yelling of what must have been a very frustrated band director. Just think... in 20 years, he might be listening to the very same players during a Tuesday evening municipal band concert on the courthouse square, the highlight of the entire week in Niotaka. He shuddered as he tried to concentrate on filling in the blanks of the worksheet in front of him. It was due at the end of the hour, a mean Monday morning trick by Brady, but at least Justin didn't have to listen to a one-hour droning lecture about pre-Revolutionary War politics in the colonies. Or, worse yet, a rambling discourse about the teacher's various pets, all of which the students along the back row agreed should be put to sleep immediately.

Paper rustled under Justin's right elbow. He slipped his hand under his arm, grasped a folded square, and, with the one hand, unfolded it on his lap under the desktop.

"I have to talk to you. Lunch? -Kerry". Who was -Kerry?

He folded the note and slipped it into his notebook. Then he yawned and stretched, turning his head and scanning the faces to his right. Only one set of eyes met his, a girl whom he vaguely remembered seeing in a cheerleader uniform at the pep rally Friday. Her eyebrows were raised. Justin nodded, and she nodded back and bent over her desk.

Next hour's English class was filled with note taking and group evaluations, and Justin almost forgot about the note until his stomach rumbled softly and he wondered what fare awaited him in the cafeteria.

He looked for Kerry while he waited in line, but she must have been behind him, and it wasn't until he was squirting mustard over a scorched-looking hot dog that he felt a bump on his elbow from a tray.

"Let's sit at the south end. It's quieter down there, okay?"

Justin turned slightly. "Sure. What's the problem?"

"Not here. Wait."

Oh, a mystery. He didn't care much for mysteries; he'd much rather follow a planned route than wait for the twist at the end.

"Fine, whatever. But I don't have much time."

"This won't take long."

They jostled between tables and sat opposite of each other. Clashing silverware, banging trays, and shouting voices seemed much farther away at this end of the cafeteria.

Kerry seemed to take forever, fussing with her napkin and silverware and opening her milk. Justin was already halfway through the greasy hot dog when she finally stopped and faced him.

"We lost the game Friday, 13-7." She looked at him inquiringly.

"Yep. We clutched. We should have nailed those clowns."

"I don't think so, Justin. You see these eyes?"

Justin looked into a pair of eyes opened wide.

"Okay. Brown eyes. What's up?"

"What's up is 20-20 vision. Listen, I saw what happened on that fumble, in the third quarter. You didn't lose the ball. That other guy knocked it out of your hands, and that was the end of your scoring tries. We could have won if we'd retained possession."

Justin dropped the remains of the hot dog onto his tray. "Since when did you become an expert on football and stuff?"

"Since when both my older brothers played in junior high and on into college. You may think cheerleaders don't do much but scream and jump around, but I also keep these brown eyes on the field so we don't start yelling 'Push 'em back' when we have possession. Somebody has to know what's going on out there, and on our squad, that someone is me. And I know what I saw, even if it was on the other side of the field. What I don't know is who the other player is. I couldn't see his number because after he pushed off you he managed to stay behind someone else. All I know is that he's in the backfield."

Justin shook his head and picked up his hot dog and stuffed the rest of it into his mouth.

"Listen, Justin, I know that a lot of the players think that Coach Greene is a loser and are trying to get him fired. Or lose enough games that he'll quit. That's common knowledge around the school."

Justin took a swig of milk and cleared his throat. "I suppose that anyone who isn't Mr. Personality is going to get the short end of the deal in this school, right? I mean, small town politics and all. What else do you have for fun around here on a Friday night? Counting dead bugs around streetlights, maybe?"

"You're missing the point, Justin. No, you're avoiding it."

He took a bite of a carrot stick. "So what is it you want from me?"

"I don't really know. It's probably too late to do anything about the game now, although if it shows up on the game video, there's liable to be a squawk, and you may be mixed up in it. After all, you didn't seem to say anything about it, did you?"

"Wait a minute. I could say I don't know what you're talking about and get up and walk away. But, hey, I'm really a nice guy. So I'm just going to sit here and eat my gourmet cafeteria food and smile and listen like you're trying to proposition the answers to the algebra test out of me. All right?"

Kerry nibbled on a sandwich and sipped her milk. Justin glanced to the north end of the cafeteria. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

"I don't know what I want, Justin." She wiped her lips with her napkin and crumpled it. "See, Coach Greene is sort of family; he's married to my cousin, and he's really not a bad guy, although he eats too much at Thanksgiving dinners and leaves a mess around his plate. But that's no reason for me or you or anyone else to treat him like scum. He really wants to win games. But he just doesn't seem to be getting any help, from the team or even his coaches. And some people even go out of their way to nail him."

"I don't know about that. We're taking some pretty good hits out there for him, but we just don't seem to get anywhere. The only time I, er, we scored Friday, we got lucky, don't you think?"

"You know that you make your own luck in football or any other sport, Justin. You took a chance, you saw a hole, and you ran right through them. Look, I guess all I really wanted to know was for sure whether or not you really did fumble or what I saw really happened: that someone from our side knocked the ball out of your hands on purpose. What about it?"

Justin shook his head again. "I don't think I want to get involved with this. If you think you saw what you saw, maybe you did. And maybe you didn't. Like you said, it won't make any difference unless someone sees something on the game video. And fat chance of that; they're usually so blurry that you can't really tell what's going on half the time."

Kerry's face contorted. "You ARE involved, Justin. And unless you want to be a loser, too, you'll admit what happened."

"I don't think so. Not now, anyway. We're not going to change the outcome of the game. Look, the way we were playing, it's a wonder they didn't beat us by six touchdowns."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"So... what is the point?"

Kerry took a final sip from her milk carton and crumpled it. "Look, you don't really have to say anything now. I suppose it's too late to do much about last week's game now. But let's say something happens next week... "

"You're assuming that this jayvee player is going to get to play? You got your cousin-the-coach on a short string?"

"You know what I mean. You'll probably get in the game, maybe every game. You're the only player who scored a touchdown, right?"

Justin grimaced. So far none of the varsity players had given him a hard time about outscoring them. Come to think of it, he really hadn't seen much of them today. Including T. J.

"Okay, now, listen," she hissed. "Those brothers of mine aren't too far down the road. One's in Pittsburg, and the other is in the next county, coaching football, of all things. They don't want to see Coach get screwed, and they don't want to see the team lose, either. All I have to do is make a phone call, and they're here. And my dad is kind of a big guy, too. So I don't think you have to worry about someone taking you out, as long as I know who's... ah, let's say, bugging you. And I don't think you're part of the problem, Justin. Now, the question is, are you going to be part of the solution?"

"You have a way with words, Silver Tongue." Justin grinned and deposited his napkin in his milk carton and crumpled it. "Look, I'm sorry about what's going on with Coach, but that's really not my problem. I'm just another body on the field out there. I'm not going say 'yes' or 'no' or 'boo'. Let me think about it. I'll let you know. I really don't want to get too involved in any of this. When I was in Topeka... "

"I get the picture. I saw that greaser following you around last week. Then he tried to hit up people to deal weed. Do you know why he's not been around lately, Justin?"

He stared at her.

"Word gets around in a small town. I also have a rather muscular boyfriend who played football last year. He works for the co-op now, and you don't get flabby by throwing around hundred-pound sacks of feed. That loser tried to proposition me, and all I had to do was to say a word or two to my boyfriend. Next time you see Mr. Tony, you ask him if he got his new front teeth yet. If you see him again."

He felt his mouth drop.

"He was saying stuff about your family, too, during study period. But no one paid any attention to him." She fixed her eyes on his.

"Er... yeah. Tony never did have a good thing to say about anyone. He's just another loser I happened to know in Topeka."

"Well, you can probably add him to your used-to-know list. In this town, he's history."

"Uh - thanks, I think."

"You're welcome. Any time. And don't forget about what I said. We need your help. Okay, Justin." Her voice rose as she picked up her tray. "Nice chatting witcha. See ya around. Thanks for the help on the algebra problem."

"Sure. No problem," he managed to croak. He watched her disappearing back in the crowd and then felt a slap on his back. He looked up into the broad face of Eric.

"Hey, Justin. Didn't know you were an algebra whiz. Maybe you can help me a little in study hall."

"Sure. No problem, Eric." And maybe you can help me some day, big guy, he thought.

Chapter Twelve

Fifth period was a blur, perhaps because Justin drowsed off twice during a lecture on metabolism. He'd never get used to biology right after lunch, he decided. After class, he spotted Eric in the hall, but he seemed to be occupied with a pair of cheerleaders. Justin took a step towards him but stopped, and someone bumped into his shoulder. Books and papers splattered the floor around his feet.

"Oh, my bad," he muttered, and stooped to help pick them up.

"Well, I guess. Good thing you got better moves on the field than in the hallway, Justin."

He raised his eyes. Frosted braids. "Maybe I should get some lessons on walking, Ranaé?"

"I'll let you know. Well, thanks for helping me pick up the mess." She smiled. "Oh, hey, Justin, you thinking about going to the Homecoming dance next month?"

"Dance? What dance?"

She cocked her head. "Now, don't tell me you're going blind, too. Haven't you read the posters I put up? Dance. Homecoming Dance. October 4. After the game. Cafeteria. Informal. Bring a date. Ya know?"

Justin shook his head. "Sorry. I guess I need to get into the local junction functions a little better. I been busy... "

"Well, do I have a deal for you. I'm going with T. J., and his cousin from Pittsburg's going to be in town that weekend, and I think you ought to meet her. Oh, let me tell it like it is. Blind date. Hook you up for the dance. Whaddya think?"

"Well, I don't know... "

"Oh, come on, Justin. D'ya think I'd hook you up with someone who looks like a dump truck? He says she's pretty hot. She even writes rap lyrics."

The warning bell sounded, and Ranaé started to fade away. "I'll check you later, Justin. Her name is LaToya."

Karl brushed past him. "La-TOYYY-aaa!" he yodeled over his shoulder. "You go, Justin!"

It's happening again, Justin sighed to himself. The women are now in charge, and we men do not have a chance. He shook his head as he trotted towards his last class, and he slid into his seat just as the tardy bell rang.

Practice was another blur, and Eric left the locker room before Justin had finished his shower. Well, maybe he'd be able to catch him before school tomorrow. Someone the size of Eric would be more persuasive if someone like T. J. were backed into a corner. He had visions of Eric sitting on T. J.'s chest and patting him tenderly on his fuzzy cheeks, with both front- and backhands...

The house was unusually quiet when Justin walked through the front door. He realized that the television, usually tuned to one of those lovelorn talk shows when he got home from practice, was dark and silent.

"Hey, Mom. Where's Shar?"

His mother moved into the living room, unsmiling, and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "She's upstairs, in her room, where she's going to stay for the next month or so, or maybe until she learns not to fight at school."

Justin dropped his bag onto the couch. "She in trouble already?"

"You could call it that. She's suspended for the rest of the week from school, and I grounded her for a month. I had to get off work to pick her up, and they're docking my pay for that. Supper's going to be ready in about five minutes. You better tell her to come down; I'm not doing room service around here."

"Okay, Mom. I'll tell her."

Sharice's door was closed, and Justin rapped lightly on it with the back of his hand.

"Hey, Shar. Can I come in?"

A muffled sound greeted him.

"What? It's almost time for supper. Can I come in?"

"I'm not hungry. Go away!"

"You must be dead, then, and it's your ghost in there talkin' to me. I'm coming in, Shar." He pushed the door open a few inches, waited for missiles, and when he decided it was safe, pushed it open all the way. The shade was pulled, but he could make out the form of his sister with her face buried in a pillow on the bed.

"Yo. Sis. You tear' em up today? Or you gonna show me a shiner?" He sat in the chair next to the window and pulled the shade up.

Sharice raised her head from the pillow and fixed him with a stare. "Not funny, Justin. Somebody pulled me off... I mean, broke it up before it went anywhere." She rolled over on her side and pulled her hair out of her eyes.

"Okay, let's have the story. But you only have five minutes before we eat, and I suppose you'll need four of that to fix that hair."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Never mind my hair. Justin, someone called me a b-bitch." Her lip quivered. "And I'm not going to let any little ho' get away with calling me anything. Ever."

"So you trashed her, I suppose?"

"Well, let's just say that she won't be calling me names any more. She better not if she knows what's good for her." Sharice sat up and crossed her arms.

Justin shook his head. "Way to go, kid. New girl in town gets rep as brawler. One word sets her off. Watch her go off on all comers. Shar, I thought we worked this all out in Topeka... "

"Oh, Justin, it's not fair." She flopped onto her back, her arms still folded. "I suppose Mr. Perfect is going to just walk away from someone who calls him a bitch?"

"You got it. Especially if there are witnesses. I suppose the whole school saw you in action?"

Sharice's eyes widened. "Well, it was at lunchtime. And in the cafeteria."

"Listen, little sister. This is not the wild, wild west. This is Tiny Town, USA, where everyone knows what everyone else is doing even before they do it. It might as well have been me throwing punches in that cafeteria, because now YOUR rep is MY rep. And what do you think about our mother? She has to go to work tomorrow, and maybe she works right next to the mother of the girl you punched out."

Sharice closed her eyes. "Sometimes it's so hard... "

"I know, I know, Shar. But next time... "

She opened one eye. "Next time, just turn around and walk away. But I don't think there's going to be a next time, Justin."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. She's the one who's gonna have a black eye, I think. I knocked her on her ass with the first punch. Someone else got a hold of my hair from behind and I took them out with my elbow, and by then they were all starting to back up and some teachers grabbed us and pulled us out of there."

Justin stood up and shook his head. "And now you have a little vacation plus groundation at home. Sounds fair to me, young lady. Sharice the Beast they'll be calling you next." He stood, pulled the shade all the way up, and strode toward the door but stopped.

"Oh, Shar? One more thing."

Her lip was beginning to stick out. "What now, Boss?"

Justin put his hand on the doorknob. "I got an opening for a bodyguard. You wanna be the first to audition?"

