Strange Country Day (13 page)

He used a laptop with a projector to give us our lesson on the Hogs. Lupino was a very tall, very muscular player wearing number 43. Got it. “Get to know him very, very well, gentlemen. Identifying where he is at all times will win us this football game.”

He clicked on a file and a video popped up. We watched highlights of No. 43 in his white jersey, his long, curly hair spilling out of the back of his helmet, as he tracked down a running back with blazing speed and knocked him hard to the ground. The running back came up limping. The next clip featured Lupino covering a wide receiver. He pushed the tight end at the line and followed him step for step. When the ball was thrown, Kenny snagged an interception. Another clip, another amazing play: he sidestepped a large blocker at the line and sacked a quarterback who didn’t see him coming, forcing a fumble that Lupino then picked up and ran back for a touchdown.

Jimmy leaned back and grinned. “C’mon, now. I get the picture.”

“You’d better, Claw,” Carson responded. “We’ve never faced someone like this. He’s a one-man wrecking crew and a High School All-American like yourself, Jimmy.”

He went on to explain how to spot Lupino before every play. If we saw him line up in one area, the Hogs tended to send him after a quarterback in a blitz. If he stepped forward before the snap, it was a fake, and the pressure would come from another place. Lupino tended to be in a different place on nearly every play. Just when you had him figured out, he’d improvise.

Jimmy didn’t seem to care. “That’s all I need to know? I can handle it. I got like fifteen audibles to deal with safeties wherever they are on the field.

I understood what he meant. Jimmy had used audibles at the line to change up plays before the snap all season long, with defenses throwing everything they could at him. He didn’t think this guy was anything special. Once again, I couldn’t understand how he was so calm.

“You ain’t seen someone like this, Jimmy,” said a voice from the back of the room. We turned around to see our burly Southern head coach heading to the front of the room. “I don’t mean to scare you three, but this kid’s a nightmare. When you change up that play, he’s gonna do the same with the defense. The play clock’ll be running down, he’ll run to the other side of the line. No time left. You snap it … and he snaps you. This ain’t about using your body to get out of this. You’re gonna have to outsmart his outsmarting. And that means y’all will have to prepare like Jimmy ain’t playing.”

Our starting quarterback looked indignant, glaring at Coach Schmick. “So you think I ain’t ready for this?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Schmick shook his head. “It’s gonna take a lot more than you saying you’re ready to prove it.”

Schmick went over to the computer and clicked on one of the videos of the Hogs’ defense. Following Carson’s instructions, I spotted Lupino walking toward the line, almost casually. “We’ve called Thirty-Four Heavy Power Right. What’s your next call?”

Translation: A simple handoff to the right with our meaty fullback leading the way for our running back. With a safety up at the line, especially one as talented as Lupino, the running back would probably be stuffed for no gain. Schmick stopped the video for a second.

“Seventy-Five Bat! Seventy-Five Bat!” Jimmy shouted out at the screen. That’s an audible for the fullback and the running back to pass block and for Jimmy to throw a quick pass to a one of our receivers, who’d slant toward the middle of the field. Schmick took a second and clicked on another video, which showed Lupino once again moving toward the line before the snap. As soon as the quarterback soundlessly called for the ball, Lupino didn’t rush or stay to stop the run. We watched as he darted to his right, intercepted a quick slant, and ran it back for yet another defensive touchdown.

“Fine. What about calling Twenty-Nine Engine?” That was another audible into a pass play, where he’d take a long five-step drop and throw a bomb to our slot receiver, who’d take advantage of one safety covering him down the middle. Schmick shook his head and clicked.

This time, Lupino headed to the line at the snap and got blocked by one of the offensive linemen, but that freed up a defensive tackle to pancake the opposing quarterback, who stayed down and didn’t move.

Jimmy went silent. Schmick walked over to the computer and clicked to Lupino’s team photo, a portrait of him in a suit with his hair pulled back in a long ponytail. He grinned back at us, as if to say, “I’m coming for you.” Kenny’s ears appeared to be pointy and that smile seemed full of sharp teeth. I couldn’t hear what Schmick’s final words were about the safety before our meeting adjourned. Was Lupino one of us? Or was I just looking for something that may not be there?

