Behold the Titans
“Louisiana high school football fans, hell, any high school football fan anywhere in the world will be in for a treat come this weekend. Ten of the best football teams this state has to offer will converge in New Orleans and the venerable New Orleans Superdome. But all eyes will be on the Division 3A title game on Saturday, right Jeff?”
“Mais, it don’t get no bigger than this nowhere in the country. On one side, you got John Curtis. Everyone knows Curtis. You’re talking dozens and dozens of kids who are going to be playing on Saturdays and a few that will be playing on Sunday when it’s all said and done. On the other side, you got Vandebilt. They don’t have the history that Curtis has, but they have the talent.”
“The Terriers, much like the Patriots, have romped through the playoffs without breaking a sweat, but let’s run down these lists of players. You have 37 players in the top 100 at their position for their graduating class. Cecil Badoux, the running back for the Patriots, is the #3 recruit in the nation right now and Caesar Jenkins, playing wideout for the Terriers, has already been tabbed as the #1 recruit for the rising junior class. From there, it’s a who’s who of top recruits.”
“They titans of their realm, plain as that. You give me any school from around the country. Don’t matter if they from California, Texas, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, wherever. John Curtis versus Vandebilt this Saturday will be the Super Bowl of High School Championship Games this year. Don’t worry about USAToday using their mathematicians and scientists to figure out who the high school national champion is. Just wait until the end of this one and pick the winner.”
…
“You’re late,” Deion Jenkins said to his son as Caesar stepped into a penthouse suite near the French Quarter overlooking the Mississippi River. The older man turned around and appraised his son’s attire. “At least you took the time to clean up before deciding to grace us with your presence.”
Caesar pulled at the bottom of the sports coat he was wearing. His father had demanded he wear one so he’d gone and bought a new one. His tardiness was on account of him getting it tailored since it wasn’t remotely close to being the right size off the rack. “Sorry, Coach Thomas wanted to make sure that we were all in bed and not partying in the Quarter. You know how they get.”
“Surely, the person who pays his salary has final say over what happens while you all are in New Orleans.” Deion laughed. “Of course, we wouldn’t want you all to miss Mass at the historic cathedrals here.”
Candice walked into the room and directly to the wet bar in the far corner. She poured herself a drink before turning to the men in the room. “You’re chiding your son for being late, but the whole reason you made him come here is also late. Maybe you should tell your friends to be on time.”
“No one asked you for all that lip, woman. I leave you in charge of making sure that our son has enough manners to be on time. As for Ulysses and Yonni, they’re grown men.”
“Grown men who probably had their heads turned by something barely legal in the French Quarter and are going to end up in OPP because of it where they’ll get more than their heads turned.” She turned to Caesar. “Sweetie, don’t listen to your dad. There’s nothing wrong with being fashionably late to things that are focused on you.”
Deion reached into his pocket and pulled out one of three phones he kept with him at all times, walking over to a floor-to-ceiling window and gazing out over the city. “Says the woman who’d be late to your own funeral if someone wasn’t around to tell her what time it was at.”
The elevator dinged and Caesar walked over to enter the code on the keypad to open it. Ulysses and Yonni Williams stood inside of it.
“God damn, boy. You get bigger every fucking time I see you,” Ulysses said, pulling Caesar in for a hug.
Yonni pushed his old college teammate away and shook his head. “That boy don’t want you hugging all on him when you just walked through the Quarter. Look at how he’s dressed.”
“Just following orders,” Caesar said with a shrug.
“About time y’all get here,” Deion said over his shoulder. “Come on and sit down so we can talk before we eat.”
The men sat down in the dining area of the suite.
Ulysses glanced over at Candice who was pouring herself another drink. “You know, Candice, I’ve always been a bit mad that Deion got to you and convinced you to hang up your reporter notebook. I could’ve been the man of your dreams.”
“Oh yeah, Flash. A 5’8” man is all a woman could ever hope for,” she said. “My son would be a midget and I’d have to trade in heels forever.”
“Or you could get yourself some heels, Ulysses.” Deion laughed. “You know you’re more attracted to homely women anyway.”
“Come on now, Deion. Britney’s only put on about 40 pounds since Flash started pumping kids into her like the Handmaid’s Tale was about to become reality,” Yonni said, joining in on the ribbing.
“And yet, you’re a 40-some odd year-old man that is running around trying to get more pussy than the youngster over here.” Ulysses pointed to Caesar. “It’s time to hang up the boots. We ain’t young no more. Those women only want you for your money and that shit is quickly dwindling.”
Caesar laughed as the three men at the table joked with one another. He’d grown up around the two of them and Jack Stone, another Oklahoma State alum. Outside of his Uncle Louis from his mom’s side, who he didn’t really speak to, Ulysses, Yonni, and Jack were the closest things he had to extended family.
“Alright, let’s get down to business before the room service comes,” Deion said. He looked toward his son. “We’re going to go through this whole recruiting thing for appearance purposes, but Ulysses and Yonni are here so they can hear you say that you’re going to be wearing that legendary orange and black in a couple years.”
Yonni nodded. “We’re looking at a good class in 2052 already. You’d be the crown jewel though. Number one recruit? We’d be right back in the national spotlight like when us and your old man used to run Stillwater.”
“What’s the point of going through everything if I’m just going to commit now?” Caesar asked.
“Because they’re not supposed to be here talking to you yet, dumbass,” Deion said. “Can’t meet with Div-I coaches off campus as a sophomore. Didn’t Coach Thomas tell you all all this shit when the season started?”
“Thomas doesn’t know shit about recruiting. But I can just announce my verbal and call it a day. Not worry about this recruiting shit anymore.”
“Your old man’s right about something that he didn’t say, though, kid,” Ulysses said. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, thinks you’re going to be coming to Stillwater in 2052. You and that other—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Deion snapped, drawing a confused look from Caesar and sending Candice, who’d been nursing her fourth drink, into the bedroom.
Ulysses raised his hands up. “With the shit with Boise State, TCU, Indiana and Alabama, the NCAA is going to be looking hard and what happens with your recruitment process. Your dad’s a fucking agent for Christ’s sake. They’d tell you not to speak to your own father if it allowed them to save face.”
“You have to drag it out, kid,” Yonni added. “You gotta make them think that you weren’t ready to be a Cowboy when you came out of the womb. That said, we ain’t got a lot of looking to do in Louisiana. It ain’t our territory. So, if you could tell us today that you’re committing to us, say, this time next year, then I’d really appreciate at.”
Caesar nodded, taking everything in but he remained silent.
Deion smacked the table to get his attention. “This is where you say ‘Yes, I’m going to verbally commit to Oklahoma State sometime during my junior year and then sign officially when the time comes.’”
Ulysses and Yonni looked at him, waiting for him to say it.
“Yeah,” Caesar said. “I’m coming to Oklahoma State, of course. I’ll keep it under wraps until y’all tell me to announce it or whatever.”
“Or whatever? I spend a ridiculous amount of money to send this boy to school and he finishes a sentence with ‘or whatever.’” Deion shook his head. “Go find out what’s taking the room service so long, son.”
Caesar nodded and stood up from the table to do as he was told.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Last edited by Caesar on 06 Aug 2019, 16:50, edited 1 time in total.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
This nigga ain't going to no Oklahoma State.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Change Your Focus
Devin pulled a hoodie over his head and shoved his cellphone charger into the pocket. He was already running late and after fighting Scarlett on this trip to New Orleans, he wasn’t looking to make her any angrier – not that they really got mad at one another.
To make up for his consternations, he’d spent Friday with Scarlett’s dad watching the Division 1A and Division 2A state championship games. It was depressing to watch four schools that were much smaller than Terrebonne perform at such a high level. He debated attempting to convince his parents to move to Amite or Kentwood to have a fair shake at getting a ring before his football career was over.
He almost ran into his mother, Janice, carrying a basket of laundry when he dashed out into the hallway. He grabbed the basket as they both steadied themselves.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To New Orleans with Scarlett and Mr. Babineaux. I told Mr. Babineaux that I’d go to the state championship games today with him.”
His mother shook her head. “No, you’re not. We’re going to church tomorrow and you’re coming with us. Your grandmother is coming, too.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to New Orleans.”
“You spend too much time with that girl and her family. You’re with them more than you’re with us. And you know your dad told you that you were supposed to focus on your studies now that football season is over. Aren’t finals in a couple weeks?”
“I’m exempt from finals. I have perfect attendance. And, I’m going to New Orleans today. Y’all can just be mad at me when I get back.” Devin went to move around her, but she dropped the basket in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “C’mon, mom. I don’t why this is suddenly a big deal. I never go to church with y’all. Why is today different?”
“Today is different because we’re asking you to come with us and you should do something with your family every once in a while. You don’t want to end up like your grandfather all bitter and angry when you get older, do you?”
Devin threw his hands up. “What in the world does not going to church one time have to do with turning into grandpa? I’ll go next week. The church ain’t going nowhere.”
