This is not a new chapter update. I don't work that fast :P.
This is just the second half of the third chapter split up to make it more easily readable.
"Darry! Darry wake up!" a tiny whisper pleaded.
There it was again thought Darry, and a few seconds later came the accompanying rumbling, and a new sound ... a whimper, and a small shuffling of feet.
Slowly returning to consciousness, Darry noted that the voice from his dream persisted.
"Darry!" It was urgent now.
Opening his eyes and blinking blearily into the darkness, he could just make out a small silhouette beside his bed. A sudden flash of unnatural light emanating from outside revealed Ponyboy wide eyed and shaking. The flash was proceeded a couple of seconds later with a deep rumbling directly overhead.
Ah, thought Darry. A thunderstorm. No wonder his little brother looked so spooked. Now that he was awake he could hear the rain pattering against his window as well as the moaning wind outside which probably aided his brothers fear as the sound was unearthly.
Reaching down he caught hold of the boy under his arms and lifted him into the bed with him, wrapping both his arms and the duvet firmly around his little brother.
Ponyboy shrank into his brothers embrace as the next roll of thunder, whimpering audibly.
"Easy there Pony," Darry soothed, "It's only a thunderstorm, no need to be afraid. It's probably just because of the heat today," he yawned.
"But it's so loud," the younger boy complained, covering his ears – as if the sound of thunder offended them – and shaking his head. "And I don't like it."
"Loud it may be, but thunder can't hurt you." He placed a small kiss on Ponyboy's forehead. "And what are you worrying about anyway? You're with your big brother. Now I know that you know I won't let anything hurt you. Nothing can touch you when I'm around." Darry boasted confidently.
Ponyboy nodded in confirmation.
"Alright. Now listen, listen to the thunder getting quieter as it fades into the distance. Soon it'll be so far away that we will hardly be able to hear it."
Ponyboy did as he was told and found that it was easy not to be afraid of the unearthly sound while safely cocooned in Darry's arms.
The two brothers lay for a long time not speaking, just listening as deep rumbling faded into nothing after becoming quieter and more distant, until eventually they had to strain their ears to even hear it at all.
Once everything was silent again – the rain stopped and the wind diminished – Darry spoke;
"Right, time to sleep now little buddy. I do actually need some rest before tomorrow," he chuckled slightly, although nothing about being awake at this probable godforsaken hour the night before a game was remotely humorous. He waited for Ponyboy to get comfortable and settle before closing his own eyes.
"Darry?" His brother asked timidly.
"Mmhhhmmm," was his mumbled reply.
"Good luck tomorrow."
"Thanks Pony," he grinned, although his eyes remained firmly closed.
"But you know, it doesn't matter if you win, I'll still be proud of you whatever happens." What had he said? His brother was one in a million.
Morning seemed to dawn earlier than usual, the shrill call of the alarm clock sounding all to soon after Darry had finally fallen asleep. When he awoke however, it was not only to find the small figure cocooned in his embrace, but also, unexpectedly, a slightly larger figure curled into his back. Evidently some time in the night Soda had decided it was his preference to sleep in Darry's bed rather than his own also.
Reaching over to the nightstand Darry knocked the offending clock sidewards, effectively silencing its din. He then proceeded to arouse the beds other two occupants.
"Come on, up and at 'um; get washed, get dressed. School."
Breakfast was quiet that morning, conversation once struck up was not maintained, and was upon topics of the trivial and unimportant variety. Darry ate in silence, contemplating tactics, strategies and opportunities, and the situations to use such which may arise. He didn't realize he had been addressed until he looked up and found all sets of eyes centered upon him.
"Huh?"
"Are you nervous?" repeated Mr. Curtis with no hint of annoyance at his sons ignorance to his first rendition of his question.
"A little," admitted Darry, feeling a tinge of idiocy.
"Well, nerves are okay," said Mr. Curtis bracingly, taking a sip of tea from his mug proclaiming 'worlds greatest dad.' "Sometimes they help us play just that little bit better than our best, but I don't think you should be too nervous. You deserve to win, and the universe has a strange way of making sure things are put right. You'll see."
Although not entirely reassured, Darry was appeased by his fathers comments.
At his insistence, Darry left a little earlier than usual with Soda and Pony, in the vain hope that he might actually get to school on time. His red and white team jacket proudly dominating his attire. It was a working progress, his brothers being more co-operative than ever before, but often their attempts were fraught with impracticalities that largely outweighed any benefits.
As Darry pulled open the front door, their stood Two-Bit; hand outstretched ready to push it and paused in mid action.
"Howdy," he grinned letting his hand fall back at his side.
"Oh look it's out fourth son," laughed Mr. Curtis, emerging onto the living room, heavily scuffed work shoes in hand.
"Katherine's still okay about you coming with us?"
"Oh yeah," said Two-Bit offhandedly, "mum's fine. She said it would make a nice change. Me being out of class for any other reason other than for being sent there because I am 'being an nuisance'" He chuckled, quoting his mother.