The shoe banged off the door precisely where his left ear would have been if he had not ducked all the way behind it. He stuck his head in the room. "Okay, you got the job. But supper first."

"And Shar... do something with that hair!" The second shoe stung his knuckles, and he sucked the back of his hand as he trotted down the stairs. Maybe her real future in school would be as starting pitcher of the softball team. Or baseball; she was pretty accurate with that overhand throw.

* * *

"Justin, you got any homework to do?" His mother's voice floated up the stairway.

"No, mom, I got it all done in class." Which wasn't exactly true; he still had algebra and English homework. But he'd work on in tomorrow morning during American History; they weren't doing anything important in there, anyway.

He slipped on his headphones, stretched out on his bed, and dialed in a station that played some hip-hop and thought about the day's events. Kerry was right; he'd have to start thinking for himself from now on and stop letting everyone else make decisions for him. He'd send her a note tomorrow, and maybe he could track Eric down early enough to see if he could help him deal with T. J. Maybe he'd take Ranaé up on her offer; if her cousin was anything like her, Homecoming dance could be a real treat. If she didn't get too pushy, that is. And he'd have to pay a little more attention to Shar, maybe talk to her about the problems she seemed to be having in middle school. Just as if her father were here.

Her father. He turned off the music and dropped the earphones onto the floor. She still had the temper her father had. Justin was a little more like his mother, although he too tended to explode once in awhile when things got too tense, but that hadn't happened since about ninth grade. Shar, on the other hand, would fly off at any little thing. Just like her father, our father.

The scene played in Justin's memory, as it often had before. His father in the living room, sitting on the coffee table, staring into space, his hands slowly turning over and over as if he were telling a story with no spoken words. His mother sitting, weeping, with a handkerchief over her face. He was eight; Shar had been four, and she hadn't been awakened by the commotion. Justin had come downstairs but had stopped at the living room archway, not knowing what to do. Then the knock on the front door that shook the doorknob. "Police. Open up."

His father was the one who opened the door, and he had just held both hands in front of him. Justin could still hear the rasp of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists. And the rap of the gavel, as the judge pronounced the sentence: "For the crime of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, the people have found you guilty, for which you shall serve a sentence... " And that was the last time Justin had seen his father in person, led away in an orange jumpsuit. His mother had made it plain that she was not going to visit him, and the letters stopped coming after about a year, after the uncontested divorce was final. Shar was too little to remember many of the details, but on rainy days, when the colored pencils and drawing pad were out, she drew pictures of people, she always drew a daddy, a mommy, and a little boy and a smaller girl. Sometimes she'd scribble out the scene and silently wad up the picture, slam it into the wastebasket, and then stare out the window. Justin knew at those times never to say anything to her. Nor after her sessions with the counselor.

Chapter Thirteen

The call slip was lying on Justin's desk when he took his seat. "Report to √ Principal √ After Roll Call √ 1st period," it read.

Fine. Now he was going to have to hear about Sharice's problems again. Today was definitely going downhill. First, he still couldn't find Eric. Second, Ranaé had some special meeting before school and wasn't available either. Third, Tony showed up, sporting a gap in his front teeth, but still brassy enough to give him a nod as he sauntered by. And fourth, it was raining lightly, which would make practice a lot of fun, too.

He waved the call note at Brady, who dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he checked off students in his roll book. The secretary in the office took his slip with one hand as she held on to the phone at her ear with another. "Go on in," she mouthed and pointed with the note and then handed it back to him.

The principal's door was open, and he glanced up as Justin stood at the door. "Come on in, Justin, and sit down."

Justin hitched his pants and sat straight in the unpadded chair directly in front of principal's desk.

The principal put both hands palms down on his desk, bare except for a telephone, a coffee cup full of pens and pencils, and several closed manila folders. He smiled slightly. "Justin, how have you been getting along at Niotaka High? Are you enjoying being an Eagle?"

Justin started slightly. He was used to questions from principals like "Why did you do... ?" and "Who else was in on... ?"

"Fine, I guess. Sir."

"And you seem to be doing all right on the football team?"

"Yeah. It's all right."

"Hmm. Well, Justin, I've just been reviewing your academic record, and your standing here. You seemed to just get by in Topeka; in fact, you're a little behind in required courses."

"I know, but I'm doing better here, right?"

The principal leaned back in his chair and made a steeple of his fingers. "Justin, did you know that you were failing three classes? English, American History, and Algebra?"

Justin felt his jaw drop. "N-no. I thought I was getting at least a C in all of my classes."

"I'm afraid not. And the state activities association says that we have to have an eligibility plan for students who participate in athletics and such. Ours is that you may not be failing in more than one class during the three-week reporting period. Didn't Coach Greene go over this with you?"

Justin thought. "I believe he did, sir, but like I said, I thought that I was passing everything."

"Well, as of last Friday, Justin, you were three for six. And it's my sad duty to inform you that you're ineligible to play or practice for three weeks and until you are passing in at least five of your classes. Now, you do still want to stay on the team, right?"

Justin slumped in his chair. It really was a bad day, week, month, maybe year.

"Well, Justin?"

"Yes, sir. I don't want to let down the rest of the guys on the team."

"I didn't think so. I don't read you as a quitter. Because that's one of the options, just to quit the team and loaf along and take your chance at the end of the semester. And you know what word we're talking about now?"

Justin just stared at the principal.

"We're talking about the word 'loser', Justin. And in this school, I don't believe in losers. But we also have another program, the special after-school study program. You've heard of it?"

"I - I think so."

"It's very simple. And it's not a losers' thing; that's why we call it 'The Winners' Program'. The losers are the ones who just drop out and disappear. Now, right after school, instead of going to practice, you report directly to the school library. And until 4:30, every day except Friday, you do NOTHING but study and work on assignments. No food, no gum, no talking except to the tutors, and only one bathroom break. You'll report to the Winners' Program until you're passing in five of six of your classes, and only then do you go back to practice. Now, it's up to you to get a list of any back work or makeup work from your teachers; here are forms for all six of your classes, and I strongly suggest that you ask ALL of your teachers to fill them out. It's up to you to get your teachers to sign off on this form to certify that you're passing, too, because they're not going to report to me the instant you're eligible. There are more rules, but they'll let you know about them when you show up. And that would be tonight, right?"

Justin straightened. "Yes, sir. I'll be there. Uh, you said algebra, American History, and English, right?"

"That's correct. But bring all of your books in. You may not get a chance to work on everything, but you'll have them handy. The principal leaned back in his chair and looked behind and above Justin. "Now, is there anything else that I can help you with? Anyone bothering you or something standing in your way of being successful here at Niotaka High? Would you like me to schedule an appointment with our counselor?"

Justin thought of T. J. but shook his head. "No, sir, I don't think so. Nothing that I can't handle by myself."

"All right, that's all. We'd better get you back to class." He initialed the call slip and scribbled the time. "Good luck, Justin. We want to see you back on the field in three weeks, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Definitely."

A movie on something about soldiers and redcoats and Indians was playing as Justin walked back into his classroom, sparing him the experience of 28 pairs of eyes following him back to his seat. Without comment, the teacher handed him a sheet as he passed the front desk. He could see that it was an assignment form almost covered with scrawls in red ink.

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Brady." Justin nodded and rolled his eyes.

"Any time, every time, Mr. Jefferson."

* * *

The library doors were wide open, and Justin slowly walked through them for the first time. He looked around; apparently he was the first one there, except for someone seated straight ahead of him at a desk the size of a Subaru.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Jefferson." The fellow waved at him. He was half-bald and sported a rather nappy-looking black beard that covered the front of a rather grubby-looking denim shirt. "Come here for a sec."

Justin took another look around him for a possible escape route. No luck.

"Hurry up, dude. We ain't got all day. You start early, you leave early, and time doesn't start until you talk to me."

Justin remembered something that the principal said about leaving at 4:30 and no sooner, but he shrugged.

"All right. What's up?"

"Here's the deal, kid. You know what the deal is with your studies; you do the work, you pass the classes, you get outta here, unless I think you're goofing it. You dig?"

"Sure, man; whatever."

The man stared at him. "I understand your friend Tony talked to you last week."

Justin gave him a long look. "I understand Tony talked to a lot of people last week, including a big guy who did some dental work on him."

The man stood up. They were about equal in height. He smiled. A gold tooth gleamed in the center of his mouth.

"Been there, done that. The other guy needed a couple of casts when we were through... talking. Listen, we'll chat later." He looked past Justin; several other students were shuffling through the doors as slowly as they possibly could without backing up. "Just remember... no goofing. I don't get paid to let you goof, dig?"

"Sure, pal. I gotcha." Justin stared at him a split second longer than he needed to, turned, and walked to the farthest table and sat down. He pulled a random book out of his pack and stared at the cover. The face of Tony seemed to glare at him from the pattern on it.

Other than a few stares, no one gave him much attention during the rest of the Winners' Program, and he managed to finish all but the current assignment in American History and three of five back assignments in algebra. The rain had stopped, and as he completed the last algebra assignment, the sun illuminated his table. It was a good omen for a change, and he thought no more of the supervisor, nor of Tony.

Sharice was outside the house, scuffing her shoes on the sidewalk, when he parked his car.

"Justin! What are you doing home so early? Did practice get rained out?"

He hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and slammed the car door. "Not exactly. I'll tell you later. I gotta go study."

Sharice's eyes widened. "Wait, Justin, don't go inside just yet."

"This backpack is heavy, Shar. I had to bring most of my books home, and I have to get caught up. What now?"

"Mom's inside. I think she's crying. Justin, they cut her hours at the candy factory."

Justin slumped against the car. So much for omens. And... so much for the little red car. He was already a week behind in payments.

"Justin, I been thinking. Yes, even I can do that sometimes, when I want to. I think I can get some work babysitting and help out with the money. I don't think the people down the street get out much, and I know that they have little kids. I'm going to go talk with them, maybe tonight."

He lifted the backpack to the hood of the car and leaned on it. "Maybe they need their lawn mowed, too. You can ask them about it. Which house is it? I think I've pretty well covered this neighborhood, but you never know."

"Down this way, on the corner right side. Big yard."

Justin nodded. "I've seen a boy mowing it, but maybe he'll be too busy to keep it up. And... well, it's like this, Shar. I'm going to have some more time for about three weeks. I can't practice or play until I get my grades up."

"Oh, Justin. What happened?"

"I dunno. I guess I never got into gear when school started. The principal called me in today and said I was flunking three classes. Nice of the teachers to let me know, huh?"

Sharice pursed her lips. "Maybe I'd better check on my grades when I get back. I don't want to take seventh grade over again."

"I know what you mean. No way am I going to be a repeat. And the old high school diploma doesn't take you very far. Especially in this town." The image of old band members floated through his mind, and he grimaced.

"I want to go to college, Justin, don't you?"

"Maybe. Trade school might be the ticket, though."

A screen door banged across the street. The two turned and waved at Mrs. Garrison, who waved and then started to sweep dead leaves off her sidewalk.

"Shar, hold down the fort here. I'm going to see if she wants her yard cleaned up or something."

He skipped over a puddle of water at the edge of the road and stood just out of range of the swishing broom.

"Hey, Mrs. Garrison. You want me to do that for you?"

"Well, now, Justin, how do you expect me to get any exercise unless I sweep this walk off?"

"Couldn't say. Maybe making those especially delicious snickerdoodles?"

She leaned on her broom and laughed. It was the first time he'd actually seen her do much more than flash a wan smile now and again.

"Justin, I declare you do have the direct approach down pat! All right, here's the broom, and maybe I can find some tea to go along with the cookies. Only this time it's chocolate chip."

"Sounds just fine to me. I'll have this cleaned up in a jiffy."

He vigorously applied the broom to the walk and pushed the small pile of leaves and twigs into the ditch between the end of her sidewalk and the road. By the time he finished picking up a half-full soft drink can, a napkin, and the remains of a sticky cellophane wrapper crawling with ants and deposited them in her garbage can, she was sitting on the front steps with a glass of tea in her hand and Justin's next to a small plate of cookies.

"Didn't want to bring out too many and spoil both our suppers."

Justin wiped his hands on his jeans and stretched out on the steps. He took a bite out of a cookie and sipped at his tea. "Boy, your grandkids don't know what they're missing, Mrs. Garrison."

Her cookie stopped in midair. Slowly, she lowered it to her lap, and her head bowed.

"I'm... sorry," Justin muttered. "I guess I tend to say the wrong things too often."

She lifted her apron to one eye and dabbed at it. "No, Justin, actually you hit the nail on the head. Only it's not their fault. Their mother just doesn't understand that I have rights, too, and I'd like to see them. Even if for only one time a year, say at Christmas, or Easter, or... whatever."

"I guess she's divorced, huh? I know how that goes."

She lifted the cookie to her mouth, finished it in two bites, and chewed deliberately and swallowed.

"No, she's not divorced. And I guess I can tell you this; you'd probably find out sooner or later anyway. Their daddy, my only son, is in prison at Lansing. For attempted murder of his parole officer."

Chapter Fourteen

Justin realized that he was staring at Mrs. Garrison and quickly gobbled the rest of his chocolate chip cookie and took a second one.

"I don't think anyone else in town knows about it," she said, still dabbing at her eyes. "He ran away from home maybe fifteen years ago when I still lived in Parsons, right after his father, my husband, died, and almost no one here in Niotaka even knows, or cares, that I had a family. Then my mother, who still lived in this house, had to go into the nursing home on the other side of town, and I ended up moving here into her house."

Justin took a long sip of tea. "I won't tell anyone, Mrs. Garrison."

"Wouldn't make much difference if you did, anyhow, Justin. I don't socialize much, and I really don't care what the rest of the town thinks about me, anyway. I've heard some broad hints about why I'm not still working, and how I supposedly cheated my own mother out of her house. Truth is that the settlement when my husband was disabled was quite adequate, and other than living here, I've not touched a penny of my mother's money. Even after she died four years ago."

