The Rift Between Us

The First Meeting

"Why do you think Principal Henderson is doing this?" Sam's mom asked, pulling another slice of pizza out of the pizza box.

Sam rolled his eyes, heading over to the trash to drop in his paper plate. "He said it was because of last year's incident." Sam thought back to the "prank" that last year's seniors had pulled.

In spring, just a few weeks before Spring Break, if you were watching specifically for it, you could see the seniors walking on the football field. While this wasn't an uncommon thing, particularly among the football players, you could see them stop for a moment, reach into their pockets, and then throw the contents towards the ground.

No one thought much about it, and over the summer, everyone forgot about it. The field was left untouched, other than a couple mowings. The football team came back in early August for early football practice, and everything seemed fine.

Until everyone tripped.

Our first practice, almost every single player tripped over strange lumps in the ground. At first, Coach blamed the team for not practicing over the summer. However, when bodies continued to fall over and over, he finally examined the ground to discover something truly insane.

The now-graduated seniors had planted potato seeds, knowing the rewards would far outweigh the consequences. Since the school had no authority over the people responsible, they had to pay for it entirely out of pocket. This meant that a hefty amount of the schools budget would go to the field being replaced with painted astroturf.

Coach hadn't been happy, to say the least. He had to wait a couple extra weeks to start practices. To make up for that, he's been keeping us busy with extra hours. Not only that, but during the weeks where we had no practice, we had to help redo the field, and were often there from dawn till dusk.

While the rest of the team complained, Sam took pride in the fact that he had helped create the field he'd play on; it put a whole new spin on the term, "home-field advantage". Besides, the whole thing was kind of funny.

Sam's mom smiled. "That's great, Sam!" She said, nodding her head excitedly.

"No, mom, that's not great. It means that my last weeks of summer were spent fixing the field instead of actually playing. It means that this year, I have one more class to take, more homework, and less time for football.

"Also, last year, I had to figure out the whole thing on my own. I had to prepare for the ACT alone, had to get ready for Prom on my own, had to take the driver's test on my own, and so much else! I didn't have anyone holding my hand.

"I still can't believe that Coach would agree to this! Anyone who would go along with this plan is-"

"Samuel Richard Michelson! Your father is a good man, and you will respect him in this house, young man," His mom said sternly, shaking her finger angrily at Sam.

"I wasn't insulting him," he defended, "I was just wondering why he would go along with something like this."

His mom shrugged her shoulders, calmed by Sam's quick defense, golden curls bobbing up and down.

"Whatever," Sam said, turning away, refusing to meet his mother's blue eyes with his green ones.

Almost as if that was a cue, Coach Mike walked in the door. He kissed his wife on the cheek while setting his playbook down on the table. Afterwards, he looked at Sam and said, "Sam, we need to talk."

"Sure thing, Dad," Sam said, leading him up into his room. He sat down on his bed, leaning forward as his father sat on the nearby desk.

"So," Sam said, "What's up?"