Two-Bit had an opinion about everything in school, and most of the time they were valid and deeply insightful, just no-one wanted to admit so. He also, many times a day came up with something so unbelievably amusing that he just had to share it with everyone in the near vicinity. This proved particularly problematic during tests and pop quiz's. Two-Bit didn't do to well with imposed silence and as such had been labeled by his teachers a trouble maker, and in some instances almost unteachable.
"That it will," agreed Mr. Curtis chuckling.
"I'll see y'all later," he said waving the four boys off.
Two-Bit learned quickly that Darry was not in a very vivacious mood and would rather contemplate his minds troubles than engage in any form of unnecessary conversation. It wasn't just the game that troubled him though he wished it was. Two-Bit quickly joined in with Soda and Pony's conversation after agreeing with Mr. Curtis' statement when Darry repeated his words. Two-Bit seemed to gain more from Mr. Curtis' words than Darry had himself.
Steve joined them at Soda's demanding insistence. Since they were early enough he hadn't left yet. Soda only took three steps up the Grey stone path that crunched underfoot, when Steve was out of the door and by his side in moments.
"What? Were you on lookout?" Soda joked.
"Something like that," Steve grinned.
Two-Bit and Steve got on like a house on fire, and soon they, and Soda too, were laughing buoyantly. Ponyboy however, did not seem to appreciate their parties addition, and walked silently at Darry's side for the remainder of the journey.
Steve was simply astounded to receive his invitation to accompany Soda – along with his family – to Darry's game, and spoke of it animatedly all the way to school. If indeed he was nervous about this being his first day, said nerves were undetectable. Soda got the distinct impression that Steve was used to circumstances changing suddenly and was the sort of person who could adapt to anything that life threw at him.
Darry thought vaguely that the boys excitement was peaked a little more than it should be, but that thought was of little importance next to the swirling mass that domineered his mind.
Arriving at the gates he bade Two-Bit and Steve to have a good day and warned Ponyboy and Soda to be good and have a nice day also. Waving them off, he said that he would see them later, before disappearing round the corner and heading for the entrance to his own building.
It was evident that he was late despite his best efforts, the last few stragglers were making their way reluctantly to registration. Great. Late on game day, that would go down well. The universe may have strange ways of ensuring things are put right dad, he thought, but it always seems to come up short on this front. Inwardly rolling his eyes, he sighed. So absorbed in his thoughts as he was, he didn't hear the rushing footsteps behind him, nor did he see the hand reaching out towards him, only feeling an unknown someone grabbing his shoulder.
He wheeled around, knowing not what to expect but bracing himself all the same.
All panic dissipated immediately when his startler was revealed to be none other than Christopher Taylor. He should have known really, if he was late then there was an excellent chance that his reluctant friend would be too.
His emerald eyes dancing with repressed laughter and his brown and blond flecked hair so dazzlingly picturesque in the sunlight. Likewise supporting his team jacket.
"Whoa chill! What, did you think I was after you or something?" He laughed lightly still repressing the bulk of it. Darry returned the laugh, but it was not of the light hearted nature.
"So how are you?" he asked Chris as the two boys began to walk in no real hurry.
"Not bad. Not bad. Yourself?"
"Could be better, could be worse," shrugged Darry nonchalantly.
"Mmmm," was Chris' knowing acknowledgment, his face falling into a deep frown, before lifting back up humorously to curl into a smile.
"It's good to see that some things don't change though," he amended indicating their lateness.
"Nah, I think this is defiantly a keeper."
Chris' statement held so much relevance in so few words. Things had changed, whether for the better or the worse it remained to be seen, but Darry was more inclined to say better. He had come clean about everything, he had eradicated all the fabricated lies in exchange for the truth, a truth that many people seemed unwilling to except him for. He remained certain that he had done the right thing in dispelling the rumors, dousing the stories and banishing the hatred person he had become. He wasn't sorry for what he had done, indeed quite the opposite. If a person was so brave to undertake a daunting action then they remained certain that it was the right one. Why should someone be retentive for doing something right?
But it seemed that people found it better to punish than to except. Whispers of 'greaser' seemed to haunt his steps in the corridors, but never more than whispers, for Darrel Curtis was still an imposing figure that few would tangle with. At least he had retained something from his old glory and it remained something that he was proud of.
People who once went out of their way to strike up a conversation with him about anything, now completely disregarded his presence. Personally, Darry didn't mind this; it made it a lot easier to pass through corridors and he arrived at places quicker than he ever used to think was possible. But the thing that did bother him however, was the way some people treated him like he was contaminated. Now that; that hurt.
Darry never retaliated to any hushed laughter, whispered comment or quickly averted glances whenever he caught someones eye. He kept his head down. 'Rising above it,' Craig called it, just simply not caring Darry called it, as long as he had his friends, nothing much else was important to him.