“It’s not just about going to church. It’s about all of this football stuff. Your father and I let it go because you seem to enjoy it, but you’re going to be a junior in six months. It’s time to start thinking about what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.” She paused and dropped her arms to her sides, sighing. “What you’re really going to do with your life. Not this football player stuff. And we don’t think that girl is helping you figure it out.”
“She has a name, and it isn’t ‘that girl.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean. Or what dad means. Why can’t I use football to go to college and if I’m lucky go further than that? Why don’t y’all believe in me?” he asked.
“We do, Devin.”
Devin rolled his eyes. “Sure as hell doesn’t seem like y’all do. All y’all do is tell me that this or that is temporary. I’ll let you know that Nicholls and Southeastern have sent me interest letters the last few weeks. I know they aren’t huge schools, but maybe this football thing could work.”
“That’s good—”
“No, y’all are right. I’ll figure it out by the time I graduated,” he said before stepping over the basket and heading for the door. “I’m going to New Orleans. If y’all want to be mad at me for skipping church, then feel free to yell at me when I get back tonight.”
Devin ignored his mother’s calls as he shut the door behind him. He shivered as a gust of frigid air whipped across him. There were hard freeze warnings for the night and Mr. Babineaux had some concern that they’d get stuck in New Orleans if the games ran late.
He hopped in his car and cranked it up, willing the heat to put in some extra work to warm the car faster. Before backing out of the drive, he sent a text to Scarlett to let her that he was finally on his way and to apologize for running late.
…
“Your cousin is a walking stereotype,” Devin whispered to Scarlett as they followed her father and one of her cousins, Vincent, into the Superdome.
“Be nice. He’s proud of his culture.”
Devin pointed to his feet. “The guy is wearing fancy shrimp boots and walking around with a whole camo outfit. In New Orleans. It doesn’t get more Boudreaux and Thibodaux than that.”
“Those are not shrimp boots and he only has a camo hat on. Stop being mean,” she said, smacking him on the arm to drive her point home.
Scarlett’s father, Roy, peaked over his shoulder. “T-neg, you ain’t makin’ my daughter fache back there, are you?”
Devin resisted the urge to bristle at the “t-neg” term, but he had been reassured many times that it was a term of endearment over the last few years of his relationship with Scarlett. Not trusting himself to snap back at the man, he just smiled and shrugged.
“Mais, we gon’ have to bring him out on the skiff, us, if he do,” Vincent said, laughing.
Devin shook his head and watched the throngs of people who were passing in the other direction. They’d gotten to New Orleans too late and had missed the 4A championship game. Parents of University Lab and Warren Easton players and boosters and fans of those schools shuffled out of the Dome to be replaced by their counterparts from West Monroe and Zachary.
The mesh of school colors added to the festival atmosphere that the LHSAA attempted to create surrounding their football championship games.
He didn’t see any blue and gold and blue and red yet, though. The 3A game had been moved from the third matchup of the weekend to the last one with the expectation of the biggest crowd.
“I don’t know how someone could be here and not throw up from nerves,” Scarlett said. “There are thousands of people here to watch high school football. It’s crazy.”
“They probably do throw up before they go out on the field. I know I would,” Devin said.
“Do you think Terrebonne could ever make it to a game like this? It would be a pretty cool high school memory.”
“I wish I could I thought Terrebonne could, but nope, this is something only for the best teams and there are only a handful of them. We’ll just have to be fans like everyone else.”
Despite his words, Devin still felt himself longing for the feeling of playing in front of so many people, longing for reaching the pinnacle of high school football in the state of Louisiana. It made him jealous of the players of the 10 teams that had made to the finals this year.
Unfortunately, it’d take more than his desire to get Terrebonne to a state championship game.
Devin pulled a hoodie over his head and shoved his cellphone charger into the pocket. He was already running late and after fighting Scarlett on this trip to New Orleans, he wasn’t looking to make her any angrier – not that they really got mad at one another.
To make up for his consternations, he’d spent Friday with Scarlett’s dad watching the Division 1A and Division 2A state championship games. It was depressing to watch four schools that were much smaller than Terrebonne perform at such a high level. He debated attempting to convince his parents to move to Amite or Kentwood to have a fair shake at getting a ring before his football career was over.
He almost ran into his mother, Janice, carrying a basket of laundry when he dashed out into the hallway. He grabbed the basket as they both steadied themselves.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To New Orleans with Scarlett and Mr. Babineaux. I told Mr. Babineaux that I’d go to the state championship games today with him.”
His mother shook her head. “No, you’re not. We’re going to church tomorrow and you’re coming with us. Your grandmother is coming, too.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to New Orleans.”
“You spend too much time with that girl and her family. You’re with them more than you’re with us. And you know your dad told you that you were supposed to focus on your studies now that football season is over. Aren’t finals in a couple weeks?”
“I’m exempt from finals. I have perfect attendance. And, I’m going to New Orleans today. Y’all can just be mad at me when I get back.” Devin went to move around her, but she dropped the basket in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “C’mon, mom. I don’t why this is suddenly a big deal. I never go to church with y’all. Why is today different?”
“Today is different because we’re asking you to come with us and you should do something with your family every once in a while. You don’t want to end up like your grandfather all bitter and angry when you get older, do you?”
Devin threw his hands up. “What in the world does not going to church one time have to do with turning into grandpa? I’ll go next week. The church ain’t going nowhere.”
“It’s not just about going to church. It’s about all of this football stuff. Your father and I let it go because you seem to enjoy it, but you’re going to be a junior in six months. It’s time to start thinking about what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.” She paused and dropped her arms to her sides, sighing. “What you’re really going to do with your life. Not this football player stuff. And we don’t think that girl is helping you figure it out.”
“She has a name, and it isn’t ‘that girl.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean. Or what dad means. Why can’t I use football to go to college and if I’m lucky go further than that? Why don’t y’all believe in me?” he asked.
“We do, Devin.”
Devin rolled his eyes. “Sure as hell doesn’t seem like y’all do. All y’all do is tell me that this or that is temporary. I’ll let you know that Nicholls and Southeastern have sent me interest letters the last few weeks. I know they aren’t huge schools, but maybe this football thing could work.”
“That’s good—”
“No, y’all are right. I’ll figure it out by the time I graduated,” he said before stepping over the basket and heading for the door. “I’m going to New Orleans. If y’all want to be mad at me for skipping church, then feel free to yell at me when I get back tonight.”
Devin ignored his mother’s calls as he shut the door behind him. He shivered as a gust of frigid air whipped across him. There were hard freeze warnings for the night and Mr. Babineaux had some concern that they’d get stuck in New Orleans if the games ran late.
He hopped in his car and cranked it up, willing the heat to put in some extra work to warm the car faster. Before backing out of the drive, he sent a text to Scarlett to let her that he was finally on his way and to apologize for running late.
…
“Your cousin is a walking stereotype,” Devin whispered to Scarlett as they followed her father and one of her cousins, Vincent, into the Superdome.
“Be nice. He’s proud of his culture.”
Devin pointed to his feet. “The guy is wearing fancy shrimp boots and walking around with a whole camo outfit. In New Orleans. It doesn’t get more Boudreaux and Thibodaux than that.”
“Those are not shrimp boots and he only has a camo hat on. Stop being mean,” she said, smacking him on the arm to drive her point home.
Scarlett’s father, Roy, peaked over his shoulder. “T-neg, you ain’t makin’ my daughter fache back there, are you?”
Devin resisted the urge to bristle at the “t-neg” term, but he had been reassured many times that it was a term of endearment over the last few years of his relationship with Scarlett. Not trusting himself to snap back at the man, he just smiled and shrugged.
“Mais, we gon’ have to bring him out on the skiff, us, if he do,” Vincent said, laughing.
Devin shook his head and watched the throngs of people who were passing in the other direction. They’d gotten to New Orleans too late and had missed the 4A championship game. Parents of University Lab and Warren Easton players and boosters and fans of those schools shuffled out of the Dome to be replaced by their counterparts from West Monroe and Zachary.
The mesh of school colors added to the festival atmosphere that the LHSAA attempted to create surrounding their football championship games.
He didn’t see any blue and gold and blue and red yet, though. The 3A game had been moved from the third matchup of the weekend to the last one with the expectation of the biggest crowd.
“I don’t know how someone could be here and not throw up from nerves,” Scarlett said. “There are thousands of people here to watch high school football. It’s crazy.”
“They probably do throw up before they go out on the field. I know I would,” Devin said.
“Do you think Terrebonne could ever make it to a game like this? It would be a pretty cool high school memory.”
“I wish I could I thought Terrebonne could, but nope, this is something only for the best teams and there are only a handful of them. We’ll just have to be fans like everyone else.”
Despite his words, Devin still felt himself longing for the feeling of playing in front of so many people, longing for reaching the pinnacle of high school football in the state of Louisiana. It made him jealous of the players of the 10 teams that had made to the finals this year.
Unfortunately, it’d take more than his desire to get Terrebonne to a state championship game.
