BT stood planted on the field, reluctant to come off, reluctant to accept the Monarchs had failed and it was the Dons' ball … reluctant to accept Coach Kirby hadn't trusted him to get those yards.
"Why?" He looked at the bench. Coach Kirby looked disappointed, but not disappointed enough. BT walked over and voiced the question. 'Why?'
'Why what?' Coach Kirby responded. 'I should be asking why you're looking at me like that, Nate. Sit down and get ready for the next drive.'
'Why didn't you trust me enough to give me the ball? I had that!'
Coach Kirby shook his head. 'You don't understand. Of course, I trust you. I misread the opposition. Everyone knows how talented and great you are, Nate, that's why our opponents have to put their all into stopping you, but these Dons … I don't know if they're fools or what, but they didn't fall for that bait.'
'It doesn't matter if the whole team comes after me, I'll outrun them all! Nobody catches the Bullet Train, no matter how many bodies they throw at it.'
BT found an empty spot on the bench. He watched the Dons' offence set up with a scowl. Coach Kirby frowned. That boy just didn't get it. He looked across the field, his eyes fell on JJ. He'd been the one to blow up the Monarchs' run. He hadn't focused on anything else, like he had full trust Ty would've stopped BT if it went to him.
"What a troublesome kid," Coach Kirby thought.
The Dons started their drive with a Draw. The Monarchs were hesitant for a moment, but as soon as they saw it was a run, not a pass, they crashed down. Chris, without anyone leading the way for him, barely squeezed out a 2-yard gain.
Bella chewed her lip. She stood from her seat and went to her father's side, tugging his arm. He turned from Coach Norman to her. 'Have you guys noticed it too?' she asked.
Deep wrinkles on his forehead told of his confusion. 'Noticed what? What do you see … Coach Long?'
She blushed at the title and turned away, looking out at the field again. 'They're so aggressive, but they're always waiting for us to make the first move. Don't you think? Like, they need to see what we're doing before we can move … so, aren't fakes really good? If we can sucker them in, then Stephen can use his size and bully them, can't he?'
Her dad listened close, then turned to Coach Norman. 'Sounds pretty good to me.'
'Me too, Coach.'
The next play was drawn up. A pass. It sent Stephen across the field on a quick Slant. Jay pumped, Twenty-One bit; he had to if he had any chance of making it in time to disrupt the pass. Stephen turned back, switching into a sharp Corner route, leaning into Twenty-One the whole way.
Jay lobbed the ball over, and whilst Stephen's imposing size kept Twenty-One grounded, Stephen stretched up and plucked the ball from the air right at the sideline for a gain of 12.
Already the Dons had cracked the red zone, and they weren't stopping there.
Bella's observation and plan of attack focused on Stephen, but it also worked with Benny. He turned into a short Curl, felt the pressure on his back, and leaked out towards the sideline. He used his position to protect the drop zone when Jay threw the pass. Benny snagged the reception for 6 yards, and the Dons continued their march, suckering the Monarchs into a game of strength and size rather than speed.
Draws and other fakes for the ground weren't as successful, unfortunately, only gaining 2 or 3 yards at a time. But with the incredible starting position the Dons had at the beginning of the drive, the Monarchs couldn't adjust to the new form of aerial attack, and the Dons bullied their way into the end-zone for another touchdown.
Despite the opportunity to go for two and tie the game, Coach Long elected to go with the safer option and kick the extra point, putting the score at 21–20.
Coach Long turned to Bella, putting an arm around her, hugging her to his side. 'I'm so proud of you, honey, and so lucky to have you working with us.'
She fought to keep her smile under control, twirling her hair around a finger. 'I-I didn't do much. It was the players that did the hard work.'
'Haha, of course, but we coaches are still important. We're the ones who direct the players and help them find the key, otherwise they'd be running into a brick wall for sixty minutes. And you saw what no one else did.'
Bella was beaming as she sat back down and watched the kickoff. The Dons sent the kickoff out of the end-zone. BT's returns and the touchdown potential they had still struck fear in the Dons.
Because of this, BT wore a smirk as he met Ty, despite the Dons now being just a hair's breadth away from taking the lead themselves.
'Your whole team fears me, and YOU think you can stop me. You're crazy, mon.'
'All you can do is run. You run your fucking mouth more than your actual legs. You should run your ass back to Jamaica. If you were too scared to fight your way to the Olympics, you don't deserve to step on the same field as me.'
BT sneered. That was the thing, everyone else was on a different field compared to him. He was so fast they were living in the past.
The ball was snapped. BT dashed aside, Ty's spear caught him on the arm, but he pushed through. Ty turned, bumping shoulders with him as they ran. Their legs almost got tangled, but they never stumbled, yet neither boy could reach top gear, and BT couldn't pull away without a clean lane to operate in.