Craig had told him; "Don't worry about it, people always like to have something to talk about because only then can they know that they themselves are not the topic of conversation. It'll blow over when ever aspect of the topic has been conversed and then then something new and, sorry, better comes along. It's a vicious circle and you seem to have gotten yourself caught up in it, but people will come round eventually. Sure some wont, but there is ignorance everywhere, just as there are people willing to listen, appeal to their better nature, show them the real you. People fear what they don't know, they thought they knew you and it turns out they really didn't. It would rattle anyone. So let them get to know you, the real you, and your troubles will blow over."
It had been two weeks now, and things didn't look like they were going to blow over any time soon, they looked like they were set only to get worse.
"So what about today's game, huh?" Asked Chris bringing Darry from his thoughts, "The Fireballs," he laughed a little, "reckon we can roast 'em?"
"Nice play on words there, Wainwright would be proud." Darry joked back before his face turned serious, "sure, I reckon we can take them."
"Aye captain," laughed Chris, giving Darry a very straight faced salute, "and I do my best." He continued on;
"I've heard rumors about The Fireballs you know. Big as houses, built like tanks and twice as hard," he recited. Darry cocked an eyebrow, reminding himself of Two-Bit.
"Where did you hear that?" he asked.
"From a very reliable source," said Chris his eyes squinted in suspicion. Darry pressed;
"But you're not telling?"
"Certainly not."
The two were quiet for a moment, sending mock glares in the others direction. It was clear that his source was Rebecca, but how she knew Darry could not even begin to imagine, nor did he really want to hazard a guess.
"Well lets hope for our sakes these rumors are exactly what they claim to be. Rumors."
"Too right," agreed Chris.
The two procrastinated on the entrance steps, just out of sight of the front windows and anyone passing through the corridor.
"You know," said Chris, sitting against the vibrant red door, his knees drawn up to his chest, "For and A student such as yourself, this isn't very modal behavior."
"You know," Darry returned, "for a guy that has brains in his thick skull, they sure don't aid you in any way." He punched Chris affectionately in the ribs.
"Ow." Holding his maimed side he continued; "Thats a true enough statement to be sure. But, how come?"
Darry shrugged; "It's easier than getting hollered at all the time for being late."
"I second that," mumbled Chris.
"And, registration gets you nowhere in life and so can be missed out of an A student, such as my self's day."
"Oho, now we get down to it," chuckled Chris, then his face turned serious, "and if we actually went to registration, like the law demands, we wouldn't have time for out intellectual conversations." He looked astounded and a little appalled.
"Ahhh yes. Where would we be without our awe inspiring talks," Darry laughed rolling his eyes.
"Titter ye of small mind, for thou shalt miss them when they are gone," Chris declared dramatically, Darry fell about laughing.
"Old English too. Smoothly done sir," he gasped reigning in his laughter, "You're right of course though."
"I know I'm right." Grinned Chris.
The bell rang, signaling the end of registration, the two quickly gathered their things. For a moment they stood facing the door, neither moving.
"Time to face the music," Said Chris pushing aside their last barrier.
The atmosphere in the corridor was electric, the walls decorated lavishly with the red and white colours of their team. People talked excitedly about the game and the team were the center of attention. Darry noted that even those who had disregarded his presence last week, were now once again willing to make conversation with him, and another thing, it didn't look forced either.
It was at that point that he realized that his next few weeks in school depended upon the outcome of the game. If he could show his peers that he was still the same guy – greaser or not – that could bring them the win, the he felt somehow, he would finally gain acceptance, fail to do so, and his prospects looked bleak.
Arriving in English just in time, Chris and Darry took their seats behind Craig and Andrews empty chair. Craig offered them a small smile looking completely unconcerned with the days mounting excitement. Suddenly a thought registered in Darry's mind that caused his stomach to turn. Andy was absent?
"Where's Andrew?" He whispered urgently to Craig.
"Relax," Carig told him calmly, speaking as if his own calmness could somehow be passed to Darry through words alone. "He'll be here soon, I expect he's off somewhere rightfully enjoying all the attention he's getting. When I left him he was entertaining a group of attractive girls, giggling wildly of course. And I'm sure the large group I passed on my way here harbored an intent on speaking to him also. The guy deserves a little credit for once," Craig finished with a smile.
"Couldn't agree more," said Darry, "so what about you? Excited? Nervous?"
"Neither really," confessed Craig as serene as ever, "win or lose it doesn't really bother me all that much, I just enjoy playing the game."
"Well aren't you just the little ray of sunshine," teased Chris. Craig chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling.
Andrew arrived a full twenty-five minutes late and subsequently received a detention for the following evening. But with his spirits so high it seemed to barely register with him. His smile, euphoric and un-containable, did not falter from his face all lesson. Andrew loved game day, he drank thirstily at the atmosphere, as for once, he was being celebrated for excelling.
Mr. Wainwright kept a cold, observing eye upon them for the remaining lesson and they were unable to talk any further.
The match was scheduled for this afternoon, so participants and observers only had to endure three lessons of intense anticipation, but all that being said; it still didn't excuse the fact that they had geography second lesson on a Monday morning.
