Backfield Boys Read online

  * * *

  Of course it hadn’t been that simple. Neither Elaine Jefferson nor Julie Roddin was at all happy with the idea of her son going to a jock school 350 miles from the West Side of Manhattan to be—worst of all—a football player.

  But when Mr. Gatch personally offered full rides to both boys, and when the fathers supplied the mothers with a list of where the 350 graduates from TGP’s class of 2017 were going to college, they gave in—grudgingly.

  “It won’t do Tom any good to go to an Ivy League school if he can’t remember his name when he’s forty,” Mrs. Jefferson said when her husband pointed out that six of the thirty-four football-playing seniors were going to the Ivies.

  That had set off another round of the fathers pointing out the percentages and the mothers saying that any risk was too much risk. For their part, the boys had pleaded and a compromise had been reached: Tom and Jason would be one-and-dones: not one year—as with college basketball players, who played for a year before leaving for the NBA—but one concussion and done.

  “First time it happens, Jason,” Mrs. Roddin said, “that’s it. Football’s done.”

  Only with that understanding did the mothers finally sign off on accepting the scholarships.

  * * *

  And so, as more and more cornfields and cow pastures raced past the window, Jason leaned back, closed his eyes, and imagined himself running under passes perfectly thrown to him by Tom.

  He could see the headlines in the newspapers around the state of Virginia now—not to mention on ESPN’s weekly high school highlight show: BULL’S-EYE TARGETS WHITE LIGHTNING IN TGP VICTORY.

  This was going to be fun, he thought.

  If they ever got there.

  2

  They stopped for dinner in Charlottesville. A friend of Mr. Jefferson’s had recommended a steak place just off Route 29 called the Aberdeen Barn, down the road from the campus of the University of Virginia.

  “So here I am, a couple miles from the school founded by old Mr. Jefferson, having dinner with two Mr. Jeffersons,” Jason said, grinning, as they walked inside.

  They were walking in the direction of the hostess’s stand, where two young women were smiling at them.

  “Do me a favor and shut up,” Tom said.

  “Reservation for Jefferson,” his dad said to the two young women.

  If the name carried any special meaning around here, the hostesses didn’t show it.

  “Yes, sir,” the taller one said. “Table for three, right?”

  As Mr. Jefferson was nodding, Jason said, “You realize, don’t you, that you’re about to seat Thomas Jefferson?” He pointed at Tom.

  The shorter of the two, a pretty brunette, didn’t miss a beat. “Thomas Jefferson, it’s a pleasure,” she said. “I’m Martha Washington.”

  That was funny.

  “Let me guess,” Mr. Jefferson said as they walked to their table. “We’re not the first people to come in here with the last name Jefferson.”

  “Or the first name Tom or Thomas,” Martha answered, handing them menus as they sat down.

  “But do you get Sally Hemings in here a lot?” Jason said, trying to keep the banter going.

  Martha smiled. “Absolutely. But she has to come in the back door,” she said as she walked away.

  “Girl’s funny,” Mr. Jefferson said.

  Jason knew about Sally Hemings from the early American history section of his social studies class. She was the slave who became President Jefferson’s mistress after his wife died; the two had had several children together.

  “She’s got guts saying that to a couple of black guys,” Tom said.

  “I think she figured we could handle it,” Jason said.

  “What do you mean we?” Tom said. “Did I miss the part where you became black?”

  “You always say I run like I’m black,” Jason answered.

  “I’m sure she was aware of that,” Mr. Jefferson said, just as a waitress arrived at the table to take drink orders.

  “First round of drinks is on the house, gentlemen,” she said. “Courtesy of Martha Washington. My name is Sally, and I’ll be your server tonight.”

  Jason stared at her name tag. It actually said SALLY. Amazing, he thought. Just amazing.

  * * *

  They all ordered Cokes. The boys were a long way from being old enough to drink, and even though they were now only a short drive from the school, Mr. Jefferson wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Remember, after I drop you off, I’m coming back to Charlottesville to spend the night,” he said.

