Nuptials
The cozy warmth of the bakery greeted Rana and Tyrell as they stepped inside, a symphony of sweet scents swirling around them. Rows of delicate cakes and pastries lined the counters, each one decorated with precision and care. Tyrell held the door open for her, casting a glance around the bustling little shop as they made their way to a table near the back.
A petite baker in a pink apron approached with a warm smile, setting down a tray with small slices of cake in various flavors, each topped with a delicate swirl of icing.
“Alright, here we have some of our most popular wedding flavors,” the baker announced, gesturing to each slice. “Vanilla bean with raspberry filling, dark chocolate with espresso ganache and our seasonal ginger spice.”
The two of them had finally set a date for the wedding, opting for an outside ceremony. They’d decided that December might be best for that, despite the slight risk that it would be a rare freezing day in Louisiana.
That was certainly better than a sweltering day or rainy one, though.
“Thank you,” Rana said, already eyeing the vanilla slice with excitement. She picked up her fork, glancing at Tyrell. “Which one are you trying first?”
Tyrell grinned, reaching for the dark chocolate. “My mama ain’t never gonna let me live it down if I don’t let you go first,” he teased, holding the fork poised above his plate.
Rana laughed, cutting off a small bite of the vanilla bean and savoring it. “Oh, this is good. The other ones are going to have to be something serious to top this.”
Tyrell took a bite of the chocolate, he waited a moment before nodding. “I don’t know this one’s pretty good, too. You could have some dark chocolate a couple times that night if you know what I’m saying.”
Rana slapped his arm as he laughed. “Stop clowning in these people’s store.”
“I’m just saying! It’s gonna happen anyway.” He glanced at her with a thoughtful expression as his laughter subsided, his fork hovering over the next slice. “So, I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Nothing good ever comes out of you thinking about anything,” Rana said. “Don’t tell me that you and Raheim done got yourselves into another one of them get rich quick schemes with Jontay.”
“First of all, those are Raheim’s schemes. Not Jontay’s. But no, they owe me money from the last time anyway. I think I’m going to ask Royce to be one of my groomsmen. Vince is going to be in China for that project until next year, so I figured who better to ask than him?”
Rana looked a bit surprised. “You serious?”
Tyrell shrugged. “Yeah, he’s your brother. He’s going to be my brother. Lil’ bro’s a little moody sometimes, but he’s alright.”
“You don’t have to do that for me,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “I know y’all have gotten close, but he’s a lot to deal with. Lord, I know. I don’t know how he’s going to be come December. That’s after the anniversary, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” he admitted. “He’s gone through a lot of shit and I’m sure it’s going to be a lot then, but I want him to be a part of this, too. He’s not got much else as far as family since – yeah,” he said before smiling. “Besides, he annoying and him and Shawn and Tyrique are, too, so he’s basically like the brothers I already got.”
Rana couldn’t help but smile, her heart warming. “He’s going to tell you no,” she warned, knowing Royce’s tough exterior all too well.
“Oh, I know. He still gonna do it, though,” Tyrell laughed.
They shared a quiet smile. A soft silence fell between them, as comfortable as the warmth of the bakery around them.
The baker returned, bringing two more small plates, each one with a delicate floral design in frosting. “And here’s our lemon lavender and classic red velvet. Enjoy!”
As the baker walked away, Tyrell took a bit of the lemon lavender, his expression brightening. “We might have to go with this one because it’s in December. It tastes like spring on some shit.”
Rana sampled the red velvet, raising an eyebrow with approval. “What do you know about ‘tastes like spring?’ Need something that tastes like winter anyway. Get a whole winter wonderland thing going on.” She set her fork down, smiling up at Tyrell. “Freezing cold and all.”
Tyrell reached across the table, taking her hand. “Freezing cold and all as long as you say I do.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“All this man do is fucking eat,” Justin said, gesturing to Royce as Royce pulled apart a chicken wing. He laughed, Donovan and Dru joining in.
Royce looked up from the container of fried chicken in front of him. “Eat and fuck your mother, nigga. Tell her I’ll be over there tonight before she watch her shows. I ain’t trying to look at no Tyler Perry shit tonight.”
Donovan and Dru began laughing harder, doubling over and practically in tears.
“Oh, now he a comedian. Go back to not speaking. We liked you better when you ain’t talk anyway,” Justin said.
“That ain’t no way to talk to your stepfather,” Royce laughed, wiping his fingers off on a napkin before picking up a bottle of Sprite to drink.
The four of them sat outside of a location of the Blue Store, one of Baton Rouge’s feature restaurants. It’d been Royce to hit the three of them up to hang out, trying to keep his newly expanded circle of friends – lest Rana bring up going to therapy once again.
A BMW rolling into the parking lot, music blaring, caught all their attention. Royce recognized it immediately from his trip to Malik’s grandma’s neighborhood. Poochie got out, looking over in their direction.
“What you looking at, fuck nigga?” Donovan asked, his voice raising, throwing his hands up. “I got something for your ass Friday.”
Poochie sucked his teeth and waved off the comment, walking around the car to open the passenger door. The girl he was with the other day, Natalie, slid out of the seat. Royce took the opportunity to get a closer look at her. She wore a pair of shorts and a tanktop, filling the clothes out nicely.
She looked up, catching Royce looking at her. Poochie followed her gaze and his expression immediately changed to one of anger.
“What the fuck you staring at, my nigga?” Poochie snapped, stalking over to the table before the girl grabbed his arm to stop him.
Royce raised an eyebrow. “Nigga, I’ll take your bitch. Calm the fuck down before you get embarrassed out here.” He threw a napkin down on top of the pile of bones in the plate and pushed the chair away from the table, but remained sitting.
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Stop, baby. Let’s just go get some food and go,” Natalie said, stepping in front of Poochie.
“Better listen to her, Eric,” Royce said, opting to use his real name, putting emphasis on it. “Them priests gonna be real upset if you go up in there all bruised up when they put you being on your knees to good use.”
Donovan, Justin and Dru laughed, heightening the tension. Poochie took a step forward despite Natalie’s attempt to stop him. The anger on his face seemed to get more prominent after the quip.
“You doing a lot shit talking for someone I could’ve swore was pussy. Ain’t you a peacemaker, bitch?” Poochie asked, his tone low.
Royce sucked his teeth. “Be fucking for real. You don’t know me. I just ain’t want y’all to mess up nothing for Malik with them goofy ass niggas you kick it with. If them boys really be crashing out, I mean.”
“Nigga living through his punk ass potna fame because he ain’t shit. Couldn’t be me,” Poochie said, letting out a humorless laugh. “And you the only trying to put some gay shit on me when your ass the one who sus.”
Royce stood up from the table, pulling his pants up and stretching the fingers of his left hand. “I know you ain’t got no hands so how you want this to go? I just punch your ass down in front your bitch?”
Justin got up and got between the two of them, leaning over to Royce, whispering. “Hey, man. Let this shit go. Cunningham gonna bench you if he find out you fighting before games.”
Poochie must have overheard, because he scoffed. “Yeah, better sit your ass down before you get beat the fuck down, nigga.”
Royce thought about it for a moment before nodding, holding his hands up, walking backward to the chair. “You right. You got that. Y’all have a nice night.”
“Pussy,” Poochie said, spitting on the ground. He draped his arm around Natalie’s waist possessively, heading toward the door of the store.
“Say, love,” Royce called out to Natalie as he sat back down. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Add me on IG, though. We’ll talk when he ain’t around.”
Poochie stopped for a moment, but she tugged him into the store. Royce shook his head when the door closed behind them.
“I ain’t know you had squabbles in you, nigga,” Donovan said, shoving Royce. “I thought you were one of them quiet dudes who only crashed out on the field. Straight CTE.”
“If he got CTE, that’s why he ready to turn into Chris Benoit on the drop of a dime,” Dru laughed.