Craig was the only one to remain fully attentive during the lecture about volcano's; everything form shield plates to tectonic plates and everything in between. Darry attempted to take notes but found his excitement and nerves too much of a distraction; looking down at his page of spelling errors he conceded, renouncing himself to his raging emotions.
Chris spent the entire lesson drawing a series of black circles with arrows leading off them in all directions, crossing and intercepting with each other. Whenever it seemed that he was finally getting somewhere – at least in his own mind anyway – he would draw a thick black cross through his indefinable scribbles and would repeat the series again making minor alterations.
Darry watched him for a while trying to disconcert what he was drawing, it could have been visualization of some tactics he had in his head, or some extremely angry art.
Andrews face remained glazed and distant all lesson, clearly his mind lay a hundred meters away within the great stadium where he exacted spectacular feats.
Break did not come early enough. Craig and Darry sat in a distant corner of the extensive yard, just outside of the glare from the midmorning sun. Andrew and Chris had departed to regale their awaiting audience with more great tales and just generally enjoy the attention that they were receiving.
Craig sat reviewing his unnecessary notes, while Darry gave the yard a sweeping glance, mustering up the courage he needed. Finally he asked the question that had been plaguing his mind thus far;
"Do you think Mitch will make it to the game?" He tried to make his tone sound offhand, but ever observant Craig quickly saw through his guise.
"I see no reason why not," he spoke calmly, " after all he's made it to every other despite such long periods of absence."
That was exactly the answer Darry knew he would receive and exactly the answer he didn't want to hear.
Craig set aside his notes and turned to regard Darry with an all too knowing look.
"But whether the elusive Mitchell James turns up and plays for his team or not, isn't your real concern, is it?"
"No."
"Want to share it?" It was an open offer for which he could either accept or decline. It wasn't demanding and it didn't imply that he had too, it was a completely neutral question.
Darry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I know he's going to fly off the handle and I'm just working myself up to face it. It always seemed so important to him, that I upheld my status, never let anyone see past the lies. It was something he remained adamant about. I guess he would see what I have done as some sort of betrayal on my part. A betrayal against him. I don't know ..."
Craig was quiet for a moment, considering, before finally he spoke the words that would haunt Darry for a while to come;
"What's done is done, you, nor nobody else can change that. But I think you are right, in his mind he will see this as a betrayal. Mitch was always the puppeteer in charge of the show, and you his staring puppet, although not intentionally. Now the strings have be severed and his very own creation is running amok and ruining everything he has built up."
The next hour was filled with foreboding thoughts. Craig's insight was true, no doubt about it. But would Mitch really take such an opposed view? The clear answer was yes,but some portion of Darry's mind argued with this, perhaps the portion that still retained the image of Mitch three years previous. Happy, laughing, and not at all like the troubled boy of today
But if he won the game, wouldn't that prove that nothing substantial about him had changed? ... Ah yes. The game. The precipice that overlooked his failure or his success. It was funny, although not humorous, how everything seemed to be interlinked, like one giant puzzle who's answer was always just out of reach, but move a single piece wrong, and the consequences were dire.
Darry called to mind the novel of Frankenstein, which they had recently begun to study in English. He thought about the professor who had wanted to play God but with good initial intentions at heart, who had created the being as a pioneer of his experiment. And how, in a single moment all control was stripped from him as his own creation rebelled and became a monster to him, who did not see the good within the bad. Was that how Mitch would view him? The control part heavily emphasized upon of course. As reflective as these characters seemed to the situation, something just did not fit. That was when a new train of thought caught him unawares, what if he, like the professor, acting upon good intentions had inadvertently created a monster ...
Disturbing thoughts aside, Darry found lunch to be a welcome distraction, even if it meant his judgment hour being all the nearer. Each of the four friends opted for high energy foods; taking their trays they occupied an empty table by the far window in the canteen, not looking at all pleased to be there. Used to private lunches in the almost empty stadium it was safe to say they had gotten a little spoilt, finding the canteen too noisy and overcrowded. But today, the stadium was already in use and thus not an option.
The four of them chatted trivially trying to dispel their nerves, over excitement and tension.
Soon Darry's attention wandered again. This was not the first time in the last three weeks that he hadn't eaten lunch within the peaceful retreat of the stadium, although this was the first time none voluntarily. Just las week after grabbing lunch he had waved Chris, Craig and Andrew off telling them he'd catch up with them later. He had then proceeded to an inconspicuous bench on the yard where he sat quite alone and ate in silence, feeling that this was something that he had to do in solitude.
He had been looking for answers and he had certainly found them. Why was everyone so opposed to him now that they knew he was from the East side? Simple. Greaser represented something different to him than it did to everyone else. To him, greaser represented family and friends; all looking out for each other, making do with what they had and not worrying about what they hadn't, sticking together as one unit. Mum, dad, him, Soda, Pony, Two-Bit and maybe even Steve. Family, through blood or not. But to the rest of the world, greaser represented hood, and bunch of no good JD's who came from broken homes, robbed gas stations and were a menace to society. Greaser was something to be ashamed of. Greaser was no good in the eyes of today's fare society.