  “It’s great of you to do this, Dad,” Tom said.

  “Well, there was no way that Robbie could change his schedule,” Mr. Jefferson said. “And neither one of your mothers wanted to do the tearful-farewell thing down here after six hours in the car. So that left me.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you’ll be tearful,” Tom said.

  Mr. Jefferson smiled. “Probably not,” he said. “But I will miss you both.”

  Tom’s head had been buried in his menu. Now it snapped up and he looked at his father, clearly surprised.

  “For real?” he said.

  “Of course,” Mr. Jefferson said. “Did you think I wouldn’t miss you?”

  Tom shook his head. “No, I figured you’d miss me—us—but I never thought you’d say it.”

  “Well, consider this a first,” Mr. Jefferson said. “But not a last.”

  “Saying it once puts you in the lead over my dad,” Jason said, smiling. “Probably an insurmountable lead at that.”

  Jason knew his dad loved him, but he was a tough-guy cop, not inclined to show much emotion—anger being the exception.

  They all ordered steaks since they’d been told that this was one of the best steak houses in the state. Soon they were buried in sizzling platters of meat and several side dishes apiece.

  “Good intel on the steaks, Dad,” Tom said as they all emptied their plates.

  “Well, my guess is, even at a jock training table, the food you’ll get in the school dining hall won’t be all that good, so I figured I’d better get you a good meal tonight,” Mr. Jefferson said.

  To top it off, they all ordered ice cream sundaes. Then they were out the door, headed in the direction of the school by seven o’clock.

  The sky was slowly darkening overhead. It would be close to sunset when they got to TGP.

  They arrived to find a slew of cars in the parking lot, with others pulled up in front of the dorms to be unloaded. They’d been told to report first to Jackson Hall—where all the school’s offices were located—to register. After that, they’d head to their rooms.

  Two very pleasant women checked Tom’s and Jason’s names off a list and handed them dorm room keys. They were in Lee Hall, a six-floor all-male building.

  “Mr. Jefferson, you’re in room 344,” one of the staff members said. “Mr. Roddin, you’re in 228.”

  “Hang on,” Tom’s dad said just before Jason could open his mouth. “I know that the boys asked to room together.”

  At seven-on-seven camp the dorms were empty enough that all the campers could have their own room. Jason and Tom had had adjacent rooms and had made it a point on their applications to request rooming together at school.

  The woman who had handed them their keys was middle-aged, probably about forty, Jason figured. She had her dark hair pulled up and was wearing a blue blazer with a Thomas Gatch Prep School crest; the name tag on her lapel said MRS. WILLIAMS.

  She smiled at them. “Yes, well, we get a lot of requests for room assignments, especially from boys and girls who are from the same hometown,” she said. “We think it better to start fresh, make new friends. It isn’t as if the boys won’t be seeing a lot of each other, is it?”

  Jason was fine with the idea of making new friends. He just didn’t especially want to share a room with one of them.

  “We should have been informed,” Mr. Jefferson said. “At least that way the boys wouldn�
��t have been taken by surprise. They’ve been counting on rooming together.”

  “Well, next year they can put in a request for that, and maybe it will be granted,” Mrs. Williams said.

  She looked past Mr. Jefferson to a father, a mother, and their son standing behind them.

  “Welcome to TGP,” she said to them. “Can you give me your name?”

  As politely as possible, she had just said, I’m done with you—move on.

  Jason and Tom looked at each other, then at Mr. Jefferson.

  “Do you want me to take this up the line to someone in authority?” Mr. Jefferson said. “She’s just doing her job.”

  “Couldn’t be more officious, I’d say,” Tom muttered.

  Jason was pretty certain that officious wasn’t a compliment, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.

  Tom, who often read his mind, said: “Obnoxious when asserting authority. As in, I’m in charge, don’t question me.”

  That said it all, Jason thought.

  Tom turned to his father. “Let’s leave it for now,” he said. “We don’t want to be the only ones complaining on the first day. We’ll see how it goes. If we don’t like our roommates, we’ll try to make a switch.”

