Chapter 41: Off-Field Tactics

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Burbank High’s stadium felt a little too empty in the morning light.

The Normans were going through their final prep work before the game. Thomas had spoken with absolute authority the night before, then disappeared from the hotel after dark. By morning, he still had not returned.

So Nolan ran the session.

There was no reason to expose the playbook where the home team might watch it, so the practice stayed light: field familiarity, simple timing, basic pitch-and-catch work, nothing that would reveal the new wrinkles Thomas had added.

Burbank was also considered one of the softer teams in the bracket. That made the mood looser than it should have been.

Just as he had done the first day Nolan met the team, Flea launched the ball with one careless swing of his leg. It sailed across the field, bounced, and rolled toward the far sideline near the Burbank cheer squad.

Flea scratched the back of his head.

"I should go get that."

"You want to look at girls," Nolan said.

"Accident," Flea said, wiping his palms on his shorts. "Pure accident."

He jogged away.

Before he even reached the ball, he whistled toward the cheerleaders.

"Pretty girl, kick it over?"

Flea gave them what he seemed to believe was a charming smile.

It was not.

The cheer captain stepped out of the blue-and-white line. Instead of sending the football back, she kicked it farther away, forcing Flea to chase it.

The Normans watching from across the field broke into low laughter.

"Burbank girls are not just pretty," Ford said beside Nolan. "They have claws."

Flea came back hugging the ball, embarrassed enough to pretend he had not been embarrassed.

"Not even that cute," he muttered. "Not cute at all."

Across the field, the Burbank cheerleaders were having their own discussion.

"Those Hollywood rich boys really are disgusting," one girl said.

Flea’s whistle had landed exactly the way whistles usually landed when a girl had not asked for one.

BHHS already had a bigger reputation than its football team. At least three teen shows had used the campus as inspiration, and to Burbank students the place had become a rumor with lockers: money, parties, spoiled kids, and people who treated consequences like poor-person problems.

Now BHHS was the opponent too.

That did not improve anyone’s mood.

"Nice job, Claire," another cheerleader said when the captain returned. "Teach them early. We’ll make them miserable tonight."

Claire did not look as pleased as the others.

Her brother was Burbank’s quarterback. Lately, she had heard him sigh too many times over this matchup. The Normans were not the usual BHHS team, and their sudden quarterback was a real problem.

Under normal circumstances, Burbank’s odds were ugly.

Claire thought about Flea’s greasy smile.

Then she thought of something useful.

"If they like staring at girls so much," she said, "we rehearse beside them. See how much training they get done."

"Is that a little much?"

"Why?" another girl said. "Maybe one of those idiots even lets a play slip. If we help the team win, no one complains."

The argument ran back and forth until Claire called for a quick show of hands.

The plan won.

Nolan noticed the uninvited guests almost immediately. At first he did not care. Then one player lost the ball because he was watching the cheer squad drop into splits.

The girls realized it worked.

That was all the encouragement they needed.

"That move looked so cool!"

"Can you do it again for us?"

"Are you staying after the game tonight?"

They called from the sideline with bright, deliberate voices. The effect spread through the roster faster than bad cafeteria food.

When the players took a break, the Burbank girls even brought over drinks and handed them out one by one.

The Normans tried refusing at first. Teenagers only had so much discipline.

"Oh my God, your arm is solid. Can I squeeze?"

Nolan looked over and saw Flea boxed in by two cheerleaders, grinning like he had just been elected king of something. The game might as well have left his head.

"Quarterback," a voice said behind Nolan. "Want to sit and rest?"

Someone had already settled on the grass nearby and was waving him over.

Claire smiled up at him. She had a bright, open kind of beauty: diamond-shaped face, easy sunshine smile, blonde curls, blue-and-white skirt, legs folded beneath her as if she owned the field.

She had decided to handle the quarterback herself.

The others could disturb receivers and backups. A quarterback carried strategic value. If things went well, maybe she could even get him to lunch and slip something into his drink. Ex-Lax would not technically win a football game, but Claire was not feeling technical.

Nolan ignored her.

Claire kept smiling anyway.

"First time I have seen a quarterback this good-looking," she said. "Is your dad an actor in Hollywood?"

"Actor, yes," Nolan said. "Not Hollywood. More north. San Fernando Valley."

Claire did not catch the joke at once.

"Anything I would know?"

Nolan named a few hints.

Her smile strained.

"Oh. So... that kind of actor."

"You are new here, right?" Claire stood and moved closer. Her fingertips brushed lightly along his arm. "You look strong. Big chest. Want to grab lunch with me?"

"Why wait?" Nolan shifted as if to pull her in.

Claire froze. She did not step back at first. Then his hand settled with a confidence that made it clear he was not the flustered boy she expected, and she yelped, twisting free.

"Scared already?" Nolan asked. "Then you did not want to win that badly."

He had no patience for this kind of schoolyard theater.

Claire glared at his back as he walked away.

’Shameless bastard.’

"Just wait," she snapped, already deciding to switch targets. Maybe the wide receiver.

Practice had barely resumed when a shout cut across the field.

"Move!"

Claire turned.

A football filled her vision.

Thud.

She dropped into a crouch, both hands over her face.

"Sorry," Nolan called, scratching his head as if embarrassed. "Slipped."

For several seconds Claire could not understand what had happened. Stars burst behind her eyes. Warm blood ran between her fingers, and the ball’s laces had left a sharp red mark across her cheek.

Nolan had taken enough power off the throw to make it a lesson, not a hospital visit.

It still gave her a nosebleed.

He did not make a habit of being gentle with enemies.

Claire was taken to the nurse. Without her organizing the attack, the other cheerleaders lost nerve and backed off.

The Normans finally practiced like a football team again.

...

At three that afternoon, the visiting locker room still buzzed with the morning’s story.

"No way that cheer captain expected you to be that bold," Ford said, grinning in a way that deserved discipline. "Come on, Nolan. What did it feel like?"

"Easy," Flea said before Nolan could answer. "Drive sixty miles an hour and stick your hand out the window."

The locker room exploded.

The door opened in the middle of the laughter.

A group in blue-and-white uniforms crowded in, every one of them wearing the same bad expression.

Burbank Bulldogs.

More than a dozen players pressed into the room, making the air instantly smaller.

"Where is number eighty-eight?" the blond kid in front demanded.

"Here." Nolan stood.

Every Norman who had been sitting rose with him. The room tightened into a standoff.

"You insulted my sister." The blond boy’s fists clenched. His face had gone ugly with anger. "You better watch yourself out there. Legs break in football."

"Everyone saw your sister walk over to me," Nolan said, calm enough to smile. "Before you talk about other people, maybe learn to manage your own family. What do you think?"

"You-"

"Was that a personal threat?" Nolan asked. "Because we were reviewing plays, and the tape recorder is still running. The CIF committee might be interested. Guess how many games that costs you."

The blond boy hesitated.

He could not tell whether Nolan was lying. That uncertainty stole the weight from his entrance.

He left furious.

"Those two are brother and sister?" Ford said. "That makes this less fun."

Burbank had a bellyful of anger now, and they would be looking to spend it on the field.

Nolan did not mind that part.

He looked around the locker room.

A larger problem had finally become impossible to ignore.

"Where the hell are Thomas and the rest of the coaches?"

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