He had always know about the greaser and soc dichotomy, even Soda and Pony knew. How those already distant chose to distance themselves more, creating an even wider gulf that separated rich from poor. Greaser and soc were terms devised to ensure that even the young were brought into the great divide. But up until now I had never really seemed real, sure he'd scoffed at the socs preference for The Beatles and their madras shirts, but the sheer vastness of the issue had never really sunk in, up till now.
He had found that the more he looked for it the more increasing it's presence was. Everything he had not so long ago been so certain of, now was barely recognizable.
When you were young your innocence and ignorance to what was really going on in the world around you was your protective shield, as you grew however, that began to fail and finally crumble into ruins. Darry remained certain that his had reached this stage and now nothing stood between him and the harsh realities.
He had observed the four greasers just across the yard from himself, paying no heed to anyone else's presence, their hair so long and heavily greased that it seemed to gleam marvelously in the sunlight, and in most cases fall into their eyes. Each in various poses of relaxation held a cigarette in hand which they puffed while participating in conversation.
He had watched four more figures saunter across the yard, each supporting a bold madras shirt that clashed horribly with his accomplices.' their party looking like an advertisement for daring new patchwork patterns. They came to a halt before the denim and leather clad greasers.
Venomous insults were exchanged, all too obscene to repeat in refined conversation and a lot of loud mouthed profanities besides. In the next moment a scuffle broke out with what appeared to be the leaders of each group, egged on by their associates. No-one intervened to stop the fight and no matter who won the fight, there would only ever be one victor. The socs would triumph over the greasers, Darry was learning quickly that that was the way things were.
Lunch seemed to pass in a blur ad before Darry knew it the bell had gone, and his zero hour was upon him.
"This is it!" called Chris excitedly, exacting an enormous amount of restraint not to give in and expel his intense excitement in any way he saw fit. This indeed was it.
The canteen emptied quickly. Darry, Chris, Craig and Andrew departed to join the body of students moving as one force down to the pitch. Filtering into its midst the four boys joined the rest of their team; George, Scott and Tom – and Mitch if he showed up – Of the offensive line. Jack and Will the other tight end and wide receiver. Paul Holden, the halfback and Kevin the fullback.
The atmosphere was unbelievable, it felt like even the air was pulsating with excitement. Shouts, cheers and chants echoed all around them. The team, the central organ in the sea of it supporters. Faces blurred in front of them, such was the intensity of pace at which things were occurring, as it seemed everyone in the crowd came forward to wish their team luck. Chris' arm was round Rebecca's waist, where she had came from it was impossible to say. They shared a quick kiss which was met by cheers from the crowd and scattered wolf whistles. Craig looked uncomfortable but tried to hid it with a smile that resembled a grimace and Andrew, well, he was enjoying every moment.
Darry could feel his heat beating wildly within his chest and the familiar rush of adrenalin surging through his veins. At this moment it was hard to feel anything other than excitement and that was fine by him.
The crowd dispersed when they approached the stadium, each filtering off in their different directions. Rebecca was almost unwilling to leave Chris and join the rest of her cheer leading squad. But after some comforting words from Chris that caused his cheeks to flush a brilliant pink in embarrassment, she appeared consoled. She finally released her hold on Chris' hand and entered her own changing room, with one last wave before she disappeared.
Chris turned back to Darry who was waiting for him at the doorway of their own changing room. He would have graciously left the two alone, but Chris' pleading look of 'don't leave me' had held him in his place. He wished he had ignored that look however, as he had just suffered through two of the most uncomfortable minutes in his life.
Regarding each other, they both shuffled their feet distractedly nervous.
"Never mention that again?" Asked Darry, still haunted by the memory and not keen to relive it any time in his life.
"Agreed," Chris replied looking equally a haunted.
The team got changed into their kits, their protective padding making them look like a gathering of professional body builders – which was a look many of the proclaimed they could live with – their masks, with their grills that obscured their faces making them look en even more menacing opposition.
The atmosphere in the changing room was excitable as the minutes preceding their game slipped away. There were no nerves, no tension, nothing. Just the undiluted thrill of their approaching match.
With fifteen minutes to go and the crowd evidently getting restless, the coach came to speak to his team.
Coach Dalton was a kindly man who had a warm face and a welcoming mannerism. But for all his niceties he remained a firm man who expected nothing less than the best from his team and demanded answers when he didn't receive such.
For a short period, he discussed with his team the tactical moves they had been practicing and in what situation they should be used. Answering any further questions, he bade his team good luck before going out and taking his place at the sidelines.
The twenty-one boys – ten of which made up the chosen team and the other eleven, substitutes – sat talking as one entirety.
What felt like every thirty seconds, Darry checked his watch. Mitchell had never cut it this fine before. His heart became more spirited as the time wore on and the elusive boy still did not make his appearance, but his head cautioned him, as it was not yet too late.
A door slammed with excessive force in the distance, no-one heard it amidst the loud conversation. This was proceeded by another, slightly louder bang, closer now, that still went unnoticed. On its third and finally noticed occurrence, Darry felt his breath catch in his throat. He glanced down at his watch ... seven minutes to spare.
