The Walk On Read online

  Alex knew that his reason for moving to Philadelphia couldn’t be in his file. Then again, he hadn’t hidden it from anyone, so it wouldn’t be hard for Coach Hillier to find out about it. He smiled, glad to have a sympathetic ear.

  “It’s been kind of rough,” he said. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I just wanted to show people what I could do.”

  “I know,” Coach Hillier said. “Trust me, people around here know you’re talented. But you can’t pull stuff like that. I can’t even make a case for you moving up to second team if the other coaches think you’re some kind of troublemaker.”

  “I understand, Coach. You’re right. I just feel bad I got Jonas in trouble. He shouldn’t have to be here so early to run.”

  Coach Hillier nodded. “Yeah. He made a mistake, but it says a lot about him that he stuck with you even though he knew it almost certainly meant trouble for him.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “So I told him to stay home and sleep.”

  He looked at the coffee cup. “This is cold,” he said. “Let me get a hot cup and then we’ll go outside and run.”

  For a moment Alex had thought he might get a reprieve. Coach Hillier seemed to read his mind. “I’m glad you know you made a mistake,” he said. “But I can’t let you off the hook. Put on some shorts and a T-shirt. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”

  Alex understood. “Yes sir,” he said.

  He got changed and headed out. The sun was up, but it would still be cool outside—that was about the only good thing about running at six a.m.

  As he pushed open the door, he almost hit someone who was apparently about to pull it open.

  “Sorry,” he said, stepping back.

  “You better be sorry.” The door swung open and there, with a Starbucks cup in his hand, stood Coach Gordon.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Chester Heights’ number-one showoff,” Coach Gordon said when he saw Alex. “Off to run, I hope? Where’s Coach Hillier?”

  “He went to get more coffee,” Alex said.

  “You owe him an apology,” Coach Gordon said. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know you did that on your own.”

  It occurred to Alex that apologizing to Coach Gordon might be a good idea—if only to make life a little easier for Coach Hillier. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What’s more, he decided, it almost certainly wouldn’t make any difference.

  “Well, enjoy your run. Knowing Coach Hillier, he’ll let you off easy—three or four circuits. If it were me, it would be more like ten.”

  Alex had a number of responses for that, but he held his tongue.

  “Yes sir,” he said.

  Coach Gordon looked him up and down for a moment. “Myers, how tall are you?” he asked.

  “About six one.”

  “Are you fourteen or fifteen? Did you hold back a year?”

  “No sir. I’m fourteen.”

  Coach Gordon considered that for a moment.

  “Well, you might want to give some thought to doing that. Lot of kids do it now, you know. Gives them another year to grow. And, in your case, you’d have three years to play once Matt graduates, instead of two.”

  “I don’t think my parents would like that idea,” Alex said. “Being honest, neither do I.”

  Coach Gordon shrugged. “Your mistake to make,” he said.

  He pushed past Alex and headed for his office. Alex wondered if all successful football coaches were complete jerks. Then he turned and walked toward the field as the sun continued to climb into the eastern sky.

  Alex didn’t really mind the running. The hard part of the punishment had been getting out of bed before sunup. Once he was finished, he felt good. His father had told him once that athletes—regardless of their ability—always felt better after a workout because of something called endorphins, which were some kind of enzyme released in your body that energized you.

  He felt energized after his fifth lap up and down the steps.

  “Problem with you, Myers, is you’re too young and too strong to know this should hurt,” Coach Hillier said. “Next time I’ll put you on the clock and demand a certain time from you each trip up and down.”

  “Won’t … be … a … next … time,” Alex said between breaths.

  “Good.”

  Coach Hillier put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Alex, I know you’ve got plenty of talent and loads of potential. Believe it or not, Coach Gordon knows it too. He’s just not going to tell you that anytime soon.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not his way.”

  Alex took a long gulp of air.

  “He just asked me coming out of the locker room if I’d consider staying back a year so I can have three years of eligibility after Matt graduates.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  Alex gulped air one more time. The sun was up by now, and even though it wasn’t hot yet, it felt warm after his stair climbing.

  “I told him I didn’t like the idea and I didn’t think my parents would like it either. I’m a good student. Why would I want to go to high school for an extra year?”

  “It might increase your chances to get a college scholarship.”

  “Do you think I’ll need an extra year to have a chance to get a scholarship?”

  “It’s hard to tell. You’re just a freshman.”

  Alex’s breathing was back to normal now.

  He smiled at Coach Hillier.

  “Well,” he said. “I think I’ll be okay.”

  This time, it was Coach Hillier’s turn to smile.

  “Christine was right about you.”

  That got Alex’s attention. “Christine?” he said. “As in Christine Whitford?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What did she say? When did you talk to her?”

  “At our first meeting for the school paper. She introduced herself after the meeting and asked if I would read some of the stories she’d written while she was at Whitman.”

  “Whitman?”

