Brighton Part One

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

After the weekend, Brighton High School celebrates Spirit Week. Clarke sees streamers with the team colors up and down the corridor walking into school Monday morning. Art renderings of the Hillsboro Outlaws line the trophy cases of getting arrested and eaten by grizzly bears.

"Very tasteful, y'all," Clarke says, seeing more posters taped up.

"Hey! Don't knock our work, man. You're totally harshing the morning mellow," a gothic male art student says, tugging at the black dog collar around his neck.

Clarke walks to his first class, waving his left hand with a snicker. During the morning announcements, the principal announces something that captures the football team's attention.

"And good Monday morning, students and staff," the announcements begin, "This is Mr. Messner with the announcements. As you've noticed, it is spirit week; with homecoming being not that far off, the student council voted to start the festivities early this year."

Papers are shuffling over the intercom, "Moving to sports, our cross country team has qualified for the state tournament this year. Join me in wishing them the best of luck. In football news, we are still undefeated. I am pleased to notify you that we have a new transfer joining the football program. Brighton's newest football son comes to us from El Paso. I'll step aside to hand him the microphone to informally introduce himself."

Some jarring travels from the PA boxes throughout the school, but shortly after it stops, a deep bass voice begins to speak in English with a Native American accent, "Uh, hello, everyone. I'm Dallas Nightstorm, a free safety from the Tigua Reservation. I'm a six-foot-six, nearly two-hundred-twenty-five pound national blue-chip recruit to Baylor. That's why my family and I are here in Brighton. A small enough community that's close enough to campus. I like steak and partying, and I'm here to help bring home a state title. Thank you."

The PA System goes dead, with the entire team in shock. Questions begin to race through Clarke's mind. Out of the blue, the defensive backfield is shaken up. Dallas, the new team member, will replace someone who's busted their ass for years and earned their spot. Now things are getting stirred up, but getting back into the moment, Clarke focuses on the teacher the best he can.

Clarke's lunch is the last of the four scheduled times. He usually grabs a microwaveable round deep-dish pizza with a piece of fruit and milk and relaxes in the game room. Something irks him to eat outside for a change. Forgetting his sunglasses in his locker, Clarke's eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. Over at the short wall closest to the bus loop stands someone he doesn't recognize. A tall, well-built, bronze skin with long black hair, ripped jeans, combat boots, and a Black Sabbath t-shirt leans against the wall.

"Hey! Are you Dallas?" Clarke calls out.

Surprised, the stranger tugs at his aviator sunglasses, "Yeah. Who wants to know?"

Clarke walks to Dallas and extends his hand to exchange a handshake, "Clarke Harbor. I'm one of your teammates. Welcome to Brighton."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Clarke Harbor. I'm Dallas Nightstorm; what position do you play?"

"Tight end."

Dallas doesn't move, curling his lower lip out with a quick nod; Dallas doesn't move. He's caught off guard again when Clarke offers him part of his lunch.

"If you haven't eaten, you can take my apple. You'll need it for fuel at practice."

Waving off the offer, Dallas mentions, "I am good. I had plenty of breakfast this morning. You're the first to offer me anything, and be polite. Most here seem to understand that I have taken away a starter born and raised here. That is not the case. I have accepted my scholarship to Baylor, so I do not need to emphasize my skills. My mother and father moved us here to be close and off the reservation at the university's expense. I will play when your coach needs me."