Chapter Three: Diamond in the Rough

A/N: Hooray for my first review! Just to clarify before you read this, Tobias is a football player and a band member—he marches at halftime, along with Kenny, and plays in the game. It's not uncommon out where the story takes place. The lyrics at the beginning are from the song "Diamond in the Rough" by Airbourne and all credit goes to them; likewise, AC/DC own "Back in Black" and "Hell's Bells"; Run D.M.C. and/or Aerosmith own "Walk this Way"; and Twisted Sister owns "I Wanna Rock."

The following is an entirely fictional account; any similarities to people living or dead is entirely coincidental. However, Bayfield, Dove Creek, Farmington and Dulce are real towns, Piedra Vista is a real high school, and any schools I may mention are real, except for Geronimo and New Mexico Plains University.

"I had a dollar in my pocket

And dirt on my hands

She was a rich man's daughter

Who didn't give a damn

She had all the boys talkin'

With her fancy cat walkin'

But it was me who took her home

And gave her bed a good rockin'."

"Great music for a volleyball game," Tobias remarked as the varsity team took the court to warm-up. Of ten girls, he recognized two—Lisa and Martina, the color guard girl. Both were starters, and Lisa was serving.

"Yeah, no joke," agreed Keith behind him. The entire football team had gathered on the home end of the bleachers, wearing their jerseys. All of them but one, that is.

"Where's Lawdog?" asked Tobias of the wide receiver.

Lawrence Gorman was big, a six-foot-five, three hundred pound slab of solid Native muscle. Everything about him typified Rez, at least superficially; he wore his hair in a long braid down to his elbows and drove a beat-up Toyota 4runner with a Native Pride sticker. On the football field, nobody opposed him; the last lineman his size was Duane's and Tobias's cousin Sam, a full-bred Samoan presently playing tackle for the University of Hawaii, who'd graduated Lawrence's freshman year; and the only people ever to break his tackles were Nathan, who'd done it freshman year, Juan and Keith, who'd done it once each by sheer momentum, and Tobias. And yet, despite all that, here he was, attending the concession stand for the Geronimo Chapter of the National Honor Society. He was doing the hot dogs and popcorn; Malcolm Smith was in charge of the cash register, and during the JV game, Lisa and Nathan had been doing drinks. Somehow, he didn't fit in.

No, fuck that, he did. He was every bit as smart as Nathan, or Malcolm, or Lisa. Well, maybe not Lisa, but even so, being an athlete and being smart were not mutually exclusive. What was worse was nobody claimed they were for anyone else; when Lisa was a starter on the volleyball and basketball teams, state champion in the hundred meters, an All-State flautist and had a 4.0, all as a sophomore, nobody was surprised, but when the name Gorman showed up on the Honor Roll, or when he'd been tapped for NHS, it was all about, "way to go, big man!" or "what the hell classes were you taking?" Maybe it was because he was a lineman; Kenny's grades kind of sucked, as did most of the rest.

Duane came sauntering in, looking cocky as all get out. Then again, Duane always looked like that. It was almost ridiculous; a short, scrawny-looking eighth grader wearing a varsity jersey and hanging out with the seniors on the football team like he was one of them. And the worst part was, he was one of them. Duane was an amazing athlete, but he took it a lot too far.

"You're NHS?" he asked, and Lawrence prepared a witty comeback, "Badass. I wish I was smart enough for honors stuff. I want that letter."

Lawrence cracked a smile; that comment reminded him of himself as an eighth grader. Middle schoolers could letter in academics, athletics and music, receiving miniature six-inch chenilles that would go along the pockets of their jacket, and most obsessed over them. Duane had a unique situation; he was in a position to receive a high school letter, a full-sized chenille, while in middle school, which would make him the first in his class.

"Yeah," said Lawrence, "But if you just want the letter, there are easier ways to do that. Band, for instance."
Malcolm's head whipped around on instinct. He was wearing his own jacket, covered top to bottom in patches from various honor bands he'd attended in six years of playing, the Hussars and All-State.

"Excuse me?" he snapped.
"Never mind. What can I get you, D?"
"Uh, a Powerade and some Cheetoes."