Justin nodded and took a deep breath. "What would you say if I told you I know someone real well, whose father is in Lansing, too?"

Mrs. Garrison looked sharply at Justin. "Like I said, I don't care who thinks what about whom. It's what the person himself, or herself does and thinks that counts."

"But isn't it hard? I mean, you probably don't get to see your son much, and your grandchildren and daughter-in-law don't come and see you. Don't you just sort of go crazy sometimes?"

Mrs. Garrison took a sip of tea and brushed a fly away from her cheek. "Justin, you just have to deal with it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's life, Justin. Either you roll along life's road, or you lie down and let someone roll over you."

"Oh." Justin wrinkled his forehead. He wasn't completely sure he understood Mrs. Garrison. Nor any philosophy. And after all that had gone down today, he wasn't sure that a better idea to deal with life was to go to bed and pull the covers over his head until it all went away. In Topeka, he probably would have gone out and slammed somebody, but here...

"Penny for your thoughts, Justin?"

"Oh. Sorry, I just got lost there."

"Well, you tell that someone not to worry about what someone else has done, and that no one in town is going to hold the past against you, unless you're a real scoundrel yourself. You understand?"

"I don't know. He's kind of new in town, and sometimes other kids... take advantage of him."

Mrs. Garrison nodded. "No one said life was going to be easy, Justin."

He downed the rest of his tea and picked up one cookie. "I know. One for the road?"

She laughed. "Take a couple for your sister, too. Oh, and Justin, ask her if she would be interested in doing a little light housecleaning for me maybe once or twice a month? My back goes out pretty easy, and I have trouble with it when I scrub or use a vacuum cleaner."

"I'm sure she'd be interested, Mr. Garrison. She just told me that our mom's hours had been cut at the factory, and she was going to look for a babysitting job."

"Cut? Already?"

"That's what she said."

"Oh, goodness. We thought that might happen if they overhired. And it's cheaper to run shifts with part-time help if you don't have to pay them benefits. It's a dirty trick, bringing them out here, getting them all settled in, and then cutting their hours. They probably told them that maybe they'd go fulltime again soon, just to keep their hopes up."

Justin stared at her. "Where'd you hear all that?"

"This isn't the only town they have a factory in. My husband was a middle manager for them and was hurt in one of their factories. We were just lucky that he had witnesses to the accident. They settled with him to keep him from suing them for negligence and unsafe working conditions. Maybe he should have taken them to court."

"I'm... sorry about that."

"It was a long time ago. Biggest problem was that after he died I couldn't handle our son by myself. I thought at the time that he was doing us all a favor when he ran away. Maybe he did do me a favor; maybe that's why I'm still alive. He was pretty violent even when he was still fifteen. Oh, your sister's waving at us, Justin."

Justin turned. Sharice was waving at him to come back across the road.

"I guess I better go, Mrs. Garrison. Thanks for the tea and cookies. And for the advice."

She chuckled. "The cookies might be the best of the two. But it works for me."

Justin almost forgot to check both ways when he crossed the street, but as his foot hit the asphalt he swiveled his head and noted that, as usual, the street was empty. I'm getting too used to this burg, he thought. In Topeka, cars would practically crawl over the curb to get you, it seemed, but in Niotaka, it would be more likely for you to get hurt if you tripped on a pothole and went facedown. At least there weren't many people around here who would kick you in the kidney while you were down. Okay, maybe there was one, and maybe he needed to get a little help with that problem, and maybe he needed to talk to Kerry tomorrow.

"I told mama you were here, and she said to come in," Sharice told him as he strode across the yard. "Oh-h, chocolate chip, my favorite. She seems to be a lot more friendly than she used to, doesn't she, Justin?

"Uh, huh. Don't eat it now. Might spoil your supper."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"I say you should go over and talk to Mrs. Garrison after supper," Justin said. "She said she might have some work for you. Cleaning house and stuff like that."

Sharice's eyes widened. "Cool. I'd rather do that than take care of someone's bratty kids. Did she say how much she'd pay?"

Justin snorted as he opened the front door. "First you do the interview and then you negotiate for salary. Everyone knows that!"

"What salary?" his mother greeted them from her armchair.

"Oh, Mrs. Garrison said she wanted to talk to Sharice about housecleaning, and Sharice is already counting the cash."

"Well, that's exactly what I want to talk to you about. Sit down, we'll talk, and then we'll get something to eat."

Sharice opened her mouth, but Justin noted the firm tone in his mother's voice, grasped his sister's elbow, and pulled her down onto the sofa next to him. "Okay, what's up, Mom?"

"Nothing, Justin, absolutely nothing. My hours have been cut at the plant, and I may even lose my benefits; you know, medical coverage and things. We're going to have to tighten things up around here." She suddenly glanced at her watch and at Justin. "Wait a minute, what are you doing home so early? Did they cancel practice?"

Justin sighed and stretched. Might as well get it all on the table right now. "No, Mom, I had to go to a special study hall after school, and it lets out at 4:30. I can't go to practice until I get my grades up."

"I see." She leaned forward. "Well, if that's the case, maybe you need to get a job and help out, don't you think?"

"Aw, Mom. You want me to quit football? Already?"

"Sounds to me like you don't have much of a choice."

"No, it's not like that. If... I mean, when I get my grades back up I'll be able to go to practice. And I plan to get caught up by the end of the week, next Monday at the latest."

She sighed. "All right, Justin, I know how important football is to you. And it's probably better than hanging out like you used to... Well, never mind that. But the next time your grades drop, you can kiss football goodbye. And don't even think about going out for basketball, either, unless your grades are good. I'm not saying you have to be on the honor roll, now, but you gotta keep those grades up."

Justin nodded. "No problem, Mom. I'm as good as back on that field again. I'm not a loser."

"I'm sure you aren't. And if you can't cut it, they've got a special four-to-eight pm shift out at the factory for students, five days a week. That's why my hours were cut. They're hiring part-time help, like college students, and cutting full-timers back."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"I don't think so. We're a non-union factory. But that may not last if they keep these tricks up."

"Mama, I can help out," Sharice chimed in. "I can work, too. My grades aren't bad, so I have more time after school." She shot a look at Justin.

"Keep it up, Shar, and no more job leads for you. Or cookies."

She shot a look at him, opened her mouth for a rejoinder, and snapped it shut, holding tightly to the cookie in spite of the chocolate oozing out from between her fingers.

"Well, I don't know how we're going to pay for that car, Justin. Aren't you a little behind on the payments already?"

"A week, I think. But why don't I talk to Karl and see if we can get a little breather until the cash starts coming in? I guess I haven't been pushing on yard work very much since school started. I could spend Saturday lining up jobs so that right after school I could mow one, maybe two yards before it got dark. I could fit the lawn mower into the trunk if I took the handle off, and that would save time and legwork. Maybe Shar could even go with me and see if anyone needed babysitting or housework, and she could still help with trimming while I was mowing, couldn't you?"

Sharice rolled her eyes. "You bet. Premium yard care; at your service, the Jeffersons. You grow 'em, we mow 'em."

"You got it. And your kid care motto could be... um...'You find 'em, I mind 'em."

Shar bent over double, pretending to stick a finger down her throat. "I'm gonna puke, Justin. You better let me do the talkin' at the front door. You're too silly!"

"Whatever you say, brat. Mom, I know we can get past this. We just have to... deal with it, right?"

She looked at both of them for a long moment, and then she smiled.

Chapter Fifteen

The chalk scratched across the pitted blackboard, skipping mysteriously over smooth patches and cuing the synchronized winces of the 22 students in the English class, almost in time with the jazz band's squawking that floated through the half-opened windows. Completely out of sync was the snapping of the over-chewed gum of the girl behind him, a dark-eyed, pouffy-haired junior.

Justin ignored it all and finished his note: "Let's talk. Lunch. South end of cafeteria. Bring friends? -Justin". He passed the note backwards to Snap Sister behind him, who mumbled "Man!" under her breath and clicked her tongue. "How'm I gonna get these words down when I gotta be your messenger girl?" she hissed, but she took the note and tossed it onto the desk next to her. The short girl next in line sniffed and passed it under the desk beside her, and it progressed until Justin saw Kerry open it, scan the contents, meet his eyes, and nod once. And the vocabulary words continued to cover the blackboard, scratch by scratch.

Justin thought that he would be early in the cafeteria, but already seated at the southernmost table in the cafeteria were Kerry and two lanky seniors that he vaguely recognized and nodded to.

"Justin, you know Bret and Jerry? They play basketball," Kerry said as if no other explanation were necessary.

"All right," Justin nodded, and he sat down next to Kerry and across the table from the others. They were already wolfing down the contents of their trays, and he opened his carton of milk and almost spilled it as someone bumped his right elbow.

"Hey, Justin. I hear you wanted to chat a little. I don't suppose that little red car is giving you trouble?"

"Hey, Karl. No, but I'm going to be about a week behind on payments. My mom's hours got cut back, and yard work is literally drying up around here."

"I don't see a problem with that. We know where you live, hey, guys?" He looked at the others and they chuckled. "I guess we all pretty much know where everyone lives and what they do around here. Not much like the city, is it?"

"Nope." Justin took a bite of a stale biscuit; it crunched. He bounced it off his plate, and it settled between the two basketballers. "Word gets around fast in Niotaka when there's a problem, doesn't it?"

A tray clunked next to Karl. "Hey, guys," Buck nodded. "What's up?"

"Back at you, Justin," Kerry prodded him with her elbow. "You called this meeting."

Justin leaned back in his chair. "All right, guys, I'm new here, and I kind of stand out, you know what I mean? But that's not the problem. One thing is that I gotta get my grades up or it's going to be all over for Mr. Jefferson, rising sports star. But I got that under control. The other is... well... " He looked behind Karl at Buck for support. Buck nodded at him.

"I guess it's no secret that Coach Greene needs at least five wins or he's out the door. Maybe more than that, Buck?"

"Well, I don't talk to my dad much about school business. But he knows what Coach Greene says about wanting to have a winning season, and I'm sure he supports him, as long as he's doing a good job. Winning's not a hundred percent of whether or not a coach stays around, you know."

Justin licked his lips. "Well, if T. J. has his way, Coach Greene's not going to have any chance for a winning season this year." He looked at Kerry for help.

She rolled her eyes and threw her napkin into the tray. "What Mr. Forensics here is trying to say is that T. J. has been trying to throw games. And you can take it from me as a fact: these 20-20 brown eyes saw someone spike the ball out of Justin's arms and right into the Green Branch defense where they couldn't miss it, and Justin tells me T. J. did it. Now, it's a little harder to throw a game on a court with hundreds of people no more than 40 feet from you, right? Well, no offense, Buck, but it's no secret that this town supports basketball more than football, and it's hard to keep up with what's happening on the field when half the lights are out, and the other half are pointing in the wrong direction.

Buck grunted. "Dad said something about that last week. He said that the board claims there's not enough in the general fund to cover new lights, since they put in a new floor in the gym last summer."

Justin held up his hand. "Let the brother speak, all right? Now, someone at this table drafted me into playing football, even though I let it be known that hoops is my game. Well, maybe it was Coach Greene that had the final say, but the point is that I don't want to be a quitter when I start something. And I don't like someone holding me back. I have no intention of spending boo-coo hours in staring at a textbook so I can go out on the field every Friday and get my butt stomped into the ground. You know what I mean? I don't love or hate Coach Greene, either. He's aw-rite. Geez, he put me on the field during the first varsity game when I probably should have been waiting my turn to do bench time during the jayvee games. So I'm going into this thing as a winner, and I want to finish the same way."

"You GO, Justin!" Karl offered a high five, and Justin met his hand with a satisfying smack. "You earned your spot on the varsity team that first game, and I think I speak for all of... well, maybe almost all of the team when I say that we miss ya already on the field. I don't think you'll have to worry about bench time any more."

"Yeah, Justin, it's about time we had someone around here with some guts," Kerry grinned. "We're all a little sick of T. J., but there hasn't been much we could do about his smart mouth. Now, Bret and Jerry here also just happen to be family. Jerry is sort of my cousin by marriage, and Bret is his cousin. And they're both on the yearbook staff, and wouldn't you know, they also happen to be about two-thirds of the photography staff, which means that you'll see them next Friday on both sides of the field, digital cameras and zoom lenses on hand. So the first part of the plan is that if T. J., or anyone else, tries to pull something, they'll have a record of it. Right?"

"That's the plan, cuz," Jerry said. "And, Buck, you can run a video camera, right?"

"No problem. I can use my dad's camera."

"All right, why don't you borrow it and set up on the visitors' side. It's not quite so crowded there, and you can keep your ears open and try to listen to what the players have to say about any hanky-panky on the field."

Bret wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it onto his tray. "Even if we don't get anything recorded, we might just intimidate T. J. enough so that he'll think twice before pulling any little tricks. I kinda wondered about him before Kerry tipped me off yesterday that he was trying to throw games so that Coach Greene would get the royal boot."

"I shouldn't tell you guys this, but... " Buck looked around and leaned into the center of the table. "You know T. J.'s from L. A. Well, his older brother is an assistant coach out there at some ghetto high school but wants to get out of the rat race and move up to a head coaching job, even if it means moving back to Kansas and teaching at a farm school. A little birdie told me that he sent an application here last year, and even interviewed, but he couldn't get his foot in the door. I guess that explains what T. J.'s up to, doesn't it? And T. J.'s got only one more year after this one before he graduates. And NOW you know... the REST of the STORY!"

Kerry rapped her knuckles on the table to get attention through the guffaws. "Nope, that's not the whole story."

"What do you mean?" Karl asked. "And make it snappy; I've got about five minutes to track down someone before fifth hour starts. I gotta get some notes for chemistry class; I missed it on account of a field trip yesterday."

"Okay, okay. Now, I'm not gonna say who or how, but... I got someone to run a criminal background check on T. J. AND his brother."

"Jeez, Kerry," Buck muttered. "You can get into deep doo-doo for that."

"Well, not me. And it's all legit. I think. His brother is clean, as far as we can tell. But guess what? T. J. has a rap sheet!"

