Scott - School Days

-3-

"Snap out of it! Bro, you're up!" Steve shouted as he shook his friends' shoulders.

Scott peered around at his surroundings and felt disoriented when he came to the realization that he was sitting at the cafeteria table with his friends. Petey, David, Nathaniel, and Steve all sat still while they watched their friend come back to consciousness.

"It's your turn, man. Where'd you go?" Steve asked.

"Eh, don't worry about it," Scott said as he placed the cards face down on the lunch table. "I'm out."

He grabbed his tray and backpack and walked to the trash cans along the far wall of the cafeteria. Steve nodded to his friends, grabbed his backpack, and trotted to catch up with Scott.

"No running!" shouted one of the teachers.

Steve raised his arms above his head and nodded his head, acknowledging the teacher's admonishment.

"Dude, are you okay?" Steve asked with an actual tinge of concern in his voice. Steve was typically sarcastic, some would say a class clown even, but in this moment, he was stoic as can be.

"Yeah, man. I'm good," Scott replied.

"Bullshit," Steve replied, noticing that he was within earshot of the same teacher who had just yelled at him to stop running. As quickly as the word had escaped his lips, he did everything he could to cover up the fact that he used profanity, again, in the cafeteria.

"That's two," the teacher said, holding up two fingers indicating that he was one strike away from being out. Whatever that meant.

"Come on, bro. You can talk to me. Heck, you should talk to me. I know you've been having a rough time lately..."

"There's the understatement of the year," Scott interjected.

"Point taken. I can't begin to fathom the sort of hell you're going through. You zoned out back there and to be completely honest, you freaked the other guys the heck out."

"Just the other guys, huh?"

"Yeah, you know how I roll," Steve said smacking his hands off his chest and doing his best to show a tough side. "I ain't scared of nothin'."

They exited the cafeteria and walked the halls which were lined with framed football jerseys and front pages news clippings from the local paper. The papers went into great detail of the heroic feats of the players on the gridiron. Tales of multiple state titles, shutout victories backed by a stout defense, and superior offensive showings led by their star running back hung as a reminder of the school's previous glory days.

Crisply folded black jerseys with vibrant white numbers and letters outlined with red stitching could be seen from the cafeteria to the main office. And every day on the way to and from lunch, Scott kissed his hand and placed it on one framed jersey in particular. Number 21, the famed running back of the Watts Warriors, Scott's father's jersey hung amongst the others but had recently been surrounded by flowers and candles following his passing and that of his wife.

When they reached the lobby, Scott stopped at the trophy case just outside the main office and went into what looked like a trance of sorts. His eyes darted from one expertly shined trophy to the next right before he stopped at the bust of Coach Thomas, the state's winningest high school football coach. The bronze sculpture captured the coach's features perfectly. From the intense eyes to the fabled square jaw, the ferocity that had plagued many teams from the sidelines for decades was captured with immaculate precision. An icon whose legacy had not been matched since he retired now had a prime spot to keep an eye on what he called "his kids". While he looked into the trophy case, Scott thought he saw a tear roll down the cheek of the coach. Surely, his eyes were playing tricks on him.