Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

SEPTEMBER SONG

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 2

Around 6:30 Frank laid down his book, got to his feet and headed downstairs. He found his mother, Laura, in the kitchen.

"Hi, sweetie." Blonde and blue-eyed like Joe, Laura was petite in size, her head coming somewhere near Frank's collarbones. She gave him a swift hug, then continued her task of putting together bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches. "I thought you might want something to eat before you go to the game."

"How'd you know I was going?" Frank asked, a little confused. Laura hadn't been home when he'd gone upstairs. He reached over his mother's shoulder and snitched a slice of tomato; she smacked him lightly on the wrist, but laughed.

"Joe left a note. He said Vanessa's picking you up?"

"Uh-huh. He took the van, but I'll bring it home." Frank walked across the kitchen to get a glass from one of the cupboards. He filled it with milk, then sat down as his mother set a filled plate in his usual place at the table.

"Well, you'll likely need to hurry. If the game starts at 7:30, and all the opening stuff – national anthem, team introductions – are before that, she'll probably be here within 15 minutes or so." Laura leaned against the counter and nibbled on a sandwich of her own. "I'll probably go over with Chet's mother, but we're figuring on getting there right before kickoff." She eyed her elder son thoughtfully. "How was school today?"

"It was okay…pretty good, actually," Frank replied, hastily gulping half his glass of milk. "But it's still sort of scary. Lots of homework – reading, anyway." He thought about mentioning meeting Megan Wright, but hesitated. His mother might think he was being disloyal to Callie.

"You will do just fine," Laura assured him, and walked over to give him a quick hug. "Your dad and I are so proud of you. I know he wishes he could be here, with you starting college and Joe's first game, and all, but that trial in San Francisco is taking longer than he anticipated. He said he hadn't even had a chance to testify yet, let alone be cross-examined, and he'd thought it would be wrapped up by now."

"It's okay, Mom," Frank said with a grin. "We're sort of used to it, remember?" He got to his feet as a horn sounded from outside. "Whoops, there's Vanessa. I've gotta go. Thanks for the sandwich. Maybe I'll see you there." He quickly kissed his mother's cheek, grabbed his jacket, and darted out the door.

Sliding into Vanessa's Jeep, he hastily buckled the seat belt; Vanessa was in no mood to wait for stragglers. She was shifting into reverse almost before he got the door closed.

"Hi!" she shouted, over the engine's roar. "I wanted to get a good seat in the student section. Sorry if I'm a little early."

"It's okay," Frank replied loudly. "I don't mind getting there early."

Soon they were in the parking lot near Bayport High's football field. Vanessa didn't bother locking her car; there wasn't much point in locking a vehicle with no top, but she did lock the glove and storage compartments. Frank noted where their van was parked, since he needed to find it when the game was over. He and Vanessa walked toward the entrance, and got their tickets. Frank grinned a little ruefully as he had to shell out an extra three dollars; being a college student had its disadvantages!

The two separated when they reached the stands; Vanessa heading for the section designated for the high school students, while Frank made his way into the seats where the parents and other attendees usually sat. To his relief, he saw Phil Cohen's familiar face, and hurried to secure a seat beside him.

"Hey, Frank!" Phil grinned and waved. "Tony's coming too, but he may have to leave early, to get to work. He has to be ready for the after-game crowd."

In a few minutes, Tony arrived, and the three spent the time before the game comparing notes on their classes, hearing Phil's tales of NYU, and speculating on how Bayport's team would manage, now that neither Frank nor Tony was there to help them. The stands were filling rapidly, for Bayport usually had a good team, and the townspeople were very supportive. Frank saw his mother and Mrs. Morton arrive, and waved, but they were too far away to say hello.

The high school marching band made its way onto the field, and struck up a somewhat wavering rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," while the cheerleaders solemnly raised the flag. Then the girls began jumping about, exhorting the crowd to cheer, while the football team came charging onto the field, led by none other than Joe Hardy himself. Frank, Tony and Phil stood with the others, clapping and whistling loudly as the band swung into the school fight song.

The coin was tossed, the teams lined up, and the game began.

At halftime, Bayport trudged off the field holding a precarious one-point lead. It was 7-6, thanks to a missed point-after attempt by Southport. Bayport's lone touchdown had come on a blocked punt. Both teams looked discouraged as they headed for the locker rooms.

Sitting in the stands had been a new experience for Tony and Frank. Even if they weren't playing in a game for some reason, they had always been on the sidelines with the rest of their team. Now they were separated. It gave Frank a strange feeling.

