Chapter 10

A few weeks after losing Midland Prep High School, the team rallied in the last two road games in Southern Waco. Banged up and exhausted, the entire team is excited for the bye week ahead. Rather than gear up and take the field, Coach Sparks uses the week as a surprise.

It's a bright and sunny Monday afternoon; the team gathers in the school auditorium. They're confused seeing game footage and clips of some of the best plays and moments throughout the season.

"What is going on?" Dallas asks Hector.

Hector rubs the budding but itchy mustache, shrugging his shoulders, "No clue, amigo. When I saw the note on the locker room door, I thought we were just gonna have a pizza party and watch a classic football flick like Rudy or Friday Night Lights."

Clarke leans forward to give his advice, "Maybe it's award time. The conference announced the winners, and I'm grateful to be named tight end of the year."

Before Dallas addresses Clarke's achievements, Coach Sparks and several other unknown men walk on stage. The variety of colors catches the team off guard. It takes a moment for the team to realize what's happening when Coach Sparks switches on the microphone.

"Hello, gentlemen; we're switching things up over the next few days. I've invited scouts, recruiters, and coaches to sit, talk, and watch some of the highlights from the season," Coach Sparks looks over his shoulder, "I'll get out of the way now. Esteemed colleagues, the auditorium is now yours."

Nervous, Clarke gulps, getting to his feet. The aisle quickly fills, leaving Clarke alone when no one walks immediately over to him. From out of nowhere, a finger taps Clarke's shoulder. Unsure of who wants his attention, Clarke turns around to see a tall, well-built bald African American man wearing a dark red with white stripe Temple Owls polo.

In a deep and commanding voice asks, "What's your name, young man?"

"Harbor, sir, Clarke Harbor."

Searching the roster, the man finds Clarke's name and position, "Ah, tight end. I'm Assistant Head Coach Robert Howland. Let's go and chat."

With an arm around Clarke's shoulders, Coach Howland takes Clarke to the back row, "I remember your clips from Coach Sparks. You have a set of great hands. Plus, what he had to say about you in the letter he sent us caught our attention."

Confused at first, Clarke isn't sure how to respond.

"I didn't know he sent out anything," Clarke says, looking at his coach.

"Oh yeah. We've received several CDs with letters of recommendation from several players over the years. Maybe with a visit and getting to know the team, Temple might be the best fit for a smaller plater like yourself."

Stunned to hear that he's smaller than expected, Clarke flexes slightly. Coach Howland watches the light dim in Clarke's eyes, "That doesn't mean you can't fix it," he begins, "You're a junior. My advice, take the time to hit the gym harder and longer. Honestly, when I look at you, I see a wide receiver, not a tight end."

Clarke feels slightly annoyed but offers the answer to why he plays the position.

"My father was an all-state tight end. He died when I was still in elementary school. It's my way to honor him."

"I can respect that. My son is playing my old position of running back. I know you're probably tired of hearing this, but I am sorry your father isn't here to watch you in person."

They share a moment of silence.

"Back to business, at Temple, we have it all. A terrific variety of undergrad programs. Once you graduate, we also can give you several options for graduate school. The Temple program has also placed several players in various leagues. We all know the NFL is the dream of every college player, but the XFL and AFL also offer a chance to shine. Is there anything you want to know about campus or our coaches?"

Deep in Clarke's mind, one question immediately arises: "How far is Temple from New York City? My girl is aiming to become a Broadway star. I want to be close to her."

"You're in luck. New York is less than two hours away. You can drive or use the train. Are there any other issues?"

"The quality of teams y'all play seems a little weak," Clarke stops with his hands raised to clarify, "The American Conference is a great conference, but outside of conference play, who's on the future schedules?"

Coach Howland doesn't waste time explaining. He tugs the bottom of his polo before saying, "Yes, 'The American' has been in a slight hump," With a hand in the air, he points to the ceiling, "However, the conference and team are improving. We have Michigan State, Virginia Tech, Florida State, and the University of Washington on our schedule."

It sounds intriguing to Clarke. The prospect of living in a large major city. Being close to New York and Tracy makes it an even better fit, but something still doesn't click the way he wants. Coach Howland picks up that the deal isn't done but knows he needs to spend time with more players.

"I tell ya what," he begins and takes out a card, "Here's my card. If you want or need anything, email or call me."

Nodding, Clarke takes the card, putting it into his brown leather wallet, "I will. Thank you, sir."

The afternoon of talking with several coaches offers a broad spectrum of roads that lead away from Brighton. His head is filled with more hope than he realizes he can handle. While he doesn't receive any early scholarship offers, the same issue continues to pop up over his size at his position. Being repeated time and time again, he begins to develop a plan.

