Chapter 1: A Meeting of Four

One Week Earlier…

"Third and Long, ball on the Rochester's thirty yard line,"

Okay Dylan… don't lose it now… we need a touchdown to win, don't blow it. "Ready? Down!" I called, the linemen all got into their positions, me under center. "Red thirty one! Red thirty one!" I called my signals. This was a big game, Rochester High were our state rivals, and a win would mean a trip to the playoffs. I scanned the defense, a linebacker shows blitz, "Fifty four dragon! Fifty four dragon!" I called.

A quiet still comes over the football field, the crowd anticipating the snap with bated breath, the autumn air was cold, bitter, the sounds of clicking football pads and called signals from the defense began to fill the air. "Set… HUT!" I called, the center hands me the ball and I drop back.

I scan my eyes around the field for an open receiver, "Foutler drops back to pass, looking for an open man!" the announcer sounded from the booth. After a moment of scanning I see my open man and get ready to throw.

CRACK!

I get blindsided by a linebacker, I didn't even know he was in the backfield! We both get sent to the ground, but the ref doesn't whistle the play dead, after a moment I realize why. "He fumbled! The ball is loose!" Dammit! I tried to worm my self around, reaching blindly, trying to get even so much as a finger on the ball. However, "Rochester Recovers! He's got room to run!" I look up to see the same linebacker that drilled me running the length of the field, the crowd erupting in a hail of boos as the defense scores six points off of my mistake.

"Rochester wins… again…" the announcer said, the crowd is livid, they start chucking things on the field. The fact I just cost us one of the most important games of the season began to sink in, it was sadly a position I was all too familiar with… last season had ended with a costly interception in the endzone, the year before that, I got sacked out of field goal range.

I slowly got up, one of the receivers approached me, "What the hell man?! I was wide open!" He complained. My teammates were not happy with me, I could tell by the looks on their faces… I blew it… again.

"Way to go QB! You cost us the game! Again!"

"You always choke when it counts!"

"Some leader you turned out to be Foutler!"

Each word felt like a knife to the gut, made all the worse by the fact that they all spoke the truth, I always choke when I needed to become the leader… I always fumble when it matters most.

Later…

The locker room's mood was predictably as sour as you'd expect, another wasted season because of me cracking under the pressure. I felt like crap, both physically and mentally. I began to take off my pads and uniform, trying to keep to myself as much as I could. I heard the door to the locker room open and slam shut… no doubt the coach was about to wring my neck for costing us the game again.

"We had a good season boys, we just got unlucky," coach began, "The best thing we can do, is take it on the chin, and come back stronger next season," he continued.

"Yeah, and maybe get a new Quarterback too,"

That comment was met by a hail of laughter from everyone but me, all it did for me was make me feel even worse. "All right, all right, that's enough," the coach said, quelling the laughter. "Hit the showers and we'll hope for better luck next year," he said.

I got up to wash off but the coach stopped me, "Foutler, a word please," he said. Oh boy… here it comes… this is when coach tells me I should take up tennis instead. I reluctantly followed my coach into his office, sitting on the opposite chair. "Dylan… you know what I'm about to say right?" he asked me.

I did, "That I'm a terrible quarterback and have no place in a Mustangs uniform?" I said.

The coach shook his head, "You're not a terrible quarterback Dylan, on the contrary, you're very talented, one of the best Rockefeller High has ever had," he corrected me, "But you crack under pressure too much, this keeps happening and your teammates start to notice it," he explained.

Coach then leaned in, looking me right in the eyes, "The quarterback of a football team needs to know how to be a leader Dylan, if your team doesn't respect you, you can't lead them, you get what I'm sayin'?" he asked.

I sighed, "Yes coach," I said simply.

"Good," replied the coach, "Now wash up and try not to let this loss get to you, you're only a sophmore, you still have two more seasons ahead of you," he said.