Justin felt his throat close. If Kerry had someone run a criminal check on T. J.... she could have him do the same for anyone. Including Justin.

Bret shook his head. "You mean he has a criminal record?"

"Yep. Burglary. Breaking and entering. Suspended sentence; first-time offender and all that, I guess."

"Well, there hasn't been anything like that for quite a while in Niotaka," Karl said. "My uncle sells insurance, you know, and he told us that the last time his company had to cover a burglary loss in this town was three years ago. And we're talking a broken lock and a couple of boxes of candy, from a gas station. T. J. came here in his freshman year, after that happened."

"I know, I know." Kerry rolled her eyes again. "Mr. Beach Boy Big Stuff. I remember when... well, the point is that he doesn't do his stuff in Niotaka. Never-mind-who has seen him just about every weekend in Pittsburg. And T. J. SAYS that he gets all his gold chains and stuff in Pittsburg. He just doesn't say how."

Justin leaned back and regarded Kerry. "Girl, you got your feelers out all over the country, doncha?"

Kerry slowly leaned toward Justin until their noses were almost touching. "You haven't heard the half of it, my man."

"Say what?"

"Here's the best part. You're goin' on a double date with him."

"Wh- No way. He's not my type."

"Let's hope not. Now, does the name LaToya ring any bells with you?"

"LaToy-a-a." The soft yodel came from Karl.

"Forget you, man."

"Oh, she's all right, according to Ranaé." Kerry glared at Karl. "But you know she happens to be a second cousin, or something close, to T. J."

Justin slumped back in his seat.

"And Ranaé told me that after the dance, you're all going to Pittsburg to party."

"You mean... "

"That's right, Justin. You'll get to keep an eye on T. J. all night long. You and LaToya chick and Ranaé and T. J. are all hooked up for homecoming dance, just two-and-a-half weeks from now."

Justin slowly shook his head. "I didn't know this town had a dating service, too. Thanks a lot, friend."

"No problem, bro!" Kerry stood up and turned towards the tray conveyor belt but stopped and faced Buck.

"Don't forget what I told you to tell Justin," she said, and she inclined her head slightly.

"On it. Don't be late."

Kerry shook her head. "Got that under control, too." And she was gone.

Justin raised his eyebrows. "What now, Uncle Buck? More dating how-to and how-not-to?"

Buck grimaced. "You're on your own when it comes to the ladies. No, it's about the study hall supervisor. She ran a background check on him, and turns out he has some arrests but no convictions in Kansas City. Has he tried to get you to do anything for him?"

Justin shook his head. "He just said he wanted to talk, but I buzzed outta that study hall at 4:30 before he could say anything."

"Yeah, well... word is that he may be working with our friend Tony, maybe even as a courier. He's never at home on the weekends, and he's been seen driving back into town late on Sundays. And he doesn't look like the type who'd have ladies lined up to romance him, either."

"You got that right. All right, no conversation with the white dude with the bad hair, right?"

"Exactly. Just the basics. Study until your eyeballs drop out and roll across the table."

Justin rolled them, carefully. "Yes, sir. I want to get back on the field ay-sap."

"Oh, and Justin...?"

Justin picked up his tray and stood. "What now, boss?"

"Good luck on the date, dude."

For the second time, Justin rolled his eyes.

Chapter Sixteen

No radio, no TV, nothing but books and papers spread around him. He could faintly hear kitchen sounds downstairs as his mother worked on the evening meal. No noise from Sharice, either; she was gone, having landed a Monday-through-Thursday after-school babysitting job only a couple of blocks away that kept her out of the house until around five-thirty when the single mother arrived home.

Plenty enough time to finish up the algebra assignment for the day, he thought. The chapter test was just two days away, but even the story problems this week had made some sense, and he'd been able to volunteer to put one equation on the board. Snap Sister Denise had poked him in the back when he sat down and whispered over his shoulder, "Hey, how do you do that? I can do most of the equations when they're in front of me, but I just can't pull the story problems together." He'd had to shrug his shoulders, and when the teacher wasn't turned in their direction, he whispered, "They just make sense when you take them step by step." Her only reply was another snap of her gum and a muttered, "Man!"

By the end of the week, after the test, he should have a passing grade in algebra. He'd already taken care of the problem in English class by completing three missing compositions and handing them in, but American History was another matter. His notebook was weeks behind; he hadn't passed the last test, and the next test was two weeks away. Well, he'd just have to borrow someone's notebook. Maybe get a little one-on-one tutoring. Funny how T. J. never seemed to have any eligibility problems. Maybe he had a little extra help, too?

He closed the algebra book with a snap and squared up his assignment papers. So much for that, and now for a little one-on-one with the American History book...

The front door and screen door banged almost simultaneously with Sharice's "Mo-o-m!" Well, there went the peace and quiet in the neighborhood. He stood up and stretched and slowly stepped across his room and down the stairs.

"What, honey?" his mom answered.

"Mom, I don't want to baby-sit for the Ormonds any more. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever!" Justin heard her slap the five-dollar bill that was her contribution for the household expenses on the table, and he winced.

"And I suppose you want us all to go to bed with nothing but bread and water in our tummies for the rest of the week?"

"Oh, Mom, I can find another job, somewhere, and I'm still helping out Mrs. Garrison. That little brat called me a name, and his sister kicked me in the shin."

Justin leaned in the doorway. His mother's mouth was twitching.

"Sounds about like what you used to do when your brother babysat you back in Topeka, doesn't it?"

Sharice shot Justin a look over her shoulder and pulled up her pants leg. "Well, I didn't leave marks like this one, and I didn't learn words like that until...". Her voice trailed off. "Well, never mind. He shouldn't have called me what he did." Her lower lip started to protrude.

"Oh, sticks and stones, honey. I can't see that the skin is even broken. You won't even be able to find it tomorrow. And why don't you take one of your old storybooks with you tomorrow and read to them? They can't get into that much trouble if they're quiet and listening to you."

"That's just the problem. They won't listen to me. Not all the time, anyway."

"Well, just keep calm and look them right in the eye. And don't yell at them. Talk to them, individually. Get their attention. They'll come around; they're just getting used to you, and they're trying you."

"Yeah, yeah. They're going to get me to try out a couple of backhands on them if they keep it up."

"I think you already found out in school about the hands-on approach, didn't you, young lady?"

Sharice's shoulders slumped. "Okay, okay, Mom. But it's a rough world out there when little kids are in it."

"Tell me about it," Justin muttered. "Kid."

Sharice stuck her tongue out at him as she brushed by. "And I suppose you have your homework done, young man?"

"Just about, brat. A little more quality time with my American History book, and I'm back on the team." He caught a narrowed-eye look from his mother. "After I pass that next test, anyway."

"Here's a little test for you, Justin. Why don't you set the table while Sharice cleans up? And if you pass it, you get to eat spaghetti and meatballs."

Justin nodded. "You got it, Mom." Too bad the next test in American History wasn't so easy. He shook his head. Better add another half-hour onto that study time tonight.

* * *

The graded test paper lay facedown on his desk. Slowly he turned it over, to be greeted by red marks... and a "C+" at the top of the paper. He exhaled. Behind him came a soft "Man!" and the sound of a paper being wadded up. His eyes met Mrs. Barngrover's, and he raised his eyebrows.

She gave a thumbs-up. "Sixty-seven percent as of today, Justin. Not really great, but enough. I'm looking for at least a "B" on the next test, though, right?"

Justin nodded slowly. "It's in the bag, Mrs. B."

She smiled. "I'm sure it is, Justin." Behind him he heard a muffled snap. "Okay, people, test review time; small groups, and share your expertise." Another snap, this time a little louder. "That will be in algebra, Denise, not in gum snapping."

Mrs. Barngrover sat down with a small group of perplexed-looking students, and the noise level in the room inched up. Justin turned around and muttered, "Hey, Denise, how are you doing in American History these days?"

"AOK, no problemo. You just gotta do the notebook thing when he talks, as long as you don't write about his dumb pets."

"You think I could borrow your notebook? In return for a little help on algebra?

She leaned her chin on both hands and regarded him. "First T. J., and now you. Only I got money out of him." She sighed. "Well, I guess I could use a little help in algebra, too, worse'n I need the cash."

"T. J. borrows your notebook?"

She pulled a long, pale-orange strand of gum out of her mouth, regarded it for a moment, popped it back inside, and chewed vigorously for a moment. "Actually, I think he photocopied it, because he bummed a couple of quarters from me, too. Say, he never has paid me back, either, and he still owes me for the last time he borrowed the notebook. That low-life!"

Justin cleared his throat. "I think I can do a little better than that. Why don't I borrow your notebook after school, say in front of the library, unless you have it with you."

She shook her head. "No, I'll have to get it out of my locker. But don't let anyone else use it, all right? And try not to copy things word for word. Last time we got notebooks back ol' Brady had T. J.'s and my notebooks together, and he handed both of them back to me as if they were both mine, ya know?"

"It's cool. I know all about paraphrasing and stuff. Did he borrow anything else from you?

"That was all he got from me. But I think he gets a lot of help from Ranaé with his English. Now, let's get on this stuff before we get into trouble."

* * *

The hall was crowded, and Justin was about to give up on Denise when he felt a poke in his back.

"Just lift your books and I'll slide it under them... there. I really don't want to make the 6 o'clock news with this."

Justin didn't turn around. "Thanks. I gotta get in there for the we-e-ener's fun and games session. You wanna get together at noon tomorrow for the algebra thing?"

"Fine with me. In the cafeteria?"

"Yep. Bring your Tums."

"Not me. I bag it. Maybe you could steal me a cookie?"

"Comes with the meal. You're on."

"Okay, Justin. See ya."

"All right, then."

Justin leaned against the wall and looked around to see if anyone was paying undue attention to him. But the crowd was intent on getting out of the building. He pulled the notebook from under his books and flipped it open to the first page. So this was the secret to getting a grade out of this class...

A hand gripped his elbow. "On your way to doing time with the losers? And what might this be? Someone's American History notebook?"

"Might be. Might not be."

T. J. peered more closely at the notebook. "Listen, chump, if you know what's good for you, you'll lay off this one. I had to work hard and long to get Denise to let me use it once in awhile."

Justin slowly closed the cover of the notebook and slid it between two of his textbooks. "Seems like you might want to give something in return for the use of it, once in awhile."

T. J. stared at him. "You heard me the first time. Lay off it. Brady doesn't go for shared knowledge and stuff. That notebook can only be stretched so far."

"Don't sweat it. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well, like I told you, lay off it," T. J. shot over his shoulder as he pushed the double doors open.

"Have a nice practice, chump," Justin muttered to himself. He gripped the stack of books tighter, turned, and strode into the library.

Chapter Seventeen

The halls seemed extra-crowded in the school, and as Justin took off his parka and tried to stuff it into his locker, he realized that most students were also struggling, as they were dressed in bulky clothes also after the first hard frost of the season the previous night, some in coats, mittens, and even mufflers, others in hoodies and windbreakers, and a few wackos with only flannel shirts over thermal underwear.

He managed to wedge his parka far enough into the locker so that the door would close, but he realized that he'd have to take it out again so he could get his books and notebook out. He stood in front of his locker, shaking his head, when he felt a poke in his ribs.

"Man, it's tough when they won't let you take your coat into the rooms, isn't it?" He turned to see Kerry gazing at his locker as if it housed an iridescent polyester leisure suit.

"Yeah, well, if your brain is still frozen and you forget to take your books with you, I suppose you'd end up with a bigger problem." Justin tugged at his coat sleeve and pulled the parka partway out. Several of his books fell out with it.

"Or if someone recognized it in the wrong place at the wrong time, you'd REALLY have a problem."

He stooped to gather up the books, all for afternoon classes, and stared up at her. "And that means...?"

"Now, I may be wrong. But I just happen to have an aunt in Pittsburg who has a store there and who called me last night and told me that she got ripped off by someone wearing a coat like what a certain person who goes to school here wears. She runs a little gift shop in a strip mall on the north side, and this weekend she lost about a dozen gold chains. She called me and asked me to be on the lookout for someone who was wearing a Raiders jacket. Right before she closed up the shop for the evening, she remembered seeing a black guy wearing a Raiders jacket and wandering around the store. Didn't buy anything, she said. Seemed a little nervous. She got busy right before she closed with the paying crowd, and after she locked up, she noticed the empty display."

"So the brother gets the rap, huh?" Justin finished with sorting his books and stuffing the parka back into the locker, and he slapped the door shut and locked it.

"Something like that. But she said she knows most of the customers who come in there, and this guy was someone she'd never seen before, like maybe he was from out of town."

"Like she knows every high school student in Pittsburg?"

"No, but she doesn't get many high-school or even college-age people in there. Mostly older people, the candles-and-crafts crowd. So anyone younger and black and wearing a Raiders jacket would kind of stand out."

"Uh, huh. Like a lot of people don't wear Raiders jackets these days." Justin leaned against his locker. He really should take a trip to the restroom before he headed off for the first period class, and this girl was starting to take up too much of his time.

"But let me know if you see anyone wearing extra gold chains, or maybe trying to sell them, wouldja?"

"Yeah, sure. Like I could afford 'em. I'm pushin' it even to make car payments." He stopped and looked at her.

"No, Justin, I wasn't checking out your jacket or your finances. There's only one black kid in this school who wears a Raiders jacket that I know of, and he happens to be on the football team, which I hear you're a part of again. Congratulations."

"Thanks. But first practice I sort of strained my bad ankle again, so my days as a premier football player are probably numbered."

"Sorry to hear that. But you're still around T. J., right?"

"Yep. Being in Mr. Personality's shadow is just of the many fun aspects of playing football at this fine school, ya know."

"I'm sure. And keeping an eye on him is just another fun thing to do." Kerry looked around her and stepped closer to Justin.

"Look, I'm not supposed to say anything, and you didn't hear it from me, but let's just say that the little birdie told you that Coach Greene's days are numbered, too."

