The Walk On (18 page)

“He just told us,” she said. “We always meet in the newspaper office at lunch on Wednesday to plan the next edition of the paper. He told us that, as of this morning, he is no longer a football coach. He said Coach Gordon gave him a choice: the paper or the team, and he chose the paper.”

“So he didn’t actually get
fired
as a coach, then,” Jonas said.

“Technically no, I guess,” Christine said. “But he did say Coach Gordon accused him of being disloyal for letting Steve’s column run.”

Remembering his conversation with Coach Hillier about Garland’s first column, Alex understood. Coach Gordon had, for all intents and purposes, ordered Coach Hillier to control Garland a week earlier. Coach Hillier had stuck to his principle of letting the students run the newspaper as long as they weren’t inaccurate or unfair. It had cost him his job.

Alex couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. Maybe if he hadn’t convinced Jonas and Stephen to talk to Garland, this wouldn’t have happened. Then again, Garland was going to rip Coach Gordon for banning him, with or without quotes from the team.

“I should go talk to Coach Hillier,” Alex said.

“He’s still in the newspaper office right now,” Christine said.

“Does he know who talked to Garland?” Stephen asked.

He didn’t sound scared so much as curious. Alex was convinced that very few things scared Harvey. He had a linebacker’s mentality: kill or be killed.

“I honestly don’t know,” Christine said. “I don’t know if he asked Steve or if Steve told him. He didn’t ask me, I know that.”

“We should all go talk to him,” Jonas said. “There’s still fifteen minutes until fifth period starts.

“Where’s the newspaper office?” Stephen asked.

“Basement. It’s at the very end of the hall on the right, across from the yearbook office.”

They all stood up and, without another word to Christine, headed for the door.

Coach Hillier—now Mr. Hillier, apparently—was sitting behind the one desk in the small office that said
THE WEEKLY ROAR
on the door.

If he was surprised to see Alex, Jonas, and Stephen, he didn’t show it.

“What can I do for you guys?” he asked when they walked in.

“We just heard,” Stephen said, taking the lead as the oldest in the group. “We can’t believe it.”

“Have a seat,” Mr. Hillier said, indicating chairs scattered around the room. They each grabbed one and sat in front of his desk.

“Look, fellas, here’s the deal,” he said. “I think Coach Gordon is right about this. I know none of the three of you are interested in journalism, at least not at the moment, but one thing you learn—and one thing I try to teach—is that
journalists and the people they cover shouldn’t be friends. They can like one another and respect one another, but there are times when they are on opposite sides.

“Coach Gordon said I was trying to work for opposing sides, and he was right.”

“Even on a high school paper?” Alex asked. “I mean, Steve Garland is a student at Chester Heights High School, just like we are.”

“True,” Mr. Hillier said. “And I’m a teacher at Chester Heights High School, so we’d all like to see our teams do well. But Steve wants to be a real reporter someday and I think he’s got the talent to do that. There are others on the paper like him. My job, as the faculty advisor to the paper, is to ask them to do what a real reporter—one who gets paid to do it for a living—would do in any given situation.

“Steve’s criticism of Coach Gordon was, in my mind, fair. He talked to people about it and formed an opinion. He didn’t write that Coach Gordon was a despicable human being for doing it; he wrote that he thought Coach Gordon made a mistake and that mistake almost led to a serious injury to one of his players.

“I told Coach Gordon I thought Steve had a valid point and that trying to ban him because he disagreed was petty. In fact, I told him I admired Steve for figuring out a way to get players”—he nodded at Stephen and Jonas—“to talk to him. That was good reporting on his part.”

“So you knew it was us?” Jonas said.

“Sure. Steve told me, and he told me exactly how it happened, how Christine talked to you, Alex, and you talked to these guys.
That
is how a newspaper works.”

Seeing the looks on the boys’ faces, he laughed. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell
Coach Gordon
any of you were involved. That’s another thing journalists do—protect their sources. Coach Gordon didn’t even ask me who it was because he knew I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Won’t you miss coaching?” Alex said.

“Sure I will. Of course! But I’d miss working with the newspaper kids too.

“Coach Gordon gave me a choice this morning, but really I made my choice when I ran Steve’s column this week.

“Don’t worry, guys.” He smiled. “You’ll be in good hands with Coach Brotman running the offense. He knows what he’s doing.”

Alex still felt queasy about the whole thing. He liked Coach Brotman, who coached the offensive line, but he felt a special bond with Coach Hillier … Mr. Hillier.

“Coach, do you think Coach Gordon will try to find out who talked?” Alex asked.

“Absolutely,” Mr. Hillier said, just as the five-minute warning bell prior to fifth period rang. “Absolutely.”

Mr. Hillier was absolutely correct.

The locker room was buzzing as everyone got dressed for practice. Everyone knew that Coach Hillier was gone and why. Clearly, Coach Gordon was angry. No one knew what awaited them when they got on the practice field.