The door to the gym didn't have to be flung open so that it ricocheted off the wall, leaving a fresh indentation where the handle had been moments previous, for those within it to know who was coming. But all the same that's what happened.
"Where is he?!" A disembodied voice demanded before its owner came into sight.
With a sudden confidence Darry stood, ready to face whatever hand life would deal him. He had known all along that this would be the day he would truly face the consequences of his actions. All his previous anxiety was gone, caused from the fear of 'what if?,' now that it came down to it, he was perfectly calm. He was in control of the situation, unlike the seething figure who stepped threateningly into the room that next moment.
"You ... !?" Mitchell's face was contorted into an expression of purest rage. His body visibly shaking from the anger that emanated from him in great waves to envelope the room.
His attire was as pristine as ever, but his face did not reflect the look, under its contortion Darry cold plainly see its gauntness. The deep black circles under sunken eyes either remnants from a fight or indicating severe sleep deprivation. Perhaps both. His hair was lank, his skin sallow and his lips dried and cracked. It looked as if he had not eaten once during his three week absence. His clothes appeared to hang off him now rather than fit nicely. In all senses he looked sick, or as though ht has just given up and wasted away.
"We talk outside Mitch," Darry told him firmly, turning his back on his friend so that he no longer had too look upon his wasted appearance, "Or not at all."
A formidable temper Mitchell James had, but Darry had never seen him look so frail. Without fear he led the way back out of the gym, anger and sympathy raging a war inside of him.
"Is it true?!" Mitch demanded of him as soon as they were both outside.
"Yes. It's true," Darry confirmed quite calmly. He could hear the crowd just on the other side of the wall.
Mitch seemed to momentarily grapple with something far too difficult to understand.
"But why?" It was clear that he could never grasp the reasoning behind Darry's actions even if they were explained to him a hundred times over, but Darry felt obliged to at least justify his action.
"I was tired of living a lie and I hated what that lie was turning me into. I wasn't happy and subsequently I made my family unhappy as well, and nothing is worth that."
"Family." Mitch repeated the word through barred teeth, the word sound venomous. It appeared for a moment that he had forgotten that he was in company, for the next second he seemed startled to note Darry's presence.
His anger seemed to have gained more fuel for now his expression looked positively murderous.
"So it wasn't worth it, eh? None of it was worth it, huh? It meant nothing?!" He demanded.
"That's not what I said -" Darry began, but was cut off by Mitch's snort of;
"Same difference. Means the same thing, just said another way."
"I said," Darry continued on as if he had not been interrupted, "that it wasn't worth the hurt it was causing my family, but of course it meant something! I would be lying if I said that it didn't."
"And you're 'tired of living a lie,' right?" Spat Mitchell scornfully.
"That's right," replied Darry harshly.
Mitchell let out a howl of rage that was not entirely necessary nor appropriate, for his anger was evident and still mounting. He kicked a nearby rock in frustration so hard that it ricocheted off the stadium wall creating an immense bang.
"You had everything! I gave you everything!" He practically bellowed.
"You gave me nothing," Darry replied, his pride rearing its ugly head at the truth in Mitchell's statement, but it was a truth that Darry would never admit to himself. Mitch had indeed handed him everything on a silver platter, so to speak, with very little sacrifice on Darry's part. After all, it was not the creators fault if his creation when awry when things beyond his control interfered. It was Darry's own actions that had turned him into the monster which he now distanced himself from.
"Whatever you need to believe, greaser boy." Mitch had used to refer to Darry as such when the five boys were alone or out of earshot, it was a joke between friends that was almost a confirmation that the secret was being kept. Now it was meant as a term of insult.
"I'm still the same person Mitch, now just without the lies," he tried to appease his still angered friend.
"No! No you're not!" Mitch remained adamant, then suddenly his face changed. His anger seemed to wain, the contortion in his face relaxed, and thats when the true differences between him now and just a few short weeks ago became really apparent.
"But maybe it's not too late to be the same person." Mitch seemed to take Darry's prior statement as confirmation that he too wanted to make things as they were.
"We could just tell everyone it was a practical joke. A really good practical joke. You would be hailed for keeping it up so long without anyone seeing through it. Everything could be explained away for authenticity purposes. Anyone questions it and I'll make sure that they never question anything again," he added rather viciously, but even that could not hide the rising pleasure in his voice as he spoke.
"It'll be simple," he told Darry in what he thought must have been a reassuring tone, but it came to sound rather more manipulative than anything else.
Darry had no doubt of the ease with which Mitch could achieve what he proposed, and quite frankly that scared him. He didn't want things to go back to how they had been, it would be like admitting he was wrong and all that had happened over the past three were meaningless, but they weren't. He wanted a fresh start, undeniably it would be easier to just go back, but he had made his choice and was determined to follow it through, no matter what difficulties it entailed.
"No," he said simply.
"No? ... What do you mean, 'no'?" Mitch demanded again, all reassurance and manipulation banished from his tone.