Last edited by Caesar on 06 Aug 2019, 16:50, edited 1 time in total.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Devin to Vanderbilt 
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
The Ascension
Caesar stood in the tunnel of the Superdome. On the far side of the field, he could see the sea of red and blue up in the stands. Despite being designated the home team, Vandebilt were very much at a disadvantage in terms of crowd support. River Ridge was basically in New Orleans, and John Curtis had a long enough history of winning championships and producing pro players that their fan based extended far beyond the parents of the players.
Ron slapped him on the shoulder as he shoved his way to the front of the team to lead them out onto the field. The two of them nodded at one another as he passed. Up until that point, their season had been fun and games. They’d blown away all of their opponents. Now, they were meeting a juggernaut in its element.
Caesar felt something inside of him that he’d never felt in all his years playing football. It wasn’t nerves, and it wasn’t fear. It was a thrill, exhilaration. Excitement that he was finally going to step onto the field with players who were equal to him; players that had a chance to stop him.
This would be a first. The first time he had to try to beat his opponent, the first time he’d meet an equal, the first time someone would challenge him.
Coach Thomas yelled for them to take the field as the band ratcheted up the fight song.
His time had come.
“T-Neg, grab that Coke from Vincent for me.”
Devin grabbed the proffered Sprite from Vincent and reached across Scarlett to hand it to her dad. Scarlett smiled at him and looped her arm around his. After their fifth long trip to the concessions stand, thanks to sitting through two full football games with a third on the way, Devin had stopped complaining and had decided to just do as he was told.
Fortunately, the exhaustion of six hours sitting in the nosebleeds of the aging Superdome had also curtailed any jibes coming from Vincent. There were only so many more times Devin could take being asked about his lack of talent in comparison to the guys down on the field before he pushed the young Cajun over the railing.
As the final two teams to compete for all the marbles took the field, Devin quickly found Vandebilt’s #17 standing on the benches and pumping up the crowd. He was much too far away to hear was the mercurial Caesar Jenkins was saying to them, but he had to imagine it was something along the lines of “I’m the best because my daddy told me so.”
Scarlett rested her head on his shoulder. “I hope this game isn’t boring. I’m already struggling to stay awake.”
“I hope it flies by too. I’m all football-ed out after today.”
“Caesar Jenkins makes his first catch of the day here in the second quarter for a gain of 12 on the play. Tim Jefferson has really done a great job defending one of the country’s brightest talents so far tonight.”
“Jefferson is a senior playing in his last game as a Patriot. He hasn’t committed anywhere yet, but if he keeps up this performance, I think a lot of schools are going to come knocking.”
Caesar tossed the ball to the ref as he got up from the turf. He was relishing his personal battle with Tim Jefferson. Despite giving up a significant bit of height to him, Jefferson knew all the tricks to toe the line between legal and illegal and it had taken some time to get used to. But Caesar was confident he’d cracked the code.
…
“That’s the third catch for Jenkins on this drive. This time for a gain of 10. I think Goliath has finally been awakened here, Matt.”
“This season, Vandebilt has been known for their big play ability which led many to think that they couldn’t hack it in a slugfest, but we might be seeing glimpses of something here.”
…
“Jenkins gets open again for a gain of five on the play.”
…
“DeRossi hits his favorite target once more and Caesar Jenkins goes for six on that one.”
…
“Vandebilt fakes the reverse and DeRossi throws the fade to Jenkins in the corner and he easily plucks it out of the air over Tim Jefferson to give Vandebilt their first lead of the night. 13-10 Terriers pending the extra point.”
Devin muttered a few select words that would make a sailor blush as Caesar came down with the ball. He pulled out his phone and quickly searched for John Curtis’s roster. It listed Tim Jefferson as 5’10”, but he looked 5’5” standing next to Vandebilt’s towering wideout.
It went without saying that Devin was hoping for a John Curtis victory. It was inevitable that Caesar Jenkins would get a state championship before his high school career was all said and done, but Devin took some bit of satisfaction in the possibility of being present for the one time that he’d have to taste defeat.
The prick could win the rest of them, but this one, this one he needed to lose.
“It’s been a back and forth battle for the ages tonight as we head towards the fourth quarter. John Curtis takes over on the Vandebilt 45-yard-line with the score tied at 27. If the Patriots can take a lead here, it might be just enough for them to hold on to for the final 12 minutes.”
“This game has definitely lived up to its billing so far, but I think we’ll get a few more twists and turns before this is all over.”
…
Caesar slammed his helmet against the bench as Cecil Badoux ran through a pair of defenders to fall into the endzone and give John Curtis the lead again. The stout New Orleanian ran angry, typical of Louisiana backs, and Caesar could respect that, but at the moment it was pissing him off.
Coach Thomas stropped up and down the sideline, his face turning red from a night of yelling at his defense to find a way to stop Badoux and the Patriots offense. The head coach’s anxious energy had begun to rub off on the other coaches as there was a frenzied atmosphere on the Vandebilt sideline.
Caesar walked over to where Ron was speaking with his backup, Brandon.
“We’re not losing this fucking game,” Caesar said, grabbing Ron by his shoulder pads and turning him so they faced one another. “We’re not losing this fucking game.”
“I can’t do shit about Badoux running through everyone.”
“So, we have to outscore them.”
“Catch the fucking ball and score then.”
“You just make sure you fucking hit me.”
…
“Whoa. Good God almighty. That was a leap from Caesar Jenkins to bring that down over not one, not two, but three John Curtis defenders!”
“This one’s not over yet, baby! Vandebilt’s driving!”
…
“DeRossi pitches to Jenkins on the reverse and he powers through a tackler for a gain of 14 yards on the play.”
…
“DeRossi hands it off to Cazayoux up the middle. Wait! It’s a flea-flicker! DeRossi has his man open down field if he can hit him and he does! Touchdown Caesar Jenkins! Touchdown Terriers!”
“That was some old school football, right there!”
…
“Quick answer from John Curtis as Cecil Badoux rumbles into the endzone for his fourth touchdown of the night to make it 40-34 Patriots.”
Mr. Babineaux jumped out of his seat, popcorn flying in the air, as another highlight reel play happened down below them. The back-and-forth nature of the game had given him and Vincent a second wind as the game stretched into the late hours of the night.
Unfortunately for Devin, the reason for his excitement was Caesar bringing in his third touchdown of the night and the subsequent two-point conversion attempt to put Vandebilt up 42-41 with only 25 seconds remaining in the game.
Devin’s foot bounced against the cement below it as the two teams sent out their special teams for the final kickoff of the high school football season.
It seemed like the entire stadium was rocking – for a high school football game. Mostly everyone was on their feet, but he was sure that with two Christian-affiliated schools that someone was down on their knees praying that a miracle would see John Curtis score before the game was said and done.
Perhaps he should’ve gone to church with his family the Sunday before so he could’ve said a prayer to lift the Patriots to victory, too.
“Johnny Broussard completes a pass to Trenton Jeff for a first down, but it’s only to the 50. Time’s running out for Curtis here, they’ll have to clock the ball when the refs reset the chains. They’re hurrying to the line. The referee is out of the way. The ball is snapped. Broussard spikes the ball with 7 seconds left on the clock.”
“So, it’s all going to come down to one last Hail Mary or a field goal attempt that no high schooler I know is going to hit.”
“Looks like Broussard and the offense are staying out on the field.”
…
“Caesar! Caesar!” Coach Thomas shouted.
The receiver ran over to him, confused. “Yeah, coach?”
“Get in there at safety.”
“What?”
“I didn’t stutter. Get in at safety!”
…
“Vandebilt is sending Caesar Jenkins, their tallest player, out for this last play. It looks like they expect Broussard to heave a prayer to the endzone.”
“Leave it all out on the field, Matt.”
“Two down linemen for the Terriers with a single linebacker and eight men playing from the 20-yard line back. John Curtis with 5 receivers out on the field. Four to the right and one to the left.”
“You can hear a pin drop in this stadium, ladies and gentlemen.”
“The ball is snapped and the 2050 3A State Champion is going to be decided here. Johnny Broussard rolls to his right. He has all day. Can he throw it 50 yards is the question? The Patriots’ quarterback steps up and heaves it downfield. It’s going to make it! It’s going to be a jump ball!”
“Mais! That was a crazy way to end the game! It gave me the frissons!” Mr. Babineaux smacked Devin on the back as they walked to the parking lot. “That was some football for ya, huh?”
Devin shrugged. Fuck those guys probably wouldn’t have been the right thing to say to your girlfriend’s father.
Caesar stood in the tunnel of the Superdome. On the far side of the field, he could see the sea of red and blue up in the stands. Despite being designated the home team, Vandebilt were very much at a disadvantage in terms of crowd support. River Ridge was basically in New Orleans, and John Curtis had a long enough history of winning championships and producing pro players that their fan based extended far beyond the parents of the players.
Ron slapped him on the shoulder as he shoved his way to the front of the team to lead them out onto the field. The two of them nodded at one another as he passed. Up until that point, their season had been fun and games. They’d blown away all of their opponents. Now, they were meeting a juggernaut in its element.