"Can do."

In the gym, the match was heating up. The first game was over, and the second of five was beginning. They were playing Ignacio, a slightly larger school to their north in Colorado, and yet were still up. JV had won the first two games, ending the match early, and varsity were doing even better. Acting in opposition to his normal patterns, Tobias's eyes were not on the scoreboard; instead, he followed the actions of Martina, number five, the beautiful dark-haired sophomore.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," said Carl into Tobias's ear, having somehow arrived when he wasn't paying attention. Tobias looked embarrassed, and opened his mouth to say something. "Nah, you're fine," continued Carl, "It ain't fair, they wear that spandex, and God knows Lisa's fine. I won't tell Nathan."
Tobias was relieved; let Carl think he was checking out Lisa.

"Who's number five?" he asked, masking his interest better than he'd been expecting to.

"Martina," said Carl, "She's some relation to Juan, though I couldn't tell you what. On the color guard."

It was then that Tobias noticed Carl's shirt.

"You don't march for PV," he said. PV referred to Piedra Vista High School in Farmington, whose drumline's shirt Carl was wearing.

"His girlfriend does," said Kenny from the seat above them.

"Eavesdropper," said Carl, "And she's not my girlfriend."
"She just wears your band t-shirt around because-."

"Because she stole it from me," said Carl, clearly annoyed now, "What more do you want?"
"I want you to ask her out, dousche."

"Homecoming," said Carl rhetorically, "Homecoming."

Martina spiked it over, and the crowd cheered.

"Hey," said Kenny, "Tobias. You know what became of Christine?"

"Uh, no, why?"
"She said she would be here."
"Knowing Christine, 'here' means somewhere between Moab and Amarillo. Don't get your hopes up."
"Silly woman," said Kenny.

"You dig her?" asked Tobias pointedly.

"Hey, man, any girl that played football has my interest."
"Good point. Well, she's probably in Farmington right now."

Funny, thought Tobias. First him, then Carl, then Kenny. Must be mating season.

Malcolm whipped off his shirt, grinning at his tan line. His DCI corps, the Santa Fe Hussars, wore pelisses in the style of the Hungarian hussars, that is, off one shoulder, which led to a diagonal tan line across his torso. The nature of the uniform was such that it was fortunate to be an all-male corps. That, of course, was not the uniform he was getting into; instead, he was putting on the royal blue and gold uniform of Geronimo, for dress rehearsal.

The jackets opened backwards, with the zipper along the spine of the wearer, making them awkward to put on single-handedly. Along the front was a white sash with gold trim, and the pants were royal blue with the same coloration in stripes along the side. Two stripes adorned Malcolm's shoulders; Lisa and Carl each had two as well, but Nathan's uniform was a whole different can of worms, as was Christine's and that of the guard. They looked good, did the guard, Malcolm had to admit; there were five of them, three of them never having done guard before, and four of them never having done guard in Geronimo. Martina had marched for her school in Texas, fall and winter, as a freshman, and was clearly the best of the guard.

"All right," said Ramirez, taking the podium, "Somebody want to go grab the drummers?"
"I'll do it," volunteered James the sousaphonist, bolting for the door to the outside, where the drummers were practicing. Carl was obsessive about them, and so had called a rehearsal an hour and a half before everyone else. James leaned out the door:

"Come in!"

The drumline filed in and Ramirez began talking.

"And now, to honor America, please stand, and gentlemen remove your hats for the playing of our National Anthem." Nathan relinquished the podium to Dr. Ramirez, and the band started the Anthem. They sounded as good as they had hoped, and they left the track for their place in the stands happily.

"Now, the starting defensive lineup for the Bayfield Wolverines..." Bayfield was an agrarian town in Colorado, bigger than Geronimo but still no more than a dot on the map next to Durango. They fielded two full football teams, each bigger than Geronimo's one, but everyone in the stadium was confident it was going to be a good game.

"Geronimo fans, on your feet for your Titans' starting offensive lineup. Quarterback, number five, Juanito Iglesias! Wide receiver, number eleven, the boy wonder Duane san Clemente! Center, number ninety-nine, Kenneth Andasola. Wide receiver, number eight, Keith Johnston..."