Once the event ends for the day, Hector, Dallas, and Clarke drive to Cowboy Lake. There are times that Hector tries to speak up about moving after renting fishing poles and buying live bait, "Hey, you know, today proved one thing. Life is changing all around us. By this time next year, Dallas and Jamal could face each other playing in college. Or hell, you never know. One of us might be forced to quit playing, maybe even move away early."

"Oh, pish-posh!" Clarke shouts, "Ain't nothing like that going to happen. I mean, yeah, Dallas and Jamal could go at each other's throats, but we have a year left before we leave this one-horse town."

Dallas sits there with nothing to say. He knows Hector is leaving but promised to keep it from Clarke. Under the evening sun, the water is calm. Three bobbers sit on the surface, waiting for a fish to take the bait. The lake manager walks from the office over the loose gravel, crunching with every step after the sun dips out of sight.

"Hey, fellas, curfew isn't far off. Ya know, the Sheriff's Office told me to call if anyone under eighteen is out here after sunset. I ain't tryin' to be crude, but it's time to pack it in."

Reeling in their lines, the three friends straighten everything out before returning the poles and portable seats to the office.

"Thanks, sir. Take it easy," Dallas says.

"Anytime. Keep your receipt. I'll count it as a credit for next time," The manager states, signing the receipt.

Before getting in their cars to leave, Clarke, Dallas, and Hector exchange fist bumps.

"Where y'all heading?" Clarke asks.

Hector shrugs, "I'll probably head home. I ain't got much to do outside of school and work."

Suddenly Dallas shares an option, "Why not join me over at Aurora and Laura's? Splitting between them is exhausting. I would even let you choose which one you want."

As his jaw drops, Hector isn't sure what to say. All he does is shake his head in agreement. Clarke reaches into his pocket, taking his keys, "Have fun. Just don't name it after me. I think I'll go see Tracy." he says.

Quickly getting into their vehicles, Clarke drives straight to Tracy's, leaving the other two covered in road dust. When he parks along the curb, he notices her car isn't in the driveway.

"Where is she?" Clarke says, taking out his phone, "C'mon, pick up!"

Clarke answers in a whisper, "I can't talk right now, babe. I'm at my speech class for New York."

Instantly recalling that she's preparing more and more for the summer session, Clarke slaps a hand over his mouth, "I forgot! I came by to see you. I've missed you."

"Give me an hour. I'll come by; I love you!"

The call ends, leaving Clarke a little bummed. He puts his foot on the brake to shift to Drive and slowly drives home. While he waits out in the backyard, Clarke listens to everyone else playing board games in the kitchen. The festivities end when Casey gets up to answer a knock at the front door.

Drifted away in a daydream, Clarke doesn't notice Tracy tiptoeing toward him. She stretches an arm out she taps him on the arm, startling him, "WHO! WHAT!" Clarke shouts, giving everyone watching from the table a laugh.

"Surprise! I told you I'd be here after class," Tracy says before she leans in for a kiss.

"My family is watching!"

Fed up over hiding their relationship, Tracy shuts Clarke up with a second passionate kiss. While Amber, Casey, and Steve tease with a loud "woohoo," Daisy isn't keen on seeing how much the two love birds get into the second embrace.

Clearing her throat, Daisy walks outside to gain their attention, "Okay, inside where I can keep an eye on you two."

Daisy's concern has everyone laughing. Clarke and Tracy walk inside, taking a seat on the couch. The beige Italian leather cushions breathe, helping the couple settle in place.

"So, how was class?" Clarke asks.

Overhearing the question, Amber seems intrigued, "You had class this late? It's dark out. Are you failing?"

"God, no! I'm going to New York next summer. The guy who set it up told me to enroll in some vocal classes to help eliminate my accent. Unable to change my voice means I could get typecast in certain roles. I need to become a major actress!" Tracy explains, then takes Clarke's hands.

With curled lips, Amber nods to acknowledge Tracy's statement, "Hey, Amber, the light of your mother's eye. It's your move, and don't sink my battleship!" Steve says, waving his hand under the bright light over the table.

Daisy nudges Casey from her seat to switch to the empty one across the table. As a mother, she wants to keep an eye on the blossoming romance that has her stomach-churning seeing Clarke and Tracy nestled on the couch. Her attention doesn't fully return to family game night until Tracy gets up to drive home.

"Oh shoot! That's my mom. I need to get home. Text me in the morning; we'll meet up for breakfast," Tracy says.