  “That’s the middle school a lot of the kids here went to last year. I had mentioned when I introduced myself to the new kids that I was one of the football team coaches. She said, ‘I met one of your new players today.’ ”

  “She did? Did she say anything about me?”

  Alex wondered if the burning in his cheeks as he waited for the answer had anything to do with his workout. He suspected not.

  “She said you were extremely confident.”

  “Did she say it like that was a good thing?” Alex said, knowing he was being reeled in but unable to resist.

  “Not really …” Coach Hillier turned to walk away. “See you at practice. Run the plays I call.”

  He left Alex standing there knowing that the burning in his cheeks had nothing to do with the workout.

  Alex ran all the plays as they were called for the next several days in practice. There weren’t many and none of them called for him to throw deep. Every once in a while as he stepped into the huddle and called another short pass, Coach Hillier would give him a look as if to say, Stay cool and do what you’re told.

  He did as he was told. The more he watched both Gordon and Bilney, the more upset he became that he wasn’t getting the chance to show what he could do. The funny thing was he liked both Gordon and Bilney—especially Gordon. It would have been easier if they acted like jerks, because then he could really get mad. But neither one was like that. In fact, one afternoon after Gordon had taken about half his reps, he turned to Coach Hillier and said, “Coach, why don’t you give Alex a few of my reps? I’m a little bit sore.”

  “Sore from what?” Coach Hillier said quietly. “Are you hurt, Matt? Do you need to see the trainers?”

  “No, but I just thought …”

  “Let your coaches think, Matt. You just play.”

  Alex wasn’t exactly sure what to think about Coach Hillier. At times he would stand behind him after a play and offer words of encouragement or suggestions. On occasion he
would step in to show him how he could run a play better. He quietly suggested that he slide his thumb slightly upward so he would have more control of the ball, and Alex was amazed at the difference such a subtle change could make. His throws instantly had a tighter spiral and seemed to get where they needed to get with just a tad more zip on them.

  Then there were moments when Alex knew he’d made a good play, made an adjustment during the play that the other quarterbacks couldn’t make, and he would be greeted with silence. It was almost as if it were okay for Coach Hillier to encourage him—but only up to a point.

  As they walked off the practice field, Alex thanked Gordon but it was Bilney who responded.

  “He did it because you need extra reps, Goldie,” he said. “If we struggle on offense and I come in, I’m Matt lite—same type of player, just not as talented. You come in, our offense is entirely different.”

  Alex looked at Matt. “That true?” he asked.

  Matt, who hadn’t broken stride, shrugged. “Jake knows his football,” he said. He put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I also like you.”

  “Can we break up the lovefest?” Jake said. “Go in there and be a star one night, Goldie, and then see how much Matt likes you.”

  “I’d still like him—in fact, if he wins a game for us, I’ll flat-out love him,” Matt said. “But he’s not taking my job. Not yet anyway.”

  They were coming up on the locker room door. Jake smiled.

  “If my last name was Gordon, I could say that too,” he said.

  “If you were any good, you could say that,” Matt said. He was smiling, but for the first time since he had met him Alex heard a little bit of an edge in Matt Gordon’s tone.

  “Yeah, that too,” Jake said, and the tension broke. They all laughed and Alex pulled the door open.

  The only thing more frustrating than football practice was French class. Alex had no chance to even try to sit close to Christine Whitford because she seemed to arrive every day with an entourage of four or five girls who would all sit together. One day he beat her to the door and pretended to be reaching into his backpack for something in the hallway. When she walked out the door, he looked up as if surprised to see her.

  “Hey, I hear my coach is your editor,” he said, reaching for an opening.

  “Your coach?” she said with a smile, not slowing her walk down the crowded hallway. “Doesn’t he coach everyone on the offense? Or is he personally assigned to you?”

  Alex had managed to fall into step with her.

  “He coaches all the quarterbacks,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “So he coaches Matt Gordon, Jake Bilney, and you.”

  She clearly knew something about football.

  “You follow the team closely?” he asked.

  “I’m going to be one of the people covering the team, so I’ve been studying the depth chart.” She glanced at him. “I’d come and watch practice, but Coach Gordon won’t let anyone watch. He seems to think closing practice makes him more important.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the way he is,” Alex said.

  “You don’t like him?” she said.

  Uh-oh. If she was asking him on behalf of the Weekly Roar, he had better be careful.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said.

  She gave him an actual smile—which made him a little bit dizzy. “I’m not quoting you for the paper. I’m just curious.”

  They had walked down one flight of steps to where the freshman lockers were. But she was continuing down while Alex was heading to his locker. She stopped one step below him, which meant Alex was looking almost straight down at her.

  He dropped his voice as he answered. “He seems to think Lombardi could have learned from him.”

  She smiled. “As in Vince Lombardi?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “You’re funny,” she said.

  She turned and headed down the stairs.

  The good news about Chester Heights High as far as Alex was concerned was that the academics weren’t all that challenging. He liked his teachers and he also liked the fact that they didn’t seem to believe in burying their students in homework.