Caesar felt something inside of him that he’d never felt in all his years playing football. It wasn’t nerves, and it wasn’t fear. It was a thrill, exhilaration. Excitement that he was finally going to step onto the field with players who were equal to him; players that had a chance to stop him.
This would be a first. The first time he had to try to beat his opponent, the first time he’d meet an equal, the first time someone would challenge him.
Coach Thomas yelled for them to take the field as the band ratcheted up the fight song.
His time had come.
-*****-
“T-Neg, grab that Coke from Vincent for me.”
Devin grabbed the proffered Sprite from Vincent and reached across Scarlett to hand it to her dad. Scarlett smiled at him and looped her arm around his. After their fifth long trip to the concessions stand, thanks to sitting through two full football games with a third on the way, Devin had stopped complaining and had decided to just do as he was told.
Fortunately, the exhaustion of six hours sitting in the nosebleeds of the aging Superdome had also curtailed any jibes coming from Vincent. There were only so many more times Devin could take being asked about his lack of talent in comparison to the guys down on the field before he pushed the young Cajun over the railing.
As the final two teams to compete for all the marbles took the field, Devin quickly found Vandebilt’s #17 standing on the benches and pumping up the crowd. He was much too far away to hear was the mercurial Caesar Jenkins was saying to them, but he had to imagine it was something along the lines of “I’m the best because my daddy told me so.”
Scarlett rested her head on his shoulder. “I hope this game isn’t boring. I’m already struggling to stay awake.”
“I hope it flies by too. I’m all football-ed out after today.”
-*****-
“Caesar Jenkins makes his first catch of the day here in the second quarter for a gain of 12 on the play. Tim Jefferson has really done a great job defending one of the country’s brightest talents so far tonight.”
“Jefferson is a senior playing in his last game as a Patriot. He hasn’t committed anywhere yet, but if he keeps up this performance, I think a lot of schools are going to come knocking.”
Caesar tossed the ball to the ref as he got up from the turf. He was relishing his personal battle with Tim Jefferson. Despite giving up a significant bit of height to him, Jefferson knew all the tricks to toe the line between legal and illegal and it had taken some time to get used to. But Caesar was confident he’d cracked the code.
…
“That’s the third catch for Jenkins on this drive. This time for a gain of 10. I think Goliath has finally been awakened here, Matt.”
“This season, Vandebilt has been known for their big play ability which led many to think that they couldn’t hack it in a slugfest, but we might be seeing glimpses of something here.”
…
“Jenkins gets open again for a gain of five on the play.”
…
“DeRossi hits his favorite target once more and Caesar Jenkins goes for six on that one.”
…
“Vandebilt fakes the reverse and DeRossi throws the fade to Jenkins in the corner and he easily plucks it out of the air over Tim Jefferson to give Vandebilt their first lead of the night. 13-10 Terriers pending the extra point.”
-*****-
Devin muttered a few select words that would make a sailor blush as Caesar came down with the ball. He pulled out his phone and quickly searched for John Curtis’s roster. It listed Tim Jefferson as 5’10”, but he looked 5’5” standing next to Vandebilt’s towering wideout.
It went without saying that Devin was hoping for a John Curtis victory. It was inevitable that Caesar Jenkins would get a state championship before his high school career was all said and done, but Devin took some bit of satisfaction in the possibility of being present for the one time that he’d have to taste defeat.
The prick could win the rest of them, but this one, this one he needed to lose.
-*****-
“It’s been a back and forth battle for the ages tonight as we head towards the fourth quarter. John Curtis takes over on the Vandebilt 45-yard-line with the score tied at 27. If the Patriots can take a lead here, it might be just enough for them to hold on to for the final 12 minutes.”
“This game has definitely lived up to its billing so far, but I think we’ll get a few more twists and turns before this is all over.”
…
Caesar slammed his helmet against the bench as Cecil Badoux ran through a pair of defenders to fall into the endzone and give John Curtis the lead again. The stout New Orleanian ran angry, typical of Louisiana backs, and Caesar could respect that, but at the moment it was pissing him off.
Coach Thomas stropped up and down the sideline, his face turning red from a night of yelling at his defense to find a way to stop Badoux and the Patriots offense. The head coach’s anxious energy had begun to rub off on the other coaches as there was a frenzied atmosphere on the Vandebilt sideline.
Caesar walked over to where Ron was speaking with his backup, Brandon.
“We’re not losing this fucking game,” Caesar said, grabbing Ron by his shoulder pads and turning him so they faced one another. “We’re not losing this fucking game.”
“I can’t do shit about Badoux running through everyone.”
“So, we have to outscore them.”
“Catch the fucking ball and score then.”
“You just make sure you fucking hit me.”
…
“Whoa. Good God almighty. That was a leap from Caesar Jenkins to bring that down over not one, not two, but three John Curtis defenders!”
“This one’s not over yet, baby! Vandebilt’s driving!”
…
“DeRossi pitches to Jenkins on the reverse and he powers through a tackler for a gain of 14 yards on the play.”
…
“DeRossi hands it off to Cazayoux up the middle. Wait! It’s a flea-flicker! DeRossi has his man open down field if he can hit him and he does! Touchdown Caesar Jenkins! Touchdown Terriers!”
“That was some old school football, right there!”
…
“Quick answer from John Curtis as Cecil Badoux rumbles into the endzone for his fourth touchdown of the night to make it 40-34 Patriots.”
-*****-
Mr. Babineaux jumped out of his seat, popcorn flying in the air, as another highlight reel play happened down below them. The back-and-forth nature of the game had given him and Vincent a second wind as the game stretched into the late hours of the night.
Unfortunately for Devin, the reason for his excitement was Caesar bringing in his third touchdown of the night and the subsequent two-point conversion attempt to put Vandebilt up 42-41 with only 25 seconds remaining in the game.
Devin’s foot bounced against the cement below it as the two teams sent out their special teams for the final kickoff of the high school football season.
It seemed like the entire stadium was rocking – for a high school football game. Mostly everyone was on their feet, but he was sure that with two Christian-affiliated schools that someone was down on their knees praying that a miracle would see John Curtis score before the game was said and done.
Perhaps he should’ve gone to church with his family the Sunday before so he could’ve said a prayer to lift the Patriots to victory, too.
-*****-
“Johnny Broussard completes a pass to Trenton Jeff for a first down, but it’s only to the 50. Time’s running out for Curtis here, they’ll have to clock the ball when the refs reset the chains. They’re hurrying to the line. The referee is out of the way. The ball is snapped. Broussard spikes the ball with 7 seconds left on the clock.”
“So, it’s all going to come down to one last Hail Mary or a field goal attempt that no high schooler I know is going to hit.”
“Looks like Broussard and the offense are staying out on the field.”
…
“Caesar! Caesar!” Coach Thomas shouted.
The receiver ran over to him, confused. “Yeah, coach?”
“Get in there at safety.”
“What?”
“I didn’t stutter. Get in at safety!”
…
“Vandebilt is sending Caesar Jenkins, their tallest player, out for this last play. It looks like they expect Broussard to heave a prayer to the endzone.”
“Leave it all out on the field, Matt.”
“Two down linemen for the Terriers with a single linebacker and eight men playing from the 20-yard line back. John Curtis with 5 receivers out on the field. Four to the right and one to the left.”
“You can hear a pin drop in this stadium, ladies and gentlemen.”
“The ball is snapped and the 2050 3A State Champion is going to be decided here. Johnny Broussard rolls to his right. He has all day. Can he throw it 50 yards is the question? The Patriots’ quarterback steps up and heaves it downfield. It’s going to make it! It’s going to be a jump ball!”
-*****-
Devin pulled his hood up to stave off the cold wind blown between the buildings. The sounds of the crowd inside the Dome could be heard over that of the cars outside making their ways home or to the French Quarter to take advantage of their trip to New Orleans.“Mais! That was a crazy way to end the game! It gave me the frissons!” Mr. Babineaux smacked Devin on the back as they walked to the parking lot. “That was some football for ya, huh?”
Devin shrugged. Fuck those guys probably wouldn’t have been the right thing to say to your girlfriend’s father.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Caesar really is THAT nigga huh? That good as a sophomore.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
fuck that nigga
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
The Fall
Devin ran the towel over his head then stared at the memory across from him. Over the last year, football had bulked him up. He wasn’t the skinny kid who’d left Houma Junior High last spring, but after what he’d seen a few hours ago, he’d have to put more muscle on if he wanted to compete with the very best Louisiana and the country had to offer.
By the time they’d gotten back from New Orleans, Scarlett’s dad had decided that it would be too dangerous for Devin to get on the road to go home with some concern that the streets and bridges, of which Terrebonne Parish had many, would begin to ice over.
Not that Scarlett’s had any qualms with Devin spending the night. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.
He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and an old Houma Junior High P.E. shirt he kept at their house and walked to her room where Scarlett was sitting in her bed with a tablet on her lap. She looked at him and smiled.
