Across the Field

"It's inevitable; there's always going to be this tension between us. The Band and the team, I mean."

If you're being honest with yourself, you'd admit that you're not concentrating that much in class today. Well, you are, but you aren't, you know? You're raising your hand, and participating, and managing to keep your eyes open -which is a huge stretch from freshman and sophomore year. But you're not all there. Everything becomes repetitive after a while, until a paper ball hits you in the back of the head. What the -

It bounces off and lands on the floor next to your seat, and you look back and Jesse is sitting diagonal from you in the next row, gesturing to the paper. He raises his hands like he's saying he's sorry and you just roll your eyes before leaning over and picking up the crumpled ball. You start unfurling it on the desk until it's as close to flat as possible and you begin reading out the scrawl hastily written on it. The team's pissed at you.

...Um, yeah. You kinda realized that already. Thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious.

You take out your cellphone slowly from your pocket and hold it closely to your side so that the teacher doesn't see. It's Mr. Landers, who's so monotone that he makes wet paint drying in the new gym more interesting. He usually rambles on and on and doesn't really pay attention, so you text Jesse a quick, I know, and hit Send.

You get a reply back no more than a few seconds later. They're not gonna cover you at practice today, you're on your own.

You sigh. Yup, figured that one out too. You feel a vibration and see that he sent yet another text.

They're calling you a field traitor.

You roll your eyes; stupid traditions. Honestly though, as team captain, you should know better. They may be mad right now, but they'll get over it. Maybe a few rough hits at practice will be all it takes and soon you guys will be laughing it up at Dairy Shack.

At least, you hope so.

Coach announced today that starting the day after next, you and the team will start two-a-days. For those that don't know, that's more practice, more toeing the line, and in this case, more meetings with the ground in your face. They're not covering you at all and Jesse's on the offensive line so you're really on your own, which sucks when you're supposed to be team leader and your team drops the ball, literally and figuratively.

A shrill whistling sound reaches your ear, followed by an "Enough of this! Pappas!" barked out by Coach. You expected this to happen but it doesn't make it easier to lug yourself over to the sidelines. Coach may be head honcho, but you have to keep the team in line, and without even meaning to, you think of green eyes and a bright smile at the back of your mind.

You take off your helmet, and the sun beats down on your head, "Coach?"

"What the Hell is going on? Piss off the team?" He asks sternly, low enough for only you to hear.

"Yeah," you agree.

"Well, you better make nice, and quickly. We don't have time for in team rivalry." He leans in, whispering, "There are a few important people who have their eyes on you, Jack. Scouts. And if everything goes well this year, there's no reason why you shouldn't get a few calls."

You let your mind wander in that instant. Scouts. Calls. College. It's all coming together. And it makes things like disagreements over who oversees the field seem more unimportant than ever. It's like everything you've been working towards depends on this year, and you nod your head. You have to man up and set the example.

"Got it, Coach," You say firmly. "Won't happen again."

Coach's mouth upturns, "Glad to see that we've reached an understanding. Now, get the team ready to run some drills, Pappas!"

You smirk and put your helmet back on, "Sir yes, sir." You turn back around and start heading out to the middle of the field, a weight lifted off your shoulders. Maybe the first game was lost, but you're optimistic; that Championship trophy's as good as Grant High School's. Your team's looking back at you and the tension everyone came with before just isn't there anymore, Jesse gives you a clap on your shoulder pad.

You open your mouth to give the announcement, but you don't get the words out because you notice the Band clearly walking out onto the field, the drum line and golden horns gleaming in the late afternoon light.

This is wrong. The football team practiced in the afternoon, while the Band and majorettes practiced in the morning -the cheerleaders were entitled to the Gymnasium. So what were they doing here, and now?

Well, what they were doing there, apparently, was standing their ground due to the crap that happened in the morning – and honestly you can't blame them, but maybe they should've went about it a different way. Somehow seeing the horn players line up and glare, or at least you think that's what they're doing, at your teammates while Coach and Mr. Sedlack talked it out in the middle of the field.

Well, more like Mr. Sedlack got red-faced and started wagging his music papers around, and Coach kept his whistle between his teeth like he might blow it in the band teacher's face. Or chomp on it.

Anyways, what it all boiled down to, apparently, was that the school decided to cut down the Band's budget, and give it to the team. And while you didn't see what the big deal was at first, it basically means that the Band is a bus short to the game on Friday. This means that they don't have anywhere to put their equipment, or their players, and now they were all raising Cain because of that, despite the fact that they won their last competition, and the team just lost the first game.

You're pretty sure this is one of those life isn't fair lessons that are tough pills to swallow. And it's not like you agree with it, completely –it's pretty messed up. But it's really the state cutting back those funds, not the school. And it's happening a lot sooner than expected. And because there are two full grown men almost screaming at each other in the middle of practice, you head over to play peacekeeper and before you can even think about it, you say, "Why doesn't the team and band just share buses for a while?"

By the time you head back to the locker room, your team is throwing helmets and towels at you because it is the dumbest idea ever. In fact, you're the dumbest captain ever, and the day almost goes to crap.

Almost.