  The exception to this—naturally—was Mademoiselle Schiff. She hadn’t been kidding that first day about not speaking any English in class. She walked in every day and began speaking French so fast that Alex was often lost after “Bonjour, mesdemoiselles et messieurs.”

  Alex needed no more than an hour most nights to deal with his other subjects—unless he had reading in history and English, which he often enjoyed—but he usually needed another hour just for French. He lived in fear of getting behind, especially in vocabulary, because he didn’t want to look foolish in class—or, more specifically, in front of Christine Whitford.

  The only good news was that he was no worse than just about everyone else in the class when Mademoiselle Schiff called on him. He almost always had some understanding of what she was asking, and fortunately, whenever a student began to stumble, she would move on to someone else before it became embarrassing.

  The one person who never seemed to get flustered was—naturally—Christine. She was Hermione Granger, except her expertise was in French, not magic. Her hand was always up, she was clearly a step ahead of everyone else, and of course, her accent was flawless—at least to Alex’s ear.

  On the day before the opening football game, Christine shocked Alex by calling to him as he was walking out of class.

  “Alex,” she said, surprising him for several reasons: One, that she was apparently speaking to him. Two, that anyone was speaking to him because, other than Jonas and a couple of the other football players, almost no one had spoken to him since his arrival. And three, that she called him by his first name. On the rare occasions when anyone other than Jonas spoke to him, he was Myers or, from Matt Gordon and Jake Bilney, Goldie.

  Hearing her voice, Alex knew it was Christine instantly. He paused, then looked back and saw her approaching. The weather was still quite hot, so she was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, pretty much like every other girl. Unlike a lot of the other girls, she wore no makeup. She didn’t need it.

  “What’s up?” he asked, hoping he sounded calm—even though he wasn’t.

  “So I’m one of the people covering the football game tomorrow night,” she said. “Mr. Hillier told me yesterday.”

  She had fallen into step with him.

  “How many people cover the game?” he asked.

  “Four,” she said. “Plus two photographers. I’m the only freshman.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, wondering if her starting a conversation with him meant he kind of had the upper hand. Should he go for funny or sincere?

  “Thanks,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “Is it true that Coach Hillier thinks you’re better than Matt Gordon?”

  He stopped dead in his tracks and looked down at her. She wasn’t smiling.

  “Have you asked Coach Hillier?” he said. “He could answer that better than I can.”

  Too wiseguy? he wondered. Still, it was the right answer—regardless of how she took it.

  She put her hands on her hips, which was, to Alex, a very striking pose, even though she was wearing a backpack.

  “Of course I asked him. He said, ‘As editor of the newspaper, my answer is you should talk to people if you think there’s a story there. As a football coach, I’ll tell you that Matt Gordon is going to be an all-state quarterback this season and Alex Myers is a talented freshman.’ ”

  Alex shrugged. “So there’s your answer.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple. I heard that Matt Gordon calls you Goldie because you have a golden arm.”

  He liked the fact that she was hearing these things, but he couldn’t help but wonder where she was hearing them. Football practices were strictly closed to outsiders. He couldn’t imagine anyone on the team telling her any of this. Maybe Jonas—trying to help him out?

  “Do you know
Jonas Ellington?” he asked.

  “He’s the wide receiver, right? Freshman? I hear he’s really good.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  She smiled. “From Coach Hillier.”

  “Have you met Jonas?”

  “No, but I hope I will tomorrow night.”

  So. Not Jonas.

  Her hands were back on her hips.

  The bell rang, telling people that after-school meetings and clubs started in ten minutes. He had to get to practice. “So?” she said.

  “So what?” he answered.

  “Are you better than Matt Gordon?”

  He smiled.

  “On the record or off the record?”

  “On,” she answered, sounding impatient.

  “On the record, Matt Gordon’s going to be an all-state quarterback this season,” he answered. “I’m honored to be on the same team as him. He’s a great guy and a terrific leader.” He paused. “By the way, I mean every word of that.”

  Now she looked really upset.

  “Okay,” she said. “Off the record.”

  “Am I better than Matt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn right I am,” he said.

  Then he smiled and walked away.

  The opponent on Friday night was Mercer Academy, a prep school from the western part of the state. Chester Heights would play three nonconference games, all against prep schools. Then they would begin conference play the last Friday in September.

  There were seven other schools in the South Philadelphia Athletic Conference. Although Alex did most of his reading on the Internet, he had picked up his father’s habit of reading the sports section of the newspaper every morning. He had noticed that the Philadelphia Inquirer had made predictions for each of the local high school conferences in the area. Chester Heights was picked to win the SPAC—which people apparently referred to as the “S-pack.” Crosstown rival Chester High School was known more for producing top basketball players—NBA players Jameer Nelson and Tyreke Evans had graduated from there, as had Wisconsin basketball coach Bo Ryan—but was picked second in the league. Apparently, the Chester Clippers had a senior quarterback named Todd Austin who was being pursued by quite a few Division I schools.