“I thought you’d frozen to death with how long you were taking.” She laughed.
Devin shook his head as he hopped under the covers. “Only because you decided that a 20-minute shower was necessary and fair to everyone else in the house. You do know it’s like 10 degrees outside, right?”
“That’s why you need to get up and get the other comforter from in the closet so we don’t have to get chiseled out of here in the morning.”
“Why can’t you? I’m already comfortable.”
“Because you love me, and I asked.”
He sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. As he got closer to the door, he heard the sound of the TV coming from the living room. Her father was still up rewatching all the highlights of the John Curtis-Vandebilt tilt. For someone who grew up at the ass end of the parish and barely made it through South Terrebonne, he sure did love himself some Vandebilt.
Everyone loved Vandebilt.
Opening the closet, he grabbed the heavy blanket from the top shelf, unfolded and tossed it on the bed before once again getting in the bed himself.
“You’re the best.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Keep that in mind when you’re hogging all the covers in a couple hours.”
She laughed and the two of them slipped into silence. Devin found himself wondering what Vanderbilt’s players were doing at that very moment. The school was known for its wild parties on normal Saturday nights. It was inevitable when you put a lot of rich kids in one place. But this Saturday would surely top all of them in terms of debauchery.
He tried to convince himself that if he asked his parents, they would agree that going to Vandebilt would be the best thing for him and would find a way to make it happen, but would he fit into the culture there? He barely fit into the culture at Terrebonne and Vandebilt was a completely different world compared to their public school counterpart down the street.
Maybe a change of city altogether and enrolling at E.D. White was what he needed. Especially, if he was looking to impress the coaches at Nicholls. The university was basically across the street.
Scarlett shifted so she was laying down, pulling him from his thoughts. She turned to him. “Thanks again for coming with us. It really meant a lot to my dad even though he won’t admit it.”
“It was fun.” That was only a slight lie.
She leaned forward and kissed him twice. Then a third time and things quickly grew heavier. Devin felt his body reacting and put some distance between them.
“Wha— Oh, sorry,” Scarlett said, blushing.
“No, you’re good. Just give me a second.” Big lie.
Scarlett nodded before turning over and shutting off the lamp on the nightstand. When Devin wrapped his arm around her, she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
Before Devin did the same, he felt a bit of jealousy at the fact that few Terriers would be going to sleep with blue balls that night.
Caesar stood in front of the large bonfire that someone had built on a levee alongside one of the parish’s many canals. The entire expanse of land that they’d taken over was just a single person’s backyard. The letterman’s jacket-hoodie combo that he wore did little to stave off the cold wind that swirled around and through the Vandebilt students who’d gathered for an unplanned bonfire following the team’s state championship victory.
Gulping down the rest of the beer he held, he tossed the bottle into the water and walked back to where Ron, Britton, Anthony and Bentley had claimed a bit of turf for themselves amongst the throng of people.
Ron passed him a shot glass as he sat down. The two of them shared a toast and downed the vodka before Ron refilled both glasses.
“Can I say some cheesy shit like Louisiana Forever now?” Ron laughed as he threw back the shot and picked up beer bottle near his foot.
“Oh yeah, we’ll all toast to saying that about some place we weren’t born in and that we’re all leaving in the next few years.” Caesar took the bottle that Britton offered to him. “Don’t get sappy on me now, DeRossi. I seem to remember you telling me that you’d break the ice for me on some particular gash that’s been playing hard to get if we won. Well, we won, motherfucker.”
Bentley coughed from the weed he was smoking. He took a swig of beer before speaking. “I know we’re boys and shit, but am I the only one that thinks it’s disgusting that Ron and Caesar fuck the same bitches, sometimes at the same time?”
“How do you know that you haven’t fucked the same bitches as them?” Britton asked. “It’s not like they’re selective about who or what they’re sticking their dicks in.”
“It’s no fun if the homies can’t have none,” Anthony said, laughing.
“Nah. That shit fucking nasty,” Bentley said.
“And here I was thinking I was a good man for sharing with my best friend,” Caesar said, sipping from his beer. He turned to Ron. “But you’re still sitting here and I don’t see you going help a brother out because I’m going to feel bad if I take my first L tonight of all nights.”
Ron sighed and pulled himself up from his chair. He stopped before turning back to pick up the bottle of vodka from the ground. “Y’all can’t have this without me.” Then he disappeared into the crowd of people congregating around the bonfire.
Caesar lapsed into silence while the others around him went back to their own conversations. He didn’t understand the thoughts going through his head, or the lack thereof. A few hours ago, when he was lifting the trophy on the field, he felt a sense of euphoria. He felt like he’d conquered something or someone.
Now, he just felt empty. Everyone else around him was celebrating, but he felt as if it was all the same. Blank, faded, monochrome.
He’d gone through another pair of beers before Ron returned – Ashley walking alongside him. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. Ron laughed and retook his seat.
“I’ve done my bit,” Ron said, pouring himself another shot of a now-much emptier bottle.
“Your bit?” Ashley asked.
Caesar nodded to the ice chest, which wasn’t needed considering how cold it was out, next to him. “Come hang out with us. It’ll be a good time, I promise.”
She sighed and sat down on the cooler. Caesar took the shot glass and bottle from Ron and filled it before handing it to her. She quickly downed it.
“Y’all always have the best shit,” she said. “It’s really unfair.”
“Not my fault everyone else buys Taaka,” Ron said, taking the bottle back.
Ashley leaned closer to Caesar and lowered her voice. “I know you have favors on you.”
“What makes you think that? Maybe I’m out of that shit.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me. If we’re going to have a good time, we’re going to have a damn good one.”
“Oh, now you’re coming out the shell, huh? Playing that prim and proper bit in school.”
“You have some or not?”
Caesar reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue pill with a dolphin stamped onto it. He reached his hand out to her but pulled it back and placed the pill on his tongue. Getting the picture, Ashley leaned over and kissed him to take the pill.
“Fuck outta here, kid. Not losing my job for this shit.”
Kaden stumbled to the ground as the bouncer at the door shoved him away. With the celebrations going on throughout Houma, he’d driven to Thibodaux to try to find a hole in the wall bar that would let him in despite his age. His search had so far been unsuccessful.
Heading down the street, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a few dozen missed texts from Francesca, Hollie and Riley asking him to show up to a bonfire. He had no intention of doing any such thing.
He came across a gas station in a nearby neighborhood that was mostly desolate and looked closed. Sighing, he sat down on the curb outside of the store. He looked to his left and noticed an econo-car, one that you’d buy for your kid’s first vehicle, a few spots down.
A bell above the door dinged and his attention was drawn to it as Chip Faucheaux walked out of it and locked the door behind him.
Kaden stood up, spooking him. He reached for his pocket but relaxed when he noticed who it was.
“What’s up, man? Scared the shit out of me.” He laughed, but some nervousness was still in his voice. “Not at the party with your boys?”
“Nah, fuck them.”
“Oh, that’s right. They booted you out of the school. Sucks to suck, bro. Maybe you should pick the people you hang out with better.”
“What?” He asked, walking closer to the other boy.
Chip took a step back. “I said sucks to suck, bro. Choose your friends better.”
“Sucks to suck? Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Think you’re directing that at the wrong person, bitch boy.”
Kaden lunged at Chip who slipped on a patch of ice trying to get out of the way. Kaden punched him in the face on the way down and Chip was helpless in defending himself as Kaden continued to rain blows down on him.
Backing away after a few seconds, Kaden stood over Chip as he rolled to his knees with blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Panicked, Kaden turned and ran off down the street.
Once he put some distance between himself and the gas station, he doubled over and struggled to catch his breath. He hastily pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.
“What’s your emergency?”
“I—I—I need some help over here. Some guy just beat up another guy pretty bad.”
Caesar rolled from underneath Ashley and all but fell to the floor. Pulling his pants up, he fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. Only 2 a.m. and the party had already died down, outside and in the random room he’d convinced the homeowner’s kid to let him use.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. He took a moment to scroll through his various social media accounts and plot his next romp in the sack.
Then he heard it.
Faint at first but growing louder. Sirens.
The fog cleared from his mind and he jumped up to the window to see a dozen police cruisers slide into the yard. He ran over to the rest of the clothes and began pulling them on.
“Get up, bitch!” he shouted, shoving Ashley but she only groaned and swatted at his hand.
He ran back to the window and took another look as the cops started rounding up the poor souls who were still drinking by the embers of the bonfire. Then he heard pounding at the front door of the house. He sprang from the room and ran down the hall as a few other people ran downstairs. He reached the far end of the hall. Looked around for a way out. He turned to the window in the hall. Shoved it open.
The cops were inside now. There was shouting. He looked out of the window and saw it was a straight drop to the ground.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.
The cops were coming upstairs. A tree was a short distance from the window. Putting his feet on the sill, he climbed out of the window.
“What the fuck are you doing, kid?!”
The voice was all the encouragement he needed to jump for the tree. He grabbed on a branch, but it bent under his weight. After slowing his descent down enough, it snapped, and he fell the rest of the way to the ground.
