Valor Heights Varsity

1 The Happiness or Unhappiness of Men

Mason

"Montgomery. When you find the perfect shade of lipstick to go with your skirt, feel free to join us on the field." Coach Tucker drawls with a pointed look on his face.
It's about a million degrees outside and I've been throwing this ball for the last two hours. Usually it wouldn't bother me, but today the southern sun is kicking my ass.
The guys running tackling drills at the other end of the field are so beat from heat exhaustion they don't even crack a smile.

"Today, Montgomery!" He claps his hands in a 'chop-chop' kind of way.
You'd think I might get a little water break being the first string quarterback on one of the best teams in the state. But you would be wrong.
The Wildcats are all acceleration and no breaks.
Coaches shouting and whistles fill the air. They're pushing us extra hard because the season starts next week and we have a reputation to uphold.
I roll my eyes before putting down the plastic cup and jogging back onto the field.
You see Coach Tucker, - or the Boss, as we like to call him- runs his team by a distinct set of rules. The first, keeping our "filthy paws" away from his precious daughter. The second being, he treats his superstars like superstars, and his crap like crap.
Which loosely translates to, no matter how amazing you were last year, you will be starting out with a blank slate just like very one of the crap players that squeak onto the Varsity team.
The number of stars next to your name or offers you have doesn't change that. You earn every moment of playing time, every moment in a Wildcat jersey and every word of praise —which doesn't come often around here.

Honestly you're lucky if the Boss remembers your name. Ive known him since I was eight years old, and he didn't bother to learn my name until I became his starter half way through sophomore year. That only happened after Henry Gerber broke a collarbone and was deemed 'unfit to play' for the remainder of the season.

As I step into line next to the other quarterbacks on the team, it's easy to relax back into my timing. It's familiar and comfortable. More comfortable when it's not a hundred degrees.
Our quarterback coach, Coach Roe steps up next to me.
"Hey Mason will you watch this kid for me?" He asks. There's a puzzled look on his face as he points to the young kid at the other end of the line. I pause and watch as he drops back before releasing an absolute rocket. Wow. I watch him a few more times before I turn back to Roe.
"Wow." I say. "He's good-" but not as good as me "-what's the problem?" Coach turns to look at me adjusting his baseball cap.
"He's a freshmen." Is all he says.
"Huh." I reply. That would explain why I don't recognize him, he must've grown up over the year. I watched a few of the middle school games last season and I'm sure I would've remembered that guy.
A little scrawny but tall. He has to be over six feet. He clearly has a lot of talent but definitely rough around the edges. Not overly practiced.
"Needs to hit the weight room." I chuckle looking over at coach.
"His name is Baker Nix. He just moved here from Timber County. They had him practicing with the JV team but decided he would be better suited on Varsity." Coach explains. Well that'll explain why I don't recognize him.
"What's he gotta do with me?" I press Roe to get to the point.
"I got a feeling he's gonna be your replacement." Roe tells me. I freeze, and stare at him.
Is he kidding? Sure the kids talented, but he's got some serious growing up to do. There are alot of things that go into being Qb1 at Valor heights. It's alot of pressure. No chance a scrawny freshman is gonna be able to handle that job.
"Next year of course." Coach finishes and I can finally take a deep breath again.
"I want you to take him under your wing. Mentor him. Show him the reality of being The Valor Heights Wildcat." Coach Roe slaps my shoulder and turns to walk away.
"Alright Ladies go shower, it smells like a fucking dumpster fire out here." Boss hollers. He's basically the Robert Frost of high school football. He's just got a way with words. The guys pick up a whole other gear to get back to the locker room and away from the heat.
I watch the scrawny freshman saunters behind the rest of the guys and slow for him to catch up to me.
"Hey man." I start as he looks over at me. I'm only slightly taller than him being 6'4 but I probably have fifty pounds on him. "I haven't seen you around before. I'm Mason." I reach out my hand and he shakes it.
"Baker. I just moved here from Timber" he recites all the knowledge that Coach Roe had already told me.
"That's a minute from here." I say prying for more information. I walk in step with him toward the field house.
"Yeah, four hours. Timber was fine for middle school but my dad thought I needed a next level school if I want to be seen by any scouts. A school like Valour. Plus it's my mom's home town." He admits.
Bingo. I have my answer. Kid wants to play college ball. That's good means he has high expectations and I like people who like to succeed.
"Well you came to the right place man." I chuckle. We aren't just next level, we're the best. "Hey, so the guys always have an end of the summer party down by the river at Tyson Mist's house." I tell him. I scratch the back of my neck. "We don't usually let underclass men come but maybe you'd like to swing by." I offer.
Coach wants me to mentor him I'll show him the perks to being a Cat (and there are a lot of them).
The amount of indecision on his face is concerning. Every freshmen at this school wants to be at this party he should be jumping at the invitation.
"Man" he sighs. The guy is totally beat to exhaustion. His face is almost nervous. "I don't think I can make it." He runs a hand through his hair. "Dads at the dealership still getting things sorted and moms catching up at an old friends tonight." He explains as we enter the crowded and loud locker room.
" we'll pick you up man just text me your address." I tell him.
This is why we don't invite freshmen.
"Alright then." He says finally breaking into a big grin.
"8" I tell him.
"8" he nods and we break separate ways.