Clarke releases the grip and sits up, scooting the leather under him, "Um, I was going to hit the gym before class. The coach from Temple said I needed to gain some size. Maybe we could see a movie or get something to eat after school?"

A sad expression creeps across Tracy's face. She nods that she understands, followed by a kiss. She walks out the door, and Clarke picks up the TV remote. He vegges out in front of the TV until he goes to bed.

Over the next two days, Clarke continues meeting with coaches. He's drawn interest from universities coast to coast. It leaves him feeling confident about the chance to get as far away from Brighton as possible. The day before the final home game against University High School, the team feels refreshed and ready to see their spot in the playoffs.

Out on the field under a cloudy sky, Coach Sparks films and observes practice being run by the assistant head coach, "That's it, Ayden, take control of the team. You got this! You're ready to do this on your own."

From a distance, thunder rumbles, "Okay, team!" Ayden calls out after blowing the whistle, "Here's the scenario. It's third down and fifteen. The offense is pinned deep in their territory, and the defense uses a spy option with a blitz from the free safety. Captains, call your play and keep going until the whistle blows."

Hector quickly thinks of a play pass when the offense collects in the huddle, "Alright, here's the play. Let's use the action backward pass. Jamal, Clarke, go deep. I'll try to get downfield in case they're covered. Randale, you're the man, and you got this, mi amigo! Ready, break!" The offense claps in unison and lines up with Hector under center.

With his hands snuggled tightly under the player at center, Hector calls out the play, "Wilson Green Envy, Wilson Green Envy! Hike!"

Jamal flies off the line passing every defensive player with ease. Clarke shoves off the line, pushing Kyle off the block. He shoots down the field, also wide open. Dallas is the blitzer from the backfield. He charges at Randale, feeling his cleats press into the ground with every step. Waiting for Dallas to get close, Randale sees Jamal has gone too far too quickly, and Clarke is just out of reach. Hector looks back with his hand in the air. Randale chucks the ball as it wobbles in the air, nearly overshooting Hector.

Diving for the ball, Hector leaps with his arms stretched. He tips the ball, gripping it before colliding on the field, bouncing a few times. Coach Ayden raises his arms, seeing the play ends with the offense gaining nearly twenty yards. More than enough for a first down.

"YES! That's how you hustle!" The six-foot-eight-inch tall, slender coach screams. He runs a hand through this thick dark hair, feeling confident about upcoming interviews after the season ends.

Coach Sparks picks up a radio from the observation suite, "That's enough for today. Great job, Coach Childers. Have the team clean up and rest up for tomorrow."

"Rodger, Coach Sparks. Thank you, sir," Ayden looks at the team, prepared to end practice, "Boys! That's all for today. Now, hit the showers!"

Taking off their helmets, the entire team semi-jogs to the locker room. Clarke is the first one under the water. The sting of the water feels good, washing off the grime from the field. When he's finished, Clarke turns off the water, wrapping the towel around his waist. Once he's dried off, he dresses in his baggy orange and black basketball shorts and sleeveless black shirt.

Quickly after zipping his gym bag, Clarke rushes to his car. While he rushes across the parking lot, he texts Tracy.

Hey beautiful! I'm free from practice. Where would you like to meet? – Clarke

Tracy's response doesn't arrive until Clarke has the key in the door to unlock it. Once his bag is flung into the back seat, he slides into the driver's seat.

Yay, meet me at Steak n' Shake. I need a brownie milkshake after the day I've had. Please meet me there. I need to unload and that place is always dead. I miss u! – Tracy W.

I'm on my way! I can't wait to see you! – Clarke

Trying to hurry, Clarke sticks the key in the ignition. After turning the key, the car tries to start but doesn't complete the final rotation, "NO!" Clarke screams. After the fourth attempt, Clarke pulls the hood latch under the dashboard. He hears the hood pop and quickly gets out. He looks over everything, but he's unsure of what to do. It's not until Dallas walks out to give him a hand.

"Here, try this," he says, grabbing the serpentine belt and yanking it, "Try it now. Your flywheel could be missing some teeth."

About to start sweating, Clarke rushes back into the car and quickly turns the key, "C'mon, you sorry piece of shit, start!" The car cranks, and just when he's about to release the key, the engine turns enough to start and squeal.

Dallas is polite, shutting the hood and ensuring it's closed tight, "This car needs a lotta soon and soon!" He cries out over the screaming belts.

"I'll take note of it. Thanks, Dallas!"

Shifted into gear, Clarke spins the tires, flinging dust, loose gravel, and tiny bits of rubber from the rear tires. As he speeds around town, Clarke notices the belt squeal goes away. The car begins to rattle and rumble, "Just hold together, old girl. I swear, I will get you in the shop!"