  Jason figured Tom was right.

  The three of them walked back to the car and, as instructed, Mr. Jefferson pulled around to the back of Lee Hall. It was not a football dorm per se, but all the school’s football players were among those who lived in the building. The basketball players also lived in Lee Hall.

  The boys unloaded their things, and Mr. Jefferson stayed with the car while they first carried Tom’s stuff to his room. Tom’s roommate was sitting on the bed watching TV when they arrived. He jumped to his feet and introduced himself.

  “Anthony Ames,” he said. “I’m from Marietta, Georgia.”

  He was a black kid, clearly a lineman: about six foot three and, Jason guessed, at least 240 pounds.

  Tom introduced himself, shaking hands. “And this is Jason Roddin. We’re from New York City.”

  “The NYC boys. I heard about you.” Anthony shook hands with Jason. “You’re White Lightning, right?”

  “That’s me. And this is Bull’s-Eye. He’s slow as sin, but he has the best arm you’ll ever see, no doubt.”

  “Well, we’ll find out, I guess,” Anthony said. “Need a hand?”

  The two friends thanked him but said they were good. They left to go deal with Jason’s things.

  “I like him,” Jason said.

  “In five seconds?” Tom said.

  “Yup, I’m a gut-instinct guy. You know that.”

  They went back to the car and collected Jason’s stuff and hauled it up to room 228. It was empty. Apparently his roommate—Jason hadn’t bothered to ask his name—hadn’t arrived yet.

  Jason and Tom walked back to the car to say goodbye to Tom’s dad. It was just about dark now, the last bits of dusk fading rapidly. The three of them stood by the car for a second. For some reason, Jason had an almost overwhelming desire to jump back in and leave with Mr. Jefferson. He wondered if Tom was thinking the same thing.

  “I better get going,” Mr. Jefferson said. “I want to be on the road by six in the morning, and you boys probably have an early wake-up, too.”

  “Drive carefully, Dad,” Tom said, giving his father a hug.

  Mr. Jefferson hugged Jason, too, thumping him on the back. “I texted your mothers when we got to the Aberdeen Barn. Do yourselves a favor and give them a call before you go to bed and let them know you’re okay.”

  They nodded, and he slid into the car and was gone. They watched the car turn out of the parking lot, headed back to Route 20 and Charlottesville.

  “We okay?” Jason asked Tom as the taillights disappeared.

  “We’re fine,” Tom said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Jason said. “You’ve met your roommate and you like him.”

  “You like him,” Tom said. “I haven’t passed judgment yet.”

  They turned and slowly walked back into the dorm together.

  3

  Jason was unpacking when he heard a light knock on the door. He opened it and found a tall, gangly kid with a shock of curly blond hair standing there with several pieces of luggage.

  “I’m guessin’ you’re Jason,” the kid said in a very distinct Southern drawl. “I’m Billy Bob Anderson. Looks like we’re gonna be roommates.” He put out a hand.

  Jason took the offered hand while restraining a smile. No one, other than actors, was named Billy Bob in real life.

  “Um, sure,” Jason said, afraid to actually say Billy Bob, because he was afraid he’d burst out laughing and not be able to stop. “Let me help with your stuff.”

  Billy Bob smiled. “Appreciate it,” he said. “The coach who picked me up at the airport just kind of dumped me at the door after I registered. Figured I’d try to get everything up in one trip. Wasn’t easy.”

  Jason took a suitcase and a computer bag, while Billy Bob brought in another suitcase and what looked like a garment bag. Jason had taken the bed nearer the window, so they piled everything next to the other bed.

  The two boys sat down on their beds, looking each other over. Billy Bob was around six feet tall, Jason thought, a couple of inches taller than he was. He was pretty certain he was a wide receiver or a defensive back.

  “So,” Billy Bob said, breaking the silence, “I’m gonna take a guess that this is a first for both of us.”

  “Being away at boarding school?” Jason asked.

  “That too,” Billy Bob said. “Gadsden, Alabama, is a long way from here.”

