Gang Tackle (6 page)

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Where are you? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m…I’m in jail.”

“Jamal! What for?”

“I was trying to get some money to fix the car.”

“So you stole money?”

“No, I was helping some guys take some stuff from a store.”

“What guys?”

“Some gang guys.”

“What store?”

Jamal took a deep breath before answering. “Best Buy.”

“
What?
You robbed my store? I can’t believe it. If they find out you’re my son, they’ll probably fire me.”

“I know. It was stupid.”

“Can you get out?”

“The police said I need a lawyer.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer, Jamal. You know that.”

“What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You’ve done a dumb thing, Jamal. But I still love you.”

Then his mom hung up.

Steel bars stretched across the front of Jamal’s cell. He sat bent over on the hard bench, his elbows resting on his knees and his head between his hands. He hadn’t slept a minute since being locked up four hours before. The sound of drunks yelling and junkies swearing had kept him awake through the night. He lay on the concrete slab and closed his eyes. He wondered how
long he would have to stay in jail—how long it would take his mom to find a lawyer.

Early-morning sunlight started to stream through the small window high on the wall. Jamal squinted as a policeman approached his cell.

“Wilson,” the policeman said, jangling his keys. “Someone is here to get you released. You’re free to go.”

Jamal sat up and rubbed his eyes. He wondered who his mom could have found to come and get him out.

The metal bars clanged as the officer opened the cell door. He took Jamal by the arm and brought him out to the meeting area. Jamal’s tired eyes popped wide open when he saw who it was.

“Looks like you need my help, Jamal.”

“Coach, what are you doing here?”

Coach Fort stood beside a dark-haired man wearing an expensive suit. Coach had a big smile on his face. But Jamal didn’t know if he could trust him. Not after he’d taken all the credit for winning the game.

“Your mom called and explained the whole situation. Said you needed a lawyer and that she had no one else to turn to. She was crying. I told her not to worry, that Coach Fort would take care of it. So here I am with my lawyer to get you out.”

“But why would you do that for me?”

“I have my reasons,” Coach said. “Hey, if you can’t help your players when they’re in trouble, who can you help?”

Jamal was confused. Coach hadn’t helped any of the other players before. When Jamal had missed practice, he was benched. When Billy had to work, he was forced to quit. Coach was up to something, but Jamal didn’t know what. He was too tired to care right then though. He was just happy to be out of jail.

Jamal walked toward the exit with Coach and his lawyer. He knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn’t want anyone to know about it. He wanted to hide. Make it all go away.

Coach pushed through the front door of the police station. The moment the
door opened to daylight, he burst into a big grin and waved.

What is going on?
Then Jamal saw why Coach was so excited.

There must have been twenty reporters lining the stairs leading up to the police station.
TV
, radio, newspaper—they were all there. All shouting questions.

“Coach, it looks like you’re bailing out more than just the Southside football program,” a
TV
reporter said.

“That’s right.” Coach smiled into the camera. “Without me, most of the players would be in a gang, in jail or dead. Take this young fella standing right next to me, for example.” He wrapped an arm around Jamal’s shoulder. “This is one of my players on the Saints.”

Jamal couldn’t believe Coach was doing this on
TV
. He didn’t want anyone to know he was a criminal. He wanted to run away, but he was surrounded by a crush of people. He couldn’t move. He kept his head down and hid behind Coach as best he could.

“This player got mixed up with a gang last night, and I had to bail him out this morning. It’s all in a day’s work for Roland Fort and Fort Sports.”

“Is that why they call you Saint Roland?” the
TSC
reporter asked. “Because you’re saving the players?”

“Well, someone has to save them. It’s not like the school is doing anything to help them. The classes aren’t preparing them for any kind of career. The kids are failing everything anyway.”

A reporter reached out with a microphone. “So the players on the team have no future?”

“They have no dreams. No skills. No ambition. They’re going nowhere in life. They have nothing without football and me.”