Steam begins to roll from under the hood when he pulls into the parking lot. Tracy sees it and refuses to get out of her Soltice until Clarke comes to the driver's side door, holding it open.

"I don't mean what I'm about to say to come off as bitchy," Tracy begins, "But that piece of shit needs to be crushed. I know, I know, it was your dad's. At this point in your life, don't you think it's cruel to keep it running and torture it the more it's falling apart."

Distraught, Clarke says nothing holding the door. He tries not to slam the car door shut when Tracy gets out and straightens her power blue sundress. Tracy hides her eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but she can tell she's hurt Clarke's feelings, "Look. I didn't mean to sound rude or disrespect your dad. You deserve a newer and better car, babe." She steps forward in her classic version Converse sneakers, kissing Clarke on the cheek.

Inside the 50s-style restaurant, they see a sign indicating, 'Please Seat Yourself' and a few open booths against the windows. The couple takes out a menu each and quickly decides what they want. They enjoy staring at each other while sitting in the warm faux leather black and white striped seat.

"You look so beautiful today," Clarke mentions, extending a hand across the table.

Tracy's cheeks begin to slightly glow, "I'm not beautiful. Pretty, I'd agree but beautiful, nah."

Out of their peripheral vision, a short, scrawny, pregnant server in her mid-20s walks to the table, "Afternoon, you two love birds. I'm Raquel. What can I get y'all to drink?"

Clarke looks at Tracy to allow her to speak up first.

"I'd like an orange Fanta, please."

The server jots it down before turning her attention to Clarke, "For you, sir."

"Dr. Pepper with cherry and vanilla flavors, please."

Raquel turns away from the table and brings over the drinks, "Here ya go. Are we ready to order, or do y'all still need a minute?"

"I'd like the Western BBQ 'n Bacon burger with seasoned fries, please," Tracy orders.

Clarke doesn't waste time. His stomach begins to growl before Raquel looks at him.

"A Triple Bacon Cheeseburger with no onion, but add buffalo sauce and onion rings, please."

Both women look at Clarke disgusted, wanting buffalo sauce added to his food. Tracy pushes the tip of her tongue between her lips. Raquel doesn't say anything. She walks away, hanging the ticket for the short-order cooks.

"Seriously, buffalo sauce?" Tracy whispers.

"Yeah! It's tangy and makes the bacon a little sweet. Try a bite of it when it gets here," Clarke suggests.

In under five minutes, food arrives, "Alright, y'all love doves, I have your food. It seems you need some refills. I'll be right back with refills. Is there anything else I can get ya?"

Tracy looks up, "Some napkins, please."

"Sure thing, sweetness!" Raquel walks to the server's station, getting a handful of white napkins, followed by two glasses filling them with ice and fountain soda. Raquel struts back to the table, setting the items in the center of the table, "Here we go.

"Thank you," They both say nearly in unison.

The impromptu date lasts nearly an hour after finishing their food. Even as they sit there, barely any other customers inside the cooled dining area. When they're ready to leave, Clarke pays by debit card but drops the tip in cash on the table.

"Wanna head to the lake?" Clarke asks.

Tracy shakes her head no, "Why don't we take advantage of my parents being gone and go be alone at my house for a bit?" She giggles, seeing Clarke shake his head yes.

Hand-in-hand out the door, the blistering evening heat slams over them. Tracy gets into her car and doesn't wait around. Clarke gets in his car, shutting his eyes tightly, "Please start, please start!"

As the engine cranks, it turns over, starting with ease. The belts squeal for a few seconds. Clarke doesn't waste time shifting into gear and swiftly pulling off the parking lot. Excited to be alone with Tracy, he nearly forgets to put on the turn signal. Seeing the Pontiac in the driveway, Clarke's instantly disappointed seeing Gracie Lynn's car at the top of the driveway.

"FUCK!" He cries out.

On the front steps, Tracy sits with her hands resting against her chin. Gracie Lynn runs outside, scared, after the Cougar backfires, "I thought that was a gunshot!" She shares with Tracy.

Quickly, Gracie Lynn puts two and two together when she notices the expression on her daughter's face, "Oh! Nuh-uh, not here, miss thing. You two are too young to be messin' around like that," with her arms crossed, she stares a hole through Clarke, "Good night Mr. Harbor! You two need a little distance."

"Um, okay. Goodnight," he says before shutting the car door.