Royce brought the Sprite to his lips. “Nah, I just don’t like that nigga. Riding around in fancy ass cars the white folks gave him and ain’t give no one in the hood nothing. Can’t stand someone like that. Ain’t even in the league and already forgetting where he came from.”
“Facts. I’m ten toes behind SSB until the death of me,” Justin said, dapping up Royce.
“His bitch is fine, though,” Donovan said. He leaned closer toward the middle of the table. “Y’all think she be down for trains?”
“Now, why your freaky ass ain’t just trying to get you?” Dru said, shaking his head.
“We won’t make you go last, bruh,” Donovan laughed.
Royce could only shake his head as that prompted a back and forth between the others. But now, he had more reason to go all out in their next game. Both to prove he belonged to everyone else…
… but more importantly, to himself.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16854
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Why Justin so into solid state batteries?
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Soapy
- Posts: 16600
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
boy still ain't learned his lesson rip malik
South Side Baton Rouge-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16854
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Delusions of Normalcy
Royce ran his hand through his hair, making a mental note to find somewhere to get a haircut as he checked his reflection in the passenger side mirror of his car. He was already regretting agreeing to meet Sadie as he walked out of a parking garage in Baton Rouge’s cleaner, smaller and less renowned version of New Orleans’ French Quarter.
He’d texted her, asking her to come over. He expected her to give him the green light as he’d done so many times before. A quick back-and-forth and he was sending the address.
Instead, she told him he needed to take her out on a date long before she’d end up at anyone’s house with him, much less his sister’s.
So, there he was, navigating unfamiliar territory as he emerged into the bustling shopping district. He looked down the street, spotting Sadie standing near the entrance of a small, warmly lit boutique, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she saw him.
“Check you out actually showing up instead of pouting like some of y’all niggas be doing when you just trying to fuck,” she said as he approached, a playful edge to her voice.
“I told you I’m playing the long game because we could make some D1 babies,” he said, keeping things casual, referring to the fact that they were the same height, something that they regularly joked with one another about.
Sadie laughed. “And I keep telling you that you too short to be talking about any D1 babies. I’m not trying to have my child getting dunked on because he took his 5’10” ass out there on somebody court.”
“Look, they got football, baseball, fucking soccer. Get his ass out there on that field and tote that rock in the backfield if he only 5’10”. Just need ‘bout three of them back-to-back and we could have a whole stable of running backs headed to the league.”
“Three? In this economy? You better get to the league if you’re trying to put three kids on some poor woman.”
Royce considered that for a moment before laughing. “You right. Might have to change that to one and a dog.”
“There ya go,” Sadie said, playfully slapping him on the arm.
Their laughter was easy, natural, as they ambled from store to store, slipping in and out of conversation, dipping into everything from past crazy adventures to favorite foods and pet peeves.
Royce felt almost transported, like he was catching a glimpse of a different life, one he hadn’t thought much about. He glanced at her a few times, marveling at how relaxed she was, just a girl taking her time, laughing at his jokes without a care in the world.
Yet as the night wore on, Royce felt a weight settle into his stomach – a strange, sinking sensation. This wasn’t what he was used to. It felt too normal, like something people did when they were looking for a deeper connection. It felt gentle, different, not quick and dirty. And it left him feeling exposed.
Sadie walked out of a dressing room wearing a blue and yellow summer dress she wanted to try on, doing a little spin. “How I look?”
Royce took in the sight before him as he sat on a bench outside of the dressing rooms. It definitely fit her just right. He whistled before saying, “Gyat damn. Spin around again for me.”
“Boy, don’t push your luck. You ain’t buying this for me so you can’t be being all demanding like that.”
“Shit, I got some money. How much is it?”
She lifted up the tag. “Eighty-five.”
“Nah, I’d have to put that on Klarna. They got that in here?” he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.
She shook her head and laughed, disappearing back into the dressing room.
He took his phone out of his pocket, the mask of flirty banter falling away. This kind of thing wasn’t him. Romeo, ever appropriately named, was the type to take girls out to walk through shops, talking about the future, sharing stories.
It never made sense to him how it came so easily to his twin. This was for people who’d been part of families that stayed together, ate dinner at a table every night and had parents who asked about their grades or practices.
People who hadn’t grown up eating ham sandwiches on old Popeye’s napkins with one parent behind bars and the other one working the graveyard shift, every night. And definitely not the chaos that surrounded the family when his father was still on the streets, ripping and running.
Sadie was too different, having grown up with both of her parents at home every night, cheering her on as she grew up, asking about her homework or her dreams. And maybe that’s why it felt so foreign to Royce, so uncomfortable.
As they left the store, heading toward the end of the street, Sadie turned to him, giving him a long, considering look, “You don’t do this often, do you?”
Royce shook his head. “To be real with you, I ain’t never took a girl out on a date in my life. Usually just went to the crib or met up in a parking lot or something.”
“Or something, huh?” she said before letting the silence linger between them for a few moments. Then she smiled, a soft one. “I guess I must be special then if I convinced you to make me your first date.”
“Yeah, must be,” he smiled even though it felt fake to him.
“Well, you got a little practice even though you still gotta learn to talk about yourself more. Still feels like you hiding something.”
Royce shrugged. “Nothing you can’t find out if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I bet. Well, you did alright for your first time,” she said, stepping closer and leaning in to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Maybe we’ll have that second date sometime,” she said softly, before pulling back and giving him a small wave as she turned to leave.
He watched her go for a moment, the smile slowly falling away from his face before he turned to walk to his own car. By the time he’d climbed into it, that warm glow was already gone. The whole night, as nice as it was, had left him feeling too vulnerable. He didn’t like it. It made him feel exposed.
He didn’t want to do the whole courting thing, didn’t want anyone that close to him. After all, Britni had been close to Romeo and now she was left with --- whatever it was she was left with after his death.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to an older text thread, firing off a quick text.
’What you up to?’
Bree’s reply came quickly. ’Nothing. Come over. I’ll send you the address,’
’Bet. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.’
Bree was safe. She clearly had no interest in getting close to him. There wouldn’t be any heart-to-hearts, no looking too deep.
As he started the car, he paused for a moment, realizing that Sadie wasn’t the only girl in his life that he was getting too close to. Shaking away the thought, he backed out the spot, committing to keeping things simple where he could. No strings.
Royce ran his hand through his hair, making a mental note to find somewhere to get a haircut as he checked his reflection in the passenger side mirror of his car. He was already regretting agreeing to meet Sadie as he walked out of a parking garage in Baton Rouge’s cleaner, smaller and less renowned version of New Orleans’ French Quarter.
He’d texted her, asking her to come over. He expected her to give him the green light as he’d done so many times before. A quick back-and-forth and he was sending the address.
Instead, she told him he needed to take her out on a date long before she’d end up at anyone’s house with him, much less his sister’s.
So, there he was, navigating unfamiliar territory as he emerged into the bustling shopping district. He looked down the street, spotting Sadie standing near the entrance of a small, warmly lit boutique, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she saw him.
“Check you out actually showing up instead of pouting like some of y’all niggas be doing when you just trying to fuck,” she said as he approached, a playful edge to her voice.
“I told you I’m playing the long game because we could make some D1 babies,” he said, keeping things casual, referring to the fact that they were the same height, something that they regularly joked with one another about.
Sadie laughed. “And I keep telling you that you too short to be talking about any D1 babies. I’m not trying to have my child getting dunked on because he took his 5’10” ass out there on somebody court.”
“Look, they got football, baseball, fucking soccer. Get his ass out there on that field and tote that rock in the backfield if he only 5’10”. Just need ‘bout three of them back-to-back and we could have a whole stable of running backs headed to the league.”
“Three? In this economy? You better get to the league if you’re trying to put three kids on some poor woman.”
Royce considered that for a moment before laughing. “You right. Might have to change that to one and a dog.”
“There ya go,” Sadie said, playfully slapping him on the arm.