Justin stared at her. "Okay, Birdie. Details, please?"

Kerry sighed. "Well, you remember that family connection between me and Coach Greene? It got useful last night when my dad invited him over for a couple of beers. To make a long story short, he's going to become a counselor at the middle school at mid-term. He'll still coach some spring sports here at the high school, but no more football."

Justin shook his head. "Well, I suppose he's looking out for number one. But who's taking his place?"

Kerry grimaced. "That's one thing I can't tell you, my friend. Maybe I can get a few choice words out of Buck at the dance this Friday."

"Oh, so you choose your dates based on the information they can provide?"

Kerry glared at him. "Well, cuz, at least you hit me with the four-one-one on T. J. that I asked for. But it's not like you're a fount of knowledge nowadays."

Justin chuckled. "Lighten up, sister. Just kiddin'. But you seem to be the original walkin' Funk & Wagnalls, ya know, and information doesn't fall out of trees unless you shake 'em."

The tardy bell rang. Justin checked his innards and decided that he was good for another hour or so. "Well, see ya. I'll keep an eye open."

Kerry smiled. "Thanks, Justin. I owe you one."

He nodded solemnly. "I'll remember that!"

* * *

Morning classes were a crashing bore, usually, but perhaps the cold snap woke some of the students and teachers up, as lively discussions replaced monotone lectures in the first two classes, so that Justin forgot to take care of his bladder until before English class. He managed to slide into the room just as the bell rang and mock high-stepped to his seat, making even Mrs. Hill's face twitch.

"Sorry, Mizz H. Halls were crowded."

"I'm sure they were, Justin. Thanks for hurrying every chance you got."

"No prob." He pulled out his textbook and squinted at the chalkboard. Page 74. Paragraphs due from page 72-3. Got it, he thought to himself, and reached for his notebook.

A poke in his back stopped him.

"Justin. Don't turn around. I gotta talk to you. In the cafeteria?"

Justin half turned and stopped. "Sure, Denise. What's up?"

No reply. He turned his head a little further. Denise's hair appeared to be undone, but then he noticed that she had combed it down over the right side of her face.

"I said, don't turn around!" she hissed.

"Sorry! New hairdo that bad?"

A muffled sob was her only reply. And she didn't say a word, nor snap her gum, all hour, and when the bell rang she was out the door before Justin could gather his books and turn around.

The cafeteria was more full than usual, probably due to the cold outside, and Justin had to wait in line almost ten minutes before he received his share of burnt wieners and sauerkraut. Denise was sitting at a back table over a tray of untouched food, her right side to the room, and Justin slapped his tray down in front of her.

"Okay, Denise, what's wrong?"

She didn't reply but slowly pulled her hair back to reveal a livid bruise on her right cheek.

Justin gazed at her. "Who did that?"

"Stop staring at me." She hastily pulled the hair back into place

"Geez, sorry. I didn't mean to... "

"I know, I know. Justin, I can't lend you my history notebook any more." She stopped and slowly looked around her. "T. J. says I can't."

"Oh, so he's the one who branded you?"

"Yes." Another half-sob.

Justin slowly shook his head. "Listen, I hope you don't think we all treat women like that."

"Don't even say that. I've known what T. J. was like from the very first. I guess I was too scared to 'just say no' the first time he asked me for the stupid notebook."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry you found out the hard way about him. Can't say it's been any different with me. No love lost and all that."

"Well, don't do anything on my account. This is bad enough, and I don't want to come to school looking like I'm wearing a fright wig if he smacks me on the other side of my head."

"No, I suppose not. There's other ways to take care of T. J., though."

"Justin, I said lay off. I just wanted to let you know about the notebook."

"Okay, okay. I get the message. Now, eat your gourmet burnt weenies and get some brain food in you."

Denise snorted. "If this is brain food, I'd hate to see what they whip up for the rest of me."

Justin held up a sample wiener, impaled on his fork, and regarded it. "Just think of it as over-processed protein." He bit half of it off. "Yum."

Denise followed his lead. "Cheers. And thanks for offering to take care of T. J."

"Part of the service."

A tray plopped down beside Justin's, and he looked up into Ranaé's eyes and past them to her hair, which was now shorter, straight, and sans braids.

"This a private party, or can anyone cut in?" Ranaé sat down, spread her napkin, and held Denise in her sight for a moment before turning to Justin.

"Wow, must be the time of the year for new hairdos, huh?" Justin nodded his head. "Nice."

"Thanks. Got tired of the braids smacking me in the face."

Justin heard a suppressed choke from across the table and a fork hit a tray.

"Uh, Denise, thanks for the update on the American History thing. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure, Justin." Her lips compressed, and she shot a glance at Ranaé. "I, er, gotta talk to... Lisa about something, too, so I'll see ya later."

"You got it." He turned to Ranaé. "'Sup?"

She waved her hand in the direction of the departing Denise. "Well, anyways... T. J.'s not here today because he's in Pittsburg, but he called me to let me know that LaToya can't make it this Friday for the dance. Death in the family; grandmother or somebody old." Ranaé took a delicate bite out of her wiener and shuddered.

"So it's off?"

"Just the dance. Well, for you, anyway. Sorry. T. J. says he'll be back probably Thursday; funeral's Wednesday."

"Yes, I'm sure Coach would lose it if his boy wasn't on the field. And I can certainly live without the dance thing." Justin finished his wieners, eyed the sauerkraut, and started in on the peaches instead.

Ranaé's eyebrows raised slightly. "Well, you'll get another week to practice your shuffle, 'cause T. J. says we can do it next weekend after. That fit your busy schedule?" She nibbled on her sauerkraut but threw down her fork. "Ew-w, gross!"

Justin sighed. "Sure, I can work it in. Just let me know the details when we get close to that time. So I won't forget."

"Justin! LaToya would be ex-tremely upset if you didn't show up. I've told her all about you, and she really does want to meet you."

He grimaced. "Bet. And you haven't told me anything about her."

"Well, what's to tell? She likes football players. And she says she's tired of the guys in Pittsburg and wants to meet someone new. So you're it."

The five-minute bell rang, and Justin stuffed a cookie into his mouth and slurped the rest of his milk to wet it down. He spotted Karl and Eric making their way between tables to the back of the cafeteria. "Well, this is all too fun, but my boys are on the way and I gotta scoot. Later."

Ranaé touched her napkin to her lips. "Bye, lover boy. Practice the pucker-up."

Karl and Eric reached the table just in time to hear her remark.

Justin narrowed his eyes. "Don't even start with me!" Karl snorted, and his lips formed the syllables: La-TOY-ya. Justin gritted his teeth and stalked away toward the stack of trays on the conveyer belt, ignoring the remainder of the food left on his tray. Sauerkraut wasn't recommended for getting ready for football practice anyway. Right?

Chapter Eighteen

Justin leaned back on his elbows and gazed at his ankle, encased in several bags of ice. Even though he could see his breath in front of him, the ice almost felt good in spite of the throbbing pain that shot up to his hip every time he moved. I shoulda stepped a little higher, he thought. That guy blindsided me.

He looked down the field. The area around his bench was deserted, and he had a clear view of the entire field. Niotaka's team was taking a long time in the huddle, but with third down and twelve, they'd need some kind of miracle to keep their first and only long drive of the game going enough to score, and with 3:12 left in the third quarter and 6-0 in the other team's favor, they'd better score and convert.

Blindsiding? Talk about blindsiding! Coach Greene's announcement at halftime in the locker room was the real blindsiding. It wasn't as if anyone on the team didn't know already that he was going to announce his, er, retirement, Justin thought. The whole school knew that; somebody must have overhead Kerry talking to him Monday. Or maybe she just told the wrong person, and like talking into a microphone, the news got broadcast. But Justin had wondered who the tall, slim, black guy was who had wandered around on the edge of the field during the first half and had followed the team into the locker room, and when Coach Greene introduced him as the future football coach, as well as T. J.'s older brother, not one person moved or spoke until T. J. stood up and gave his brother the old high five.

The huddle broke up, finally, and the team moved into formation. The crowd behind Justin was so quiet that he could hear Karl count off the snap; even the cheerleaders were silent, for once. It was a sweep to the right; handoff to T. J. and... the roar from the crowd and the referee's arms raised over his head told Justin that the score was tied. He looked down and realized that he was standing on his good leg and lay back on the bench. He draped the bags of ice gingerly over his throbbing ankle, tossed a towel over his head, and didn't even have to uncover to know that the conversion by T. J. was good, too, as the crowd chanting "T. J.! T. J.!" was quite enough.

Man, why do I have to go through all this when hoops is my game? Or maybe I don't have to, he muttered to himself. He tossed the towel in the general direction of the equipment bag, stood, and tested his ankle. Sore. But if he held it steady, he should be able to hobble across the track and into the locker room.

"Tell Coach I'm in the showers." The water boy nodded, and Justin began his painful journey across the track and into the locker room under the stadium.

* * *

He left his uniform, helmet, pads, and shoes where he'd stripped them off, and after a quick shower, he was out the door to the parking lot. A few back-of-the-stadium inhabitants looked at him questioningly, but he ignored them and moved slowly to the parking lot, glancing only once towards the field when the crowd on the opposite side of the field roared. He didn't even look at the scoreboard; it wasn't his business any more.

At first he thought that he'd parked in a rut in the parking lot or something, but then he realized that his left rear tire was flat. And then he saw the scratch that ran from front to back, just under the door latches on the left side. Someone had slashed a tire and then keyed his car, and Justin knew immediately that that "someone" might as well have scratched his name on the car. "Tony," he muttered under his breath.

Getting the tire changed was not a problem, although the fact that two of the three people who helped him change it were girls was a little unsettling. But Denise and the short, dark-haired chick that he vaguely remembered sitting behind him in his English class – was her name Carla? – insisted that he allow them and Karl, the other helper, the chance to try out their auto mechanics skills. He reluctantly agreed, although he insisted on hoisting the wheels in and out of the trunk, noting that this car had a real spare tire and not just a doughnut, and he reminded himself to re-clinch the nuts later. Just as he slammed the trunk lid shut, Sharice and a couple of her friends finally showed up.

"Thanks, ladies, and you, too, Karl. I owe you a big one. Anyone need a ride?

"I'm good." Karl waved and walked away, and Denise shook her head.

"Any time. Hope you find whoever did it. See ya tomorrow in class."

Maybe he'd slip her a couple of packs of Dentyne in hopes she'd chew on that instead of bubble gum? Great idea.

Sharice waved goodbye at the other two girls, who skipped arm-in-arm across the parking lot towards a row composed mostly of mini-vans and where parents parked, and she slid into the back seat. Carla looked around and nodded.

"Sure. It's not that far, but if you're offering..."

"Least I can do." He tried not to make it obvious that he was leaning on the car as he rounded it to open the passenger side door, and she smiled up at him as he opened the door for her.

By the time he made it around to the driver's side, Carla and Sharice were practically old friends and chattered away, and Carla merely tossed a few "left" and "right" and "next block" directions between exchanges with Sharice, but she opened the door, stepped out, and then leaned back in. "Thanks, Justin. I'm sorry about your tire and that nasty scratch. Want me to check around and see if I can find anything out?"

He shook his head. "Naw. I pretty much know who it was. I'll deal with him later. Thanks anyway. And thanks for helping me out with changing the tire. Or more like doing it for me."

She laughed. "No problem. See you tomorrow." The door banged shut, and he watched her short form move up the front steps of her house and made sure that she had opened the front door before he pulled away.

He heard the rear seat belt click open and then felt the side of his seat pull back, as Sharice grasped it and stuck her head between the two front seats. Her breath smelled like popcorn. "What happened?"

He sighed. "Someone slashed a back tire and keyed the side of the car. And I think it's an ugly guy named Tony."

"Tony? Like the Tony you used to talk about in Topeka?

"Yup. That's the one. Drives an old green car. He has a little trouble with taking 'no' for an answer. You watch out for him, too. He's no good."

No answer, but he caught Sharice's nod in the rear-view mirror as she settled back into the seat.

* * *

He'd taken two Tylenol as soon as he'd stumbled into the house, but his ankle still throbbed no matter which way he lay in his bed. Finally, he propped two pillows between his back and the headboard and stared into the darkness. He'd have to tell Coach Greene Monday that he was leaving the football team, and he hoped that he'd understand that his football days were over and that he was saving himself for his best game. With any luck, his ankle would heal enough so that he could trust it on the court. And then he hoped that T. J. wasn't going to try to be the big hoops star in town, too.

Tony was another matter. Compared to Tony, T. J. was an amateur. Tony had connections back in Topeka, and Justin knew for sure that one drive-by that resulted in critical gunshot wounds to the victim included Tony in the car, although someone else had been arrested for the crime. Was he going to have to take the initiative with Tony and deal with him directly? That would be a whole different ball game than the one T. J. played, one that could involve not only himself but his sister and mother if Tony didn't back off and instead decided to ramp up the pressure on Justin.

He sighed and moved his foot. The pain was still there, but the Tylenol had knocked it down to a level that he could deal with. He pushed one pillow to the side of the bed, pulled the other under his head, and turned onto his side.

* * *

"Justin! Open up!"

Justin's head snapped up.

"Jus-s-t-i-i-n-n! You deaf in there? It's eleven o'clock already."

He groaned and turned over, being careful not to jar the ankle. "What do you want now?"

The door slammed open, and Sharice stomped into the room. He sat up and pulled a pillow out part way. "How'd you like to be asleep for awhile, little sister? Maybe see some nice stars, too?"

"Oh, Justin, don't be so silly. I just wanted to ask you something." She plopped herself down on the end of his bed and sat cross-legged. "You know some white boy with long, greasy black hair? Drives an old two-door green car?"

"Uh... sounds like Tony. The one I told you about last night."

"Well, he yelled something at me as he was driving by while I was getting the mail just a few minute ago. I don't know what his problem is, but I heard him yell your name. I just ignored him, though, and he drove away."