Flashlights shined in his direction and he stumbled to his feet and took off. He could hear the commands to stop, but he kept going. Turning the corner, he yanked the baggie out of his pocket to throw it down as he continued running toward the street. He’d parked at the other end of it. If he could get there, he’d be able to get away.
A cruiser swung around, a voice shouting at him to stop running over the loud speaker as it cut him off. He tried to plant his feet to cut in another direction, but the slick pavement gave him no quarter and he found himself on his back, staring up at the night sky.
Then a cop blocked his view, a fat man with a yellowing mustache.
“Caesar Jenkins? Sounds like you’ve had a wild night, son. You’re under arrest for aggravated battery.”
Devin ran the towel over his head then stared at the memory across from him. Over the last year, football had bulked him up. He wasn’t the skinny kid who’d left Houma Junior High last spring, but after what he’d seen a few hours ago, he’d have to put more muscle on if he wanted to compete with the very best Louisiana and the country had to offer.
By the time they’d gotten back from New Orleans, Scarlett’s dad had decided that it would be too dangerous for Devin to get on the road to go home with some concern that the streets and bridges, of which Terrebonne Parish had many, would begin to ice over.
Not that Scarlett’s had any qualms with Devin spending the night. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.
He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and an old Houma Junior High P.E. shirt he kept at their house and walked to her room where Scarlett was sitting in her bed with a tablet on her lap. She looked at him and smiled.
“I thought you’d frozen to death with how long you were taking.” She laughed.
Devin shook his head as he hopped under the covers. “Only because you decided that a 20-minute shower was necessary and fair to everyone else in the house. You do know it’s like 10 degrees outside, right?”
“That’s why you need to get up and get the other comforter from in the closet so we don’t have to get chiseled out of here in the morning.”
“Why can’t you? I’m already comfortable.”
“Because you love me, and I asked.”
He sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. As he got closer to the door, he heard the sound of the TV coming from the living room. Her father was still up rewatching all the highlights of the John Curtis-Vandebilt tilt. For someone who grew up at the ass end of the parish and barely made it through South Terrebonne, he sure did love himself some Vandebilt.
Everyone loved Vandebilt.
Opening the closet, he grabbed the heavy blanket from the top shelf, unfolded and tossed it on the bed before once again getting in the bed himself.
“You’re the best.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Keep that in mind when you’re hogging all the covers in a couple hours.”
She laughed and the two of them slipped into silence. Devin found himself wondering what Vanderbilt’s players were doing at that very moment. The school was known for its wild parties on normal Saturday nights. It was inevitable when you put a lot of rich kids in one place. But this Saturday would surely top all of them in terms of debauchery.
He tried to convince himself that if he asked his parents, they would agree that going to Vandebilt would be the best thing for him and would find a way to make it happen, but would he fit into the culture there? He barely fit into the culture at Terrebonne and Vandebilt was a completely different world compared to their public school counterpart down the street.
Maybe a change of city altogether and enrolling at E.D. White was what he needed. Especially, if he was looking to impress the coaches at Nicholls. The university was basically across the street.
Scarlett shifted so she was laying down, pulling him from his thoughts. She turned to him. “Thanks again for coming with us. It really meant a lot to my dad even though he won’t admit it.”
“It was fun.” That was only a slight lie.
She leaned forward and kissed him twice. Then a third time and things quickly grew heavier. Devin felt his body reacting and put some distance between them.
“Wha— Oh, sorry,” Scarlett said, blushing.
“No, you’re good. Just give me a second.” Big lie.
Scarlett nodded before turning over and shutting off the lamp on the nightstand. When Devin wrapped his arm around her, she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
Before Devin did the same, he felt a bit of jealousy at the fact that few Terriers would be going to sleep with blue balls that night.
-*****-
Caesar stood in front of the large bonfire that someone had built on a levee alongside one of the parish’s many canals. The entire expanse of land that they’d taken over was just a single person’s backyard. The letterman’s jacket-hoodie combo that he wore did little to stave off the cold wind that swirled around and through the Vandebilt students who’d gathered for an unplanned bonfire following the team’s state championship victory.
Gulping down the rest of the beer he held, he tossed the bottle into the water and walked back to where Ron, Britton, Anthony and Bentley had claimed a bit of turf for themselves amongst the throng of people.
Ron passed him a shot glass as he sat down. The two of them shared a toast and downed the vodka before Ron refilled both glasses.
“Can I say some cheesy shit like Louisiana Forever now?” Ron laughed as he threw back the shot and picked up beer bottle near his foot.
“Oh yeah, we’ll all toast to saying that about some place we weren’t born in and that we’re all leaving in the next few years.” Caesar took the bottle that Britton offered to him. “Don’t get sappy on me now, DeRossi. I seem to remember you telling me that you’d break the ice for me on some particular gash that’s been playing hard to get if we won. Well, we won, motherfucker.”
Bentley coughed from the weed he was smoking. He took a swig of beer before speaking. “I know we’re boys and shit, but am I the only one that thinks it’s disgusting that Ron and Caesar fuck the same bitches, sometimes at the same time?”
“How do you know that you haven’t fucked the same bitches as them?” Britton asked. “It’s not like they’re selective about who or what they’re sticking their dicks in.”
“It’s no fun if the homies can’t have none,” Anthony said, laughing.
“Nah. That shit fucking nasty,” Bentley said.
“And here I was thinking I was a good man for sharing with my best friend,” Caesar said, sipping from his beer. He turned to Ron. “But you’re still sitting here and I don’t see you going help a brother out because I’m going to feel bad if I take my first L tonight of all nights.”
Ron sighed and pulled himself up from his chair. He stopped before turning back to pick up the bottle of vodka from the ground. “Y’all can’t have this without me.” Then he disappeared into the crowd of people congregating around the bonfire.
Caesar lapsed into silence while the others around him went back to their own conversations. He didn’t understand the thoughts going through his head, or the lack thereof. A few hours ago, when he was lifting the trophy on the field, he felt a sense of euphoria. He felt like he’d conquered something or someone.
Now, he just felt empty. Everyone else around him was celebrating, but he felt as if it was all the same. Blank, faded, monochrome.
He’d gone through another pair of beers before Ron returned – Ashley walking alongside him. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. Ron laughed and retook his seat.
“I’ve done my bit,” Ron said, pouring himself another shot of a now-much emptier bottle.
“Your bit?” Ashley asked.
Caesar nodded to the ice chest, which wasn’t needed considering how cold it was out, next to him. “Come hang out with us. It’ll be a good time, I promise.”
She sighed and sat down on the cooler. Caesar took the shot glass and bottle from Ron and filled it before handing it to her. She quickly downed it.
“Y’all always have the best shit,” she said. “It’s really unfair.”
“Not my fault everyone else buys Taaka,” Ron said, taking the bottle back.
Ashley leaned closer to Caesar and lowered her voice. “I know you have favors on you.”
“What makes you think that? Maybe I’m out of that shit.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me. If we’re going to have a good time, we’re going to have a damn good one.”
“Oh, now you’re coming out the shell, huh? Playing that prim and proper bit in school.”
“You have some or not?”
Caesar reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue pill with a dolphin stamped onto it. He reached his hand out to her but pulled it back and placed the pill on his tongue. Getting the picture, Ashley leaned over and kissed him to take the pill.
-*****-
“Fuck outta here, kid. Not losing my job for this shit.”
Kaden stumbled to the ground as the bouncer at the door shoved him away. With the celebrations going on throughout Houma, he’d driven to Thibodaux to try to find a hole in the wall bar that would let him in despite his age. His search had so far been unsuccessful.
Heading down the street, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a few dozen missed texts from Francesca, Hollie and Riley asking him to show up to a bonfire. He had no intention of doing any such thing.
He came across a gas station in a nearby neighborhood that was mostly desolate and looked closed. Sighing, he sat down on the curb outside of the store. He looked to his left and noticed an econo-car, one that you’d buy for your kid’s first vehicle, a few spots down.
A bell above the door dinged and his attention was drawn to it as Chip Faucheaux walked out of it and locked the door behind him.
Kaden stood up, spooking him. He reached for his pocket but relaxed when he noticed who it was.
“What’s up, man? Scared the shit out of me.” He laughed, but some nervousness was still in his voice. “Not at the party with your boys?”
“Nah, fuck them.”
“Oh, that’s right. They booted you out of the school. Sucks to suck, bro. Maybe you should pick the people you hang out with better.”
“What?” He asked, walking closer to the other boy.
Chip took a step back. “I said sucks to suck, bro. Choose your friends better.”
“Sucks to suck? Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Think you’re directing that at the wrong person, bitch boy.”
Kaden lunged at Chip who slipped on a patch of ice trying to get out of the way. Kaden punched him in the face on the way down and Chip was helpless in defending himself as Kaden continued to rain blows down on him.
Backing away after a few seconds, Kaden stood over Chip as he rolled to his knees with blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Panicked, Kaden turned and ran off down the street.