Sliding back into the seat, Clarke struggles at first to start the car. When it finally fires up, white smoke pours from the tailpipe. Embarrassed, he speeds off the driveway, nearly slamming into a red Chevrolet Silverado parked along the curb.

"Get inside and leave your laptop, tablet, and phone on the coffee table."

Tracy gets to her feet, handing over the phone. She stomps to her bedroom, where she spends the rest of the night reading until she falls asleep.

School flies by in the blink of an eye. Every senior is announced as the final home game is about to kick off. Those going to college receive extra applause. When the teams line the field, the energy from the crowd carries Brighton to an easy victory over University High School. The conditions are nearly perfect. Under the lights, the team plays exceptionally well on each side of the football. For the final home game, Brighton shuts out their opponent.

After the teams shake hands at midfield, the senior class rushes the field, taking down the goalpost in the east endzone. Several students and players carry the goalpost to midfield, drop it, then scatter for the locker room or parking lot.

"Hey!" Jamal screams the instant he enters the shower area, "The senior class is throwing a banger at Cowboy Lake. The entire team is invited!"

Most of the team erupts in cheers.

The coaches overhear everything, notifying the sheriff's office. The news of an impromptu shindig sends every available deputy toward the destination. The closer they get to the party, the louder music becomes, with headlights and KC lights providing a distraction, blinding every officer pulling into the parking lot.

"Everyone here is breaking the no-party policy! You need to cease and desist!" Deputy Rodgers says into a bullhorn.

Several vehicles honk and rev up in defiance, "Dispatch, this is Deputy Rodgers. We need backup at Cowboy Lake. A party is occurring, and we may need state trooper and Texas Rangers in support to break this up."

It takes the dispatcher a moment to relay any information back, "Deputy Rodgers, units from the state troopers depot are en route to your location."

"Copy. Thank you, dispatch."

Picking up the bullhorn again, Deputy Rodgers tries to break the party up peacefully once more, "Young people of Brighton. I say again, you are in violation and face fines or possibly community service!"

Those behind the lights crank up the music more while everyone hoots, hollers, and screams obscenities at authorities. Behind the dozen sheriff's department cruisers come several pairs of headlights they interrupt as backup.

"Damn, that was fast!" Deputy Rodgers says.

It's a surprise when most of the football team stops and blinds the officers.

"Hey! Get out of the way! We're taking back our lake! This is our time to party!" Randale shouts from the driver's side window of his 80s fox body canary Mustang.

"Sheriff's department! Turn around and go home! State troopers are on the way to assist in ending this event."

In a stand of defiance, the football players shine their headlights on bright. The deputies aren't sure what to do as the team sneaks away from their vehicles to join the others enjoying the party. The vibration from the bass brings a sense of urgency. The deputies go to the edge of the parking lot to devise a plan.

"Alright. When the troopers arrive, we go in pepper-spraying!" Deputy Rodgers orders the others.

"Sounds good to us. I've had it with these out-of-control kids. I say we give 'em the beatens their parents didn't," Deputy Smith advises, rubbing his tattooed hand over his bald head.

"Easy, Frank!"

Before the exchange ends, sirens wale in the background. Several state troopers accompanied by four Texas Rangers arrive. The mixture of police lights in the headlights creates a strobe effect the party-goers marvel over while couples dance near the water's edge.

"Deputy Rodgers! Your dispatch called our depot. What's the situation?" A tall, thin female state trooper asks.

He describes the party ban turning toward the water: "Not long ago, the Chamber of Commerce passed a bylaw. There's a curfew in effect for anyone under eighteen. Several students have taken it upon themselves to gather in defiance of the ordinance. What we have in mind is to use pepper spray to subdue these unruly kids and then call their parents to take them home. We'll issue fines with possible court dates after we have this place under our control."

"Noted. We'll go on your command!"

The gathering of officers and Texas Rangers split long enough to collect a handheld canister of pepper spray and safety goggles. Once they collect under the pavilion, the collection of officers and Texas Rangers spread out enough and begin subduing everyone within reach of their pepper spray. Several young adults fall to their knees or side, screaming in pain. Some manage to get away, including almost everyone from the football team.

With helping students over to the pavilion, the party-goers continue moaning and groaning from the burning sensation. The scent from the nonlethal use of pepper spray covers everything. The light breeze spreads it around. It takes nearly half an hour for the first set of parents to arrive. One by one, citations are issued with a penalty of fifty dollars charged to those breaking the law. Vehicles are shut off and left overnight.

Before the news reports on the altercation the next morning, videos begin to pop up all over YouTube, but those trying to paint the police as brutal or cruel are shut down by elected officials and others once the truth turns out that those who broke the law weren't justified as victims.