Justin felt a chill go down his spine, but he knew he didn't want to worry Sharice. "Well, if he yells at you again, let me know. I'll have a little talk with him. Tell him to quit scaring my little sister."

"Only thing that scared me was his face. I hope he's no friend of yours, Justin."

"Hardly. You be careful around him, though."

"You got it. And he'll get a rock bounced off his head if he tries to get out of that piece of junk around me."

Justin grimaced but didn't reply.

"Oh, and you know the new football coach? T. J.'s brother? Well, his son's in my home room and English and science classes; his name's Sammy! And he's cu-u-te!"

Justin sighed and rubbed his eyes. Sharice had trouble making new friends, he knew, and she seemed to spend more time sending e-mails to her old ones in Topeka than in getting to know new ones in Niotaka. The many times she'd come home silent with him in the car told him that someone else had set her straight that day and hushed her up for a few minutes, so even news about consorting with the enemy, so to speak, wasn't necessarily bad news.

"So. When you two getting married?"

Sharice guffawed and rolled off the bed with a resounding thump on the floor. "Ow! That hurt! She emerged rubbing the back of her head.

"Yeah, and it's gonna cost you big time to get the floor fixed, too, Hardhead."

Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and she grabbed a pillow and swung it at Justin, who leaned sideways so that she missed him.

"Oh, so it's on, now!" Justin stood up, picked up another pillow and smacked her before she could recover. Her eyes widened, and she cocked her arm to take another swing.

"Sharice! I could use a little help down here with the potatoes!" Their mother's floated up the stairway.

"Yep, get in that wifey practice stuff now while you can," Justin said as he dropped the pillow on the bed.

Her pillow caught him square in the face.

"Well, I bet I can make a better meal than LaToy-y-ya!"

He'd almost forgotten about her. Oops! And Ranaé hadn't said anything either the past few days; come to think of it, he hadn't even seen Ranaé without seeing T. J. at the same time all this week.

"So get a move on, why don't you?" He yawned and stretched. "And the bathroom's mine."

"Yeah, yeah." Her footsteps thundered down the stairs, and he swung out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Another Tylenol might be in order, for both the ankle and to help him deal with Sharice, he decided.

Chapter Nineteen

Justin's ankle was still heavily taped, and he rubbed it, annoyed, against the seat support. He'd caught Coach Greene in the gym before school and announced that he was through with football, but Coach had talked him into riding the team bus to the next Friday-night game and even sitting with the team on the field.

"You've been a good influence, Justin. And if you walked away now, there's a good chance that you wouldn't be the only one. I'm not going to make you suit up. I know that ankle needs to heal so you'll have a chance to play basketball. Just stick it out for a couple more game. Okay?"

He'd pulled a sophomore off the JV squad to replace him, but a lot of good it did. The kid came out limping in the second quarter and went in only a couple times more, including at the end of the third quarter when the 56-12 score on the clock confirmed that once again Niotaka had a losing season and the scrubs might as well get some playing time. Of course, the 66-12 score that remained in large, orange characters on the scoreboard after the final horn sounded was somewhat less than inspiring, and except for several players in the back talking softly, the bus was very quite on the way back home.

Justin had noticed that although T. J.'s brother wasn't actually a part of the coaching staff, yet, his and Coach Greene's heads were still close together before key plays. Two games to go, and already he'd just about turned over the reins to the ghetto coach from L. A., Justin thought.

The crowd that greeted them as they pulled to a stop behind the school building was smaller than usual, and Justin realized that Sharice was one of the dozen or so younger kids milling around the back entrance. The dark-faced boy in the Rams jacket next to her must be Sammy, he decided.

She pretended not to notice him as he stepped carefully off the bus, but she didn't try to hide as he moved in her direction.

"All right, Shar. You ready to go home?"

"Oh, hi, Justin. This is Sammy."

Justin nodded vaguely at Sammy, who was backing away, wide-eyed, in the general direction of the bus, where his father was still unloading equipment, and he firmly took Shar by the elbow.

"Hot date, tonight, little sister?"

"Well... uh... I just thought I'd wait for you, Justin."

"I'm sure. You're so kind. First time for everything. And I suppose our mother knows you're here?"

"Ah... well... I sort of walked this way from... ah... Ana's house... we were thinking about having a slumber party... "

Justin nodded slowly. "Well, never mind. I suppose you'd want me to drop you off at this Ana's house now?"

Sharice didn't look up. "No, Justin. I guess I'd rather go home. It wasn't all that good of a slumber party, anyway."

"Yeah, I can see that you weren't getting much sleep, huh?"

"No-o-o. Justin, he asked me out next week!"

"And you said...?" Justin let go of her elbow to unlock the passenger-side door on his car.

She put her hands on her hips and wagged her head. "I said, 'Maybe. What kind of girl do you think I am, Sammy?'"

"Well, I think you and Mom are going to have a nice talk tomorrow evening, right? You're supposed to baby-sit most of the day?"

"Oh, Justin, he's so fine!"

"Well, you and Mom can talk about Mr. So Fine while I'm in Pittsburg. I don't want to have anything to do with... " He stopped short and walked around the car, opened his door, sat down, and snapped on the ignition. "Never mind, Shar. You work this one out. And if Mom asks any questions about where I found you, you just showed up to get a ride. Period."

"Justin, is there anything wrong? Besides... "

"Besides your sneaking out after hours? No... well... I just don't trust anyone connected with T. J. Just watch your back, okay?"

Sharice didn't answer but folded her arms and stared straight ahead through the windshield.

He glanced at Sharice. "After that sorry game, I need something to eat. Why don't we get a bite at the Quick-Shop on the way, unless you think Mom is waiting up with some chocolate cake and cookies and milk?"

She uncrossed her arms and giggled. "Dream on. She was on her way to bed when I told her that I was going over to Ana's. Yeah. I suppose. You buyin'?"

"Sure. Just keep it reasonable."

The cashier was stocking the shelves in the center of the store and glanced at them as they entered. Sharice immediately went to the back and pulled a can of Dr. Pepper from the cooler and then stood in front of a display of chips and finally pulled a bag from its holder. Justin wasn't thirsty and decided that he definitely didn't want anything salty; maybe just something chewy to get him by. The boxed candy display was directly in front of the cash register, and he glanced at the register, noticing that it was exactly the same as the ones in the Quick-Shops in Topeka. What was that special universal code to punch in when someone needed to open the cash drawer, like when someone asked for quarters for the air pump outside? He still had the number in his wallet...

Sharice rounded the corner, followed by the cashier, and she slapped her can of soda and bag of corn chips on the corner and added another bag of peppermint candy. The cashier dropped a box on the floor, kicked it out of the aisle, and headed towards them.

"That be it?" The cashier punched her code into the register, hit the cancel button, and punched it in again, not noticing Justin's eyes following her fingers.

Justin pulled a bag of Good and Plentys from the display and added it to the pile. "Um... that's it." He handed the cashier a ten, and she laid it to the side of the register and pulled the change out, not bothering to count it back.

"Thanks. Have a good day." The cashier looked past them to the back of the store and vacantly flipped at an eyelash with a long fingernail that had a fake diamond glued to it.

The only sound in the car was munching from Sharice's side of the front seat, and before Justin turned on the ignition, he flicked the end of the Good and Plenty box open and poured a small handful of the candies into his hand and dumped them into his mouth. Yummy. Why everyone else was stuck on that nasty, so-called red licorice was beyond him; he'd go for the real, black licorice every time, or at least Good and Plentys if he couldn't find the long, black, ropy licorice.

"So if Mom lets you go out on a date with Mr. Sammy, just where is it that you two are going in this town?"

"He didn't say. And who are you? My mother now?"

Justin put the car into gear and backed into the street. "Something like that." He thought of his father, considered his mother, and decided to say nothing. His mother was too-easily persuaded; he'd taken advantage of her easy-going nature a few times himself, and he knew that Sharice could do the same thing.

"Well, lay off, why doncha? We're probably just going to play some video games and hang out. I know better than to go where no one else is around. Give me some credit for good sense, willya?"

Justin signaled right and then pulled into their driveway, leaving enough room so that their mother could get her car out, and shut the car off.

"All right. Just be sure that you use that good sense all the time you're out with Mr. So Fine. Don't forget about using the word "no" when you need to. Okay?"

Sharice rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. I'll be fine. It's not the first date I've gone out on." She pulled open the door, slammed it, and ran up the sidewalk towards their front porch.

He sighed, reached across the seat and pushed the lock stem down, and checked the other doors to make sure they were locked. Yeah, maybe he'd better lay off a little. After all, he wasn't her parent. Sooner or later he wouldn't be responsible for her at all, either.

Chapter Twenty

Saturday seemed to stretch on forever. Justin wandered out into the garage and opened a few boxes to see if he could find some photos that he'd been looking for since they'd moved, but the chilly autumn air drove him back inside. He tried to get into an old movie on television and fell asleep on the couch, waking up only after Sharice changed the channel on him and glared at him when he rolled over and reached for the remote.

He took a longer shower than usual later in the afternoon and spent almost a half hour in his room examining his face with the help of a hand mirror, and he still had an hour left to kill before Ranaé and T. J. were due to pick him up. Sharice had disappeared, leaving the TV on to some cooking program, and the football game he tried to watch on was even more torture for him than the real thing the night before. He switched channels and watched some movie where the bad guy was holding a hostage in a convenience store until a police sharpshooter took him out. Justin shivered and changed channels to a "Three Stooges" episode. His mother was stretched out on the couch with an oversized paperback and pretended to read it, but before long Justin could hear regular breathing and an occasional snort. She was back to 35 hours a week now at work, although she'd been transferred to the warehouse, and Justin knew that although they needed the money, the added hours that she spent mostly on her feet tired her.

Justin thumbed the remote so that Curley's "nyuk-nyuks" wouldn't disturb her. With Sharice gone to her babysitting job, it was up to him to at least give her a fighting chance to get some rest, too.

* * *

Sharice had yet to return home when Justin heard the soft toot from Ranaé's car in the driveway. He gave his mother a peck on the cheek, and she opened one eye and waved him out the door. Ranaé and T. J. were in the front seat, with Ranaé behind the steering wheel, and T. J. leaned back and opened a rear door for him.

"All right, T. J." He nodded at Ranaé, and she flashed a toothy smile at him. "All ready for the big night of romance, Justin?"

He pretended to smell an armpit and put his hand on the door handle. "Maybe not... "

T. J. snorted and Ranaé giggled. "Too late, now, jungle boy. You'll just have to go with the natural scent. LaToya just lo-oves the natural stuff, right, T. J.?"

"Whatever." T. J. punched the radio buttons until hip-hop emerged from the speakers. And for the rest of trip he kept his eyes closed and nodded to the music, only opening them to stare briefly through the windshield when Ranaé braked for a stop and at his cell phone when they got close to Pittsburg.

* * *

"Pull in here. She's probably inside the front door. She gets off at seven on Saturdays, and we're right on time." T. J. sat up straight and looked around.

Ranaé nosed the car into a strip mall parking lot and slowly drove past the line of stores, glancing in her rear-view mirror.

"There she is. Pull over to the curb."

Justin pushed open his door and slid across the seat. This was definitely a low-budget date, he thought to himself.

LaToya slammed the door behind her. "Hey, guys. You're Justin?"

"Uh, nice to meet... "

"Pleasure. Keep movin' this car, girl. I got a chocolate jones and I got me the fix right here." She reached inside her coat and pulled out a handful of Hershey Bars, looking out the window before she handed them each one.

"All right. Where did you get these?" T. J. pulled the wrapper off and tossed it out his window.

"Same place I always do when I get the urge. Right next door to where I work. Them clowns don't even know how to keep an eye on their inventory." She unpeeled the candy bar and bit a third of it off. "Damn. That's what I needed."

Ranaé dropped her bar on the seat next to her. "Uh, thanks. Maybe I'll eat mine later. Her eyes met Justin's in the rearview mirror, and he dropped his in his pocket. "Yeah, I just ate, too." T. J. had already finished his.

"All right. We got the crew, but we need some brew." T. J. licked the last of the chocolate from his fingers. "Your friend still got the stuff?"

LaToya dropped her wrapper on the floor. "That's right, cuz. Just bear right; it's past the next corner."

Her directions lead them to a long alley, and Justin thought that it was a little odd that T. J. directed Ranaé to turn off the headlights before they pulled into a narrow driveway in front of a garage that sat sideways to the alley and parked next to a battered green Pontiac.

He had to look twice before he recognized the dark figure that materialized from beside the garage and clasped T. J.'s hand when he opened his door. Suddenly, he knew where he'd seen the Pontiac before.

"All right, T. J," Tony muttered. He leaned inside the car. "Yo, Justin. How's your pop?" He snickered and pulled the passenger door open. "You with us, 'Toya?"

"Right behind you. Justin, you and Ranaé stay here. Hit the lights if... well, you know." Ranaé gave her a puzzled look, but LaToya pushed the door shut carefully. It barely clicked. Justin realized that his hands were clenched into fists so tight that his fingernails were biting into his palms, and he unclenched them and slowly released his breath.

The three stopped at the hedge and looked both ways into the dark yard as if they were crossing a busy street before stepping carefully forward.

"Justin, I don't think... "

"Ranaé, what the hell have you gotten us into? You know what they're doing?"

"They're just getting some beer; we don't have to drink... "

"Shut up! They're not after booze. They're going to knock off that house! Ranaé, start the car, and let's get out of here. Now."

Chapter Twenty

Ranaé turned and stared at Justin, her eyes widening. A tear trickled down her right cheek. Mechanically, she turned on the ignition, flipped the gearshift into reverse, and let the car roll backwards into the alley. She pulled the lever into drive and stepped on the brake.

"Justin, what if we... "

Tony's face appeared at Justin's window, and the door flew open. Tony reached for Justin's throat, but he hit Tony between the eyes with two short left jabs, and Tony let go of the door but managed to stay on his feet. Ranaé screamed and floored the accelerator. The door banged shut with Tony still hanging onto the door handle, and Justin tripped the inside latch and pushed it open. He wasn't sure of what Tony hit, but the door banged shut again, and Justin thought he saw a trash can rolling in the alley behind them and a figure careen off the side of the garage and fall to the ground before dust obscured his vision through the rear window.