BT being neck and neck with someone was more than enough, Brett thought. If he threw the ball out in front of them, BT would pull away and be the only one to reach it. He lobbed the ball over.
But BT never pulled away. He couldn't break away from Ty. The two were joined at the hip, and as the ball loomed closer, they both dove, but neither got a hand to it.
BT pushed Ty down as he scrambled up, getting in the face of the nearest official. 'Ref! C'mon, mon! He's all over me. That's a flag!'
The official turned away from him. Ty picked himself up, dusting his hands off. 'You wanna know why I'll win?' he said without turning to face BT.
BT side-eyed him, jaw clenched.
Ty took it as a sign to continue. 'Because you're too much of a pussy. You can't play unless everyone acts like we're running a race.' Ty looked up at the stands, full of people who were there to see them tear each other apart. 'This ain't a race. This is a fucking war.'
'Crazy mothafucka. You a dirty fuck too, grabbing on me like you obsessed with me. I'll get you an autograph on every touchdown ball.'
The two separated as BT walked back to his huddle.
The next time they were face to face, BT didn't stick around for long as he burst into motion, running for the Sweep again. Zayden was stuck again, but Ty gave chase.
Brett didn't hand the ball over to BT, nor did he hand it over to JaMychal. BT rounded the corner like he was coming around the bend in a 200 metre race. Another Receiver flashed across the field, filling the void BT left behind.
Ty chased after BT, but he had to straighten sharper, couldn't carry his speed into the turn as well, and couldn't prevent BT reaching top speed. The Bullet Train was going to run him over, and Ty could only throw himself under the tracks, or out of the way.
He wouldn't foul; that was admitting defeat. He put his head down, teeth gritted. The Bullet Train shot past, but he kept chasing. Zayden scrambled over, but his hesitation cost him, and BT left him behind as well.
Brett held the ball for a long time. He had to, to let BT get into top gear and pass everyone. Donte wheeled around the outside, stretching out, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't overcome Shaq. He was pushed aside. Brett felt the wind from his swipe and stepped up, launching the ball deep.
BT didn't have to slow down, didn't miss a step as he ran under the ball and caught it on his chest. Ty and Zayden were left for dead as BT raced into the end-zone yet again.
He yelled and laughed with triumph, then trotted back to Ty, slamming the ball into Ty's gut. 'That's the third. Who's the pussy now, mon?'
Ty let the ball fall, kicking it into the stands afterwards. BT's laughter rang in his ears as the Monarch skipped away, a yellow flag trailing in the air behind him.
BT was penalised for taunting, pushing back the Monarchs' extra point attempt 15 yards. The kick still soared through without issue and the score was back to an 8-point lead at 28–20.
Ty sat on the bench, staring at the scoreboard. He felt eyes on him, like innumerable prickles covering him from head to toe. In reality, there were only a few people looking at him, Coach Hoang being one. He was worried they had another Warren or Downey situation on their hands when they no longer had any second chance to waste.
Bella was another watching Ty. She was confused how he could look so different from game to game. Even within those games. She remembered the second game against the Vikings, his battle against Marshall, and how he looked like he wasn't even on the same planet during that game.
Chris took a touchback on the following kickoff. Whatever impact he was gonna have on the gameùif any—wouldn't be from returns; the swarm was too much.
When Jay dropped back for the first play of the drive, he instantly noticed that Stephen had drawn more attention; a second defender was now covering him alongside Twenty-One. Looking around, the rest of the defence was fast enough to fill up any gaps doubling Stephen might've created.
The speedy D-Line left Jay with little time to find another solution. He threw the ball away before the pressure could reach him, avoiding a crunching tackle.
He sighed. When the rest of the Dons huddled around him, he apologised for his mistake. He just had to let the others work and find the gaps. He knew they could if he just gave them time.
Keeping to the air, Jay dropped back on the next play. His focus flitted between Benny and Cole. He just had to wait for their double-moves to develop, give them time to shake off their defenders and get the right position. He drifted away from the pressure, shifted to pass, eyes on Benny.
A flash of movement from his peripheral made him tuck the ball back into his chest, just as he was crushed by a sack, losing 6 yards.
Pushed so far back and facing third down, the drive was doomed. Coach Long tried to catch the Monarchs off guard with a Draw when all signs pointed to needing a long bomb just for the first down.
Whilst the trick worked, Chris only made it back to the Dons' starting position and wasn't anywhere close to a first down.
They had to punt the ball back, and needing to kick it out rather than booting it right down BT's throat, meant the punt didn't even reach the Monarchs' 30 before it sailed out.
Ty went to follow the defence out onto the field, Coach Hoang stopped him. 'Samuels.'
Ty looked down at him. Coach Hoang opened his mouth, but his speech vanished from memory. Looking into those eyes, he saw the speech wasn't necessary. His worries melted away.
'You want to be the best, don't you? Don't forget that.'