"Wow," Tony remarked, staring at the scoreboard with its unimpressive numbers. "Did we ever play that bad?"

Phil chuckled. Not having been on the football team, he was used to watching from the bleachers; there wasn't the wrenching sense of dislocation for him. "You played worse, last year, against St. Regis!"

Both Tony and Frank grinned, remembering. "I guess you're right," Frank admitted. "Doesn't it seem like we should be out there, helping them?" he asked Tony, who nodded emphatically.

After the halftime break, the game continued. It was a defensive battle all the way; neither team could get close enough to even attempt a field goal. The game was ground out between the 30-yard lines, and the defensive teams were the important ones now.

Frank watched Bayport's quarterback, Aaron Whitney. Aaron had been his backup last year, and Frank knew he was a capable quarterback. Tonight, however, he looked tentative. He was throwing the ball, but only short, sharp passes; no long bombs. His passes reached their targets, but the Southport defensive squad covered the receivers so completely that they rarely had any room to run. Whitney was sacked more than once, and had to throw the ball away several times.

Time went on. Third quarter…fourth quarter. Finally, there was only a minute and a half left in the game, with Bayport still clinging to that fragile one-point lead.

Southport was forced to punt once more. The teams lined up, and Joe was back on the 10-yard line, ready to receive. The ball was snapped, the punter put his toe under it.. .It was a high, wobbly kick, turning slowly in the air above the field, giving Southport's defensive line plenty of time to get downfield. But Joe was ready. He kept his eyes on the football, shifting position slightly to remain underneath it as it fell. It dropped into his outstretched hands; he tucked it securely into the crook of his arm, and prepared to run for his life.

From his seat in the stands, Frank watched tensely as his little brother caught the ball. And then, old habits kicking in, the quarterback's eye for changing positions on the field still true, Frank saw an unbelievable shift in Southport's defense. Perhaps it was a missed assignment, perhaps confusion as to who was where, but suddenly, there was a gigantic hole opening up on one side of the field.

Frank leaped to his feet, cupped his hands about his mouth, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: "JOE! GO TO THE RIGHT!"

Whether or not Joe heard his brother through the noise of the crowd was unknown, but he swerved to his right as if pulled by a magnet, put his head down, and ran for all he was worth, dodging outstretched hands and leaping downed defenders with the agility of a gazelle.

Bayport's defensive players realized what was happening, and boosted their efforts to a new high, shielding Joe on every side. Southport tried hard, but momentum was with Joe, and he scampered for the sideline, running a foot or two inside the line, one hand out to fend off any tackler that might break free. The last Southport defender almost caught him, diving for a shoestring tackle, but Joe juked to the left, then right again – and swept into the end zone unimpeded. He dropped to one knee and raised the ball over his head, a huge smile of triumph lighting his face. And then Biff reached him, scooped him into his arms and whirled him around, howling like a banshee. The rest of Bayport's team followed suit, nearly burying Biff and Joe in the mêlée.

Everyone in the stands was on their feet, and pandemonium reigned. Phil and Frank were hugging each other in delight, pounding on each others' shoulders, while Tony stood on his seat, pumping his fist and screaming "YES! YES!" Amidst all the shouting, Bayport quickly lined up for the point-after attempt, and the kicker calmly booted it between the uprights. 14-6, Bayport. And there were only 35 seconds left in the game.

The kickoff was a textbook on-sides-kick, and Southport never had a chance. Bayport's defensive line held them to three incomplete passes, and the game was over. The triumphant Bayport fans cheered wildly as their team left the field, and the band played the school fight song once more.

Frank, Tony and Phil slowly made their way down to ground level, high-fiving and congratulating as they went; then headed for the parking lot. Tony walked quickly, trying to get to his car as fast as he could; Mr. Pizza was a favorite hangout following games, and he had to get to work. He was practically running by the time they reached the parking lot; then he was in his car and heading for the exit with no more than a hasty "Bye!"

"Want to go get some pizza, or something?" Phil asked.

Frank considered it a minute, then shook his head. "No, thanks. I guess I'll go on home. I still have some studying to do tonight."

"Yeah, you and me both," Phil admitted. "Tomorrow?"

"Call me, okay? We can get together."

"That's cool. Later!"

Frank unlocked the van, climbed in, and headed for home. He was elated by Bayport's win, and delighted with Joe's game-clinching run – but he'd had enough for the night.