Season One, Episode Eleven - All Gas
The sun was already high overhead, resuming its assault on the populace of the greater Maricopa area, the heat blistering everything around it. The sky was so clear, it appeared the clouds themselves were wary of floating too close to the sun lest they evaporate into thin air. Without any wind to move the air, the heat just sat, stagnant and angry, ready to singe any and everything in its path.
Iggy woke up to a slight chill in the air and had reserved hope that maybe, by some stroke of luck, the sun wouldn’t blaze overhead today like it had every day since he’d arrived. When 10AM arrived and he slid into the passenger seat of Cisco’s Blazer any notion that this particular Sunday morning would be spared the sun’s wrath was immediately dismissed. It felt like walking into an oven inside the all-black Blazer. Before Iggy had even settled into the seat and clicked the seat belt into place, sweat was forming around his temples, dampening the hair and rolling down his cheek.
Now, he would gladly trade sitting inside Cisco’s sweltering Blazer if it meant he didn’t have to slowly bake underneath the radiating heat of the sun while doing warm ups. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired before individual drills. Maybe in Pop Warner, all those years ago.
The coach’s whistle shrilled again and Iggy’s group of ten broke into a light jog. Or at least, it was supposed to be a light jog. This was the fourth rep with his group of ten other high school receivers and it didn’t even take one rep for the group to get competitive.
Iggy was the first to the 20-yard marker on the initial jog, not exerting himself fully, but not wanting to be last. On the backpedal he saw two guys rapidly increase their speed to catch up. Iggy matched them, his back pedal more refined from his years playing safety.
The next rep, it was obvious they were starting to push the limit from a jog to a brisk run as five of the ten guys increased their speed. Iggy was still first, both to the 20-yard line and on the back pedal. But with the heat continuing to bear down, the gap was closing, and quickly.
Everyone else at the camp was from Arizona, had been born in the heat, bred in it. Iggy was an outsider and he was paying his toll in sweat. The fourth rep ended with Iggy two strides ahead of the guy on his left, three on the right.
They made eye contact as the group moved to the back of the line, two more groups in front of them. No one said anything. They didn’t have to. The locals were getting tired of being shown up by the quiet new kid, whose buddy sat in the parking lot blaring drill rap despite the glares from other parents watching their teenagers.
They stood there, hands at their hips, breathing coming in longer pulls with each passing minute as their lungs caught up to what the body demanded.
Then, they were at the line again. The guy on Iggy’s right looked past Iggy, to the one on his left. They both nodded to each other, ignoring Iggy in the middle.
‘They’re going to try and smoke me,’ Iggy thought to himself as he leaned forward into his stance, bouncing slightly on his toes. It still didn’t feel natural.
‘Fuck it.’
The coach’s whistle shrilled again and Iggy took off, full speed this time. He registered that the guys flanking him had done the same, but they were nowhere near as fast as Iggy. He left them behind in two even strides and was at the cone before they’d hit ten yards. He passed them in his backpedal as they sprinted toward the cone, slowing his pace a fraction as they rounded into their own backpedal.
‘Can’t do all that and then fall on my face at the finish.’
Iggy finished the drill clean. Before he could revel in the small victory, the coach’s whistle cut through the air behind him.
“It’s supposed to be a jog, Ceniceros,” the coach, Tito, growled.
“Yes, sir,” Iggy mumbled as the other two fell in behind him, snickering that Iggy had gotten in trouble.
“Go get some water before we start doing stationary drops.”
All three echoed ‘Yes sir,’ at Tito’s command.
“And Ceniceros,” Tito called back, “Try not to run this time.”
“Yes, sir.”
The trio made their way to the makeshift water cooler. The other two exchanged glances again, grins spreading across both their faces. Iggy simply grabbed his water and turned to watch the other groups finish their drills in a moderate jog.
~~~
“Bro, you toasted those pendejos!”
It was the fifth time on the ride home Cisco had praised the story about Iggy’s final sprint in the drill. He always forgot the part where he was scolded by the coach, but Iggy had stopped reminding him of it after the third time.
Cisco was driving down I-10 back towards Tolleson, ruminating whether he needed to stop at Love’s on the way back for a pack of smokes. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the driver’s side window, moving through the air as he drove. A lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, burning low, more for show than actual necessity.