Ty nodded, then strolled past. "I am the best. I'm better than him. I can catch him, overtake him, crush him. I'm the best. I'm SPECIAL. No one else. Just me." Ty's breath fogged up in front of his face as he got into position.
BT sauntered over, loose and carefree, his grin shone in the sunlight. 'I knew you couldn't stop me. Even when Two-Face comes over to help, you can't stop me. One-on-one, two-on-one, eleven-on-one, it don't matter—ain't nobody can catch the Bullet Train.' He didn't notice the chill around Ty.
Bella watched them. BT seemed radiant in the sun, standing tall and proud. Ty was the opposite, hunched over, gloom personified. Everything was darker around him, and just looking at him, she shivered.
BT noticed Ty's silence. He shook his head. 'You a freak, you know that, mon?'
Still, Ty said nothing.
The ball was snapped. BT burst ahead, slipping past the spear which glanced off his shoulder pad. He ran forward, and his grin fell. The field was dark and stretched on too far. The end-zone looked a mile away.
Ty turned, sticking to BT's hip. BT winced, a chill seared through him and spread from his hip, like icy claws were digging into his side. No matter how hard he ran, Ty clung to him.
BT stumbled, looked around for an official. Ty was holding; they had to see it! But he couldn't see anyone else, couldn't even see the edges of the field. There was just a single lane, as narrow as a racing lane, stretching towards that mile-away end-zone. It was just him and Ty.
BT grit his teeth. If that was the way it was, perfect! No one could beat him in a race. All he had to do was go so fast he shook the parasite off. He lowered his head … and stumbled again.
Now the ground was breaking apart under him, slipping away when he tried to push off … like sand falling through an hourglass when he stepped on it, trying to suck him into the depths.
"You've trained for this!" It didn't matter if this felt different to any beach BT had been on, he'd trained running through sand. This couldn't stop him. He just had to go faster. He found his footing—it was tough, the ground kept crumbling under him—and sped up … still, Ty clung to him.
"Faster!"
As he kept pushing, the ball appeared, a glittering star in the dark. A shooting star … one that was going to pass BT by.
"FASTER!"
He ripped away from the icy claws, leapt from the crumbling ground, and reached towards the star.
Right as he reached the star and felt the ball in his grip, a meteor slammed into his side. The rest of the world flashed back into vision … and it was sideways. BT was falling, crashing back to earth, falling away from the ball.
Zayden was there, sideways too, as he plummeted with BT. They'd collided mid air, and both got hands to the ball. It bounced away from them as they went sideways. They watched as it fell right into Ty's hands, like it was pulled towards them as he stood a couple of yards back from their collision.
BT slammed into the ground, eyes locked on Ty even as the air rushed out of him. Then the world went dark again. Zayden crashed into BT again, landing on top of him, crushing him. His arm, intending to brace his fall, slammed into BT's helmet and bounced his head against the firm ground and hard bone a couple of times. BT's brain bounced around in his skull like a bell, and his skull inside the helmet much the same.
Pain seared up through Zayden's arm and he rolled away, clutching his arm. BT lay stiff and motionless.
Ty looked down at him, then at the ball. Ty's fingers sunk into the leather and a smile spread across his face. He whirled around; the world was frozen, but no whistle broke through the ice. He was the first to move, and set off a chain reaction as Monarchs scrambled after him.
They were fast, but too fast for their own good. They didn't know how to square up a carrier, or how to ready themselves for a tackle. They whizzed by him like missiles as he weaved through the team, then left the plodding Linemen, and Brett behind.
Nothing stood between Ty and the end-zone. He broke through into the painted grass that represented El Dorado and sent the ball skyward.
He turned back to the rest of the field; the carnage left in his wake. BT was getting up. He'd turned over onto his hands and knees at least, but as he tried to stand he stumbled and would've fallen if not for the steadying hands of his teammates that came from the bench to help him off the ground.
Zayden was on his feet, still favouring one arm, one hand hung from a limp wrist. Dons escorted him from the field, shielding him from raging Monarchs. Officials got between the two sides before a fight could break out.
Coach Kirby stormed over to the head official, screaming in his face. He was so irate even Ty could see the spittle flying from his mouth; the veins bulging on his neck and temple.
No flag had been thrown. Despite the contact, and the horrible aftermath, the officials saw Zayden was playing the ball, and the head-high contact had only occurred after the initial impact. It was a freak accident, not a foul, and they told the Monarchs as much.
Ty swaggered to the bench as the kicking team came on. Once again, Coach Long went for the extra point, and once again, the lead was cut down to a single point. As the game passed into the final quarter, the Monarchs clung to their lead, 28–27.
Both sidelines were abuzz with medical personal throughout the brief break in play. That was the focus of both sides, with the Dons worrying over Zayden, and the Monarchs worrying over BT … when they weren't casting hateful looks at Zayden and the Dons.