You can't think that sharing a bus with Amy is the worst thing ever.

That whole thought goes out the window day of, when all the Band equipment has to be loaded on, and everyone is three to a seat, four if you were just really unlucky, and an instrument case, and yeah, you start to feel pretty dumb.

Until you see that cute little bandgeek that you've had your eye on smile at you from the corner seat, and you rush over…

…only to have that kid from the hallway sit down right beside her. Michael, is what you think his name is.

And another interesting thing that you learn about Michael? He's definitely a tuba player based on the huge case on his lap. You almost feel bad for thinking it, but seriously, how the heck can such a scrawny guy hold such a huge instrument? Oh, yeah, and another thing? He definitely has a set of lungs on him because he talks to you almost the entire bus ride over, and it's a bus ride that goes through three counties. You're pretty sure Amy is stifling her laughter at you almost the entire time over too.

"…did I mention that it was really cool of you to do what you did in the hallway? Thanks, again. I mean, I thought all jocks were just completely brainless-" Michael pales after he realizes that he says that on a bus full of football players like Steve, who's just two seats over. "I mean, not completely, but you know…you know what I mean, right?"

"Right," you say agreeably, although you're not too sure if you do. Sure, you're not the smartest guy ever. But you're a whip when it comes to mathematics. Maybe it's because everything just makes sense and its universal with an undisputable set of rules, but yeah, math makes a lot of sense. To you, at least.

Michael exhales in relief and yeah, there are those lungs hard at work again.

"Well, I guess that just goes to show that you can't judge someone solely based on who they hang out with," Amy says, and you're glad you're tall enough to look over Michael's thick head of curls to her face, all bright and glowing in the late afternoon light. She looks at you with a smile that reaches her eyes, and there's something meaningful behind it.

Yeah, you're kind of a sucker for things like that.

Before you could say anything though, Michael coughs. "Actually, you usually can, despite the fact that there are exceptions to the rule."

The bus lurches over a speed bump, and that one perfect moment? Gone. Amy brushes her bang back, and you wish you were sitting close enough to her to where you could do that for her, but you're not, so…

"Okay, team, who are we?" Coach yells out.

"Lancers!"

"What do we do?"

"Take 'em down!" You shout out with the rest of the defensive end on your side of the bus, and you notice how the band seems alarmed by the outburst but this is pretty much tradition to do this.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU."

"TAKE THEM DOWN!"

And you didn't think too much about it, you mean, its tradition and it gets the team pumped up and ready to go –besides the whole praising Grace before the game thing that the guys liked doing- but that's a story for another time. Anyways, Mr. Sedlack gets annoyed and starts telling Coach that the bus ride over is meant for quiet contemplation on the way over to the game, and Coach accuses him of not having school pride, and it kind of drags out for the rest of the ride there.

So much for that whole quiet contemplation thing.

Since it took so long to load everyone and everything safely onto the bus, you have to work double time in getting everyone settled off the bus, there's no time to really have a pep talk with the team, and after the cheering was cut short on the bus; the team was noticeably less energized than usual.

…To be honest though, you're not too heartbroken about the pep talk thing. You don't think of yourself as the best public speaker, and the team had taken to badgering you to either a) get back together with Grace, or b) get a new girlfriend. You wish they'd quit acting like your entire playing career hinges on whoever you're going out with because it seriously doesn't, but do they listen to you when you say that?

"Hey Jack," Jason comes up to you and puts his hand on your shoulder pad. "We're all ready to say Grace."

You look on your other side, and Jesse gives you a knowing glance as the team huddles. In fact, the entire team is looking at you to lead the prayer, and they're all holding the small bags of cookies that Grace took upon herself to bake the team. She only started doing that her freshman year so that they would like her as your girlfriend, and even when you broke up –something they all agreed was your fault anyways- she still baked cookies for the team, as they all insisted it was their good luck charm.

You can decide if you think it's annoying because they take it so seriously, or if it's their seriousness that makes it so annoying.

You resign yourself to heading out onto the field to start the prayer when you feel another hand on your shoulder behind you. "Yeah, I know, I'm coming," you say as you turn around, but instead of one of your teammates, or even Coach, it's Amy Juergens with her long, red band coat with the tassels, hat, and gloves, and your face breaks into a smile because she looks even cuter with all that stuff on.

"Expecting someone else?" She says with a laugh.

"Yeah, but this is a lot better."

It's a quiet moment after that because she doesn't say anything, and you just stare at her like a dope. Real smooth. She steps a little closer and-

"Pappas!"

You turn behind you to see Coach looking a little more than disgruntled, and Amy looks a little startled, like whatever thought she might've had that she might've said just vanished. "Just give me a second!" You turn back to fully face her again, and she looks a little embarrassed, though you're really not sure why.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck tonight on the game. Go Lancers," she says a bit weakly at the end, like that wasn't what she wanted to say and just improvised. Or, maybe that's because that's not what you wanted her to say.

Regardless, you smile because her flushed cheeks give you a warm sort of feeling in your gut and you begin to feel like you could personally win this game for Grant, just so she'd wish you good luck every time. "You too, Ames." You put your helmet on as you head toward the huddle on the field.

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