  “So is New York City,” Jason said.

  “I reckon,” Billy Bob said. “I ain’t ever been to New York.”

  “Well, we’re even, then,” Jason said, “because I’ve never been to Gadsden, Alabama.”

  “And probably never will be,” Billy Bob said.

  They both laughed.

  “That’s not what I’m talkin’ about, though,” the Southerner said. “I was just thinking that I have to be the first Billy Bob you’ve ever met, and I know you’re the first big-city kid I’ve ever met. So we’re even again.”

  “Maybe I’m the first Jewish kid you’ve met, too,” Jason said, taking a guess.

  “You’re Jewish?” Billy Bob asked.

  Jason looked at him for a moment, wondering if this was some kind of challenge. But he couldn’t see even a hint of malice in the boy’s face, just an innocent-looking smile.

  “Not a lot of Jews in Gadsden, huh?” he said.

  “Probably about as many as there are Billy Bobs in New York City,” he said. “Hey, do you really live in the city?”

  “West Side of Manhattan,” Jason said.

  “Is it scary?”

  “Probably no scarier than it would be to be Jewish in Gadsden.”

  Billy Bob cracked up again. “Nah, you’d be fine. I’d take care of you.”

  “And I’d watch your back in the city,” Jason said.

  “I’ll take you up on that someday,” Billy Bob said. “For now, I better get unpacked so we can get some sleep. I hear six-thirty comes early around here. And I’m too beat even to scout out where they got all the freshman girls livin’.”

  * * *

  Tired as he was, Jason took a while to fall asleep, wondering what the next morning would bring. After breakfast they were supposed to get registered for their classes and pick up their books. The first football practice was that afternoon. Classes would start on Tuesday.

  Tom knocked on the door at 6:20, and Jason introduced him to Billy Bob. If Tom had a first reaction to Billy Bob’s name similar to Jason’s, he hid it completely.

  “Where’s Anthony?” Jason asked.

  “Out the door ten minutes ago,” Tom said. “I think he wanted to be first in line for breakfast. My sense is the boy eats a lot.”

  As they walked to the dining hall, they began filling in the blanks on one another’s lives. Jason had been wrong: Billy Bob
wasn’t a receiver or a DB; he was a quarterback.

  “Looks like we’ll be competing, I guess,” Tom said.

  “Guess so,” Billy Bob said. “The coach made a big point of telling me that TGP’s top two quarterbacks were graduating. Guess I shoulda asked how many guys they were recruitin’ at the position.”

  “My guess is, place like this, they overrecruit,” Tom said. “They recruit five guys at a position and let two rise to the top. They figure the others will transfer.”

  “So you mean there will probably be five or six receivers when I get out there this afternoon?” Jason said.

  “More like ten,” Billy Bob answered, and they all laughed.

  Jason could tell from looking at his best friend that he and Tom were thinking the same thing: this guy could be Tom’s competition to be the starter, and he was a good guy. That was less than ideal.

  “Well,” Jason said, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  * * *

  By the time they made it to the practice field, Jason was too tired to be all that concerned about how many wide receivers TGP had recruited.

  The morning was spent shuttling around the campus, which was less familiar than Jason thought it would be—in part because he hadn’t gone anywhere near a classroom during the seven-on-seven camp. New students had to pick up their books in each class to give them a dry run on how to find those classrooms the next day.

  It was hot, and the late-summer Virginia humidity hung over the campus like a curtain, weighing everyone down, especially as books accumulated in backpacks.

  Jason was ready for a nap by the time they got to the cafeteria at lunch, but all the freshmen had to go to a postlunch orientation meeting, during which Mr. Gatch introduced them to every single person working at the school. Or so it seemed.

  By the time they were walking down the long, winding hill from the academic and residential halls, it was after two.

  “Do you remember the place being this big when we were here last year?” Tom asked Jason.

  Jason had been thinking the same thing. The three dormitories—Lee, Jackson, and Monroe—all named for famous Virginians, two of whom had been Confederate generals—were massive.