* * *
I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't concentrate in school either. All I could see was that image of Izzy chained down, covered in blood—human blood. Something had to be done and soon. I was sitting on the bench in the locker room when Alex came up and sat down next to me.
"You okay?" he said.
I didn't answer.
"Listen, I know this is our secret, but I feel for you man—I mean to see Izzy like that was frightening."
"You saw her?"
"It was just a flash and then Cathy and I were making out, but I figure she must have done that on purpose. Don't you think we should tell the police?"
"Tell them what? We have no idea where she is, and we can't really go to them with, we had a séance and saw she's in trouble."
"Yeah, you're right. I hope she's going to be alright."
"Thanks Alex, for everything."
"That's what friends are for, man. And about that other time—the one at your house, I'm sorry, I had no idea." He got up, gave me a quick pat on he back and walked down to where some of the team was gathering.
How could I walk out on that field knowing what was happening to Izzy—no way. No matter how much I wanted to pretend I could put it out of my head and focus on the game, it just wasn't possible. I slammed my hands down on the bench and then pulled my shoulder pads off over my head.
"News?" Coach said as he walked up from his office. "About Izzy?"
"Nah." I set my pads down on the floor.
Coach stepped in behind me and grasped my shoulders. "Whoa, there's some serious tension going on here." He began to massage my shoulders. After a few minutes of silence he continued. "I know you probably don't want to hear this—I know you feel like you're caring the weight of the world on your shoulders—you're right, you are."
I twisted to look up at him. "You kiddin'n me?"
"Nope, everything is riding on you. Oh sure, the other guys have got to pull their weight, but they're looking to you. The kids, their parents out there in the stands, they're looking to you—you told them you were going to be there for them—not for the game—for them. I even suppose the police are looking to you. They've got to be pretty discouraged by now—probably feel like they've let you, the school, the entire community down, but mostly Izzy. Most of all though, you and I both know Izzy is looking to you. She's scared, maybe hurt, maybe feeling like her whole life is hanging in the balance—but the way I see it, she knows you'll be there. In her heart she knows you are there for her—her forever." He stepped back, and started toward the team.
"Thanks Coach." I managed in a broken, raspy voice.
He raised his hand, like it was nothing and continued on. I put my shoulder pads back on, made a stop in the bathroom to wash the tears out of my eyes and then joined the team.
Matt started the chant, and we all joined in getting louder and louder with each repetition. We worked ourselves into a frenzy culminating in a loud, "Warriors!"
"Alright, boys," Coach began, "you've worked your entire career for this—your big moment in the spotlight. Each and everyone of you deserve this, so relish in the spectacle of what is about to transpire—enjoy it!" Coach waved his hands over us and we took a knee right there in the locker room. "I know we've got a lot of other things on our minds—oh heck, we're all worried about Izzy—and we should be. Now you probably think I'm going to tell you to put her out of your thoughts and concentrate on football, but I'd be a fool to think you could do that. Do I look like a fool?"
"No Coach!" everyone shouted.
"I want you to take all that bottled up anger with you out on the field and play your heart out for Izzy, for your classmates, for your parents, teachers and school."
"And you Coach." I added.
"Yeah!" Matt said.
"Oh heck with the policy," Coach said, "will you bow your heads with me?"
We all lowered our heads.
"Lord, watch over and protect Izzy, and give us the strength to fight for her—to show the world how much she means to us. Amen."
"Amen." We all echoed.
The team fell in behind Coach. I was in the lead, Alex followed, then Matt and the rest of the team. We weren't prepared for what awaited us on the other side of the doors. There was a line of students, and parents, that led the entire distance across the parking lot to the stadium. When they saw us, they all cheered and extended their hands. I looked back at the team, and could see the awe I felt reflected in their faces. I turned back to the crowd, bowed my head and said silently, 'I love you, Izzy.' I followed Coach in a slow jog past the line of fans letting each one slap my helmet.
The news people with their cameras were just inside the gates. Coach and I jogged by and out onto the field for warm ups. I looked up and our side of the stands was empty—it was surreal.
Since it was a playoff game, there were starting line up introductions before the coin toss. Matt nailed the call and we elected to receive the opening kickoff. Coach wanted to put our offense out on the field first. Alex, Matt and Wes were on the kick return team, but I lined up on the sideline with the rest of the offense. Our side of the stands were still filling up as the ball was kicked off.
Alex caught it and headed right up the middle of the field. Matt and Wes came together shoulder-to-shoulder in front of him at our thirty yard line. I'd never seen Matt and especially Wes run so fast. They closed on the opposing team with incredible speed and determination. I think everyone grit their teeth preparing for the impact—I know I did. It was loud like I'd never heard before and I swear bones broke, but Matt and Wes drove a wedge between the defense and led Alex into the end zone.
The crowd erupted in celebration, the band started playing our fight song and when Alex, Matt and Wes came jogging over to our sideline it was painfully obvious Wes had a broken forearm.
"Tape me up! Tape me up!" He kept saying as the trainer tried to get a look at it.
Finally, the paramedics came over to have a look and agreed with the trainer that it was broken. They motioned Wes toward the gate and the ambulance beyond.
"No way! No way! I ain't goin' nowhere."
One of the assistant coaches got Wes' parents down to the fence and they agreed to let Wes stay as long as he could tolerate the pain. The trainer assured them that she would wrap and ice his arm and that he should be okay until after the game. Once Wes' arm was wrapped, he joined us on the sideline.
On the opponents first offensive possession one of their linemen had to be helped off the field. It was a three and out. They punted the ball out of bounds—it looked intentional. We took possession on our own forty-five yard line.
I knew they'd probably spent the week getting ready for me, the passing quarterback, so we lined up in a wide formation. I stepped into the shotgun position and called the signals—I called Matt's number. The defense was spread out to cover the pass so our center and two guards blew a hole through the center of their formation you could have driven a semi through. Matt ran down to their six yard line, carrying their two linebackers the last five yards.
We hurried up to the ball as soon as the referee placed it. I called the same play and Matt walked into the end zone.
Sure, we weren't perfect, but the rest of the game went pretty much like that—we just over powered them. I doubt we were any stronger—we certainly weren't bigger, but we played with an incredible fire inside that just refused to let up. Even when Coach put in the second, and third string players late in the second half, the paramedics had to cart off their starting running back with what looked like a bad knee injury. Finally, Coach had to tell us to ease up although it was obvious he really didn't want us to. It wasn't because he wanted to run up the score—no, he wasn't that kind of coach—he just new everyone—the team—the fans, really needed what we were doing out there.
The final minute was ticking down on the scoreboard when I approached Coach.
"What's up?" he said obviously reading my face.
"No interviews?" I phrased
it as a question but didn't really mean it that way.
"You sure? Lot of scouts out there."
"Yeah, we kind of talked about it at halftime—if it's okay with you."
"You got it. Pass the word, after we shake hands with the other team and the trophy presentation, straight for the locker room."
"Thanks Coach."
The celebration after the game was great, even Wes stayed for most of it, but as the adrenalin high began to wear off, you could tell he was really hurting. Finally the trainer coaxed him out of the locker room. Not one word—or complaint—was spoken about not staying out on the field to bask in our victory. Sure, it was a great victory, but no matter how you sliced it, Izzy was still in danger.