With that I got up to do just as he said, apart from the "not letting it get to you" part, that was way too tall an order, I knew it was my fault we lost, it's always my fault…

Later…

I decided to leave before my teammates, I just needed to get away from all things football for a while, I always kinda did every year I choked the season away, I've done so since I first started playing football in middle school…

The field was so quiet, I guess no one wanted to linger after such a crushing defeat at the hands of our biggest rival. I chose to sit in the parking lot, waiting for mom to swing by and pick me up. However… I suddenly heard footsteps approach.

I turned my head to see three guys approach me, they all wore black leather vests, some had tattoos of dragons running down their arms. They looked rough, unkempt, resembling stereotypical eighties martial arts movie goons. "You piece of sh**!" one of them growled before I was suddenly grabbed by the shirt and tossed to the ground. "You cost me a cool three hundred with that fumble asshole!" he snarled.

Oh great… it seems an angry gambler had found me, and was taking his losses out on my hide! I got to my feet, "Look man! I'm sorry, he… he came out of nowhere!" I tried to explain, only to get punched right in the jaw.

"Shut up!" he barked at me, "Me and my boys are gonna make sure your chokin' ass never plays football again!" he said. God could this night get any worse? First I choke the biggest game of the season away, and now some angry punks are looking to end my career, if they don't just straight up kill me.

However, "Hey!", everyone turns to see a figure approach, "Three on one seems hardly fair boys," the voice said, he had a clear Brooklyn accent, his body language suggested he was the rough and tough type. "How's about we even up the odds a bit?" he said before stepping into the light.

He certainly looked like the rough type, he was dressed in a black and red Vans hoodie, torn black jeans, and two fingerless cloth gloves with studs on the knuckles. His hair was a dark black that fringed on the right side of his face, his green eyes had an intensity behind them. "So… who's up first?" he asked with a wicked smirk on his face as he cracked his knuckles.

The three punks just sort of looked at each other, "Butt out asshole!" one of them said, turning to face the stranger, letting me see the back of his vest. It had a purple Chinese dragon design running down it, a patch above the dragon read "Purple Dragons" with "NYC" underneath the dragon. The Purple Dragons were one of the many infamous gangs in New York. They were known mostly for running protection rackets and, more relevant to me right now, gambling rings. I've heard horror stories from teammates who have had Purple Dragons try to get them to throw games and breaking a few bones if they didn't agree to it. I don't know what's worse, that I almost got killed by one of the most notorious gangs in NYC, or that this guy was insane enough to challenge them for seemingly no reason. "This has nothing to do with you!" he said.

The man in black chuckled to himself, "What's the matter? The big bad Purple Dragon scared I'm gonna kick his sorry little ass?" he said, man the stones on this dude, everyone knew how dangerous these guys were, but this guy regarded them like you would a small child trying to act tough, all I could do was sit there like a deer in the headlights as this guy just kept poking at these violent gangsters.

Suddenly one of the Purple Dragons threw a punch at the kid, the shot caused him to stumble a bit but he quickly recovered, nailing the guy with a huge right cross, knocking him right on his ass. "Come on! That all ya got?!" the guy in black yelled.

I then noticed one of the Purple Dragons take out a switch blade, the guy in black was too distracted with his buddy to notice, if I didn't do something he was going to get stabbed! So like the dumb jock I am, I tackled the guy to the ground, wrestling the knife out of his hand before throwing the hardest punch I could muster.

I've never been in a real fight before, I preferred to stay out of trouble honestly. But I wasn't going to stand by and watch someone get killed, especially not for my sake. My punch seemed to do some damage, as a steady stream of blood began to pour from his nose, the Purple Dragon seemed shocked by this, as he touched the blood with his trembling fingers, looking at them before his face twisted into rage, "You're dead!" he snarled before launching himself at me.

I quickly staggered back, just barely missing being rocked by a hard right hook, I took the opening and hit him with a right cross of my own, knocking him back to the ground. I don't know what's crazier, the fact I was fighting hardened thugs, or that I was somehow winning!

One of the other Purple Dragons suddenly came flying out of nowhere, tumbling across the pavement. The two beaten thugs quickly cowered back as the guy in black walked up beside me. "You kids have enough? Or would ya like more?" the guy in black said.