“Ptuiac. My office. Now.”

Coach Carson snapped me out of my trance. I realized I was the last person left in the room. I picked up my playbook and walked to his office.

“How you feeling?” he opened the conversation as we sat down on the comfy couch in his office.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Good, good,” he said. “You’ve been doing some real good work on the field lately. Coach is really impressed with how hard you’re working. It takes a lot for a guy like that to notice you, so congratulations. I think he’s considering putting you into competition with Jesse next fall.”

I couldn’t believe it. I had a future on the team that could lead to a starting role next year. Before I could respond, he got up and closed the door.

“Listen. I heard about your debate with Dex the other day. I just want to make something clear. I don’t want you worrying about what would happen if your powers went off on the field. I’ve watched it happen, and nothing looks out of the ordinary to the naked eye. Plus, it’s out of your control, and we’ve got you and Dex and everybody you care about protected and then some.”

“But it’s not right. It’s cheating.”

Coach shook his head and chuckled. “Take a look at the Hogs when we play them and then tell me there’s no such thing as cheating. Everybody’s looking for an advantage.”

“Don’t you know that this is our home now?”

We ran out of the tunnel, surrounded by the sound of our fans cheering louder than we’d ever heard. We were in a stadium in the middle of town that had twice as many seats as our home field. It took me at least five minutes to pick out Sophi and my parents, who sat next to each other and waved the gold and maroon pompoms handed out by the cheerleaders. Our marching band played our fight song—the same one I sang in the locker room just weeks before—as we warmed up in the brisk December night.

The film Coach Schmick showed us didn’t do the Hogs justice. They were huge. They were huger than huge.

The muscles of each member of the offensive and defensive lines practically burst out of their uniforms. I knew everyone felt the same way I did since Flab, who normally spent warm-ups getting in his teammates’ faces and pumping them up, was stone-cold silent as he stretched.

Now I knew what Coach Carson meant when he talked about getting an advantage. Rumors flew around days before the game that Harmon’s head coach had a pile of money he could use to discreetly pay the best of the best from the area—and elsewhere—to play for him.

As Dex and I practiced some routes and throws, I remembered what the coaches hammered into our heads during film sessions: know where Kenny Lupino is at all times. But I hadn’t said anything to Dex about my suspicion. I threw a pass to Dex and looked past him to find No. 43. He wasn’t hard to spot—the long mane of hair gave him away as he jogged on the sidelines.

From our side of the field, his ears still looked pointy, and he broke out into that same sharp-toothed smile as he chatted with a teammate.

I nodded my head in Kenny’s direction as Dex threw me a pass. He’d spent the week hearing similar warnings about Lupino.

“See anything out of the ordinary about him?”

Dex stared at him for a few seconds and got what I was saying. He responded with a laugh. “No way!”

“Why not?”

“Not every amazing athlete is a kid with super powers.”

“But look at his ears. They’re sort of like yours.” We watched Kenny pat one of his teammate’s backside.

Dex kept staring. “You don’t think … ”

I nodded.

“How can we know if you’re right?” he said. “If you are right, what are we supposed to do about it?”

That’s how Dex and I spent most of the first half of the championship game, with our eyes on Kenny during every single play. He was everywhere, making tackles, batting balls away, and occasionally charging toward Jimmy, who struggled against a complex defense. Nothing we saw confirmed our suspicions either way.

Down 7-0 late in the first half, Jimmy called a timeout and trotted to the sideline, where he joined Jesse and me. Coach Carson barked in his ear about what he missed, but I could see he was rattled. For what felt like the first time all season, he had taken a few sacks and absorbed bone-jarring hits after passes. We’d punted three times already, yet somehow our defense kept us in it.

He nodded at Carson, who was cursing and telling him to pay attention. The whistle blew to end the timeout, and Jimmy put his helmet back on. I grabbed his elbow right as he was about to head back.

“Now’s not the time, kid,” he said, barely audible over our marching band.

I wished I could tell him there was a possibility he was facing a superhuman with modified DNA. Instead, I tried something else.

“Remember what you told me, Jimmy.” I tried to draw him closer. “Think about sitting on the roof of your farm. Think about home. Stay calm.”