She didn't even slow down for the street ahead and shot across it into the next alley. Justin clenched the seat in front of him and tried not to bang his head on the roof.

"Jeez, Ranaé, slow down. You wanna get us killed? Wake the neighborhood? Wreck your car? Run over that garbage... " A thump told him that he was probably too late on all counts.

She finally braked to a stop at the end of the alley, slumped over the wheel, sobbing. Justin opened his door, pulled hers open, and reached awkwardly behind the steering wheel to pull the gearshift into park. He noticed that his hand was shaking.

"Slide over, Ranaé. I'll take it from here.

She beat her hands on the steering wheel and turned to face him, her face wet and contorted. "I'm so-o-o sorry, Justin. I didn't know. I just thought... " A light went on in the yard next to them.

"Okay, okay. Move over. We'll talk on the way."

She finally released the steering wheel and moved across the seat to lean against the passenger door, sobbing gently.

Justin glanced across the yard. No one in it, but he thought he saw a face at the window. He flipped on the headlights and turned left so anyone in the house wouldn't be able to get a look at the rear license plate and eased the car down the street. He turned left at the next corner, right at the following, and zigzagged through several streets and an alley until he emerged at a major cross street. If Tony managed to pick himself up out of the alley, get his junker started, and came after them, with or without his partners in crime, Justin didn't really feel like taking him on, especially in someone else's four-cylinder rice burner. And maybe it would be a good idea if they didn't head directly back home, either, as even Tony might figure out how to cut them off on the highway back to Niotaka.

"Well, so much for that love affair. Hey, you gonna feel like eating something in a few minutes?" He turned to Ranaé, and his hand felt the candy bar on the seat. He opened the window and threw it out and in almost the same motion reached into his coat pocket to pull the remaining candy bar out to follow the first one. "And I don't mean hot chocolate, either!"

Ranaé seemed to choke, but Justin realized that she was trying to giggle.

"You so funny, Justin."

"You so funny driver, girl."

She sat up and blew her nose. "I guess that ugly white boy's face in the window inspired me. I don't think I've ever peeled out before. My dad would kill me! Justin... the trash can... !"

"Relax, I think you only tapped it. It was one of those plastic jobs, anyway." He replayed the scene in his mind, a vision of a flying lid and a careening can coming back to him, and he shrugged his shoulders. "If it left a mark, I can rub it out with a little polishing compound."

"Oh, Justin, I've been a big idiot. I just couldn't... didn't know how... " She chewed on her thumbnail.

"Don't worry about it. Look, here's a Sonic. You ready for a cheeseburger?"

"Fine with me. And tater tots, and a strawberry shake. But no hot chocolate."

They looked at each other and laughed.

* * *

Justin decided that hiding the car in plain sight was the best thing to do for a few hours, and he found a mall that included a movie house and spotted an open parking spot in the center of the lot, surrounded by cars that didn't look much different than the one they were in. They wandered around the mall until just before closing, and Justin found out more about Ranaé and T. J. than he really wanted to know.

Justin wasn't so sure his plan to wait before driving back to Niotaka was such a good one, even though a 20-year-old rust bucket wasn't a good candidate as a chase car, and he waited in a carwash driveway just past a stoplight until a pair of semis came along and managed to pull between them. At a comfortable 60 miles an hour, he didn't see anything that looked like Tony's car, and he decided that even if Tony saw them he might not even be able to pick them out. Plus, Ranaé's head nestling on his shoulder as she drifted off into sleep gave him a comfortable feeling that things would work out, after all.

He nudged her as they pulled into the edge of Niotaka, and by the time they pulled into his driveway behind his car, she was wide-awake.

"You gonna be all right?" He flipped off the headlights.

"I'm fine. And don't worry; I don't think T. J. even made it out of Pittsburg. He's got a place to stay at his fine cuz's place when he needs it. He'll show up Monday at school as if nothing happened." She pulled a gold chain over her head. "'Course when he finds this on his front doorknob, he'll get my message loud and clear."

Justin nodded. "You don't mess around when you make up your mind, do you?"

She slid across the seat, reached across him to open the door, and nudged him out. "You got that right!"

Justin slowly stretched to his full height and looked at his house. No lights on.

"Justin..." Ranaé reached out and took his hand, and suddenly grabbed his collar, pulled his head down, and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Listen... thanks for an... interesting evening. And thanks for everything else, too."

"All right. See ya Monday." He squeezed her hand. She pulled the door shut, and he watched her drive away until her taillights winked around the corner.

The house was quiet and dark, except for the night light in the living room. He pushed his bedroom door open but stopped when he saw a light come on from under Sharice's door, which opened a crack. "Justin, you wanna talk for a minute?"

He sighed. "All right, Shar." He pulled off his jacket and tossed it into his room and walked down the hallway to her room. Her portable stereo was still on, low, and he realized that she had waited for him to arrive home and might have waited for hours more. She was back in her bed, sitting up with the covers partly way pulled up around her.

"Justin, you know how you told me to watch my back?"

"I tell you that all the time, Shar."

"No, I mean about Sammy."

"Yeah, sure."

"Well... he showed up at the front door before I got off from babysitting this evening. Said he'd walk me home, protect me, all that junk. No problem, right?"

Justin chuckled. "Seems like I've heard that line before. Go on."

"I bet. Well, he's cute and stuff, but as soon as we got in a dark spot between streetlights he put his arm around me. I kinda liked that. Then he blew in my ear. I'm not sure I liked that, though. It tickled too much. Then he... grabbed me and said he wanted me and that I was going to be his girl." Justin watched a tear trickle down her cheek. "Justin, I didn't say anything at all to Mom about all this because I knew she wouldn't let me go out after dark ever again if she knew... "

She pulled a tissue out of a box next to her bed and rubbed her cheek. "Well, anyways, he grabbed me in the wrong place, and I'm not going to tell you where. I KNOW I didn't like that. And... I'm not sure what happened after that, but my elbow is still sore, and he was still doubled up on the ground when I walked off, and I kinda remember kicking him in the... well, you know."

Another tear rolled down her cheek. "Justin, is it still wrong to hurt someone when he does stuff like that to you? I know you and Mom told me to lay off the rough stuff, but... "

Justin's mouth had dropped open, but he managed to close it before she had a chance to compare him to a fish one more time.

"Look, Shar; let's put it this way. Any time you can't defend yourself like you did tonight, in that kind of a situation, you come and get me and I'll kick his butt for you. Any age, any time. All right?

"So it's all right?"

"Long as it's not just words, or another girl goin' yada-yada at you, fine. If 'no' doesn't work, just remember that actions speak louder than words. And don't forget those long legs of yours can get you out of trouble quick as anything, if need be."

Shar nodded and slid under the sheets. "All right, Justin. And don't say anything to Mom about it, okay?"

"Fine."

"And aren't you home a little early? I thought you wouldn't be home until around midnight or later."

"Listen, Shar, I had a long evening tonight. I don't care what the clock says, because it was too long. And let's just say that if you and Sammy-boy aren't an item, me and LaToya had sort of a meaningful experience, too, and I don't wanna hear that name in my ear again. T. J.'s or Tony's either. Maybe Ranaé's. But that's it."

"All right, Justin!" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and her eyelids fluttered. "Tuck me in?"

"Sure thing, little girl." Justin arranged the covers and pulled the bedspread up halfway. "That okay?"

Her regular breathing answered. He looked at her still form for a long moment and then switched off the light.

* * *

Breakfast next morning was a quiet affair for once. Justin was still yawning in spite of an unusual second cup of coffee, and Sharice took her bowl of Fruit Loops to the living room and watched cartoons. Their mother gave both of them a sharp look but said nothing.

Justin finished his breakfast and dumped the remains of his coffee down the sink, rinsed his cup, and stretched. "I'm going to the Quick-Shop to get some gas in my car, Mom, okay? I think I need a little fresh air, anyway."

"Oh, can I ride with you, Justin?" Sharice's head swiveled around.

Before he could answer in the negative, his mother reached into the blue cookie jar on the counter and took out a couple of bills.

"Good idea, and why don't you get a half-gallon of milk for me while Justin's getting gas, okay?"

"Can do. Wait until I get my coat."

The ride was silent until Sharice finally couldn't stand it any longer. "I guess you're still thinking about your hot date last night with LaToya, huh?" She retreated against the passenger door so that Justin could barely poke her in the ribs without jerking the steering wheel.

"Cool it, brat. Don't forget YOUR hot date with Sammy-boy last night. And I told you not to mention that name again."

Justin thought about describing exactly what he'd do if he caught Sammy alone somewhere in the dark, but the Quick-Shop loomed before him, and instead he shook his head and pulled in next to a gasoline pump. "Don't take all day getting the milk, okay?"

"Whatever." And she disappeared into the store.

Jason watched the pump counter and stopped it exactly on $10.00. No lawns to mow, no odd jobs, meant no money except for what he could talk his mother out of, and what he had left was going fast, even though she was helping out on the car payments now. And he wanted to leave at least a ten in his pocket for future reference, although a twenty or more would be much better.

He walked into the store and up to the counter, holding the bill. No one was at the counter. And where was Sharice? He looked at the register and recalled the numbers that the clerk had used before.

He shook his head slightly to clear his head. No, that was part of the past, too. He laid the ten on the counter just as the teenaged clerk rounded the corner, with Sharice following him, a half-gallon of milk clutched in her hand.

"Oh, sorry. I had to get some more milk out of the cooler in back. That going to do it for you two?" He swept up the money and punched in the code, only two digits away from the one Justin had memorized, and the drawer jumped open.

"Sure glad you've got the exact change; about all I have is ones and fives for awhile. Manager had to go out to get some change." He accepted Sharice's money and dropped the change into her hand. "Thanks; have a nice day!"

Justin nodded his head. "You, too."

Chapter Twenty-Two

The cafeteria seemed noisier than usual, but Justin welcomed the covering noise, as he'd sent a note to Buck, inviting him to meet there to talk. The pizza roll was unusually chewy today, and after a second attempt to gnaw off a corner of it failed, he tossed it onto his tray. Buck followed suit and leaned closer to Justin across the table.

"Okay, Justin, so you think that T.J. and that clown that runs the Winner's Circus might just be responsible for... um... let's say, unusual activities in Pittsburg? Which might just result in... ah... private sales here in Niotaka?"

"Not only in town, but here and there around the school building, bro. There's a certain bathroom on the way to the gym that could tell Real Life Crime stories if the fixtures could talk. Either that, or Bozo has the weakest kidneys of any dude I've ever known."

"Hm. You sure he's not just a heavy drinker?"

"Try snorter. Or inhaler. Or whatever. I have no clue; that wasn't my scene when I was..." Justin fell silent. No, drugs weren't ever his thing back in Topeka. And neither was petty theft; it just wasn't worth it for the proceeds, but when someone you were trying to impress gave you specific orders for which store to case and stand sentry for someone else while they...

Justin's eyes came back into focus. He realized that Buck was staring at him.

"Never mind. Another place, another life. Another lifestyle."

Buck leaned back. "None of my business, Stretch. What counts is what you do, not what you were. Listen, I think it's time you talked to my dad. No, don't look at me like that. You might just be surprised at how he deals with problems. Hey, he's had to deal with me during my difficult formative teen-age years, you know; I taught him well."

Justin shook his head slowly, but he dropped his milk carton onto his tray and followed Buck to the tray conveyor belt.

* * *

"Justin, I appreciate your sense of duty, although if I know my own son very well, I'd also want you to get your arm checked for damage. I can imagine that he probably did a little twisting to get you over here." The superintendent leaned back in his swivel chair with a wry smile.

"Well... maybe a little." Justin rubbed his right arm and pretended to wince. "I'm just getting a little tired of what's been going on around me, and Buck... well... he's been pretty free with the advice lately, let's just say."

"I bet." The superintendent sat forward and laid both his palms on his desk. "But, gentlemen, I think it's time that both of you knew a little more of what we school officials are hired to do around here. Buck, Justin, everything I'm going to tell you next is confidential. Understand?"

They both nodded.

"That means no stories to be told, Justin." Buck looked at Justin.

"My lips are..." He drew an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

"All right. I imagine you can figure out that people who work in schools don't make a whole lot of money, right?"

"Yeah, Pop... otherwise I wouldn't be driving a truck that looked like a moving junk pile, huh?"

His father looked at him for a long moment. "You sure you're getting enough exercise, young man? Maybe some walking would do you some good."

Buck spread both palms in surrender, and the superintendent turned to Justin.

"What I meant was that sometimes we have to hire who's available, even though we know that there's someone out there somewhere who could do a better job, and pay them what we can with what we have in the budget. Now... the study hall supervisor, for example. If we hadn't been able to find him to take over the study hall, either the principal or I would have had to sit in there myself, or we would have had to close it down. We needed someone with at least substitute credentials, and he qualified. But you've just confirmed what we suspected, Justin. It seems that he has other interests than educational, unless you can call drug running educational. I thought we had a good candidate; he has an associate's degree and supposedly was working on a bachelor's at night at Pittsburg State. At least that's what his credentials stated, but I just had a private background check done on him this afternoon... you're not the only person to let me know about the problem, Justin; your principal had his doubts, too... and after what I discovered, I believe you'll find that after today someone else will be sitting in the library after school. Sometimes college credentials don't tell the whole story."

"Who's going to be there, Pop?"

"Can't say for sure, son, but I'm going to contact Jace Watkins. He wasn't officially hired to be a Rule 10 coach until the first of next month, but we did a pretty thorough check on him in LA, and his papers are all in good order. And his part-time job at the candy factory is in the morning and doesn't conflict with any afternoon activities."

Justin tried not to let the surprise show in his face, but the superintendent looked at him and smiled. "Justin, we know all about your little... ah... disagreements with T. J., but think a second. Why would an older brother leave LA with his son and show up in a small town where his younger brother is?"