The Dragons began to scramble, "This ain't over! You two are deadmen! You hear me? DEAD!" one screamed as all three ran like hell into the darkness of night.

I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, the guy in black put a hand on my shoulder, "Not bad football boy, you see how that dude's nose was spewin' blood like a garden hose after you nailed him with that right cross? I half expected him to faint like an old lady," He laughed.

Once could question the mental stability of someone who considered breaking a dude's nose a good thing, but I knew I should just take the compliment, "Thanks," I said, "And thanks for stepping in there dude, that could have gotten really bad," I said.

The guy chuckled a bit, "No worries man, losers like these need to get their asses kicked every now and then," he said before offering his hand to me, "Name's Chris, Chris Naton," he introduced himself.

I shook Chris' hand, "Dylan, Dylan Foutler," I introduced myself.

"Yeah, I've heard the name before," he said, "You're the dude who always chokes right?" he asked me. I felt embarrassment wash over me again, god did everyone know me as a choke artist? "Dude, chill, it's just a football game dude, twenty years, no one's gonna care," he said.

It was weird hearing it put like that, usually everyone treated these games like life or death, and that every loss was the end of the world. "I wish my teammates felt that way, you should have heard them after the game, they were all practically calling for my hanging," I said.

Chris just sorta cocked his head dismissively, as if what I had said had been absolutely ridiculous, "Well they're just dumb jocks, they know their future's gonna be nothin' more than flippin' burgers at McDonalds," he said. Chris then seemed to think of something given his sudden change in facial expression, "Hey, I'm meetin' some friends tonight, why don't ya tag along? Bet you could do with bein' around guys with more brains than the football you throw around," he offered.

I thought about it for a moment, to be honest, I really could use a break from jocks and cheerleaders, I never really felt right around those kinds of people anyway, they were always so wrapped up in themselves, so judgmental, Chris didn't seem to be that kind of guy, and I'd assume friends of his wouldn't be that much different. "Yeah… I think that would be nice," I said. "I gotta let my mom know though, she was supposed to pick me up after the game," I added.

I took out my phone to text my mother, I'm sure she'd be fine with me spending the night with friends, especially after such a rough loss.

Dylan: Hey Ma, gonna hang with some friends 2nite, k?

Mom's response took a few minutes, but eventually came.

Mom: Kk, but be home by ten

Satisfied, I texted her that I loved her and put the phone in my pocket, "Okay, we're good to go," I said. Chris smiled and motioned for me to follow him.

We soon found this really old beat up van, the kind you'd expect a Scooby Doo travel all over solving mysteries in, it's black paint job was chipping away slightly revealing rusted metal. It certainly looked aged, it was probably even older than I was. "I know it's not much, but it's the best my old man could do," explained Chris as he got in.

I followed, the seats were leather, kinda hard, this thing had to have been at least twenty years old. "So, are you sure your friends will be cool with me tagging along?" I asked him.

Chris laughed, "Dude, Andy's the friendliest dude in the world, he likes everyone," he said, "Scott though, he's kinda the techno geek type, the kind your kind typically shove into lockers," he joked. I personally never indulged in bullying, I knew guys on the team that did but I personally was against it. I guess you could say I was too noble of heart or something. "He might hold a grudge is all I'm sayin', last year the team duct taped him to the goal post, me and Andy spent the better part of an afternoon tryin' to get him down," he explained.

I remember hearing some of the guys talking about something like that last year, I had just assumed they were exaggerating and dismissed it at the time. "I've never been into that kind of thing, it just seems senseless to me to make someone's life miserable just for kicks." I said.

Chris laughed a little, "Look at you mister "atypical jock", no wonder the rest of the team doesn't like ya," he joked. I actually kinda laughed at that one, I really didn't fit the mold of what you'd think a high school quarterback would be like did I? I definitely had the "pretty boy" part down with my soft face and semi long brown hair. But I didn't typically hang with the "popular crowd", I never looked down on others. Although I wasn't the only one on the team that didn't wear the jock stereotype with pride.