Darry knew where this was going and he wasn't going to stick around and watch it pan out. The man who walked away was bigger and better than the man who stood and argued till he was blue in the face. Or so his mother proclaimed.
"I mean exactly what I say. No. I don't want that. Now if you're fit enough to play go and get changed, if not then Kevin is more than willing to take your place."
Mitchell looked murderous again.
"I tell you that as your captain Mitch," he told the boy firmly seeing his look, "and I tell you this as your friend; you look awful."
Turning away from his still seething friend Darry opened the door and stepped inside the gym. Over his shoulder he said resolutely;
"I've made my decision, Mitch," with that he let the door close behind him.
Mitchell stared at the red door for a moment as it utterly taken aback.
"Well it's the wrong one!" He shouted, finally seeming to grasp what was going on. He received no answer which only ensured to infuriate him more.
"Without me, you'd be nothing! I gave you everything! I can just as easily take it away!"
He stood alone now, a boy lost in a world that was far too big for him to understand, but claim understanding he did. He felt betrayed and in that moment silently resolved revenge. Mitchell James was not to be bettered.
Darry received stares when he re-entered the changing room, but he didn't elaborate on his and Mitchell's conversation and no-one asked. When Mitchell entered a minute or two later looking stony, a menacing air seemed to descend, and no-one dared to speak as an unnatural and thick silence enveloped them all.
Five minutes later, the red and white clad team, including Mitchell and led by Darry, emerged out onto the pitch. They were greeted by raucous cheering from the crowd surrounding the perfectly green field. The white pitch markings stood out boldly against the flawless green, marked every yard or so and numbered every ten. At each end zone stood two tall structures perfectly parallel, they looked like large letter 'h's protruding from the ground. The perfectly clear sky of blue above made the scene look even more amazing.
Darry scanned the crowd looking for the familiar faces of his family and friends. He spotted them, just above the twenty yard line on the left had side of the pitch. His parents were grinning broadly while Soda and Ponyboy waved to him enthusiastically. Two-Bit and Steve seemed to have some difficulty picking him out of the ten very similarly clad players following behind him. Mr. Curtis leaned over to tell them something, evidently that Darry was the captain because after that they seemed to have no trouble spotting him. Grinning wildly beneath his mask he waved back to them.
Despite so much for himself that was riding on this match, it was not for him that he was going to win. Victory did not belong to one man. It was for everyone else that he was going to win. For him family. For his friends. For his team.
The cheerleaders performed their newest routine to loud cheering and looks of admiration, each one glowing with pride, they exited the field making way for their team. Rebecca caught hold of Chris' hand for a moment as the two passed and whispered a quick but meaningful, good luck.
Darry led his team to the fifty yard line where the referee stood waiting, they took up their positions with passion in their hearts and determination in the forefront of their minds.
Darry stood at the head of his team at the central line, the black and white striped attired coach to the left of him. From the guest locker rooms emerged a fierce army of white clad figure advancing devilishly. Darry looked them over, sizing them up; if they hadn't been from a neighboring school Darry would have accused them on grounds of their sheer size alone of taking growth enhancing drugs, all of them seemed to be built like tanks. Chris had indeed been right.
This was the pinnacle hour; all training, all strategies, all work, came down to this game. He could hear the crowd, the buzzing of many voices all speaking very quickly and at once, he knew his family and friends were up there but he had since lost sight of them. There was a subdued chanting but as of yet it couldn't be made out whether it was in support or opposition.
His heart beat wildly in his chest, the rushing blood pumping thunderously in his ears as he took deep rhythmic breaths, poised for the onslaught to begin.
He stood facing the opposing team captain, A burly figure a little shorter than himself but thicker, whether his bulk was fat or muscle it was hard to tell though. His team were sheerly imposing on stature alone; Darry could see some of his own team throwing concerned glances at each other as many – Craig especially looked nervous – although at their physical peak seemed to feel dwarfed and slight in comparison. He noted that Craig looked particularly concerned.
"Don't worry," he told them over his shoulder. He didn't say it aloud but he was sure something of their sheer magnitude could be neither nimble nor quick on their feet, but their obvious strength, yes that was certainly a worry. Breaking through his reprieve however was a worrying though; they had to be good, or else they wouldn't have gotten this far...
"Captains, shake hands," called the referee. With a boldness that he didn't feel and a command that he didn't have, Darry extended his hand. The other captain grasped it, exacting a little more force than was necessary for a simple handshake, Darry returned the gesture. The thick captain searched through the bars of Darry's mask as if glimpsing some small portion of his face would betray his teams weaknesses. Or perhaps he expected Darry to be wearing a fearful expression, either way Darry kept his face composed and neutral. After a couple of seconds each captain released their hold.
The referee extracted a coin from his pocket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke, "Away team call first."
"Tails," the word was no more than a grunt, the voice that spoke it harsh and brutal.
"Heads," spoke Darry choosing the only option remaining to him.
Neither captain let their gaze wander from the other as the coin was flipped.