Once he put some distance between himself and the gas station, he doubled over and struggled to catch his breath. He hastily pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.
“What’s your emergency?”
“I—I—I need some help over here. Some guy just beat up another guy pretty bad.”
-*****-
Caesar rolled from underneath Ashley and all but fell to the floor. Pulling his pants up, he fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. Only 2 a.m. and the party had already died down, outside and in the random room he’d convinced the homeowner’s kid to let him use.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. He took a moment to scroll through his various social media accounts and plot his next romp in the sack.
Then he heard it.
Faint at first but growing louder. Sirens.
The fog cleared from his mind and he jumped up to the window to see a dozen police cruisers slide into the yard. He ran over to the rest of the clothes and began pulling them on.
“Get up, bitch!” he shouted, shoving Ashley but she only groaned and swatted at his hand.
He ran back to the window and took another look as the cops started rounding up the poor souls who were still drinking by the embers of the bonfire. Then he heard pounding at the front door of the house. He sprang from the room and ran down the hall as a few other people ran downstairs. He reached the far end of the hall. Looked around for a way out. He turned to the window in the hall. Shoved it open.
The cops were inside now. There was shouting. He looked out of the window and saw it was a straight drop to the ground.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.
The cops were coming upstairs. A tree was a short distance from the window. Putting his feet on the sill, he climbed out of the window.
“What the fuck are you doing, kid?!”
The voice was all the encouragement he needed to jump for the tree. He grabbed on a branch, but it bent under his weight. After slowing his descent down enough, it snapped, and he fell the rest of the way to the ground.
Flashlights shined in his direction and he stumbled to his feet and took off. He could hear the commands to stop, but he kept going. Turning the corner, he yanked the baggie out of his pocket to throw it down as he continued running toward the street. He’d parked at the other end of it. If he could get there, he’d be able to get away.
A cruiser swung around, a voice shouting at him to stop running over the loud speaker as it cut him off. He tried to plant his feet to cut in another direction, but the slick pavement gave him no quarter and he found himself on his back, staring up at the night sky.
Then a cop blocked his view, a fat man with a yellowing mustache.
“Caesar Jenkins? Sounds like you’ve had a wild night, son. You’re under arrest for aggravated battery.”
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Seems like guy ain't that fast
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
From Worse to Worst
Deion Jenkins pulled his car to a stop in front of a house that had a Sheriff-issued SUV sitting in the driveway. He looked at the teenage girl, the hood of her jacket pulled over her head and her eyes cast to the floor, sitting on the passenger seat and shook his head. Embarrassment had set in for her as soon as he appeared at her parents’ front door only hours after she’d been pulled out of a house party half naked.
“Get out,” he said, not bothering the mask the anger in his voice. He was missing a flight to clean up his son’s mess and in his line of work that could mean the difference between $1 million and $10 million – sums that he wasn’t too happy to give up.
He all but shoved the girl toward the house when she walked around the car, annoyed at her slow pace. Foregoing the door bell, he pounded on the front door with a closed fist. Moments later, an older man holding a golf club opened it.
“What brings you to my humble abode, Mr. Jenkins? I have a tee time in thirty minutes at Ellendale and I don’t want to miss it,” the man said. He looked over Deion’s shoulder at the girl. “Should I be calling my deputies about you fraternizing with juveniles?”
“You know me better than that, Boudoin, but your deputies arrested my son for something he didn’t do and I’m going to need you to call and tell them that I’ll be coming to pick him up.”
The sheriff laughed and pointed the golf club. “You just go on and get back in your fancy car over there, because if my deputies arrested your boy then he did something that he deserved to be arrested for. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Deion shoved his foot in the door before the man could close it.
“You know this is still a stand your ground state, right?” Sheriff Boudoin said.
“Aren’t you up for re-election next year? It would be a pity if some unknown lieutenant from HPD were to unseat you because he had a $5 million warchest. The piddling numbers you raise wouldn’t be able to compete.”
“That doesn’t scare me. I run this parish.”
Deion shrugged. “Alright then. I hope your wife isn’t too attached to all those perks she gets for being the sheriff’s wife like that $100,000-a-year secretary job at the Levee Board.”
“Are you threatening me? You must’ve lost your mind.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. I just want you to listen to what young Miss--” Deion turned to the girl. “What was your name again?”
“Ashley,” she mumbled.
“What young Miss Ashley here has to say in regards to where my son was when your deputies are saying that he was somewhere else. I also have some interesting cell phone locations for him that you might want to take a look at.”
The sheriff took a moment before answering. “How do you have tower pings if he was arrested last night?”
“Magic.” Deion winked. “So, are we going to talk or do I need to go find your opponent for next election?”
“Come in.”
…
Deion stood behind the girl as the sheriff walked back into his living room. The old man wore a grimace on his face.
“And you are sure you were with him last night?” Sheriff Boudoin asked Ashley.
She nodded.
“And you aren’t saying that because Mr. Jenkins told you too?”
Deion jumped in. “They were fucking, Boudoin. She got drunk. He got drunk. They did what horny ass teenagers do when they’re drunk. Fuck. Let’s move this show along.”
“Alright.” The sheriff sighed. “Look, it was all a misunderstanding between us and our friends over in Thibodaux. They wanted him transferred to their jail, but you know we don’t get along, right? So, they didn’t let us talk to the victim. Vic confirms it was some other kid.”
“Thanks for your assistance, Sheriff. I’ll make sure to show my support to your campaign.” Deion started for the door.
“Well, hold on. Before you go making any contributions, I can’t let him out today. He still has to go before a judge to have it tossed and ain’t no judge working on a Sunday campaign threats or not. He’ll have to stay in there until Monday. I’ll make sure he’s first on the docket.”
Deion shrugged. “Maybe that’ll teach him a lesson or something.” He nodded to Ashley. “I think this is where you find your own way home, Miss Ashley.”
“One black shirt, one black hoodie, one blue jacket, one pair of blue jeans, and one belt.” The officer recited, pointing to each garment that Caesar was wearing. “One cellphone, one wallet containing four cards and $381, and one shoe string.”
“Shoes. Where the fuck are my shoes? I came in here with shoes. And one fucking shoe string?”
The officer checked over the list and shook his head. “No, sir. There aren’t any shoes on my list. Are you sure you were wearing shoes? It was a couple days ago after all.”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure. We’re talking about $2,000 sneakers here. I think I would know if they were on my feet or not.”
“Nope. No $2,000 sneakers here,” the officer said. “For $22.50, you can buy those slides so you don’t have to walk out of here barefoot.”
Caesar tampered down the anger he felt knowing an outburst might land him back in a cell. Peeling two twenties out of his wallet, he threw them on the counter. “Keep the fucking change.”
“We hope you enjoyed your stay at Ashland Correctional Facility,” he heard the officer say before the door slammed shut behind him.
As soon as he stepped outside, his mother ran up to him and threw her arms around him. Then she pulled back and smacked the side of his head, a feat for a woman so much shorter than he was.
“That’s what you get for going around sticking your dick in all those jersey chasing little girls.”
“Did you just say jersey chasing?” Caesar asked, trying not to laugh.
“Go ahead and laugh and I’ll leave your ass here to get passed around in gen pop.”
He held his hands up and started walking toward her car. “You think you could swing by somewhere so I can get my car and drive myself to school.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve been in jail so you haven’t heard,” she said, fishing her keys from her purse.
“Haven’t heard what?”
“I don’t think you’re going to be going to school today, sweetie.”
The bus circle at Terrebonne High School was abnormally abuzz with energy for seven in the morning. Devin sat on his usual bench near the auditorium, too tired to try to figure out what everyone’s deal was. Fortunately, Scarlett, Tiffany and Erin weren’t in talkative moods either.
Breaking the usual thinly-veiled racial segregation of the circle, it seemed like everyone was talking to everyone about whatever was happening in the world. That alone would’ve been enough for Devin to try to find out what it was if only it weren’t so damn early in the morning.
Hasan made his way around the crowd of students, dapping up a few of them as he passed. When he reached Devin, he dapped him up too before sitting on the handicap railing near them.
“Y’all heard what happened?” he asked.
“No. Figured someone would tell me in homeroom or something.” Devin shrugged.
“You really gonna sit there when everyone running around out here and wait another 30 minutes to find out what’s happening?”
Erin looked up from her latte. “Do you know or are you just trying to find a way to get one of us to go find out for you?”
Hasan laughed. “I like you. If I ain’t think you were burning, we might have a chance.”
“Burning?”
“Anyway,” Devin cut in. “What happened? Do you know?”
“Yeah. Freak accident over at Vandebilt Sunday night.”
“What kind of accident?” Scarlett asked.
“Now, I ain’t no engineer and none of the niggas I talked to are either so cut me some slack because they read this shit online. Apparently, some wild shit happened with pipes on the roof bursting, spraying water everywhere, then the roof collapsed.”
“That was a very thorough answer, man. I’m completely clued in,” Devin said, his voice flat and sarcastic.