"Not all of us are like what you see in movies Chris," I pointed out. "And not everyone on the team hates me, just… most of them," I added, kind of defeating my own argument there I must admit. "What about you huh? You do anything other than beating up gang bangers?" I asked him.

Chris chuckled a bit, "I play guitar," he said. Maybe it was his unrefined speech patterns, but I never really pinned Chris as the creative type. "Don't have a band yet, I thought about startn' one with Andy and Scott but they don't play instruments," he said. "What about you huh? You plannin' on playing in the NFL when you grow up?" he asked me.

"With my luck, I'd be lucky to make the Arena League," I said, "I don't really have any career aspirations in fairness, I'm just looking to survive high school," I explained.

Chris chuckled, "I hear that," he said, "Soon as I graduate, I'm gettin' outta this sh**hole city, get a nice place up in the country side ya know? Nice and quiet where no one will bother me," he explained. "Ya know, when I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a musician, a rock star, somethin' like that," he said.

I shook my head and laughed, "When I was five I told my kindergarten teacher I wanted to be a ninja," I said with a laugh, earning one from Chris, "Imagine my dismay when I learned that ninjas haven't been a thing for centuries," I added.

Chris stopped at a red light, "Ninja's are badass though, it's not a bad thing to aspire to… even if it is a bit unrealistic," he said. He was right, but I'd long since outgrown that, honestly I'd settle for anything that got me by in life.

My eyebrow suddenly raised when I noticed Chris pulling up into a junkyard, "The junkyard? Really?" I asked him, not exactly my idea of an ideal hang out location I won't lie.

"Scott's uncle owns the place, he likes to scrounge around it for parts for his crazy inventions," he explained to me. "You'll see, dude's always cookin' up some wild gizmo," he added.

The van stopped and we both stepped out, the junkyard was dark, the only light provided by the few street lamps that peppered the streets outside it's fenced walls. Various smashed cars and piles of worthless, discarded junk surrounded us on all sides.

Chris lead me down the junk filled grounds of the junkyard until we found a burning oil drum at the center of a clearing. Two teens were also in the area.

One was sitting in an old lawn chair staring up at the sky, he wore an orange beanie with matching t-shirt. His scraggly chestnut hair spilled out from under it, his body language was that of a typical relaxed party dude.

The other was sifting through a junk pile, he wore a purple striped hoodie, his hair was brown and short, his build quite slender, typical of a nonathletic nerdy type of guy. His ice blue eyes had a cool intelligence behind them I could notice even from the distance I stood from him.

The guy in the beanie noticed us instantly, "Yo Chris my man! What's up?" he greeted, his voice was that of a stereotypical surfer dude, chilled but also a bit childish in tone. "Who's the dude in blue?" he asked.

He was referring to the blue Nike hoodie I was wearing right now, something that I just threw on after practice. Chris wrapped an arm around my shoulder, "He's Dylan, you know? RHS's star quarterback? Dude needed a break from the airheads on his team so I brought him with," Chris introduced me.

I instantly noticed the guy in purple glare at me, "You brought a jock here Chris? I didn't know you liked to move in those circles," he said. His voice had a noticeable intelligent articulation in it's tone, typical of someone well learned, but also dripped with a little bit of venom, he clearly had no love for football players.

Chris rolled his eyes, "I happened to save his ass from some Purple Dragons earlier," he explained, "Besides Scott, dude's not exactly on good terms with his teammates, so you and him have somethin' in common Shavall," he added.

Scott Shavall was a name I had heard bounced around before, his father was the school team commentator, you know the guy narrating my humiliating fumble earlier? Scott himself was typically seen with the chess or debate team, one of the smartest guys in school from what I've heard. But since neither of us really moved in the same social circles, we've never really interacted with each other before now.

Scott left his junk pile to approach us, just staring at me the whole way like I drowned his hamster or something., "Yeah, but I bet they didn't tape him to a goal post, now did they?" he said rather bitterly.

I heard the guy in the beanie laugh, "Dude you're still butt hurt about that? It was like… a year ago man, let it go," he said between laughs.

