Risk and Rebel

9: MONDAY MAYHEM

Over the weekend, I didn't see Mickey at all. When her parents and my mom would talk, it was the same story: she's in her room, she doesn't tend to come out, she doesn't remember.

Because of that, it wasn't a surprise when Mom told me she wouldn't be going to school with me.

All of my classes were dull without her, and everywhere I went, I could hear the whispers. People talking about the crash, about her amnesia, about how she'd been in a coma, how it was miraculous we were both alive ... even the teachers were in on the gossip. When I saw my algebra teacher and my English teacher talking in hushed tones in the hall, I stared them down until they tore their eyes away from me in plain discomfort.

When the end of the school day arrived, I was still up in the air about whether or not I should attend football practice. Though Mom had assured me the coach had been more than understanding when it came to the game Thursday night, aside from that, there hadn't been any discussion about whether I would keep playing.

A part of me wanted to. Football was something I enjoyed; a way to get out any aggression I otherwise withheld. But another part of me didn't want to keep going ... not when I knew that my best friend wouldn't be cheering me on.

Though when I started thinking that way, there wasn't much that came to mind that I did want to do.

It was with that divided mindset that I found myself heading out toward the field. Whether I would engage in the practice that day or not, I still needed to speak to the coach. Coach Taylor was reasonable enough, though there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he'd want me to stick with the team. He was all about teamwork and the team being a family ... seemingly blind to the feuds that would occur between a few of the 'family members.'

I didn't see Coach Taylor as I headed down to the field, which meant he was likely wrapping up his last health class of the day. Who I did see on the field, I could've done without.

Especially when he shouted for my attention. "'Ay, Thomas!" John Walski hollered. I found myself reminded of Mickey's distaste when it came to hearing anything out of Walski — be it his laugh or his voice. Had she been here, she would've already been scowling.

As it was, I was doing my best to keep a straight face. "Walski," I replied, taking a few steadying breaths as he closed the distance between he and I. I was forcing myself to relax.

Stay relaxed, or you waste your energy.

My brow furrowed at the thought, but I found myself snapped out of it almost immediately when Walski's voice grated on my ears. "Surprised t'see you here, man," Walski said, his dark eyes zoned in on me. "After we won that game without you ... figured you'd just lay off and take a break this season. After all, look at ya!" He waved at my general person; "You're bruised head t'toe! Looks like y'took a real beating, man!"

As usually happened when I found myself gifted with Walski's presence, I felt a wave of annoyance rise in my very being, along with the persistent urge to clock him. I forced those thoughts down, reminding myself Coach Taylor couldn't be much longer ... "It's flattering to hear that you worry about my health, Walski," I said in a voice void of emotion.

Walski snickered at that, crossing beefy arms over his chest. Though he had a few inches on me when it came to height, and was even a bit wider than me in stance, I wasn't intimidated. He was a brute without tact.

I was a ticked off guy with a purpose.

"Eh, it isn't so much 'bout you," Walski admitted with a deceptively easy-going shrug. He smiled, an apathetic display of teeth. "I was just hoping I'd finally get t'take your spot, like I deserve."

The rest of the team was gathering around us now, listening to the conversation, though they at least attempted to keep their distance. Just in case there was a brawl. Just in case Walski actually managed to find my breaking point. Vicks spoke up before I could: "Walski, just lay off, dude," he said, his own brow furrowed.

"Stay outta this, Vicks," Walski retorted. "It isn't your fight."

"Isn't yours, either," I pointed out, leveling my eyes with his. "You don't want to start something with me, Walski. We've done this before. Last I checked, you didn't like how that ended, right?"

Walski went on as though I hadn't spoken, now turning slightly to address the rest of the team. "Look at this! All talk and no walk." He cut me a searing glare, "Far as I'm concerned, you ain't nothing without your little lady friend. Where is she, by the way? Too scared to get in a car and come to school?"

"Dude," I heard yet another of our teammates mutter in a tone that suggested even he thought that was a low blow, but no one else was capable of getting out another word.

While Walski had spoken, egging me on, he had been gradually inching closer to me. Getting closer to my face, erasing any personal space that otherwise would've remained between us. As a result, when I snapped — as Mickey had so eloquently put it when we'd last spoken of Walski — I found myself at an advantage.

In order for him to try and use his brute force to his advantage, he would've needed more space to swing. The best Walski could do, as I'd learned from our various practices together, was throw his weight around ... he lacked finesse, and control, but he could tackle someone to the ground, easy.

That would not be the case when it came to this, because he had no running start.

It took only two jabs from me to put him on the ground. One to the soft part of his side, causing him to double over, and as he doubled over, I delivered the second to his neck. There wasn't enough force to crush his trachea; it only served to stun him. Crushed trachea or not, he still went down, gasping for air, eyes bulging as his mind was no doubt trying to process through what I had just done.

I stood passively over him, finding myself at a loss for a moment, until I heard the familiar voice of Coach Taylor.

"What happened here?" the wide-set man demanded as the team parted to allow him into the circle where Walski and I were. His eyes went from me, to the fallen Walski, before understanding seemed to dawn on him. His beady eyes focused on me, and without a word, we made eye contact and he jerked his head away from the team.

That was all it took for he and I to walk away from the group. On our way over to the bleachers, Coach Taylor shouted, "One'a you get Walski to the nurse!" before he stopped and turned to face me. "Surprised t'see you show up today, Thomas," he said calmly, planting his hands on his hips. "After what happened Thursday ..."

"I'm fine, Coach," I pointed out.

"Yeah, you just made that very obvious when you dropped Walski," Coach Taylor chuckled lowly. "Still, it's obvious you're not yourself." His eyes trailed over my shoulder, and when I followed his line of sight, I saw one of the other players escorting Walski back into the building. Coach Taylor spoke to regain my attention. "Head home, Thomas," he said, clasping my shoulder briefly. "Take a break this week. We'll talk about football after that."

I nodded slowly, surprised at the relief I found at his words. "Thanks, Coach."

Coach Taylor nodded. "Now go home. I can't have you beating up any of my other players," he smiled slightly, "no matter how much they may deserve it."