When the final quarter began, a replacement returner came out with the Monarchs for the kickoff. The Dons still sent the ball out of the end-zone.
Yet when the defence returned to the field, Zayden wasn't with them. The doctor was still looking him over, and while his wrist didn't appear broken, he was in no state to continue playing.
BT wasn't with the Monarchs' offence. While he was conscious—barely—he was clearly concussed. His game was done.
Without their Bullet Train, the Monarchs were in dire straits. BT's replacement was smothered utterly by Ty—he didn't even get out of the starting blocks before Brett threw the ball away.
Without Zayden, the Dons had switched to a deep Cover Three Zone defence. Seeing no way to penetrate the curtain of Dons cutting off everything deep, Brett looked underneath instead. Trying to squeeze in a pass over the middle proved fatal, as JJ picked it right out of the air.
Unlike Ty, JJ's return didn't go far. The Dons' offence took over, once again already in field goal range at the very least.
Such great starting position proved invaluable. This time, the Dons didn't get much further, so instead of turning the incredible starting position into a touchdown, they had to settle for the field that had always been on offer.
It sailed through the uprights, giving the Dons the lead, the first time they'd led since their first drive, pushing the score to 28–30. As it turned out, that was the last score of the game.
Neither offence could overcome the tough defences they faced, and time bled out slowly until the Dons claimed victory. It was rather anti-climatic after such an intense, fast-paced game leading into the fourth quarter, and the disastrous injuries had sucked the enthusiasm out of the fans.
The game ended with a whimper, though it could be said that it had ended with a rather impactful bang long before the final whistle blew.
The Monarchs refused to line up for handshakes after the game, still believing Zayden had acted with malice and intent. Coach Long was disappointed in the lack of respect, but understood their feelings.
As the Dons made their way to their locker room, Coach Hoang felt eyes on him. He knew better than anyone such accidents were a part of the game. There was never any ill intent behind them. They were just that: accidents.
With the adrenaline long worn off, Ty sat before his locker, his face set in a deep frown. The victory rang hollow to him. For good reason. It hadn't been him who crushed BT, and winning in such a way, through an injury cutting his duel short, was like finding a lump of shit mixed into your chocolate cake.
Coach Hoang came to his side. 'Cheer up, Samuels. You won.'
'Did I?' Ty asked, staring through him.
'Yeah. You did. You were better than Langford.'
'I didn't beat him.'
'You would've. You were faster than him. If you both ran a proper race, maybe not the hundred metre, but two-hundred? You'd win. His acceleration was on another level, but once you both hit the red line, you had him beat.'
Ty scoffed. 'Thanks for the confidence boost, but you don't have to lie to me. I'm not a little kid.'
'No. You're a brat. Just take the win, Samuels. You'll see him again, but you'll have to put that in the back of your mind. We've got more games to win.'
Coach Hoang let Ty stew with his words.
The celebrations were sombre even though the Dons had done something none of them had. They'd proved they belonged in the State Championship by winning their first game. But the injuries left a sour taste in EVERYONE'S mouth.
Zayden, who had a sprained wrist and would definitely miss next week's game, was given the game ball for the day's win. If it weren't for him, Coach Long said, the game would've been blown open from the beginning and the Dons would've lost by fifty.
Ty—in another rare instance—had no problem with the game ball and, more importantly, the title of Player of the Game being awarded to another. He was still focusing on how slow he'd been. He'd pushed himself as hard as he could, to be as fast as he could be, and it still hadn't been enough. If Zayden hadn't come over, BT would've got his fourth touchdown, he never would've got that pick-six, and the Monarchs would've one.
The Dons made their way back to their bus. The Monarchs were already gone. Piling onto the bus, Ty found a seat near the front, and nestled in against the window.
Bella paused, looking down at him. She thought about sitting with him, but hesitated. She could see his scowl in his reflection, a twisted look of anger and annoyance. The reflection made it look like he was scowling at himself. She was sure he was just angry at the world, probably because he didn't get the game ball, or that his rivalry with BT was cut short, or something. Boys were always angry at SOMETHING.
She moved on, finding somewhere else to sit.
No one sat next to Ty. They could all tell he needed his space, and no one wanted to put up with him silently fuming for the hour plus drive it'd take to get back to Dominguez High.
Ty WAS angry at himself. He needed to be faster. A dull throbbing ache in his knee didn't help his mood. He shifted his leg up onto the seat, rubbing and massaging his kneecap.
"Faster. I have to be faster. Next year. When I face that fucker again, I'll make sure the Bullet Train is decommissioned forever. I'll make him look slow. I'll make sure there's no question which of us is faster … it'll be like a train going against a rocket."
He etched the promise into his heart, replaying each one of his duels against BT as the train rolled out of the carpark and started its slow journey back home.