Scott stomped his foot, "I spent THREE HOURS taped to that pole Andy! Three hours of my life I'll never get back! So I think I preserve the right to be "butt hurt"!" He said, doing finger quotes around "butt hurt".

I needed to diffuse this situation before I caused a fight or something, "Look man, I had nothing to do with that, I typically try to avoid bullying people," I tried to explain.

Scott looked upon me with a skeptical eye, "Well you certainly didn't try to stop it did you?" he pointed out. I would have if I knew for certain it happened! But I doubt if I said that he'd even believe me. Scott certainly bought into the whole "jackass jock" stereotype.

Andy decided to approach us, "Come on guys, Chris brought Dylan here to hang, I say we give him a chance," he said. Scott just sort of pouted, but eventually relented, sitting himself down on one of the lawn chairs not unlike a bratty child who had just been told he wasn't getting any ice cream.

We all took our seats around the fire, "So… you play football huh?" Andy asked me. "Bet that makes you a pretty popular dude," he added, buying into the other jock stereotype that we were all the "cool kids".

"I kind of have a reputation with my teammates for screwing up when it counts," I said simply. "You should have seen that locker room after tonight's game, I swear it was like they were gonna rip my head off for fumbling that ball," I said. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother, half the team hates me, sometimes I wonder if quitting the team might be the better option for me," I said, more to myself than the other guys.

"Aw come on," Andy said, "Everybody messes up sometimes," he added.

"Yeah, Andy's practically made a career out of it," Chris said with a snicker. It took a minute for Andy to realize Chris had just insulted him, sounding with a "Hey!" before Chris' laughter just grew louder.

Scott stoked the fire with a long stick, "Personally I would, surrounding yourself with small minded neanderthals like that can't be good for you," he said.

"Well, I certainly don't want to be around them right now," I admitted. I began to feel like I was turning this whole hang out into a "woe is me" pity party for myself and chose to instead try to change the subject. "But… enough about me, what about you guys? This what you guys always do together?" I asked.

"Most nights," Scott answered, "Sometimes we break the usual routine and go get pizza or something," he explained.

To be honest, I was more fine with that than I thought I'd be, as the quarterback of the football team, I've been to the "cool kid" parties, always these extravagant, wild dude bro affairs I always felt kind of out of place in. There was something to be said about the simplicity of just chilling around a fire and just talking about life. "Sounds cool, I wish I knew more people who were this chill," I said as I leaned back. "You guys been friends long?" I asked.

"Me and Scott go way back, our parents were friends and we sorta grew up together," He explained. "We added Andy to our group during middle school, he and Scott had a science project together and he brought him up here one day and he's hung out with us ever since," he explained.

Andy then suddenly wrapped an arm around me, "And now we can add a fourth member to our group! Right?" he asked me. "I mean, we're all kinda weird outcasts in a way, and since your team doesn't like you very much, I bet you could use a few friends right dude?" he said. I didn't quite know how to respond, I could tell Scott still didn't trust me too much given the look he had on his face right now, and these three have been friends a lot longer than I've known them, it'd kinda feel like intruding almost.

But yet, I can't lie, Andy was right, I did kind of feel like an outcast among my own teammates. Just this out of place thing intruding on the thing expected of a high school quarterback. I couldn't quite explain it, but something about this group felt more right, more genuine. Maybe it was time I extended my circle of friends beyond football pads and helmets. "Yeah… I think I'd like that," I answered.

Chris nodded in approval, "Welcome to the other side QB," he said, offering a fist for a fist bump, which I of course didn't leave hanging.

We spent the rest of that night just talking, about life, school, our hobbies, aspirations in life or lack there of. It was one of the best nights I've had in a long time, funny how it started so badly too, but I guess that's just how life goes, it's never really always dark clouds, sometimes… a little sunshine manages to find a way to seep right in...

A/N:

I do hope I didn't lose any of you with the gratuitous amounts of American Football at the start of this chapter, I wanted the four of them to be from different social groups, and having Dylan be a Quarterback helped establish the whole "leader" thing.

Those with keen eyes may already know which teens are going to become which turtle, well either that or my "subtle as a train wreck" approach to writing might have clued you in… either or.