Their laughter was easy, natural, as they ambled from store to store, slipping in and out of conversation, dipping into everything from past crazy adventures to favorite foods and pet peeves.
Royce felt almost transported, like he was catching a glimpse of a different life, one he hadn’t thought much about. He glanced at her a few times, marveling at how relaxed she was, just a girl taking her time, laughing at his jokes without a care in the world.
Yet as the night wore on, Royce felt a weight settle into his stomach – a strange, sinking sensation. This wasn’t what he was used to. It felt too normal, like something people did when they were looking for a deeper connection. It felt gentle, different, not quick and dirty. And it left him feeling exposed.
Sadie walked out of a dressing room wearing a blue and yellow summer dress she wanted to try on, doing a little spin. “How I look?”
Royce took in the sight before him as he sat on a bench outside of the dressing rooms. It definitely fit her just right. He whistled before saying, “Gyat damn. Spin around again for me.”
“Boy, don’t push your luck. You ain’t buying this for me so you can’t be being all demanding like that.”
“Shit, I got some money. How much is it?”
She lifted up the tag. “Eighty-five.”
“Nah, I’d have to put that on Klarna. They got that in here?” he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.
She shook her head and laughed, disappearing back into the dressing room.
He took his phone out of his pocket, the mask of flirty banter falling away. This kind of thing wasn’t him. Romeo, ever appropriately named, was the type to take girls out to walk through shops, talking about the future, sharing stories.
It never made sense to him how it came so easily to his twin. This was for people who’d been part of families that stayed together, ate dinner at a table every night and had parents who asked about their grades or practices.
People who hadn’t grown up eating ham sandwiches on old Popeye’s napkins with one parent behind bars and the other one working the graveyard shift, every night. And definitely not the chaos that surrounded the family when his father was still on the streets, ripping and running.
Sadie was too different, having grown up with both of her parents at home every night, cheering her on as she grew up, asking about her homework or her dreams. And maybe that’s why it felt so foreign to Royce, so uncomfortable.
As they left the store, heading toward the end of the street, Sadie turned to him, giving him a long, considering look, “You don’t do this often, do you?”
Royce shook his head. “To be real with you, I ain’t never took a girl out on a date in my life. Usually just went to the crib or met up in a parking lot or something.”
“Or something, huh?” she said before letting the silence linger between them for a few moments. Then she smiled, a soft one. “I guess I must be special then if I convinced you to make me your first date.”
“Yeah, must be,” he smiled even though it felt fake to him.
“Well, you got a little practice even though you still gotta learn to talk about yourself more. Still feels like you hiding something.”
Royce shrugged. “Nothing you can’t find out if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I bet. Well, you did alright for your first time,” she said, stepping closer and leaning in to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Maybe we’ll have that second date sometime,” she said softly, before pulling back and giving him a small wave as she turned to leave.
He watched her go for a moment, the smile slowly falling away from his face before he turned to walk to his own car. By the time he’d climbed into it, that warm glow was already gone. The whole night, as nice as it was, had left him feeling too vulnerable. He didn’t like it. It made him feel exposed.
He didn’t want to do the whole courting thing, didn’t want anyone that close to him. After all, Britni had been close to Romeo and now she was left with --- whatever it was she was left with after his death.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to an older text thread, firing off a quick text.
’What you up to?’
Bree’s reply came quickly. ’Nothing. Come over. I’ll send you the address,’
’Bet. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.’
Bree was safe. She clearly had no interest in getting close to him. There wouldn’t be any heart-to-hearts, no looking too deep.
As he started the car, he paused for a moment, realizing that Sadie wasn’t the only girl in his life that he was getting too close to. Shaking away the thought, he backed out the spot, committing to keeping things simple where he could. No strings.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16854
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Son You
“Bruh, that bitch was crazy. I thought it was going to be some podunk shit, but man. They really rolled out the red carpet for us,” Malik said as he, Royce, Jonah and Alix walked out of school toward the parking lot. “I went to fucking UTSA and ULM last year and their weight rooms could’ve fit in Baylor’s shit.”
Malik had been talking about his trip to Waco for his official visit to Baylor all day – to the point Royce felt like he could give someone a tour of the campus if need be.
“Shit might be nice, but you still gotta live in the middle of nowhere to go there,” Royce said, laughing.
“All these colleges in the middle of nowhere or in the fucking hood. You either dealing with a bunch of rednecks or a bunch of young niggas,” Malik waved off the comment. “And Waco ain’t even that much smaller than Baton Rouge.”
“Baton Rouge is bigger than the entire county Waco is in,” Jonah said, jumping into the conversation. Royce pointed at him as if his statement validated Royce’s criticisms of the East Texas city.
“Baton Rouge is bigger than the entire county,” Malik said, taking on a mocking tone. “Shut yo ass up, Marco Polo. Y’all ain’t no kind of friends. Y’all supposed to be happy y’all boy about to be in the motherfucking Big 12.”
Jonah mockingly bowed to Malik. “Please forgive us common folk, your highness. We don’t know any better.”
“So, that’s where you going? They convinced you?” Royce asked.
The group had drifted to the parking lot, leaning against Jonah’s car. But out of the corner of his eye, Royce noticed Alix, staring at her phone to send a text. She’d barely been paying attention to the conversation, almost following them out of habit more so than a conscious choice to do so.
“Dawg, they had this bitch showing me around. She had these big ass titties. Blonde bitch,” Malik started before glancing over at Alix. He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “But yeah, I think so unless someone else come in with a better offer. They were talking real money to a nigga all weekend.”
“Man, I’m always mad jealous of y’all with these visits and the girls they throw at you,” Jonah said. Royce slapped him in the chest with the back of his hand. “What?”
Alix looked up from her phone. “I don’t care. I’ve been around y’all enough to know none of y’all get bitches. He’s lucky he got some while he was out there. Gotta do what you gotta do to get your dick wet.”
Royce raised an eyebrow at her comment but decided it would better
“I was fucking you, though,” Malik said, slapping his fist into his palm and then turning his hands up to accentuate his point.
“Everyone has a few they regret,” Alix shot back.
Malik’s expression and tone shifted. “Like you regret letting that lame ass nigga Vic hit, huh?”
Her expression immediately guarded. “What the fuck he does even have to do with anything, Malik? You always do this shit,” she snapped. “Go back to talking about your little trip. I wasn’t even saying anything.”
“You can’t even congratulate me because you all in your phone talking to another nigga,” Malik shot back. “You always playing in my fucking face. You know what I think—”
“I don’t give a single God damn fuck about what you think,” she interrupted, her voice shaking with anger. “We’re not together. We haven’t been together for what? A year? I’m playing in your face, but you act like this then go fuck all kinds of other girls. Make it make sense.”
Royce and Jonah exchanged glances, silently wondering whether they should jump in. Jonah only shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket to ignore them, clearly used to their arguments after years being their friend.
“Make it make sense? You the dumb ass that told me you ain’t want to be with me because I suggested we go to college together,” Malik scoffed.
“You cheated on me!” she shot back, raising her voice. “Because you were fucking mad that I didn’t want to live out your fairytale ass high school sweetheart story.”
“You always trying to be a cold-hearted bitch. All that shit fake though. We know.”
Alix shoved him, although the action barely caused Malik to move. “Like you’re any different, but you can go on and kiss my fake ass, motherfucker.”
Royce could see the tension was spiraling out of control, and stepped in between them, putting a hand on Malik’s shoulder. “Yo, y’all chill out,” he said giving each of them a look. “This ain’t the time or place to be airing out all y’all issues.”
Malik shrugged Royce’s hand off, though he did take a step back. “You right. Her ass ain’t worth all these problems.”
Jonah looked up from his phone, throwing out a weak joke trying to lighten the mood, but Alix’s face stayed rigid as she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at Royce, pressing her lips into a thin line as if stopping herself from saying something before she looked away.
They stood in awkward silence for what felt like minutes.
“Fuck this shit,” Alix said, turning to walk toward her car.