Coach Fort waved to signal the end of the interview. “Thanks for coming out here so early, everyone. I’m glad you all could make it. I’ll see you at the next game.”

Jamal stumbled down the rest of the stairs toward Coach’s silver Mercedes
parked on the street. He thought twice about getting into another car. Every time he did, something bad happened.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Rico said, pointing his hot dog at Jamal. “What you did or what Coach said on
TV
.”

Jamal had kept a low profile at school all week. He’d tried to be a model student. He showed up at class on time. He did his homework. He answered questions when asked. But he was still the talk of the school, and not in a good way. Every time he walked down the hall, the other kids would turn and stare. “That’s him,”
they’d say, then steer clear of him. There was finger pointing and whispering wherever he went. He might as well have had a sign on his back that read
SOUTHSIDE PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE
.

Carlos nodded at Jamal across the cafeteria table. “Yeah, dude. You’re giving us all a bad name. Ripping off a Best Buy? That was crazy.”

“I know, but we needed the money. Our car was never going to get fixed without it.”

“No one needs money that bad,” Darnell said, putting down his can of
OJ
. “All you’ve got to do is work a little longer.”

“You could have been killed,” Eli said. “The Southside Crew is bad news. They’re all packing heat. You could have been shot.”

“Just like your dad, bro,” Darnell said.

Jamal nodded slowly. “That’s what my mom said.”

“Doesn’t she work at a Best Buy?” Rico asked. “She must be on your case, man.”

“Yeah, the cops made her ground me for three months.” Jamal’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t go anywhere except to school,
work and football. And I can’t even do that this week. My mom won’t let me go to practice. She cleared it with Coach Fort though.”

“After seeing Coach on
TV
, I don’t know if I even want to play football anymore,” Darnell said. The big quarterback shook his head. “He thinks we’re all losers.”

“I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth at the cop shop,” Malik said. “He was dissing all of us.”

“I may not like going to school,” Rico said, “but I’m not going to join a gang. And I’m not going to jail. Coach was dead wrong.”

“He just likes being on
TV
,” Eli said. “He likes all the attention.”

Carlos agreed. “He doesn’t care what happens to us. He just cares about making himself look good.”

“And his stupid Fort Sports stores,” Rico said. “I hate having a cartoon fort on our uniforms. I feel like ripping it off. We’re the Saints, man.”

Jamal glanced at his teammates around the table. “I don’t know about you guys,
but I don’t want to play another game for that guy.”

“It’s not worth it,” Carlos said. “Coach may have the bucks, but he has no respect.”

“No, he doesn’t respect us, does he?” a woman said.

Jamal turned his head to see who was talking. His eyes widened. Principal Campbell had been passing through the cafeteria. Now she was standing right behind him!

“He had a lot of nerve saying what he did,” she said, glowering. “Southside is a good school. We may not have money like some of Toronto’s rich schools, but we do the best we can. Our teachers work hard. We care about our students. And our students care about school. Isn’t that right, Jamal?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’d rather be here than in jail, I presume.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Rico,” the principal said, crossing her arms, “you don’t come to school just to play football, do you?”

Rico raised his eyebrows like he had been caught stealing. “No, ma’am. If I had the choice between football and math class, I’d choose math every time.” He breathed a sigh of relief after telling the fib.

“So Coach Fort has it all wrong,” the principal said.

“Totally,” Jamal said.

“Then I’m going to have a word with him. If he’s going to say bad things about Southside on the news, then I’ve got news for him. We don’t need a coach like that.”

Darnell nodded. “We don’t think so either.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do about it though.” The principal wrinkled her brow. “We have a contract. We can’t fire him.”

“Leave it to us, Principal Campbell,” Jamal said, eyeing his teammates. “We’ll take care of it.”

The principal continued on her way through the noisy cafeteria. She marched quickly, like she was on a mission. Her face was stern. Her eyes looked straight ahead.
Jamal thought she might be going to her office to phone Coach Fort and give him an earful.

