To Protect And Serve

Chapter 1

"Catch the ball, blockhead. What have you got? Feet for hands?" The voice of Deandre Hawkins screeched across the field. I slowly turned and jogged back across the field to where the other boys where standing. This was definitely not the game I had been destined to play, but still I wasn't the worst receiver in the world. I could catch the ball if it was thrown perfectly and I was running without someone right on me.

Deandre glared at me in the huddle, "Are you going to look up next time I throw you the ball?" Deandre was a tough black kid a couple years older than me and a fairly decent quarterback. The pass he had just thrown me was good, but I was too busy watching the guy who was guarding me to watch the ball.

"Yeah, Deandre, you got it," I replied meekly and meant it. Deandre wasn't a bad kid, but he had a competitive streak and a mouth to go with it. I mentally pulled myself together and jogged to the line of scrimmage. There were only 6 guys on each team. Trace Matthews was the other receiver, while Bill Johnson, Troy Hopkins, and Clay Murphy made up the offensive line.

"Blue, green, hut!" yelled Deandre. The ball snapped back into his hands. I juked left and spun right, sprinting up the field. 10 yards from the line of scrimmage, I looked back and up. The ball was descending into my hands, a picture perfect pass. Focusing on the ball and forgetting about Marty Green who was guarding me, I reached out for it.

I had just collected the ball and pulled it into my body, when Marty hit me. I collapsed on the field, breath gone and spots dancing before my eyes. His tackle had been perfect, but without pads there was nothing to stop it from feeling like a dump truck had just run over me.

"Yo, nice catch, Jax!" yelled Deandre jogging up. If his definition of "nice" meant getting the wind knocked out of me, I didn't want to know what "good" or "perfect" would entail. "Gain of 15 yards so 1st and 10," continued Deandre.

The line formed up and the next play was called. The ball was snapped and a short pass to Trace turned into a touchdown for our team making the score 18-12. We all sat down in the endzone, chugging water and getting our breath back.

"Hey, guys, it's 4 o'clock. I gotta go," said Troy Hopkins, our center. "I promised my dad I would mow the back yard this weekend and I just barely have enough time to eat supper and finish before dark."

"Yeah, I gotta go too," added Trace. A chorus of "me too's" followed from almost all the guys except for Deandre and me.

"Yeah, I guess I'm out too," Deandre finally said. "Going home, Jax?"

"Oh, yeah, gonna grab some supper and crash."

"Alright, goodnight, bro," said Deandre, turning to head out towards the main street. I watched him go, thinking how lucky he was. His family had plenty of money and a nice house. His dad was some big-shot attorney for one of the biggest law firms in the state. His mom was always well-dressed and snobbish, driving her custom Range Rover. How I wished I could get a car like that for my mom! It was pearly white with touches of pink trim on it.

Even though his parents had lots of money and his mom was a well-known socialite, Deandre was usually pretty cool. He was nice enough to let me play football with him and his buddies. A few times, he had even invited me over to his house for a pool party. He was your average 14-year-old kid raised in a rich, privileged family. He went to a fancy private school with Trace, Marty, and Clay.

My thoughts turned to my own situation and the comparison started. My dad was dead after being hit by a drunk driver one night coming home from work. The drunk guy was behind bars and plenty of money had come from him to cover funeral costs and life expenses for a little while. None of that, would bring my dad though and my mom went into deep depression. She worked as hard as she could, trying to make ends meet. The bills piled up fast though, and I would never forget the time I came home from school and found her huddled up on her bed. She was unresponsive, and I panicked thinking that somehow she had died.