“I said I ain’t no engineer. It was cold. The pipes burst. Pipes got water in them. The water froze on the roof. It’s an old building and ice heavy. Boom, roof down.”
“But pipes burst because of the ice, not water,” Tiffany said. “Was it even cold enough to bust pipes this weekend?”
The rest of the group nodded that it was cold enough.
Finding Hasan’s explanation lacking, Devin pulled his phone from his pocket and searched for news on Vandebilt. And sure enough, it was the first link on the local media outlet’s website. ‘Roof collapses at Vandebilt Catholic High’ the headline read.
“He’s right. The roof collapsed.” He gave his phone to Scarlett for her to take a look. “That shit doesn’t even make sense. This is Louisiana, not fucking Michigan.”
“That’s why schools’ roofs collapse from a little cold weather,” Hasan said.
“They’re rich. That shit will be fixed by the next semester,” Devin said.
“I don’t think shit gets done that fast, Devin,” Erin said, rolling her eyes.
Scarlett handed Devin back his phone. “If it’s not fixed by January, where are they going to go to school?”
They all looked at each other. The answer to that question was far too large for any of them to fathom.
Deion Jenkins pulled his car to a stop in front of a house that had a Sheriff-issued SUV sitting in the driveway. He looked at the teenage girl, the hood of her jacket pulled over her head and her eyes cast to the floor, sitting on the passenger seat and shook his head. Embarrassment had set in for her as soon as he appeared at her parents’ front door only hours after she’d been pulled out of a house party half naked.
“Get out,” he said, not bothering the mask the anger in his voice. He was missing a flight to clean up his son’s mess and in his line of work that could mean the difference between $1 million and $10 million – sums that he wasn’t too happy to give up.
He all but shoved the girl toward the house when she walked around the car, annoyed at her slow pace. Foregoing the door bell, he pounded on the front door with a closed fist. Moments later, an older man holding a golf club opened it.
“What brings you to my humble abode, Mr. Jenkins? I have a tee time in thirty minutes at Ellendale and I don’t want to miss it,” the man said. He looked over Deion’s shoulder at the girl. “Should I be calling my deputies about you fraternizing with juveniles?”
“You know me better than that, Boudoin, but your deputies arrested my son for something he didn’t do and I’m going to need you to call and tell them that I’ll be coming to pick him up.”
The sheriff laughed and pointed the golf club. “You just go on and get back in your fancy car over there, because if my deputies arrested your boy then he did something that he deserved to be arrested for. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Deion shoved his foot in the door before the man could close it.
“You know this is still a stand your ground state, right?” Sheriff Boudoin said.
“Aren’t you up for re-election next year? It would be a pity if some unknown lieutenant from HPD were to unseat you because he had a $5 million warchest. The piddling numbers you raise wouldn’t be able to compete.”
“That doesn’t scare me. I run this parish.”
Deion shrugged. “Alright then. I hope your wife isn’t too attached to all those perks she gets for being the sheriff’s wife like that $100,000-a-year secretary job at the Levee Board.”
“Are you threatening me? You must’ve lost your mind.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. I just want you to listen to what young Miss--” Deion turned to the girl. “What was your name again?”
“Ashley,” she mumbled.
“What young Miss Ashley here has to say in regards to where my son was when your deputies are saying that he was somewhere else. I also have some interesting cell phone locations for him that you might want to take a look at.”
The sheriff took a moment before answering. “How do you have tower pings if he was arrested last night?”
“Magic.” Deion winked. “So, are we going to talk or do I need to go find your opponent for next election?”
“Come in.”
…
Deion stood behind the girl as the sheriff walked back into his living room. The old man wore a grimace on his face.
“And you are sure you were with him last night?” Sheriff Boudoin asked Ashley.
She nodded.
“And you aren’t saying that because Mr. Jenkins told you too?”
Deion jumped in. “They were fucking, Boudoin. She got drunk. He got drunk. They did what horny ass teenagers do when they’re drunk. Fuck. Let’s move this show along.”
“Alright.” The sheriff sighed. “Look, it was all a misunderstanding between us and our friends over in Thibodaux. They wanted him transferred to their jail, but you know we don’t get along, right? So, they didn’t let us talk to the victim. Vic confirms it was some other kid.”
“Thanks for your assistance, Sheriff. I’ll make sure to show my support to your campaign.” Deion started for the door.
“Well, hold on. Before you go making any contributions, I can’t let him out today. He still has to go before a judge to have it tossed and ain’t no judge working on a Sunday campaign threats or not. He’ll have to stay in there until Monday. I’ll make sure he’s first on the docket.”
Deion shrugged. “Maybe that’ll teach him a lesson or something.” He nodded to Ashley. “I think this is where you find your own way home, Miss Ashley.”
-*****-
“One black shirt, one black hoodie, one blue jacket, one pair of blue jeans, and one belt.” The officer recited, pointing to each garment that Caesar was wearing. “One cellphone, one wallet containing four cards and $381, and one shoe string.”
“Shoes. Where the fuck are my shoes? I came in here with shoes. And one fucking shoe string?”
The officer checked over the list and shook his head. “No, sir. There aren’t any shoes on my list. Are you sure you were wearing shoes? It was a couple days ago after all.”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure. We’re talking about $2,000 sneakers here. I think I would know if they were on my feet or not.”
“Nope. No $2,000 sneakers here,” the officer said. “For $22.50, you can buy those slides so you don’t have to walk out of here barefoot.”
Caesar tampered down the anger he felt knowing an outburst might land him back in a cell. Peeling two twenties out of his wallet, he threw them on the counter. “Keep the fucking change.”
“We hope you enjoyed your stay at Ashland Correctional Facility,” he heard the officer say before the door slammed shut behind him.
As soon as he stepped outside, his mother ran up to him and threw her arms around him. Then she pulled back and smacked the side of his head, a feat for a woman so much shorter than he was.
“That’s what you get for going around sticking your dick in all those jersey chasing little girls.”
“Did you just say jersey chasing?” Caesar asked, trying not to laugh.
“Go ahead and laugh and I’ll leave your ass here to get passed around in gen pop.”
He held his hands up and started walking toward her car. “You think you could swing by somewhere so I can get my car and drive myself to school.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve been in jail so you haven’t heard,” she said, fishing her keys from her purse.
“Haven’t heard what?”
“I don’t think you’re going to be going to school today, sweetie.”
-*****-
The bus circle at Terrebonne High School was abnormally abuzz with energy for seven in the morning. Devin sat on his usual bench near the auditorium, too tired to try to figure out what everyone’s deal was. Fortunately, Scarlett, Tiffany and Erin weren’t in talkative moods either.
Breaking the usual thinly-veiled racial segregation of the circle, it seemed like everyone was talking to everyone about whatever was happening in the world. That alone would’ve been enough for Devin to try to find out what it was if only it weren’t so damn early in the morning.
Hasan made his way around the crowd of students, dapping up a few of them as he passed. When he reached Devin, he dapped him up too before sitting on the handicap railing near them.
“Y’all heard what happened?” he asked.
“No. Figured someone would tell me in homeroom or something.” Devin shrugged.
“You really gonna sit there when everyone running around out here and wait another 30 minutes to find out what’s happening?”
Erin looked up from her latte. “Do you know or are you just trying to find a way to get one of us to go find out for you?”
Hasan laughed. “I like you. If I ain’t think you were burning, we might have a chance.”
“Burning?”
“Anyway,” Devin cut in. “What happened? Do you know?”
“Yeah. Freak accident over at Vandebilt Sunday night.”
“What kind of accident?” Scarlett asked.
“Now, I ain’t no engineer and none of the niggas I talked to are either so cut me some slack because they read this shit online. Apparently, some wild shit happened with pipes on the roof bursting, spraying water everywhere, then the roof collapsed.”
“That was a very thorough answer, man. I’m completely clued in,” Devin said, his voice flat and sarcastic.
“I said I ain’t no engineer. It was cold. The pipes burst. Pipes got water in them. The water froze on the roof. It’s an old building and ice heavy. Boom, roof down.”
“But pipes burst because of the ice, not water,” Tiffany said. “Was it even cold enough to bust pipes this weekend?”
The rest of the group nodded that it was cold enough.
Finding Hasan’s explanation lacking, Devin pulled his phone from his pocket and searched for news on Vandebilt. And sure enough, it was the first link on the local media outlet’s website. ‘Roof collapses at Vandebilt Catholic High’ the headline read.
“He’s right. The roof collapsed.” He gave his phone to Scarlett for her to take a look. “That shit doesn’t even make sense. This is Louisiana, not fucking Michigan.”
“That’s why schools’ roofs collapse from a little cold weather,” Hasan said.
“They’re rich. That shit will be fixed by the next semester,” Devin said.
“I don’t think shit gets done that fast, Devin,” Erin said, rolling her eyes.
Scarlett handed Devin back his phone. “If it’s not fixed by January, where are they going to go to school?”
They all looked at each other. The answer to that question was far too large for any of them to fathom.