the
Times
after I threw the Sports section down. âEverything okay?â he asked.
âThis is unreal,â I said. âTheyâre saying Iâm going to be suspended.â
Dad dropped his part of the paper and grabbed the Sports section. He quickly found the article, scanned it for a few seconds and then put it down. âIrresponsible,â he muttered. I could tell he was choked.
âThis is a terrible piece of journalism,â he said. âIt seems to be based on a rumor and not on any fact. Iâm sure you wonât be suspended. You did nothing wrong. But I will call the
Times
today to complain. And I will call Coach Clark.â
I nodded. The story was already in the newspaper, though. Even though it wasnât true, people would assume it was. That was just the way things worked.
The school day that followed was one of the strangest that I had ever experienced at Lincoln. It was a football Friday, so there was the usual hoopla. The Lions pep squad was selling âDefeat the Demons!â ribbons during the morning break. All the players, including me, were wearing our Lincoln jerseys to class.
At lunchtime, there was the usual pep rally in the gym with a couple of hundred students sitting in the bleachers. The cheerleading team turned cartwheels and built human pyramids out on the hardwood. Coach Clark stepped to the microphone and talked about how important this game was to our season. I hardly heard a word he said.
My mind was elsewhere. I wasnât playing tonight, and it felt weird. Normally, on a game day, I would get more and more excited as each class ended, itching to get out on the field. Today, I just felt tired. I was sad I wouldnât be playing, but in another way I was relieved. Everything about the day felt off.
The last buzzer had just rung, and I was walking toward my locker when Jeff Stevens called out from behind. âHey, Stick-âem. You ready to kick some serious Franklin butt?â
I knew Jeff was just being friendly, but I didnât want to hear that nickname. Not nowor ever. I didnât want to talk to anybody about football, either.
âNot really,â I said quietly. âIâm not playing tonight.â
Jeffâs jaw fell and his blue eyes opened wide in surprise. âWhat are you talking about, dude?â he said. âThat story in the paper this morning was bogus. Everybody knows that.â
âI canât play,â I repeated solemnly. âThe coaches and my parents decided I wasnât ready to suit up.â
âNot ready?âJeff said, dumbfounded. âWhatâs wrong with you? Are you injured?â
âNot exactly.â
âWhat does ânot exactlyâ mean?â Jeff said. âYouâre acting weird, man.â
I turned and faced Jeff, shaking my head. âLook, I canât explain it, okay?â My voice was rising, and I felt my forehead growing hot. âItâs not my choice. Youâll have to ask Coachâand maybe your dadâwhy Iâm not suiting up.â
Jeff was really confused now. âMy dad? What does my dad have to do with anything?â
âIâm just not playing, okay?â I was really annoyed now, and my voice was breaking. âGood luck tonight.â
âWhat do you mean, âgood luck?ââ Jeff said. âYouâll be there, right?â
âI donât know,â I said, backing away quickly down the hall. âItâs just too weird. Iâll talk to you later.â
I had to get out of there, away from Jeff. I was getting too emotional and I couldnât explain why. I wanted more than anything else to be with my teammates but I knew deep down that I wasnât ready to play. And I wasnât ready to tell them why.
The six-block walk home seemed even stranger than the rest of the school day. Normally, on a football Friday, I stayed at school and ate a pre-game meal with the team in the cafeteria.
Major Dick Winters, Colonel Cole C. Kingseed