Malik shook his head, turning to head toward the stadium. He walked backward and called for Royce. “Come on, nigga. We got practice.”
Royce hesitated, wanting to go check on Alix.
“Come the fuck on, man,” Malik shouted.
He sighed, dapping up Jonah before jogging to catch up with Malik. It wasn’t worth giving away what was going on between him and Alix, especially not when Malik was already pissed off.
~~~~~~~~~~
Practice was grueling from the start. The coaches weren’t easing up on anyone, knowing Catholic was their toughest opponent of the season, and would be coming out swinging after the Cubs’ loss to Archbishop Rummel the previous week.
Royce could feel the intensity the second they hit the field. The coaches, even Coach Cunningham who was typically a quiet storm, were yelling like they had a bullhorn for a throat, making sure every player knew what was on the line.
“Knees to fucking chest! Show some fucking hustle!” Coach Smith shouted as the team assembled in rows for stretches.
The coaching staff moved up and down the lines, calling out players who lagged behind or didn’t put in full effort. Royce dropped down for lunges, feeling the tension in his hamstrings. Malik was a couple players over from him, still wearing the frustrated look on his face from earlier. It was clear he’d still not shaking off his and Alix’s argument.
…
“Blue! Blue! Blue! Blue!” Royce shouted as the offense set up in front of them. He looked back at Malik, expecting him to shout the corresponding adjustments to the defensive backs but the call never came.
Will stepped up to the offensive line and shouted an adjustment to them, a bit of a confused look on his face as he locked eyes with Royce. Donovan got Royce’s attention, throwing his hands up, but Royce could only shrug.
Will called for the snap, dropping back. Royce took a step to his left then back to his right to try to slice through the gap between the guard and center. He’d barely gotten engaged with the line before he looked up to see the ball sailing over his head.
Down the field, Malik darted over to cover a receiver running free along the boundary, but his decision left Luke wide open down the seam. That was Will’s target. The ball fell perfectly over the tight end’s shoulder, probably the easiest pass Will had made all year, in game or in practice.
“Malik!” Coach Vaughn shouted, storming over to Malik with fury in his eyes. The coach bumped into Malik, who had been trudging back to the huddle. “Who’s fucking job is it to tell the secondary what to do when an adjustment is made?”
Malik put his arm out to put some space between them. “Man, chill out. It ain’t that serious.”
Vaughn didn’t miss a beat. “It ain’t that serious?! It ain’t that fucking serious?! I bet it’d be real serious if we changed you from defensive back to da bench, huh?”
Malik rolled his eyes, barely containing himself. Royce saw the coach’s face twist with anger, and he ran up to grab Malik by the shoulder pads and pull him away from Coach Vaughn, hoping to diffuse the situation.
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Royce asked, through clenched teeth. “Calm your fucking ass down.”
Coach Vaughn gave Royce a hard look, but backed off a little, deciding to let them police themselves. He waved his hand to signal for the next play and blew his whistle. “Get your shit straight, Malik,” he said sharply, walking back to his place on the side of the field.
Royce turned to Malik, his voice low. “Nigga, you gotta chill out. You out here wilding gonna get your ass benched. I’m not trying to be out here with Seth trying to make sure we don’t get beat over the top.”
“Yeah, alright,” Malik said, the frustration still evident in his face.
“Yeah, alright. Just do it, bruh. Fuck,” Royce snapped.
“I said alright, nigga!” Malik shouted, shoving Royce away.
He took a step toward Malik to shove him back, but the sound of Coach Vaughn’s whistle ended the scuffle before it started.
…
Toward the end of practice, the team was running through their usual goal-line situations, Coach Cunningham pushing his defense to hold the line against the offense. Royce lined up, fatigue and adrenaline pumping through his veins in equal measures as he stared down the offense.
Will snapped the ball and handed it off to Andre.
Royce waited for a running lane to materialize in front of him before charging forward to meet Andre in the hole. The two of them collided, pads crashing with the sound of cracking thunder. Royce drove Andre back, eventually winning the battle of wills as the running back’s momentum stopped and he fell to the turf.
He could hear the coaches yelling their approval or displeasure at the result of the play, depending on their specialty.
The next play, the offense dialed up an option. Royce found himself getting blocked by a number of players as Will ran toward the pylon with Andre a few yards behind him, ready to catch the pitch.
Malik ran toward the edge, cutting off Will’s angle. Will faked the pitch, likely assuming a hit wouldn’t come due to the red jersey he wore, but Malik shoved him to the turf anyway, just short of the goalline.
Coach McDaniels’ shouted in anger. “What the fuck does the red jersey mean?!”
Andre shoved Malik, coming to the defense of his backfield mate. Malik shoved him back, but before they could come to blows, Royce ran over. He grabbed the back of Malik’s jersey and flung him to the turf.
Malik tried to jump to his feet, but Royce pushed him back down with a hand on the back of his helmet.
“Chill the fuck out!” Royce shouted before the rest of the players ran over to separate the two of them.
Malik swung at Royce, but the bodies between them kept it well away.
“Thomas, Lafitte!” Coach Cunningham shouted. “Stadiums, now. You know the rules. You fight. You run.”
…
“Hurry up and finish this last one so I can go home!” Coach Foster shouted to Royce and Malik as they ran down the last set of stairs in the bleachers. The two of them had been running for what felt like hours, pain starting to bloom in their legs as the punishment took the expected toll on them.
They reached the bottom, both doubling over to catch their breath.
Coach Foster gestured to stray wrappings and tape littering the field. “Clean this shit up and make sure they lock the door behind y’all.” He turned and headed toward the locker room, eager to get home after a long day.
Malik looked at Royce, the earlier anger in his expression replaced with exhaustion. “You know I would’ve blues’d your ass if you hadn’t snuck me.”
“I ain’t never lost a fight and you ain’t gonna be the first motherfucker to change that,” Royce said, straightening up as he gasped for air.
“If you think so,” Malik said. He held his hand out to Royce who dapped him up. “Good looking out though. I was ready to crash out out there.”
“Sometimes, you gotta son your people before they get themselves in some shit that they can’t get themselves out of,” Royce shrugged.
Malik nodded as the two of them started the descent back to the field to pick up the trash. “You a real one. For real. A pussy ass bitch that sneaks they homeboy, but you still a real one.”
The two of them laughed, earlier frustrations forgotten.
“Bruh, that bitch was crazy. I thought it was going to be some podunk shit, but man. They really rolled out the red carpet for us,” Malik said as he, Royce, Jonah and Alix walked out of school toward the parking lot. “I went to fucking UTSA and ULM last year and their weight rooms could’ve fit in Baylor’s shit.”
Malik had been talking about his trip to Waco for his official visit to Baylor all day – to the point Royce felt like he could give someone a tour of the campus if need be.
“Shit might be nice, but you still gotta live in the middle of nowhere to go there,” Royce said, laughing.
“All these colleges in the middle of nowhere or in the fucking hood. You either dealing with a bunch of rednecks or a bunch of young niggas,” Malik waved off the comment. “And Waco ain’t even that much smaller than Baton Rouge.”
“Baton Rouge is bigger than the entire county Waco is in,” Jonah said, jumping into the conversation. Royce pointed at him as if his statement validated Royce’s criticisms of the East Texas city.
“Baton Rouge is bigger than the entire county,” Malik said, taking on a mocking tone. “Shut yo ass up, Marco Polo. Y’all ain’t no kind of friends. Y’all supposed to be happy y’all boy about to be in the motherfucking Big 12.”
Jonah mockingly bowed to Malik. “Please forgive us common folk, your highness. We don’t know any better.”
“So, that’s where you going? They convinced you?” Royce asked.
The group had drifted to the parking lot, leaning against Jonah’s car. But out of the corner of his eye, Royce noticed Alix, staring at her phone to send a text. She’d barely been paying attention to the conversation, almost following them out of habit more so than a conscious choice to do so.
“Dawg, they had this bitch showing me around. She had these big ass titties. Blonde bitch,” Malik started before glancing over at Alix. He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “But yeah, I think so unless someone else come in with a better offer. They were talking real money to a nigga all weekend.”
“Man, I’m always mad jealous of y’all with these visits and the girls they throw at you,” Jonah said. Royce slapped him in the chest with the back of his hand. “What?”
Alix looked up from her phone. “I don’t care. I’ve been around y’all enough to know none of y’all get bitches. He’s lucky he got some while he was out there. Gotta do what you gotta do to get your dick wet.”
Royce raised an eyebrow at her comment but decided it would better
“I was fucking you, though,” Malik said, slapping his fist into his palm and then turning his hands up to accentuate his point.
“Everyone has a few they regret,” Alix shot back.
Malik’s expression and tone shifted. “Like you regret letting that lame ass nigga Vic hit, huh?”
Her expression immediately guarded. “What the fuck he does even have to do with anything, Malik? You always do this shit,” she snapped. “Go back to talking about your little trip. I wasn’t even saying anything.”
“You can’t even congratulate me because you all in your phone talking to another nigga,” Malik shot back. “You always playing in my fucking face. You know what I think—”
“I don’t give a single God damn fuck about what you think,” she interrupted, her voice shaking with anger. “We’re not together. We haven’t been together for what? A year? I’m playing in your face, but you act like this then go fuck all kinds of other girls. Make it make sense.”
Royce and Jonah exchanged glances, silently wondering whether they should jump in. Jonah only shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket to ignore them, clearly used to their arguments after years being their friend.
“Make it make sense? You the dumb ass that told me you ain’t want to be with me because I suggested we go to college together,” Malik scoffed.
“You cheated on me!” she shot back, raising her voice. “Because you were fucking mad that I didn’t want to live out your fairytale ass high school sweetheart story.”
“You always trying to be a cold-hearted bitch. All that shit fake though. We know.”
Alix shoved him, although the action barely caused Malik to move. “Like you’re any different, but you can go on and kiss my fake ass, motherfucker.”
Royce could see the tension was spiraling out of control, and stepped in between them, putting a hand on Malik’s shoulder. “Yo, y’all chill out,” he said giving each of them a look. “This ain’t the time or place to be airing out all y’all issues.”
Malik shrugged Royce’s hand off, though he did take a step back. “You right. Her ass ain’t worth all these problems.”
Jonah looked up from his phone, throwing out a weak joke trying to lighten the mood, but Alix’s face stayed rigid as she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at Royce, pressing her lips into a thin line as if stopping herself from saying something before she looked away.
They stood in awkward silence for what felt like minutes.
“Fuck this shit,” Alix said, turning to walk toward her car.
Malik shook his head, turning to head toward the stadium. He walked backward and called for Royce. “Come on, nigga. We got practice.”
Royce hesitated, wanting to go check on Alix.
“Come the fuck on, man,” Malik shouted.
He sighed, dapping up Jonah before jogging to catch up with Malik. It wasn’t worth giving away what was going on between him and Alix, especially not when Malik was already pissed off.
~~~~~~~~~~
Practice was grueling from the start. The coaches weren’t easing up on anyone, knowing Catholic was their toughest opponent of the season, and would be coming out swinging after the Cubs’ loss to Archbishop Rummel the previous week.
Royce could feel the intensity the second they hit the field. The coaches, even Coach Cunningham who was typically a quiet storm, were yelling like they had a bullhorn for a throat, making sure every player knew what was on the line.
“Knees to fucking chest! Show some fucking hustle!” Coach Smith shouted as the team assembled in rows for stretches.
The coaching staff moved up and down the lines, calling out players who lagged behind or didn’t put in full effort. Royce dropped down for lunges, feeling the tension in his hamstrings. Malik was a couple players over from him, still wearing the frustrated look on his face from earlier. It was clear he’d still not shaking off his and Alix’s argument.
…
“Blue! Blue! Blue! Blue!” Royce shouted as the offense set up in front of them. He looked back at Malik, expecting him to shout the corresponding adjustments to the defensive backs but the call never came.
Will stepped up to the offensive line and shouted an adjustment to them, a bit of a confused look on his face as he locked eyes with Royce. Donovan got Royce’s attention, throwing his hands up, but Royce could only shrug.
Will called for the snap, dropping back. Royce took a step to his left then back to his right to try to slice through the gap between the guard and center. He’d barely gotten engaged with the line before he looked up to see the ball sailing over his head.
Down the field, Malik darted over to cover a receiver running free along the boundary, but his decision left Luke wide open down the seam. That was Will’s target. The ball fell perfectly over the tight end’s shoulder, probably the easiest pass Will had made all year, in game or in practice.
“Malik!” Coach Vaughn shouted, storming over to Malik with fury in his eyes. The coach bumped into Malik, who had been trudging back to the huddle. “Who’s fucking job is it to tell the secondary what to do when an adjustment is made?”
Malik put his arm out to put some space between them. “Man, chill out. It ain’t that serious.”
Vaughn didn’t miss a beat. “It ain’t that serious?! It ain’t that fucking serious?! I bet it’d be real serious if we changed you from defensive back to da bench, huh?”
Malik rolled his eyes, barely containing himself. Royce saw the coach’s face twist with anger, and he ran up to grab Malik by the shoulder pads and pull him away from Coach Vaughn, hoping to diffuse the situation.
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Royce asked, through clenched teeth. “Calm your fucking ass down.”
Coach Vaughn gave Royce a hard look, but backed off a little, deciding to let them police themselves. He waved his hand to signal for the next play and blew his whistle. “Get your shit straight, Malik,” he said sharply, walking back to his place on the side of the field.
Royce turned to Malik, his voice low. “Nigga, you gotta chill out. You out here wilding gonna get your ass benched. I’m not trying to be out here with Seth trying to make sure we don’t get beat over the top.”
“Yeah, alright,” Malik said, the frustration still evident in his face.
“Yeah, alright. Just do it, bruh. Fuck,” Royce snapped.
“I said alright, nigga!” Malik shouted, shoving Royce away.
He took a step toward Malik to shove him back, but the sound of Coach Vaughn’s whistle ended the scuffle before it started.
…
Toward the end of practice, the team was running through their usual goal-line situations, Coach Cunningham pushing his defense to hold the line against the offense. Royce lined up, fatigue and adrenaline pumping through his veins in equal measures as he stared down the offense.
Will snapped the ball and handed it off to Andre.
Royce waited for a running lane to materialize in front of him before charging forward to meet Andre in the hole. The two of them collided, pads crashing with the sound of cracking thunder. Royce drove Andre back, eventually winning the battle of wills as the running back’s momentum stopped and he fell to the turf.
He could hear the coaches yelling their approval or displeasure at the result of the play, depending on their specialty.
The next play, the offense dialed up an option. Royce found himself getting blocked by a number of players as Will ran toward the pylon with Andre a few yards behind him, ready to catch the pitch.
Malik ran toward the edge, cutting off Will’s angle. Will faked the pitch, likely assuming a hit wouldn’t come due to the red jersey he wore, but Malik shoved him to the turf anyway, just short of the goalline.
Coach McDaniels’ shouted in anger. “What the fuck does the red jersey mean?!”
Andre shoved Malik, coming to the defense of his backfield mate. Malik shoved him back, but before they could come to blows, Royce ran over. He grabbed the back of Malik’s jersey and flung him to the turf.
Malik tried to jump to his feet, but Royce pushed him back down with a hand on the back of his helmet.
“Chill the fuck out!” Royce shouted before the rest of the players ran over to separate the two of them.
Malik swung at Royce, but the bodies between them kept it well away.
“Thomas, Lafitte!” Coach Cunningham shouted. “Stadiums, now. You know the rules. You fight. You run.”
…
“Hurry up and finish this last one so I can go home!” Coach Foster shouted to Royce and Malik as they ran down the last set of stairs in the bleachers. The two of them had been running for what felt like hours, pain starting to bloom in their legs as the punishment took the expected toll on them.
They reached the bottom, both doubling over to catch their breath.
Coach Foster gestured to stray wrappings and tape littering the field. “Clean this shit up and make sure they lock the door behind y’all.” He turned and headed toward the locker room, eager to get home after a long day.
Malik looked at Royce, the earlier anger in his expression replaced with exhaustion. “You know I would’ve blues’d your ass if you hadn’t snuck me.”
“I ain’t never lost a fight and you ain’t gonna be the first motherfucker to change that,” Royce said, straightening up as he gasped for air.
“If you think so,” Malik said. He held his hand out to Royce who dapped him up. “Good looking out though. I was ready to crash out out there.”
“Sometimes, you gotta son your people before they get themselves in some shit that they can’t get themselves out of,” Royce shrugged.
Malik nodded as the two of them started the descent back to the field to pick up the trash. “You a real one. For real. A pussy ass bitch that sneaks they homeboy, but you still a real one.”
The two of them laughed, earlier frustrations forgotten.
-
djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
20 days til Thanksgiving, 47 til Christmas. Let’s do it
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16854
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Catholics vs. Convicts: Louisiana Edition
The stadium buzzed with energy as the Cubs took the field against Catholic, one of the perennial powerhouses of Louisiana High School football. The air was thick with anticipation and the stands were packed to capacity – not just with diehard fans, students and parents, but with scouts and coaches from universities across the country, eyes keenly scanning the field for standout talent.
This wasn’t just another football game. It was a proving ground. The coliseum where a couple dozen of the young men on the field would earn scholarships to play at the next level.
And Royce could feel it in every fiber of his being.
It was an atmosphere that he’d never experienced, every roar of the crowd thumping him in the chest like a punch from a heavyweight prize fighter. Malik ran the length of the 50-yard line, waving a towel over his head and taunting the Catholic players as they went through their pre-game routine.
Royce spotted Poochie hanging near the back of the lines of Bears’ players, nodding his head to music in his head. He made a mental note of the number 3 on his chest.
…
The game started with intensity from the first snap, both teams vying for control. The defensive and offensive lines collided like crashing waves, and the sound of helmets clashing echoed through the stadium.
Royce found himself locked into his rhythm early, despite the clear jump in talent from the first two games of the season. Woodlawn and Archbishop Rummel might’ve been good football teams. Catholic High was elite.
He shouted an adjustment to his teammates, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd, eyes fixed on the Bears’ offense as their tight end shifted left. He prowled the line of scrimmage, barking orders at his teammates along with the occasional taunt aimed at his opponents.
Catholic’s quarterback, set in shotgun, eyed the defense, his fingers flexing at his sides as he waited for the snap. Royce leaned forward, creeping up to disguise his coverage.
At the snap, Royce dropped back into coverage, surveying the field. He spotted Poochie running a post through the middle of the defense. The receiver threw his hand up as soon as he had a step on Pat.
Royce turned and ran straight up the field. He glanced over his shoulder to see the ball in the air, arcing down toward Poochie’s direction. Royce angled his run, pumping his arms to close the distance and meet him just as the ball arrived.
He could see Poochie’s eyes, watching the ball in, hands coming up to catch it.
With a final burst of speed, Royce closed the distance. His shoulder slammed into Poochie’s chest. Royce wrapped his arms around his waist, driving his feet as he lifted the receiver off the turf and slammed him into the turf below.
Poochie kicked him away as he got up, still holding onto the ball. He spun the ball on the turf, clapping in Royce’s face. “Yeah, bitch. I like that! I like that! But you softer than baby shit!”
“Don’t come cross the middle, nigga!” Royce shouted back, pounding on his chest.
“Watch the language, five!” a referee shouted.
…
“Touchdown, Cur Dogs. Hunter Johnson finds Eric ‘Poochie’ Scott in the back of the endzone and Catholic draws first blood.”
…
“Andre Lewis powers his way across the goal line and U-High is going to tie this ball game up!”
…
“That was your fucking man!” Royce shouted at Donovan, pointing at the Catholic tight end hopping up off the turf after Royce had tackled him. “Get your fucking head in the game!”
“I got you, bruh!” Donovan shouted back, putting his mouthpiece in.
The Bears rushed back to the line for the next play, looking to the sideline for the call. The Cubs’ defense made adjustments to match their alignment.
Royce read the formation, eyes flicking between the quarterback and the receivers. He adjusted his stance, inching closer to the line of scrimmage, baiting the quarterback, making it look like he was blitzing. The quarterback glanced over, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
Royce immediately dropped back toward the middle of the field when the ball was snapped, sprinting into his zone, his eyes locked onto a receiver running a seam route. The quarterback wound up, his arm cocked, about to release. Royce broke into a full sprint, his instincts kicking in.
He cut underneath the receiver, timing it perfectly as the ball hurtled toward them. He jumped, extending his arms, snatching the ball out of the air.
The crowd exploded as he tucked the ball, turning upfield. He dodged a diving tackle from a Catholic lineman. His teammates cleared a path, and he sprinted for every yard he could get, finally being brought down near midfield.
He sprang to his feet, running across the field, wagging his finger toward Catholic’s sideline as his teammates trailed behind him, jumping on his back in celebration.
…
“Gautreaux lets it fly and – Harris catches it in stride! He’s going to walk into the endzone, 30, 20, 10, touchdown! The Cubs have taken the lead!”
…
“Keep bringing the heat! Don’t fucking let up on them!” Coach Vaughn shouted at his defense as they huddled around him on the sideline.
“Yes, sir,” the players said in unison.
“This isn’t fucking college or the NFL! Ain’t no targeting out there! Go out there and make those motherfuckers afraid to catch the motherfucking ball!”
“Yes, sir,” the players answered.
…
“Johnson is flushed out of the pocket with a ferocious pass rush from U-High’s defense. He gets it out of his hands to Jones and this kid can fly. He’s up the sideline, breaks a tackle and he’s into the endzone to tie this game back up!”
…
“That’s picked off by Smith and the Bears have the ball back.”
…
Royce lined up over the tight end, who was split out wide on the inside of two receivers. He crouched down, flexing his hands in his gloves as he stared at his opponent opposite of him.
The endzone was only 20 yards away, a hop, skip and a jump if they couldn’t make a stop or push them back. The quarterback barked out his cadence, making adjustments for the offense as he read the defense.
He called for the snap and the tight end tried to release to the inside. Royce jammed his hands under his armpits, forcing the tight end to go to the outside instead. He got into his route after being thrown off, crossing the field.
The quarterback threw the ball, trying to drop it between Royce trailing behind his target and the safeties further down the field. The ball was a little behind the tight end, however, giving Royce an opportunity. He lunged forward, outstretching his hand.
He felt the ball hit his palm and watched as it fell to the turf. Justin ran over and headbutted Royce in celebration as Royce pretended to put on a seatbelt.
…
“The field goal is up and it’s good. Catholic takes the lead with time running out in the second quarter.”
…
Royce cursed under his breath as Will’s attempt to convert on a third down and keep their two-minute drive to end the second quarter alive, leading to Juan jogging out onto the field to attempt the field goal.
It sailed through the uprights as the clock hit all zeroes, sending the game into halftime with the score tied at 17 a piece.
Royce unclipped his chin strap and joined the team jogging toward the locker room. He glanced up into the bleachers as he did, his eye catching Alix standing on the edge of the seats with some of her friends. They all wore makeshift Cubs’ jerseys, complete with numbers.
At first, he thought Alix wore six but when she moved to laugh at something one of the others said, he noticed that it was a five.
Taking a deep breath, he shook his head to refocus on the game as they entered the locker room.
…
The second half picked up right where the first had left off. Catholic and U-High traded blows, each drive pushing the other team to the limit. Royce felt himself slipping into the zone, every hit, every tackle coming in the flow of the game, his instincts razor-sharp.
He slammed his helmet into Malik’s after Malik made a play to prevent Catholic from converting on a third down and getting into the redzone.
…
“The Bears retake the lead with that field goal. 20-17 Catholic.”
…
“Gautreaux rolls out to his right and finds Pierre in the flats and that’s going to be an easy touchdown for the tight end. U-High goes back up 23-20! What a game we’re having here tonight!”
…
Royce surged forward, trying to shoot the gap between the offensive linemen. He ended up double teamed before being shoved to the turf. He ended up rolling under one of them, getting stuck as the lineman fell on top of him.
Struggling to get back to his feet, he could only hear as the crowd noise rose in a mix of cheers and boos.
By the time he was able to get back on his feet, he spun around looking for the ball only to find a convey of players running up the sideline, Poochie leading all of them as he ran into the endzone.
In celebration, he put his hands together mimicked going to sleep.
Royce kicked the turf in anger as he jogged off the field.
…
“Catholic tacks on another field goal and they’re going to head into the final five minutes of the game with a six point lead.”
…
“That’s going to fall incomplete from Gautreaux and U-High is going to be forced to punt the ball away with time running out. The Cubs could be headed for their second defeat of the season.”
…
Catholic was driving despite time growing short in the game, moving the ball into U-High’s territory, another first down likely putting the nail in the Cubs’ coffin and sending the Cur Dogs home winners.
Royce could feel his heart thudding in his chest as the situation grew more desperate, the home fans doing everything they could to try to will a mistake from Catholic’s offense to give their team one final chance to win the game.
The quarterback crouched under the center as he’d done on every play on that drive so far. Everyone in the stadium knew another run was coming.
Royce crept up closer to the line, U-High stacking the box to try to get a stop for a loss.
The quarterback called for the snap, turned and pitched it to the running back on a toss. The back got the hash and started to turn up field.
Royce sprinted over, cutting off his path up the field. Balling his hand into a fist, Royce swung his hand down on top of the ball with all his strength. He felt the running back’s arm be forced away from his body and their arms hooked together.
“Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!” it seemed like everyone shouted.
Every player on the field dove on the ball, creating a scrum over possession. Eventually, the referees detangled all of the bodies and found Tyler at the bottom of the pile, curled into fetal position around the ball.
Coach Cunningham was the first one to meet Royce as he jogged to the sideline in celebration.
“Way to get the fucking ball back, son!” the usually stoic coach shouted, wrapping his arm around Royce’s neck and slapping him on top of his head before turning back to Will and the offense to plan the final drive.
…
Royce knelt on the sidelines, his hand covering his mouth, eyes fixed on every play, feeling helpless as all he could do was watch as the offense attempted to put the ball into the endzone and get the win.
Will moved the team down the field with precision, marshalling their teammates with a flurry of quick passes, working the boundaries to save as much time as possible. The receivers made clutch catches, the offensive line held strong, and the tension was palpable as they neared the endzone.
It felt as though the crowd and everyone on the Cubs’ sideline was holding their breath as each second ticked away. Royce’s heart raced as the offense lined up from Catholic’s 25.
Will called for the snap and dropped back, scanning his options. He stepped up in the pocket and hit Kyrie coming across the field. Luke picked up a key block, taking out a couple of Bears defenders.
Kyrie hit the sideline and turned up field, diving for the pylon just as he was pushed out of bounds.
The side judge pointed at the pylon, lying knocked over on the turf, before signaling a touchdown, sending an explosion of cheers around the stadium.
But U-High still needed the extra point to win.
Every Cub player not on the field knelt on the sideline, their arms linked as Juan lined up for the kick. An eerie hush fell over the home side of the crowd. Juan raised his arm and Mark called for the snap. Juan kicked the ball, and it sailed right through the middle of the uprights.
The team erupted in celebration, players piling onto each other, the crowd roaring. Royce found himself pulled into the throng of teammates, hugs and pats on the back all around, as the pile migrated onto the field to incorporate the rest of the team.
…
After what felt like an eternity, the crowd began to clear and initial waves of celebration began to settle. U-High shook hands with dejected Catholic players – except for Poochie who’d feigned an injury to make an early exit to the locker room.
Royce walked to the home locker rooms, a bit of a smile on his face as he struggled to contain his excitement. He spotted a man in a purple polo approaching. Tall, middle-aged, with a sharp gaze, the man extended a hand.
“Hell of a game, son.”
Royce nodded, shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m with LSU,” the man said, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got some serious talent, Royce. How do you feel about playing at night in Death Valley?”
The stadium buzzed with energy as the Cubs took the field against Catholic, one of the perennial powerhouses of Louisiana High School football. The air was thick with anticipation and the stands were packed to capacity – not just with diehard fans, students and parents, but with scouts and coaches from universities across the country, eyes keenly scanning the field for standout talent.
This wasn’t just another football game. It was a proving ground. The coliseum where a couple dozen of the young men on the field would earn scholarships to play at the next level.
And Royce could feel it in every fiber of his being.
It was an atmosphere that he’d never experienced, every roar of the crowd thumping him in the chest like a punch from a heavyweight prize fighter. Malik ran the length of the 50-yard line, waving a towel over his head and taunting the Catholic players as they went through their pre-game routine.
Royce spotted Poochie hanging near the back of the lines of Bears’ players, nodding his head to music in his head. He made a mental note of the number 3 on his chest.
…
The game started with intensity from the first snap, both teams vying for control. The defensive and offensive lines collided like crashing waves, and the sound of helmets clashing echoed through the stadium.
Royce found himself locked into his rhythm early, despite the clear jump in talent from the first two games of the season. Woodlawn and Archbishop Rummel might’ve been good football teams. Catholic High was elite.
He shouted an adjustment to his teammates, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd, eyes fixed on the Bears’ offense as their tight end shifted left. He prowled the line of scrimmage, barking orders at his teammates along with the occasional taunt aimed at his opponents.
Catholic’s quarterback, set in shotgun, eyed the defense, his fingers flexing at his sides as he waited for the snap. Royce leaned forward, creeping up to disguise his coverage.
At the snap, Royce dropped back into coverage, surveying the field. He spotted Poochie running a post through the middle of the defense. The receiver threw his hand up as soon as he had a step on Pat.
Royce turned and ran straight up the field. He glanced over his shoulder to see the ball in the air, arcing down toward Poochie’s direction. Royce angled his run, pumping his arms to close the distance and meet him just as the ball arrived.
He could see Poochie’s eyes, watching the ball in, hands coming up to catch it.
With a final burst of speed, Royce closed the distance. His shoulder slammed into Poochie’s chest. Royce wrapped his arms around his waist, driving his feet as he lifted the receiver off the turf and slammed him into the turf below.
Poochie kicked him away as he got up, still holding onto the ball. He spun the ball on the turf, clapping in Royce’s face. “Yeah, bitch. I like that! I like that! But you softer than baby shit!”
“Don’t come cross the middle, nigga!” Royce shouted back, pounding on his chest.
“Watch the language, five!” a referee shouted.
…
“Touchdown, Cur Dogs. Hunter Johnson finds Eric ‘Poochie’ Scott in the back of the endzone and Catholic draws first blood.”
…
“Andre Lewis powers his way across the goal line and U-High is going to tie this ball game up!”
…
“That was your fucking man!” Royce shouted at Donovan, pointing at the Catholic tight end hopping up off the turf after Royce had tackled him. “Get your fucking head in the game!”
“I got you, bruh!” Donovan shouted back, putting his mouthpiece in.
The Bears rushed back to the line for the next play, looking to the sideline for the call. The Cubs’ defense made adjustments to match their alignment.
Royce read the formation, eyes flicking between the quarterback and the receivers. He adjusted his stance, inching closer to the line of scrimmage, baiting the quarterback, making it look like he was blitzing. The quarterback glanced over, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
Royce immediately dropped back toward the middle of the field when the ball was snapped, sprinting into his zone, his eyes locked onto a receiver running a seam route. The quarterback wound up, his arm cocked, about to release. Royce broke into a full sprint, his instincts kicking in.
He cut underneath the receiver, timing it perfectly as the ball hurtled toward them. He jumped, extending his arms, snatching the ball out of the air.
The crowd exploded as he tucked the ball, turning upfield. He dodged a diving tackle from a Catholic lineman. His teammates cleared a path, and he sprinted for every yard he could get, finally being brought down near midfield.
He sprang to his feet, running across the field, wagging his finger toward Catholic’s sideline as his teammates trailed behind him, jumping on his back in celebration.
…
“Gautreaux lets it fly and – Harris catches it in stride! He’s going to walk into the endzone, 30, 20, 10, touchdown! The Cubs have taken the lead!”
…
“Keep bringing the heat! Don’t fucking let up on them!” Coach Vaughn shouted at his defense as they huddled around him on the sideline.
“Yes, sir,” the players said in unison.
“This isn’t fucking college or the NFL! Ain’t no targeting out there! Go out there and make those motherfuckers afraid to catch the motherfucking ball!”
“Yes, sir,” the players answered.
…
“Johnson is flushed out of the pocket with a ferocious pass rush from U-High’s defense. He gets it out of his hands to Jones and this kid can fly. He’s up the sideline, breaks a tackle and he’s into the endzone to tie this game back up!”
…
“That’s picked off by Smith and the Bears have the ball back.”
…
Royce lined up over the tight end, who was split out wide on the inside of two receivers. He crouched down, flexing his hands in his gloves as he stared at his opponent opposite of him.
The endzone was only 20 yards away, a hop, skip and a jump if they couldn’t make a stop or push them back. The quarterback barked out his cadence, making adjustments for the offense as he read the defense.
He called for the snap and the tight end tried to release to the inside. Royce jammed his hands under his armpits, forcing the tight end to go to the outside instead. He got into his route after being thrown off, crossing the field.
The quarterback threw the ball, trying to drop it between Royce trailing behind his target and the safeties further down the field. The ball was a little behind the tight end, however, giving Royce an opportunity. He lunged forward, outstretching his hand.
He felt the ball hit his palm and watched as it fell to the turf. Justin ran over and headbutted Royce in celebration as Royce pretended to put on a seatbelt.
…
“The field goal is up and it’s good. Catholic takes the lead with time running out in the second quarter.”
…
Royce cursed under his breath as Will’s attempt to convert on a third down and keep their two-minute drive to end the second quarter alive, leading to Juan jogging out onto the field to attempt the field goal.
It sailed through the uprights as the clock hit all zeroes, sending the game into halftime with the score tied at 17 a piece.
Royce unclipped his chin strap and joined the team jogging toward the locker room. He glanced up into the bleachers as he did, his eye catching Alix standing on the edge of the seats with some of her friends. They all wore makeshift Cubs’ jerseys, complete with numbers.
At first, he thought Alix wore six but when she moved to laugh at something one of the others said, he noticed that it was a five.
Taking a deep breath, he shook his head to refocus on the game as they entered the locker room.
…
The second half picked up right where the first had left off. Catholic and U-High traded blows, each drive pushing the other team to the limit. Royce felt himself slipping into the zone, every hit, every tackle coming in the flow of the game, his instincts razor-sharp.
He slammed his helmet into Malik’s after Malik made a play to prevent Catholic from converting on a third down and getting into the redzone.
…
“The Bears retake the lead with that field goal. 20-17 Catholic.”
…
“Gautreaux rolls out to his right and finds Pierre in the flats and that’s going to be an easy touchdown for the tight end. U-High goes back up 23-20! What a game we’re having here tonight!”
…
Royce surged forward, trying to shoot the gap between the offensive linemen. He ended up double teamed before being shoved to the turf. He ended up rolling under one of them, getting stuck as the lineman fell on top of him.
Struggling to get back to his feet, he could only hear as the crowd noise rose in a mix of cheers and boos.
By the time he was able to get back on his feet, he spun around looking for the ball only to find a convey of players running up the sideline, Poochie leading all of them as he ran into the endzone.
In celebration, he put his hands together mimicked going to sleep.
Royce kicked the turf in anger as he jogged off the field.
…
“Catholic tacks on another field goal and they’re going to head into the final five minutes of the game with a six point lead.”
…
“That’s going to fall incomplete from Gautreaux and U-High is going to be forced to punt the ball away with time running out. The Cubs could be headed for their second defeat of the season.”
…
Catholic was driving despite time growing short in the game, moving the ball into U-High’s territory, another first down likely putting the nail in the Cubs’ coffin and sending the Cur Dogs home winners.
Royce could feel his heart thudding in his chest as the situation grew more desperate, the home fans doing everything they could to try to will a mistake from Catholic’s offense to give their team one final chance to win the game.
The quarterback crouched under the center as he’d done on every play on that drive so far. Everyone in the stadium knew another run was coming.
Royce crept up closer to the line, U-High stacking the box to try to get a stop for a loss.
The quarterback called for the snap, turned and pitched it to the running back on a toss. The back got the hash and started to turn up field.
Royce sprinted over, cutting off his path up the field. Balling his hand into a fist, Royce swung his hand down on top of the ball with all his strength. He felt the running back’s arm be forced away from his body and their arms hooked together.
“Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!” it seemed like everyone shouted.
Every player on the field dove on the ball, creating a scrum over possession. Eventually, the referees detangled all of the bodies and found Tyler at the bottom of the pile, curled into fetal position around the ball.
Coach Cunningham was the first one to meet Royce as he jogged to the sideline in celebration.
“Way to get the fucking ball back, son!” the usually stoic coach shouted, wrapping his arm around Royce’s neck and slapping him on top of his head before turning back to Will and the offense to plan the final drive.
…
Royce knelt on the sidelines, his hand covering his mouth, eyes fixed on every play, feeling helpless as all he could do was watch as the offense attempted to put the ball into the endzone and get the win.
Will moved the team down the field with precision, marshalling their teammates with a flurry of quick passes, working the boundaries to save as much time as possible. The receivers made clutch catches, the offensive line held strong, and the tension was palpable as they neared the endzone.
It felt as though the crowd and everyone on the Cubs’ sideline was holding their breath as each second ticked away. Royce’s heart raced as the offense lined up from Catholic’s 25.
Will called for the snap and dropped back, scanning his options. He stepped up in the pocket and hit Kyrie coming across the field. Luke picked up a key block, taking out a couple of Bears defenders.
Kyrie hit the sideline and turned up field, diving for the pylon just as he was pushed out of bounds.
The side judge pointed at the pylon, lying knocked over on the turf, before signaling a touchdown, sending an explosion of cheers around the stadium.
But U-High still needed the extra point to win.
Every Cub player not on the field knelt on the sideline, their arms linked as Juan lined up for the kick. An eerie hush fell over the home side of the crowd. Juan raised his arm and Mark called for the snap. Juan kicked the ball, and it sailed right through the middle of the uprights.
The team erupted in celebration, players piling onto each other, the crowd roaring. Royce found himself pulled into the throng of teammates, hugs and pats on the back all around, as the pile migrated onto the field to incorporate the rest of the team.
…
After what felt like an eternity, the crowd began to clear and initial waves of celebration began to settle. U-High shook hands with dejected Catholic players – except for Poochie who’d feigned an injury to make an early exit to the locker room.
Royce walked to the home locker rooms, a bit of a smile on his face as he struggled to contain his excitement. He spotted a man in a purple polo approaching. Tall, middle-aged, with a sharp gaze, the man extended a hand.
“Hell of a game, son.”
Royce nodded, shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m with LSU,” the man said, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got some serious talent, Royce. How do you feel about playing at night in Death Valley?”
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
LSU! Now we talking!
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Nowe up 
Hell of a game, hell of an update.
Hell of a game, hell of an update.