CHAPTER 1
DRAKE
I like football, but I’m not crazy about it. I’m totally good at the sport, but I can certainly live without it--- not like most of my teammates.
Sometimes, in the middle of a game, I find myself getting bored. I suddenly space out and just sort of play on autopilot. That’s how bad it is. But come to think of it… I haven’t actually found that one thing that gets me really excited and energetic. This is probably why I’m just sort of floating around for now.
Today’s game was a little different than most. I was running on defense, instinctively focusing on the ball that had just been passed to another player of the opposing team, when I heard a familiar voice shouting from the nearby bleachers, cheering me on. I didn’t have to check to know that the voice belonged to my father—one of the richest men of Windfield City.
It wasn’t that he’d suddenly inspired me to give it my all. I just felt like I needed to show him that I was doing something worthwhile and that I was actually contributing to this team. And yes, there was that part of me which was dead set on simply annoying the hell out of him by merely playing football.
Was it really him or was I beginning to imagine things? My dad almost never came to our games, so this was close to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me.
It was a close fight for the Windfield Warriors that afternoon. We were nose to nose with our number one opponents, the Ridgewood Rhinos. The crowd was going wild as the clock continued to tick, pushing us closer to the edge.
I dodged huge athletes on the field as I moved rapidly to get to the ball, calculating the leap I was about to take. In one swift movement, I took the jump and tackled the offensive player carrying the ball. I felt him drop to the ground with me and saw the ball flying to our left.
I felt immense pain shoot up from my ankle all the way to my knee. The other player had landed on my foot with a sickening thud, causing my injury. He stood up and rejoined the game, while I clutched my ankle.
The crowd went crazy. There was a blend of deafening cheers and boos as their attention turned toward the ball that was now in my team’s possession. I was still in a daze, feeling disoriented, as I attempted to stand up and rejoin the game.
Everything happened very fast after that. I was taken out of the game while my teammates went on to score two goals after the turnover I had initiated.
Just as a medic was giving me first aid, I checked the bleachers for a sign of my dad. He wasn’t there anymore. Did I just imagine his voice? Or perhaps he’d already left after I had gotten injured. He probably wouldn’t care, anyway, as long as he saw that I was still alive.
The buzzer sounded. Windfield Warriors was declared the winner. All my teammates rushed to the center of the field, jumping up and down. It wasn’t the championship, but every win was always reason to celebrate.
“Good job today, Walton,” our coach said loudly to me, trying to be heard above the roaring crowd and cheering players. He gave me a pat me on the back. “Medic says it’s a sprain. You’ll need to rest for a week or so. Go see your doctor.”
“Yes, I will, Coach,” I said nonchalantly. “Thanks.” It felt good to be praised because it happened very rarely. Nevertheless, it didn’t mean that much to me coming from the coach. I couldn’t picture myself staying long in this career, anyway.
“Hey, Drake!” I heard a booming voice call out. “You alright, man?”
I looked up and saw that it was Alex, our gifted quarterback, who’d been the one to score the final touchdown.
“Hey, Alex,” I replied without much emotion. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Thanks for that tackle,” he said sincerely, sitting down beside me in the dugout. “We owe you this win.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” I quickly countered. “You were amazing the entire game.”
“Thanks, man. It was a team effort, really.”
“Yeah…”
Our other teammate Ivan soon joined us, looking excited. He turned to me with a grin. “I heard you’ve arranged for a party at your mansion. That’s real quick, man. Or did you just assume we were going to win?”
I looked at him blankly. I usually treated the guys after a game at a local bar or during crucial games, I’d have some kind of party organized. But not today. And I never in a million years would have invited them all over to my house.
Before I could say it wasn’t me, the other football players came to see how I was and also to congratulate me on my “incredible” winning tackle. They were all excited about the party, so I just kept quiet.
“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Brad yelled with a laugh. “Let’s go party! I hope you invited the cheerleaders, too.”
Some of them began joking around as they headed to the showers. I shook my head in disbelief, partly amused at their childish ways and partly startled that I could stand being around these “boys.” Alex was one of the few real friends I had in the team, perhaps because he was a lot more mature and serious than the others.
“I’m meeting Rosie outside,” Alex told me after we’d all changed into our clothes. “Wanna catch a ride? I doubt you can drive at all with your injured ankle.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, grabbing my bag. “I’m calling our chauffeur to pick up my car.”
He helped me walk with the use of the crutches that I had been handed just a while earlier. Apparently, he’d experienced such a sprain before.
“Thanks, man,” I said as we finally made it to the parking lot.
His wife Rosie was waiting by his car. She immediately gave me a look of concern. “I saw you out on that field. Are you okay, Drake?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I answered with a weak smile.
On the way to my house, I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t a joke. The guys had not made it up. I was throwing a party for them without my knowledge. Talk about messed up.
Finally, I asked Alex the question that had been playing on my mind. “So who told you that I was throwing a party at my house?”
“Mr. Walton, of course,” Alex replied without a hitch. “Well, not really your dad himself. He sent a messenger.”
“Oh,” was all I said. I was very much surprised. What the hell was he up to?
“Didn’t you see him?” Alex asked as he drove. “He was watching our game, but I think he left before it ended.”
“I heard him, I think,” I said. “But I wasn’t sure. He hardly comes to our games.”
“Yes, well, he must be a busy man.”
“You have no idea,” I said, my mind swirling with images of myself playing alone in a huge, lonely residence.