Rico turned to Jamal. “Sounds like you have a plan to get rid of Coach.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

Game day. The fourth tilt of the season. Southside was up against the Rexdale Rams. This was going to be the biggest game of the year so far, and not just because the Saints were facing the best team in the league. The Rams had won the championship the year before, and on top of that, Rexdale was where Coach Fort had played high school ball. He couldn’t stop bragging about what a star he had been there. None of the players believed him, of course. But he was Coach and could
say what he wanted. Jamal knew he would do anything to win this game. Anything to look good in front of the
TV
cameras.

Today marked Jamal’s first day back at football. His mom had finally agreed to let him play again. The time off had given him time to think. And plan. He cruised down the hall and stopped by Darnell’s locker. The Saints quarterback had his head buried deep inside, looking for a book. Jamal tapped him on the shoulder. “Be in the locker room an hour before game time. And bring scissors. Pass it on.”

Darnell pulled his head out of the locker and nodded.

Jamal walked farther down the hall. Past the computer room where he’d go to work on his video game during his spares. Past a
SLAM THE RAMS
poster the cheerleaders had painted. All the way to Rico’s locker. He delivered the same urgent message to the running back. From there the news spread through the team like wildfire.
Jamal stood on a bench in the middle of the locker room. Everyone had arrived early for the secret meeting. Some had started to change into their equipment. Some were still in their jeans and T-shirts. But when Jamal started to speak, everyone stopped and listened. All eyes were on him.

“Remember when we voted to take the money from Fort Sports to start the team again?”

“That was a big mistake,” Carlos said, shaking his head.

“And then we had to let Mr. Fort coach?”

“An even bigger mistake,” Darnell said.

“Yeah, a big fat mistake.” Rico held out his arms as wide as Coach Fort’s belly.

Jamal scanned the faces in the room. “Well, it’s time to take another vote.”

“It’s going to be different this time,” Malik said, punching the air. He was still mad at being thrown around by the coach.

Jamal lifted one arm above his head. “All those in favor of getting rid of Coach Fort, raise your hand.”

Every hand in the room shot up.

“So now what?” Eli asked. “We all voted against Coach Fort. But there’s still one big problem.”

“Yeah, how are we going to do it, bro?” Darnell asked.

Jamal smiled. “First we’re going to ask him nicely to leave.”

“You know he’s not going to do that,” Eli said, shaking his head. “What happens then?”

“Then we use plan B.”

Carlos wrinkled his brow. “Plan B?”

“We’re going to use our secret weapon. The one thing Coach Fort fears the most.”

“What’s that?” Rico kidded. “An all-you-can-eat buffet that’s run out of food?”

Jamal smiled at the joke but shook his head. “Nope. We’re going to make him look bad in front of the
TV
cameras.”

Darnell held up the pair of scissors he had brought. “So what are these for?”

“Put on your uniforms and you’ll find out,” Jamal ordered.

The Saints suited up—blue-and-gold jerseys and pants pulled on, cleats laced up, helmets at the ready.

“All set,” Darnell said, looking around the room.

Jamal motioned to the players. “I want everybody on the kickoff team over here.” Rico, Carlos, Malik, Davey and the rest of the players who lined up for the opening kickoff gathered in front of him. Jamal didn’t know if he and Darnell would be allowed to start the game, so they didn’t include themselves.

He tossed a roll of white athletic tape to each player. The wide kind used to wrap wrists for protection. “Now, I want each player to cut pieces of tape to make a big letter and then stick the letter on the front of his jersey.”

“How do we know what letter?” Rico asked.

Jamal pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. It was a list of all the players, with a letter beside each name. He ran his finger down the page.

“Rico, you’re
S
.”

He read off the letter for each of the other players.

For the next few minutes, the sounds of tape being ripped and cut filled the locker room. When they had finished, all twelve players lined up in front of Jamal. Each player had a big white letter taped to the front of his blue uniform. The letters read: