Grade 12
I love to write short stories, especially about sports. What inspired this story was actually a Instagram I saw once where this really good football player got really mad for some odd reason and ran out onto the field and trucked the ref and injured him really bad. This made me want to write a similar story, but with more planning behind an unnesseccary hit...
The Last Game
“Yo, what is your problem bro.” shouted Nash.
“What is your problem, dude? Get off me.” said Stevo back quickly with a confused look on his face.
“Then who the hell did that shit to me. If it wasn’t you, then who?!” Nash blurted angrily.
“I have no idea brother. It was not me I swear. I don’t even know what you are talking about,” said Stevo, now more confused than angry.
“Alright Stevo whatever the hell you say. If I figure out it was you, watch the fuck out.” And Nash walked back into the aisle and out the store, repeatedly glancing back at Stevo with a scowl.
“What the hell just happened?” Stevo thought to himself.
----- 4 days earlier -----
“Awww man what the HELL?!” yelled Nash.
Yellow and red goo was all over his car. Intertwined together resembling a tye dye t-shirt. It got worse. There was popcorn and silly string all over the inside of his car, and this repulsive smell coming from the trunk. He quickly ran to the back, opened the latch, and sure enough, more. But this time it wasn’t popcorn. A dead squirrel and a mountain of walnuts and pine cones were layered underneath the carcass. The smell was so bad you would automatically jerk back with a squished face holding your hand over your nose and mouth. There were flies everywhere. It looked like the quickest cloud in the world moving in the path of an atom. He immediately thought it was someone from West side. The West side football team always pulled shit like this. But especially their captain Stevo. He knew that little douche would do something like this.
At the next practice Nash was interrogating the whole team. A captain and a senior he was, so everyone listened to him. He started at the beginning of practice. Getting everyone grouped up in a half circle in the locker room like he was making a coach’s speech.
“Alright boys. I need to ask you all a question, and I need the absolute truth from each and every one of you.” Nash said slowly. “My car was fucked with. I am talking messed up. I need to get a $300 detail on the car now just because of the shit everywhere.”
The running back, Tyty blurted, “What happened to your car? And why didn’t you message the group chat after?”
Nash walked straight over to Tyty, at a slow pace, and stared into his eyes for a couple of breaths. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. Made a couple of clicks and boom. There it was. His beautiful dark gray Mercedes turned into an ice cream truck with the array of colors on it. He turned back around to the rest of the team and showed off the photo, his hand raised straight up in the air.
“Now do you guys get it??” Shouted Nash. “Now. Did any of you guys touch my car..?! Because if I found out you did, it would be in your best interest to get the emergency room’s number in your contacts list.”
Nobody said a word. They knew not to mess with Nash. He was chill most of the time. But being a 6’3 division one wrestler and football player posed problems when trying to confront him. Especially with his 2 faced personality. Nash knew this. He knew that his teammates knew good enough. They played pranks on each other, but not to this level. And definitely not to Nash.
“Oh and I didn’t message the group chat after because I was too fuckin mad to think clearly since THERE'S A DAMN DEAD MOLESTED SQUIRREL IN MY TRUNK.” Yelled Nash.
The whole team looked at each other, trying to keep a serious face as Nash looked over them all. A dead squirrel in his trunk? Popcorn and silly string in the car? A wonderful prank. And seeing Nash mad always sprung a silent contiguous laughter. The kind where you meet eyes with your friend from across the room and have a full conversation when an adult says something strange but you know you can’t say anything out loud. Then Nash did his signature little mood flip and hyped the team up.
“ALRIGHT BOYS WE GOTTA BIG GAME AHEAD ON FRIDAY LETS GET TO WORK!” Nash shouted loudly.
And the team could not help but follow suit, all standing up with force, grabbing their helmets, and moving over to the door amped up for the conference championship game up ahead.
For the next couple of days Nash had to use an old, rusted, and sputtering Camry to drive to school and practice, as the Mercedes got cleaned. Quite the drop off. The ego hit made Nash intensely mad, but gave him motivation to find the culprit of the destruction. He knew it was West Side. Ever since elementary school East and West had problems. In the beginning starting with popping small bike tires and rock throwing incidents but eventually in high school scaling to stolen jewelry and egged houses. The tension was serious. Police had gotten involved due to fights between the 2 groups. But incidents had stopped after the city approved of a year long juvy sentence for whoever pulled any shit off next. Yet things still happened. Missing headphones? Check. A broken mirror? Check. Stolen bike? Check. A messed up car… check? At least that's what Nash's conclusion was. Him and his old friend Stevo. But after Stevo started dating Nash's ex back in sophomore year, things have never been the same.
----- current day -----
After the store confrontation, Nash thought his point was across. But it was short lived. After practice the next day when Nash was sitting at a red light, a car with dark tinted windows and a mean widebody look pulled up on the left side of his beat down Camry. He looked over and saw Stevo’s light brown curly mop poking out of the window as his full face slowly was revealed. A big smile glistened on his face.
“Nice car you got here Nash.” Stevo said from the other car in a lighthearted joking tone.
“Alright dude whatever.” snarked back Nash, face turning more and more red and scrunched as the milliseconds passed.
“I heard your nice old Mercedes had a little seasoning put on it. I feel for you hermano it must suck driving a normal car like the rest of us.” Stevo said laughing in between each pause. “That’s why you were so mad yesterday huh. Someone’s out to get you. Just so you know it sure ain’t me. If you want to think that though, more power to you.” He said, still chuckling.
Before Nash could think of a response the light turned green for the left turn and the black widebody Audi screeched off into the distance. Nash didn’t think twice; he instinctively turned the wheel and cut off the next car in line, slamming on the gas until he could feel the soft interior and the pedal clash. Nash didn’t get so close to the car where they could tell he was chasing, but he was gaining quickly.
Nash parked about 2 blocks away from Stevo’s house. He knew the neighborhood --- very wide streets and houses that all looked the same. Like every suburb in America. The same 7 shades of green and tan with some of the houses choosing the deck option, and others not, leaving a sliding glass door with a 12 foot drop.
Nash watched all 3 of the West players walk out of the car and into the house. He sat in the car contemplating his choices. Walk up and knock on the door? No. That's too risky. There's three of them and maybe parents too. Can’t get them involved. Throw a pine cone at his window until he notices? Maybe, but it might be getting too dark for that. No ability to see who threw it. OH! I know.
Remembering that he had Stevo’s number in his phone from back when they went to the same middle school he jumped on the contacts app. Praying that Stevo didn’t change or block his phone number he pressed the dial button.
1 ring.
2 rings.
3 rings.
Nothing.
Finally on what seemed to be the last ring before voicemail a click sounded and the line was picked up.
“Hello? Who’s this?” Asked Stevo, confused..
“It doesn’t matter yet. Just walk outside and across the street where we won’t be bothering anyone.” whispered Nash into the phone.
“Uh okay. And why should I do that? I have no clue who is calling me and you want me to walk outside my house? Dude, who are you.” Stevo said bluntly.
“Fine. It's Nash. I followed you from the intersection. I want to speak with you about something.” Nash said.
“Sure bro. Just make it quick. I got shit to do. Unlike you it seems.” Stevo said annoyed, and the line ended.
“Okay Nash what the hell ya want. It's almost eight and you're outside of my house.” Stevo said very passive aggressively.
“I am wondering why you completely FUCKED UP MY CAR. I KNOW IT WAS YOU. THERE'S NOBODY ELSE. AFTER THE FIGHT… he stuttered… WH- WH- WHO ELSE WOULD DO SUCH A TRAVESTY TO MY BABY.”
“Look Nash I get you’re mad but I didn’t touch the car I swear. On my mothers heart. I have no reason to. That was in the past. I don’t like you, you're right. But not so much to do that.” Stevo said sincerely.
“More lies. MORE LIES. You are lucky these 2 bodyguards are around you right now because I would pick your little shitty curls apart like wool from a sheep. I will NEVER forgive you for this shit, you hear me? The last shit was the end I thought. Guess not anymore.” Nash snarked and stepped forward. A mean mug staring down through Stevo’s soul. Stevo stepped back. His eyes flickering with fear and anger.
“Whatever Nash. I didn’t touch your car. And you can’t prove it. Piss off.”
Nash clenched his fists so hard they were shaking. He turned around and muttered, “You’ll regret this,” as he stormed off back to his car. He’d get Stevo back real bad. Where it hurt most. On the field.
The following day Nash gathered his teammates. But only the best players.
“Listen up,” Nash said, lowering his voice, “I need you all to have my back tomorrow. We need to make sure Stevo wishes he never pulled that shit on me. We need to make sure Stevo regrets stepping on that field with us tomorrow. Do you understand me?!”
One of the players twitched uncomfortably. “You mean hit him hard. Like on purpose?”
“That's exactly what I mean.” Nash replies.
“The refs will be all over it though. He's West's captain, remember?” says another player.
“Then make it look clean. Take some penalties. Every chance you get, hit him as hard as you can. Lower your shoulders and helmet. Take his lights out.” Nash said with a deep, serious tone in his voice.
Then his friend Dylan asks the question everyone had. “But Nash. Why? What did he do to you to make us want to hurt him on purpose. Is it really that serious?”
“MY CAR YOU DIPSHIT. DON’T YOU REMEMBER MY CAR. THAT WAS ONLY 2 DAYS AGO FOR GOD'S SAKE.” Yelled Nash. His voice cracking from the volume of his eruption. “Now, are you all with me? Or do I have to show you all why you don’t cross me by myself tomorrow?”
After a tense silence that seemed to last for eternity they all nodded, agreeing reluctantly. They all knew he would never forgive them if they didn’t follow.
The lights were shining bright on the field. A 12 o’clock sun gleaming from each corner of the field. The air smelled like fresh mowed grass and spray paint. Friday night lights. Nothing like it.
The national anthem took an eternity. Or so it seemed. The crowd singing the lyrics along and the band playing their trumpets raised loud into the sky.
BOOM!
Stevo opened his eyes to his head coach’s face right above him. Other faces in a circle were blurry all around his peripheral. Slowly he spat out, “Is the an-an-anthem finished ye - e - t?”
“No buddy, we are in the 4th quarter. It's a 1 score game with 3 minutes to go.” His coach said in a defeated tone.
Stevo jerked up. “Put me in coach. Put me in. I am fine. I am good. Whatever happened coach, I am good now. I feel great. Please coach please.” he begged.
“Sorry son, it's too risky. You already have a concussion. Any other damage tonight could put you at risk.” The coach said disappointed. But Stevo did not care at all. He jumped off the medical table and ran over to the bench. Weaving through people he found his helmet and ran out onto the field. The coaches yelled his name, but Stevo couldn’t hear them.
BOOM!
The stadium was mute. You could hear someone chew a piece of gum from across the field.
The ambulances came quick. Within minutes. The helicopter shortly after. Whispers and prayers laid a blanket over the game.
Everyone sat silent in the locker room. Every player with their helmet off and their head down. After about 30 minutes the head coach walked in the room and broke the mediation.
“Sorry to break the silence this way, but I have terrible news. Their captain was pronounced dead. Head trauma they are saying. We will visit the hospital tomorrow to say our apologies and pray for the family. Now everyone get changed and head home for the night. I have the police to deal with right now.”
After the coach walked out Nash finally spoke.
“This wasn’t supposed to go that far. I swear. I meant to make him scared. Not this.”
Everyone stared.
“I don’t know bro, but this is on you. Not any of us. Only you. ” A players said out loud. The rest of the team made a silent agreement that everyone in the room could feel.
“Just promise you won’t tell anyone. I mean anyone. The police. Your mom or dad. Your dog. Nobody. Just promise me that. Give me all your word.” Begged Nash.
The team agreed. After all they were guilty along with him.
bzzzz bzzzzz bzzz
A text message popped up on Nash’s phone later that night as he tried to numb himself to sleep with Netflix.
MESSAGE FROM RAYO
dude i have to tell u something
i heard about the game and i wanted to admit this to you finally
its probably the worst time for it, but now is better than never
i was the one who messed with your car
the squirrel, the condiments, the popcorn, everything
i thought it was just payback for the prank you pulled on me a month ago
i should have told you earlier i am sorry
and dont take it too hard it wasnt your fault
Nash didn’t respond. His world spun. He got a person killed for something he didn’t even do. Stevo was telling the truth the whole time. He had to keep this to himself or the police would figure out and him and his teammates would get in trouble. The pressure just kept amounting the more he thought.
BOOM!
Blood slowly pooled on the gray sheets while Nash’s parents woke up from the noise. The burden of the truth ended up hurting more than any hit he could ever take.