He glanced at me for a second, giving me a quizzical look. A smile broke out on his face as he looked at the crowd cheering. “C’mon, Ptuiac. Don’t you know that this is our home now?” He snapped his helmet into place.

What I said must’ve helped. Jimmy faced a third-and-long when he looked up to see the Hogs showing him a blitz from his right side. I think he suspected what I saw: this is a situation where they fake pressure from one side and bring it elsewhere. He barked a few orders and, as the snap came, the left side of the line collapsed and Harmon High brought the heat.

Jimmy ran to his right. He faked a pass that froze the cornerback covering Mark Roberts, one of our receivers. With remarkable speed, Jimmy took off running, easily getting past the first down marker and looking for more.

He saw open field behind the cornerback.

Mark planted his feet to block and got hammered by his defender, but that gave our star QB just enough room to slip down the sideline and toward the end zone.

The sound from our fan section was deafening.

But we saw the helmet sporting the flowing locks that barely covered No. 43 catch up with Jimmy. When he crossed the plane of the end zone for the score, Lupino plowed into him, sending Jimmy into the turf shoulder first. Claw jogged back to the sideline with every member of the team tapping his helmet. A few of us slapped him on the shoulder pads, which made him grimace underneath his facemask. Our star had a weakness.

But after halftime, Jimmy kept pushing, despite his shoulder getting seemingly weaker with each play. He pushed through a relentless Hogs defense to get us three more field goals. Somehow, our defense held on to allow just two more touchdowns.

Dex and I kept our eyes on Kenny every play. We still couldn’t figure out if we were just seeing things, but he was infinitely more athletic than anyone on the field.

With the score 21-16 in the fourth quarter, our offensive line couldn’t hold on any longer. With almost two minutes left and our offense pinned at our own seven-yard line, Jimmy saw their defense bite on a fake handoff to our running back. He also saw two defensive ends send our blockers to the ground and head right toward him. He let go of the football just as the two of them crushed him, completing a pass and getting us a first down.

From the sidelines, I thought I could hear a groan of agony come out of him, but luckily the refs blew the whistle for the two-minute warning. Jimmy limped back to the sideline holding his shoulder. There was no point hiding the injury—our opponents knew it. I saw Jesse Jarvis get up and start throwing a ball around on the sideline, so I tapped Dex and started throwing warmup tosses to him. Our fans began to stand and crane their necks to see if Jimmy would get back in the game. “Sit down, boys!” Coach Schmick yelled at both of us as we watched Coach Carson put something underneath Jimmy’s nose. The QB shook his head suddenly and his eyes opened wide. “Smelling salts. Gross,” Dex said. We sat down and I took a deep breath. I didn’t think there was any way Jimmy would give up in the final two minutes.

Amazingly, he forged on. On the next play from the shotgun, he handed off the ball to try to fool the defense and get a few yards. He got just two. The clock kept running and our nearly one-armed QB somehow completed a throw for another four yards. At that point, it was third-and-four with one timeout left. I looked up at the scoreboard and saw the seconds ticking off the clock. Instead of coming right to the line to receive the snap, Jimmy had our team in a quick huddle.

The crowd began to stir as their quiet concern became a dull buzz. “C’mon! Go already!” and “Tick-tick-tick, Claw!” were among the comments I heard. Frankly, they were right. Forty-nine … forty-eight … forty-seven seconds left. Finally, our offense came to the line. I glanced at Coach Schmick, who looked as unnerved as I’d ever seen him. It dawned on me what might happen.

“Something’s up, Dex. Jimmy’s running this play on his own.”

The snap came with forty-four seconds left on the clock. Jimmy immediately threw a dart of a pass to Jared Parker, our best receiver, near the sideline—it had a surprising amount of velocity for someone with barely anything left in his shoulder to throw with. But it wasn’t anywhere close to enough for a first down.

Jared made like he was trapped as defenders headed his way and started tiptoeing toward the sideline. Lupino and the rest of the secondary were playing back, figuring they’d be fine with a short pass from Jimmy instead of a long bomb, but Parker stopped before reaching the sideline. The execution was perfect—he was behind the line of scrimmage. That made him eligible to throw a pass.