When the whistle blew and they all gathered at midfield, Coach Gordon was wearing sunglasses under his cap, so it
was hard to read his face as they all took a knee. They found out what he was thinking quickly enough.

“A football team is a family,” he said, his voice measured and even. “Families are loyal to one another. Families know there is
us
and there is
them
and no one outside the family can possibly be
us
.”

His voice was rising. “There are at least two members of this team who forgot that over the last few days. Coach Hillier also forgot that, which is why he’s not here.” He paused. “He’s not here, you should all know, by choice. I told him he could be part of this family or he could supervise the student newspaper but he couldn’t do both.

“He understood. He made a choice. We’ll miss him because he’s a fine football coach, but we have all we need to be successful this season right here on this field right now.”

Another pause. He looked around at his players. Most, Alex noticed, were not looking at him. They were staring at the ground.

“Now, for those of us who are still here, who still want to win a state championship, I think we all understand that this sort of thing can’t go on. So we’re going to do two things. First, no one is to speak to anyone in the media—not just the student paper,
anyone
—without my approval or the approval of Mr. Hardy.”

Frank Hardy was the athletic director. The joke around the team was that the most important thing he did every day was to make sure Coach Gordon always had hot coffee waiting for him.

“Someone from the staff—either Mr. Hardy or one of the
coaches—will be present for all interviews,” Coach Gordon continued. “If someone asks to talk to you after a game, you tell them they have to check with Mr. Hardy or with me. If they say they’ve done that, tell them to find a coach who can supervise the interview.

“No exceptions. No saying, ‘Coach, I didn’t know.’ You’ve been told very clearly.”

Alex wondered if this meant he could no longer talk to Christine Whitford after French class. The answer was probably that he couldn’t.

“One other thing. I expect those of you who spoke to this reporter, Garland or whatever his name is, to come and tell me. I’d also like to know
why
. Your confession will remain private and you won’t be punished beyond me telling you that you made a mistake and that you had better not make it again.

“Today and tomorrow are amnesty days. No discipline of any kind, because we’ve got a game to play on Friday and that is priority one. But if no one has come forward by the time we get off the bus back here after the game Friday night, everyone on the team will be in here to run on Saturday morning. And every morning after that, until whoever did it comes forward.

“I want you to understand I’m not upset with what you said. I’m upset that you said anything at all to someone who you knew had been banned from talking to members of this team. Family. Loyalty. Us versus them. Remember that
—all
of you.

“Okay, let’s report to the position coaches and get started.”

As they all stood up, Alex felt as if Stephen and Jonas were boring holes through his head with their eyes. He wondered
if any of the other players could sense the tension coming off him.

Someone was calling his name—specifically, his nickname.

“Goldie, over here.” It was Matt Gordon, waving at him.

Oh God, Alex thought, does Matt know?

He jogged over to where Matt was standing with Jake Bilney.

“Coach Brotman still has to work with the O-line during drill periods,” Matt said. “My dad says he’ll get someone in here to work with us on our drills by Monday. He’ll probably come over to help us himself, but for now we’re on our own.

“We know what we’re supposed to do anyway,” he added, “so it’s no big deal. Let’s get started.”

Alex could feel himself exhale. He thought he could feel Bilney doing the same thing. He was willing to bet Matt had noticed Jake talking to Christine at the party and that might make him a suspect in “Garland-gate.” The three of them lined up alongside one another and began tossing warm-up passes to the receivers stationed about twelve yards away. After five throws, the receivers would move back about two yards.

They were about halfway through their warm-ups and Alex was starting to breathe more easily and get into the rhythm of throwing when Matt, who was no more than five feet away from him, started to talk to him softly.

“Did you go to see Coach Hillier today?” he asked.

Alex was tempted to lie but decided that was a bad idea. “Yeah, I did. At the end of lunch hour, when I heard.”

Matt stepped into a throw and kept talking without ever turning his head. The only other person who could possibly
hear him was Jake since Matt was in the middle, with Jake and Alex flanking him.

“I went to see him too. Personally, I think my dad is making a big mistake. We need him. He’s helped me a lot with my fundamentals. Even you need him.”

One thing about Matt, Alex thought, he was anything but predictable.

“He told
me
he understood your dad’s position. That he could be on one side or the other but not both.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt said. “But really, who cares? It’s the student newspaper. Guy said Dad ran up the score. Well, guess what? He did. We all know it and Dad knows it. Sometimes he gets carried away with the whole ‘head coach is king’ thing. I told him that.”

“And?”

The receivers were now standing about twenty-five yards away and they were making their last five throws.

“And he told me I was the quarterback and he was the coach. End of story. I talked to Garland—we’ve got a history class together. He’s not a bad guy. But this isn’t over. And if Dad goes on with this witch hunt, it will be bad for all of us.” The whistle blew. They all jogged to the next set of drills. Alex’s arm felt warm and loose. His mind was spinning.