"Give me the 'Hey' song!" yelled Ramirez, and Nathan counted off. The band broke into song as the final members of the lineup were announced.

"Adams to kick it off, san Clemente and Iglesias back to receive."

Duane looked at Juan briefly, and then back straight ahead. Bayfield's kicker threw up his arm, and the Geronimo crowd went wild for the first time since the band had entered the stadium. The ball went up, and Juan dropped under it, leaving the eighth grader to bolt down the field. He submarined a big, beefy lineman in purple and sneaked a glance past his torso to see Juan streaking down the field.

"Iglesias, wrapped up by Araujo at the forty-five yard line."

Juan came off the field, grinning like a fool and rubbing his shoulder.

"Guess what, Coach?"
Richardson didn't even look angry.

"You stiff-armed him too hard. Get out there, Tobias." He slapped Tobias's rear and shook his head at Juan. "What did you do?"
"I think I pulled it. A little heat will do."
"Moron."

Tobias ran out onto the field without thinking, but once he was behind center, his paradigm came crashing in. This wasn't practice; it was a Friday night football game, and he was the quarterback. Probably for the rest of the game. Keith shot him a sympathetic look, which was the last thing Tobias needed at the time, but when he looked at the sideline, Richardson gave a knowing nod, like he did during practice.

"Keeper," said his headset, "Roll out left and run. Just like we practiced."

"Just like we practiced, Coach," muttered Tobias, even though he didn't have a mic. The offense huddled around him.

"Keeper," repeated Tobias, "I'm going to roll out left and run. Watch fifty. Break."
"Kill!"

He lined up behind Kenny.

"Down, set, hut!"

The blitz came, and Tobias rolled out right. Lawrence hit a linebacker in an unfortunate rendezvous for the latter, and Tobias broke the pocket, sprinting forward...and met with another linebacker, only this time the blue went down and the purple was on top. Shit.

"Gerlach on the keeper, loss of one on the play."

The announcer cemented it. Tobias had failed on his first snap behind center, Geronimo's first snap of the season.

"Nice try," said Richardson, without a hint of sarcasm, "Give me number twenty-two. Look for Duane, 'cuz it looks like Keith's in double coverage."
"Twenty-two, guys," said Tobias to the huddle, "I'm watching you, D-money. Break."

They lined up again, second and eleven, and the ball went back. Again came the blitz, but this time he picked up a better block on the right side and then...

He didn't know what he was doing until he was past the first down marker. Instinct had taken over, and his legs had moved of their own accord down the sideline to the other forty yard line. His head snapped back, and he saw no one behind him, and kept running until the forty became the thirty, became the twenty, the ten, the five, the goal line. Touchdown. The word entered his head, and for a second he didn't realize its meaning. Then the band broke into the fight song, and suddenly, he was a hero.

Christine's heart leaped out of her chest and seemed to run to Tobias as he stood all alone in the end zone. He was alone because nobody had been able to stop him as he'd run, long legs akimbo, down the field, dodging left and right. He was alone because at that moment, he was better than everyone else on that football field, or in that town.

"Touchdown Gerlach!"

The team collided on Tobias, and he was in a sort of delirious state of bliss as he paraded to his spot on the kickoff team. The kicker, a freshman like him, threw his hand up and the ball went forward.

"The Marching Titans will be performing for your halftime entertainment, a rousing tribute to the nineteen eighties rock entitled Bat out of Hell, opening with the AC/DC classic 'Back in Black', continuing with a drumline arrangement of Run-D.M.C.'s 'Walk this Way' and Chicago's '25 or 6 to 4', and finally, closing with another AC/DC song, 'Hell's Bells.' The Marching Titans are lead on the field by drum major Nathan Douglas, guard captain Christine Richards, drum captain Carlton Reeves, horn captain Malcolm Smith and woodwind captain Lisa Downing. Drum major Nathan Douglas, are you ready?"

Nathan gave a simple, understated salute.

"Then you make take the field in exhibition."

"One, two, a-one, two, three, four!"