When I get to my locker Kaiden gives me a questioning look.
"What was that about?" he asks, pretending to be casual. As long as we've been friends he has never had the talent of subtlety.
"Freshman quarterback. Invited him tonight." I admit. No need to keep it a secret. Kaiden stared at me wide eyed.
"Underclass men aren't welcome." He tells me. His expression absolutely flabbergasted. I rummage through my locker only half giving him my attention.
"Don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on him give him a couple drinks, hook him up with Chelsea or someone and give him a real look into his future. Plus he's quiet. Shy. You know out of his element. You won't even know he's there." I throw a towel over my shoulder and clap Kaiden's arm as I pass on my way to the shower. "Besides we were freshmen at our first wildcat party." I remind him walking backwards away from him.
"Yeah because we snuck in, hidden in the back of Gunners truck." He shouts back at me. I chuckle. That's true.
We had staked out in the back of my brothers truck until he'd had a drink or two and then crashed the party. That was a good time and a great memory.
And a great idea if I do say so myself.
My mom however, had disagreed.
She'd shouted at us for probably an hour the next morning when we showed up home hungover and dirty after a night spent outside.
That was a good time. Back when my brothers were still Wildcats and my dad wasn't a broken, hollow man.
With my somber thought I shower and take my time getting out of the field house. Tonight is the first time we'll get to celebrate that we're finally the at the top. I've been waiting for this since I set foot on that field.
It's the beginning to a glorious season.
Our last season.

I'm one of the last guys out of the locker room. Nobodies left but the coaches who are in an intense meeting in the bosses office. Most of the guys rush out of here in a frenzy, attempting to escape the impending doom of Coach Tucker. The last thing they want is to be on the tail end of Boss' post practice 'constructive criticism analysis'. (Which in reality is him questioning your ability to play football and insulting your manhood). I understand the appeal of running away, especially after a practice like that.
Me on the other hand I'm just stalling before I go home. It's too quiet there. Ever since my brothers left for college and it's just been my dad and me at home.
I step up into my old rusted pick up truck. From the outside it doesn't look like much, and to most it's not. It's loud and clunky and girls think it's an absolute nightmare. But it gets me where I need to go (most of the time anyway).
My phone chimes and I don't have to look at it to know who it is.
Dad.
His daily message waiting on the other end.
Today's quote is a profound one.

Francois de La Rochefoucauld- "The happiness or unhappiness of men depends no less upon their dispositions than on their fortunes."

He sends one of those to my brothers and I everyday. Just like clock work.
I like to think it's his way of saying that he loves us. At least I hope it is.
Brandon Montgomery isn't big on emotions, or words at all for that matter. I guess you could say in those departments he's a minimalist.
But that same man has never missed one of my football games, no matter the weather or how far of a drive it is. Even if he has to take time off of work on Fridays. Sometimes he's even at practices. I figure that has to count for something right?
He wasn't always like that though. Sometimes I think the dad I used to know is still in there somewhere. Every once in a while, for just a flash of a moment, when the light comes back into his navy eyes and his mouth curves ever so slightly. And then just as fast as it comes, it's gone, and he's just as cold as he's been for the last four years.
I slide my phone back into the pocket of my jeans and start my truck. It's time to get on my way home.
I pull out of the parking lot and roll the window down to let the warm air blow through the cab. If this truck wasn't so important to me I'd trade it for something with an AC. But it is. And I won't.
The drive from school to my house is short. I make sure to take the long way home. Turning on the radio a country song comes on. I like county music, but it really didn't matter what came on. Anything is better than the silence that awaits me at home.