Justin had visions of a certain spiky-leaved plant in his mind, but he shook his head. "I don't really know, sir. I thought he just needed a job."

"Well, yes, but his mother was the one who contacted us first to let us know that her son was qualified to coach, and that was even before Coach Greene resigned." He leaned back in his chair and made a steeple out of his hands and looked at Justin. "We just happened to receive his formal application ten days or so before Coach Greene gave notice, and that and his mother's request got him not only a part-time job with the school district but a chance to keep an eye on his younger brother. Luckily a part-time job at the candy factory opened up at the same time, too."

Justin tried not to grimace and let on what he thought of part-time jobs opening up at the candy factory.

The superintendent leaned forward again. "Justin, do you think you're anything like your father?"

Justin's mouth opened and closed. He suddenly felt as if the superintendent had reached inside his body and snatched a vital organ out of it.

"We don't think you do, Justin. Yes, we're well aware of what you went through, what you did, the problems you had last year. And where your father is right now. You think that school officials don't know how to use the phone?"

"Um..." He looked at Buck, who opened his eyes a little wider.

"Now, my son doesn't know about your problems in the past. We talk, but he knows that confidential information stays in this office. And guess what... unless he wants to talk about his problems with you, YOU don't know HIS, either. And I don't think you two are going to have a sharing session, soon. Now, I'm not trying to give either of you the old 'Boys-will-be-boys' treatment, either. Buck and I have had a few conversations about what it's like to have to live in a town where gangs try to control your life, and maybe you and he have had some of the same chats, but I would hope that you would continue to try to make something of yourself, young man. We have been hoping that possibly you would be a good influence on T. J., too. That's the main reason Jace Watkins is here. He wants to see his little brother head in the right direction, and his mother can't seem to pull that trick off, and he's going to have his hands full, because he's not only going to have to be a big brother but a surrogate father, because their father is dead. Gang wars in LA don't leave many prisoners on the battlefield."

"Yes, sir." Justin looked down at his feet. When he walked in here, he thought he had two bad guys pretty carefully defined. Well, maybe 50 percent wasn't bad. And maybe the jury was still out on Jace and Sammy.

"What I'm trying to tell you both is that I'm well aware of two young men, black men, who haven't had all the same chances that a lot of kids have had. And I'm looking at one of them whom I'm not very worried about any more. Justin, you've done a lot to pull yourself up. Not every kid in this school would try to bring up your grades in three classes, Justin. Oh, and actually bring them up in two more classes, besides."

Justin's eyes widened. "Um... what? My grades are up in five classes?"

"Well, believe it or not you seem to have been pulling an "A" in keyboarding pretty much all along. English is your worst class, and your average in there right now is about a C+, your teacher says. Not bad, young man."

"All RIGHT, Justin!" Buck added a whistle and a high five.

Justin slumped in his seat. Seems as if there's nothing that they don't know about me, he thought. Although he hasn't said anything about T. J.'s trying to throw the football games.

"Now... as far as T. J. goes... we're watching him; his brother is watching him; and his mother is doing what she can. Which isn't much, but ... Let us put the pressure on him from now on, Justin. I'm not saying that you should stay away from him, but don't be afraid to zip your lip and walk away from him if you need to."

"Well... I can do that. But there's more..."

"Justin, we're well aware of what went on during football practice. Let's just say that we made sure that is all now part of the past."

"Hm. All right, sir. Um... can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask."

Justin's lips twisted a little. Can you answer? Really give me an answer to the meaning of it all? Do I have any choices? Can I blow my nose and not have someone add a check to a list?

"Well... do you always give this much personal attention to certain students?"

The superintendent chuckled. "Just when we need to, Justin. And you know what? For me it's all part of the job. And maybe I need a little reassurance that the youth of this town aren't all like young Buck over there."

"Wha...? Oh, right, Pop. You're such a kidder."

"Ask me if I'm kidding while you're cleaning out the garage this weekend, Buck-O, me boy."

Buck buried his face in his hands. "Thanks, Pop. Always did like diving for buried treasure."

* * *

Sharice was sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, watching a Roadrunner cartoon when Justin opened the front door, and she reached for the remote and punched the "mute" button.

"Justin. I gotta talk to you."

He dropped his backpack next to the sofa and sprawled on it, his feet on the coffee table.

"What now?" He leaned back and closed his eyes. It had been a long day, and with the extra sheet of algebra problems he'd been handed for missing part of that class in his backpack, waiting for him to work out, it was far from finished.

"Guess what? Sammy apologized to me!"

"Oh, boy. I suppose with hearts and flowers and candy and kisses?"

"Nothing romantic like that. He just came up to me in the cafeteria... and let me tell you, me and my girls watched him all the way... and said he was sorry for acting like a jerk; he didn't mean it; and with a kick like that I should be on a soccer team."

"So... you two are, like, Steady Freddy now?"

"Justin. Get serious. No, I flat told him don't-call-me-I'll-call-you, and the phone is seriously broken beyond repair."

Justin opened his eyes and yawned. "I suppose that's good news. Did you ever tell Mom about it?"

Sharice rolled back on her stomach and stared at the moving figures on the screen. "No, Justin. I don't think that she'd understand. Do you?"

"I suppose not, Shar. Well, I guess Mr. Sammy will just have to be our little secret, huh?"

"You got it. Oh, and something else. There's this cute boy in my English class; I think he's mixed or Mexican or something..."

Justin put his hands over his ears. "Nah, nah, nah, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Sharice stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. See if I tell you about any boys ever again, Justin."

He closed his eyes. "Bet."

Chapter Twenty-Two

"So Coach Greene was all right with that?" Kerry took a bite out of her slice of pizza, frowned at it, and dropped the crust onto her tray.

"Yeah, he was cool. He said he understood about my wanting to do hoops and about the ankle and everything." Justin pushed his tray away. For once, nothing semi-edible except crumbs remained on it.

"Justin even said that Coach invited him to come out for track this spring," Ranaé added. Her tray was almost empty, too. "Said he needed someone to run high hurdles."

"Yeah, we're always short in running events," Eric said. "We had to forfeit a few relays last year just because we didn't have enough to put four on a team unless we ran 'em back-to-back, and even Slavedriver Greene wouldn't do that to us. No offense, Justin."

Justin laughed. "That's cool, man. I might just do it, but only if you can pull yourself away from the shot put and run anchor in the medley with me."

"Run anchor? I AM an anchor. I don't run. I just throw things." He tossed his napkin over the table in the general direction of Denise, and she glared at him. "Karl and Buck over there are who you need, and maybe Karl."

"Okay, Justin, enough about sports. Tell us about the LaToya caper." Karl struggled with the last of his pizza. "We want... no, we NEED to know how the great Topeka stud handles chicks around here."

"Forget that LaToya chick." Ranaé's eyes had a dangerous look in them, Justin realized, one that he'd have to keep in mind in the future. Not that it really mattered to him, though.

"I'd kinda like to hear Mr. Justin's side of the story, my dear." Karl bounced his pizza crust off his tray, and it rebounded neatly into Denise's tray.

"Man! Keep your garbage to yourself," she muttered as she delicately used her napkin to protect her fingers from the pizza and picked it up and dropped it onto Karl's plate. Her hair was pulled neatly behind both ears, and Justin noticed a little extra makeup on her right cheek but no obvious sign of a bruise on it.

"Let's just say that short-term romances seem to be my specialty, and I don't mean one-night stands, either, Karl. As for technique... "

Karl's eyes got slightly wider, and he gazed behind Justin.

"All right. Mind if I drop in?" T. J. slid into the empty seat behind Justin. Justin half-turned his chair, and he faced him.

"Free country," Justin muttered. "Nice to see you again."

"Oh, yeah... nice to see you, too, bro. Too bad you had to run off so quick Saturday night."

Justin noticed that all eyes were on him. "Yeah, we thought maybe you and Tony and LaToya needed to be alone for awhile. And how is Tony's road rash today?"

T. J.'s eyes widened. "Couldn't say, bro. Had to... split before we could check him out."

"Yeah, he was sort of laid out, wasn't he?"

"Whatever. He wanted me to ask you how your dad was getting along these days, too."

Justin felt the hair on the back of his neck raise, and his hand twitched, but before he could open his mouth to reply, he saw something whiz by his head and catch T. J. in the side of his head. Brown droplets of chocolate milk from the almost-empty milk carton spattered his face, and he stood up.

"Why don't you lay off, T. J.?" Denise was standing, also. Slowly, Eric, Buck, and Karl stood up. Kerry reached out for Denise's arm, but she shook her off. T. J. wiped the droplets from his face and turned slowly to face Denise.

"Yeah, I mean YOU, T. J. Or maybe you'd like to smack me again? Show what kind of a man YOU are?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, well, luckily I'm the Avon lady's best customer, or everyone would have known exactly how you treat people who don't do exactly what you tell them to do. Well, you can kiss my act in that part of your life's story goodbye. In fact, you can kiss this!" And she slapped her hip and sat, her hands covering her face.

T. J. looked at Eric, Karl, Buck, and then Justin, who by then had surrounded Denise. "All right, then. I see how it is. Well, come next fall YOU'LL see how it is when you come begging my brother for even a tryout."

Kerry snorted. "Uh, my man. Perhaps you'd do well to remember what it would be like when you try to play the fine game of football with an offensive line in front of you that averages a hundred and thirty pounds. You know, the freshman team? Even your brother-the-coach isn't stupid enough to turn away people that YOU don't seem to get along with." She stepped around Justin, who noticed that she really didn't have to angle her gaze upward very much to meet his eyes. "You giving your brother orders, too?"

Justin stood up beside her and folded his arms. "You can tell Tony I have no clue how my dad is. I haven't seen him for years; I don't intend to track him down, and I don't care if I meet him in this lifetime or next."

T. J.'s mouth opened, but Ranaé leaned across the table. "You know what? Shut up, T. J. We don't need your advice about anything. And you can tell your precious cousin LaToya that she can keep her trash out of my car, including herself, AND her relatives, from now on."

T. J. gazed at her for what seemed to be an eternity. Justin noticed that people at nearby tables were watching them, and the cafeteria seemed to have gone silent. Two teachers were making their way toward their table, but they seemed to be moving in slow motion.

T. J. shook his head and turned and walked toward the outside door. He stopped and turned. "Forget you all, man!" Justin didn't know when he remembered a door banging open so violently without the glass in it breaking. The five-minute bell sounded, though, and the resulting clattering of chairs and trays seemed unnaturally loud, almost like a collective sigh of relief.

Eric picked up his tray first. "Nice arm, Denise. Too bad we don't have a baseball team here. I bet you could hit Mr. T. J. right between the eyes from center field."

Denise folded her arms around herself. She seemed to be shivering, but she took a deep breath.

"Um... guys... well... thanks. For being here."

Kerry put her arm around her for a second. "No problem. Just let me know if you need us again."

Denise managed a small grin. "I think he got the message."

Justin cleared his throat. "Safety in numbers, it's called. Learned that in history class yesterday. Or somewhere."

"Hey, Justin. You wanna borrow my history notebook after school?" Denise was now smiling at him.

"Naw. Thanks, anyway. I got that scene under control. Besides, I don't want to have to smack you a good one if it isn't very good," Justin grinned at her.

"You just try it, buster." Denise doubled up her fist, which was about the size of Justin's thumb. She chuckled, picked up her tray, and almost skipped to the conveyor belt.

"Well, Justin, that was interesting. I didn't know you had a father." The others had left Ranaé and Justin to gather up their trays alone.

"Yeah, it's a biological necessity. I got a father. And that's about all I care to say about that."

"No problem. Part of the past, huh?"

"Real American history. And forgotten."

"Oh, hey, Justin... speaking of the past... you remember someone named Tamisha Jackson back in Topeka? She's my cousin, on my dad's side."

Justin shook his head slowly. "She must have gone to Highland Park or something.

"Well, I think she's going to come out here and visit me over Christmas vacation. How 'bout I... "

Justin put his palm up. "Man, no way. I can barely deal with people I know. No more fix-ups, okay?"

Ranaé tossed her head. "What you mean you can barely deal with people you know?"

Justin shook his head. "Well, I was just about to see if you maybe wanted to take in a movie this weekend, like on Saturday, when you start in throwing females at me."

She laughed. "Yeah, well, someone needs to take care of you, and I don't think Denise is going to be following you around all the time to beat up anyone who badmouths you."

He chuckled. "For sure. T. J.'d better watch his back from now on. But how about... "

"Listen. Don't get pushy. I'll have to check my... calendar, ya know. It kind of gets filled up this time of year. And... I'll let you know. Maybe tomorrow."

Justin rolled his eyes heavenward. Women. "Yeah, well, if I'm home and in the mood, you can call me."

"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't Maybe I'll call Wednesday, if I feel like it."

He grinned at her. "Fine. I guess I can deal with that."

#

The saga at Niotaka High continues in **High School Diversity – The Clash** :

From Chapter One:

"You been messin' with my boyfriend."

Carla slowly raised her eyes from her food tray, looked around, and counted: One, two... four girls stood behind their leader, Miranda, who as usual had spread too much makeup across her face. The others stood behind Miranda and glowered at Carla; she recognized two of them, but the others didn't register in her memory. All obviously were Miranda clones, as their lipstick looked as if it had been applied with butter knives.

Carla stood and slowly wiped her lips on her napkin, trying to stretch her five-feet-plus-most-of-an-inch as tall as she could. "Excuse me? What boyfriend would that be?"

Miranda took a step closer and stood directly in front of Carla and looked down. Their noses were perhaps five inches apart.

"That would be the boyfriend whose car you got into last Friday night."

* * *

_Want to read more? Download the free sample from_ **High School Diversity – The Clash** _from Smashwords.com._

Paul Swearingen is the author of the "High School" series, all available from Smashwords.com, plus other young adult fiction. If you were one of his students during his 34+ years of teaching in secondary schools, you might just find echoes of yourself and your friends and enemies in one of his books.