Tobias marched forward from the first set, playing the opening guitar riff of Back in Black on his mellophone. He wouldn't have been sure, if it weren't for the bright tones of Malcolm's trumpet backing him up, but with Malcolm, he was fine. As they hit the first set, a line, Tobias glanced left to guide and encountered a problem he hadn't foreseen—his shoulder pad. Holding his horn forced his pads up and into his field of view. He could play and march in cleats and pads just fine, but seeing in them was an entirely different affair. Making an educated guess based on sound, he halted, and continued the show.

Back in Black finished well enough, and Nathan counted off Walk this Way. The bass drums hit all at the same time, pounding out the drum intro, and one of the snares ditched his drum in favor of the marimba to mimic the guitar solo at the beginning, then dropped out as Carl's solo began. It was a strange arrangement, all who were involved admitted, but somehow it worked as the five drums banged out Run Simmons's rhythm. He cut out, and the snares banged out the second verse, then the chorus, and then the next verse.

I Wanna Rock went quickly, as they had a short arrangement, and then came Hell's Bells. This was probably the scariest song of the four, simply because Nathan was on the sidelines with a guitar instead of conducting. As I Wanna Rock drew to a close, Malcolm left the field and Nathan relinquished his podium to him, picking up a guitar. Next to him, Carl had foregone his tenors for a set of concert chimes, used to emulate the church bells at the beginning of AC/DC's version.

The power of Nathan's solo was evident as the entire stadium, including the side in purple, fell silent.

"I'm lovin' it, guys," said Coach Richardson as the team gathered around him, "They're a school of four hundred, we're a school of two hundred, and they can't contain our backup QB. Juan, I want you to take over at running back, and Tobias—shit, where's Tobias?"
"Marching, sir," said Lawrence.

"That's right. Oh well; Juan, you're going to do some RB for us. Just because you stupidly threw out your shoulder doesn't mean I'm benching the team captain the second half. O line, do what you've been doing, and they won't be able to touch you. This is what I want to see all season, guys."

The team came back on the field less formally than they had initially, in a single file line. The kicker lined up, the whistle blew and the second half started. Keith wrapped up their returner at the twenty-one, and Tobias lined up at middle linebacker. The ball went back, the line went forward, and before Tobias had a chance to blitz, Kenny was on top of the quarterback.

"Jesus," he muttered.

The rest of the half went the same way; Bayfield got one touchdown and a last-second field goal, and Geronimo scored twice; once was a simple floater from Tobias to Keith and the other was a spectacular thirty-yard run off a reverse by Juan, bringing the final score to twenty-one to ten. The opposing coach, a small, squeaky man, was none to happy with his performance, but Geronimo's fans were thrilled.

Tobias retired to the locker room, showered, and stepped out in his Wranglers and football jersey to three dozen Geronimo students and random fans cheering for him. Among the crowd he spotted Juan and Martina, and approached them.

"Nice game, QB," said Juan with the same grin he'd given Tobias as he'd left the field with his shoulder.

"Man, that running back was a god. Wonder where he came from?"
Juan smiled. "Man, I was an RB in mid school."
"Who was QB?"
"Uh, Nathan," said Juan after a bit of thought.

"Who do you guys play next?" interjected Martina.
"PV," said Tobias, "On that damn turf. Should be all kinds of fun."
"You have no idea, mi amigo," remarked Juan.

"Where's PV?" Martina asked, still confused.

"Piedra Vista," explained Juan, "The other high school in Farmington. We're playing their JV."

"We will dominate," said Tobias confidently, then, with more humility, "Assuming I'm not still at QB. How's the shoulder?"
"It's good," said Juan, "Just a hot bath should do it. How was the show?"
"The what?"
"The halftime show."
"Oh, it went really well," said Tobias. He turned to Martina. "You think so?"
"Oh, yeah," she agreed, "Better than I expected. It's so weird, being in a small band."
"I remember the band being huge down there," said Juan, "I went to a high school game once."
"Are you guys related?" asked Tobias, squinting and tilting his head.

"Yeah, dude," said Juan dismissively, "She my cousin."
"Oh, okay."