Iggy was in the passenger seat, his cleats loosely untied at his feet, the NikeTech compression shirt balled up around his neck, the sweat still sticky to the touch. He had Cisco’s phone in his hand, scrolling through Spotify looking for a song, when the ringer sliced through the cab, projecting through the speakers.
Before Iggy knew what happened, Cisco had snatched the phone, muting it with his thumb as he tucked it away.
“The fuck?”
“Sorry, Iggy. Reflexes.”
“What kind of reflex causes you to snatch your phone out of someone’s hand when it rings?” Iggy asked, brows furrowing as he studied Cisco.
“The kind that you get when you’ve got three girls and they don’t know about each other.” Cisco half laughed, tapping the side of his temple with one finger.
“Bro, I’ve been here almost two weeks now and I ain’t seen not ONE girl in your business like that.”
“That’s cause you scare the huzz away, primo,” laughed Cisco, slapping Iggy’s arm as he cackled.
The jokes kept flowing, each friend taking a turn at roasting the other, the sudden intrusion of the phone forgotten.
Until it rang again sitting in Love’s parking lot, as they ate a lunch consisting of a soft pretzel and two taquitos, each with a C4 in their cupholders. Cisco immediately silenced it, not even glancing at the caller ID.
“Do you really got three different girls?” Iggy asked around a mouthful of pretzel, shooting his eyes at the phone Cisco had silenced.
“Shit, that’s a low number. I got a girl down in Copa when I’m there. One over in Mesa, some Hopi girl. Even got this thang over in Tempe. Attends ASU. She in one of those all-white sororities.”
Cisco snapped his fingers as if he had suddenly remembered something, the thought of the girl at Arizona State jogging his memory.
“Remind me to bring you along next time I go see her, she’s always got some fine ass friends. You might not have any aura, bro, but you got that mysterious ‘I’m from Alaska’ thing going for you.”
“How is being from Alaska mysterious?”
“Because no one knows where the fuck it is,” snorted Cisco as he bit off a piece of his taquito, the salsa catching the top of his hand before rolling onto his jeans.
Iggy threw the salsa packet at him as he finished his pretzel, trying his best not to laugh. If he let Cisco know all of the digs at Alaska were actually funny, he’d never stop with them.
“I don’t need all that anyways, I got a girl.”
“In Alaska.” It sounded like a question, but Cisco’s tone made it a statement.
“Yeah, in Alaska. Where else would she be?”
“No, dummy. I mean—she’s in Alaska. And you’re here, not in Alaska.”
Iggy just stared blankly at Cisco, the gears in his head turning, but coming up with no logical reasoning for what Cisco was trying to say.
Cisco stared at Iggy with equal amazement, bewildered he had to spell this out for his friend.
“Meaning, if you get some strange down here, she ain’t gonna know.”
“But I would know. And that’s cheating.”
“Is it cheating if you don’t get caught?” Cisco shrugged his shoulders for good measure, tossing the last of the taquito into his mouth and absentmindedly wiping the salsa on the leg of his jeans.
“Besides, she probably getting dicked down right now, justifying it with the same logic.”
Cisco’s eyes were on his phone, scrolling through TikTok. The sudden silence from Iggy pulled his eyes towards the passenger seat, where Iggy was staring down at his cleats, picking at the hem of his athletic shorts at the same time.
“Fuck man, I was kidding.”
Iggy looked up at Cisco, forcing a smile onto his face and nodded.
Cisco sighed, running his hand over the stubble on his head.
“This is why you should get some strange, so you ain’t crying in the pussy later.”
Iggy shot him another look and Cisco shrugged.
“You’ll see I’m right one of these days. It’s the same reason my Mom’s ain’t settled down since my Dad ran out on her. Easier that way.”
Iggy nodded, but the silence held. Cisco put the car in drive, easing it out of the Love’s parking lot as they made their way back to the McNeel Apartments.
“You might not be interested now bro, but I’m telling you, these Arizona State girls?”
“Certified FREAKS!”
“I’ma tell Betsy you said that,” Iggy snorted from the passenger seat, a grin finally returning to his face. “Gonna have to give her two honeybuns to butter her up.”
“You foul for holding that over my head, but I’ma let it slide since you were in your feelings.”
They both laughed, the awkward silence forgotten, as they made their way down 95th, back to the apartments. A black Dodge Charger pulled into the lane behind them, turning off Fillmore. Cisco clocked it.
His phone rang again in the cupholder.
We supposed to be men in these things.