"Heads it is." No-one reacted neither in victory nor loss, both teams trying to second guess each other, the atmosphere so thick that it could be cut with a knife.
"Your call," the referee turned to Darry.
"We'll kick off," said Darry clearly and with precise enunciation. There were scattered cheers from the crowd.
"And we'll defend that goal," snarled the thick captain, pointing a short and stubby finger to the goal behind Darry's team.
Each team separated into their chosen or assigned field half. Darry leading his team to the left side of the pitch. He watched Mitch go, a slight swagger in his gait suggested trouble and Mitch was not one to disappoint. He made no acknowledgment to Darry's presence.
On command of per-made arrangements, Andrew stepped up to kick the ball from its current upright resting place upon its tee. He was greeted by cheering. The other team shifted their positions accordingly to compensate.
There was a moment when the intensity in the stadium seemed almost too much, seeming to strangle all oxygen in the near vicinity, and then. The whistle was blown and the match began.
Andrew took a running kick, concentrating all his power into the vital opening. The team flanked him either side, extending the length of the pitch and in sync with him. The ball flew a good thirty meters into the air gracefully arching before plummeting back down to the earth and landing perfectly central into the opposing teams end zone. Despite their wild attempts to halt the balls progress it surpassed them all, and they really did look pathetic their arms flailing trying to catch a ball that sored graciously above them out of reach.
"Touch back!" Called the announcer, enthusiastically.
Andy didn't score any points – in fact he had aided the other team in a way giving them the advantage of starting their offensive from their own twenty yard line – but the victorious smile taking center stage upon his face combined with his spectacular kick conveyed very clearly the message; we are not to be messed with. It also gave the crowd something to cheer about and would surely serve as a memorable moment for a long time.
"Way to go Andy!" cheered Chris along with the crowd, while Darry, who was the nearest to the boy in question gave him a small slap on the back. Discreetly he turned his head to watch Mitchell for a moment, who gave the impression of being completely oblivious to anything going on around him.
The Fireballs advanced to their twenty yard line to begin their offensive. Andrew stepped up to take the kickoff again accompanied the rest of the team, they rushed forward as one. Exacting less force this time he kicked the ball, it sailed into the air graciously once again but lacking in immense height this time. As the Fireballs retreated, their eyes always on the ball as their kick returner shrived for a catch, Darry's team advanced forward to try and apprehend the down.
A large muscle bound Fireballer caught the ball and charged forward without a moments hesitation. The defensive line which consisted of; George, Scott, Michell and Tom rushed forward to meet him while the other members of the team covered potential receivers. Darry watched while covering a particularly brutish Fireballer, whose breath ripped out in stitches and gave the impression of a charging rhino despite him not moving very far at all.
Mitchell was the first to reach the player in control of the ball at the fifteenth yard. He went in for a particularly violent sliding tackle. Both his legs wrapping around the opponent's and twisting it so that the boy went crashing to the ground. Scott, George and Tom arrived a moment later, jumping upon the fallen opposition to make sure he stayed down. The ball was rendered dead.
What was he doing?! Darry fumed silently while taking up his position behind the line of scrimmage, that tackle could have been called a foul! They could have already been losing before the game had properly began due to a free kick! Was he mental?! With a sickening stomach plummeting realization; he knew, Mitchell was simply getting even.
The ball was shoved painfully into his chest by Chris who acted as center as he received it from the snap; had he been ready like he was suppose to be he could have lessened the force, but as it was it winded him for a moment. Paying no heed to his lack of breath Darry was off rushing for the end zone. Paul Holden was at his side grinning widely as he ran with Darry stopping anyone from getting to near him, Craig remained firmly on his other and Jack behind him. As they approached the twentieth yard Darry threw the ball to Paul, who had the best chance of staying open for Craig and Jack were being swarmed by white clad brutes, and spurted forward, while Paul continued his progress. Passing the tenth yard Darry signaled for Paul to forward pass the ball. Darry received the oval ball and proceeded to run with it into the opposing teams end zone.
The crowd exploded in cheers so loud that the ground almost felt like it was shaking.
"Touchdown!" Called the wonderfully magnified and ever enthusiastic voice of the commentator.
Darry raised both his arms up high in a victory gesture, the ball still grasped firmly in his right hand as the rest of his team celebrated. The singular unmoving and un-celebrating figure however caught Darry's attention in the sea of people. Mitchell. Even if he wasn't happy that it had been Darry to score the touchdown shouldn't he at least be gratified that their team were now up by six points to nil? But no, the boy stood stock still for all the world looking oblivious to his surrounds. Right at this moment Darry was to euphoric to care.
A conversion was offered to Darry's team, and Andrew stepped up to attempt to kick the ball from the three yard line through the two far reaching uprights and over the ten foot crossbar. Staring up at the tall white structure, there was no doubt in anyones mind that he could do it, and Andrew did not disappoint.
The crowd erupted in cheers once again and Andrews grin widened to immense proportions.
Both teams adopted their positions in the line of scrimmage again. This time for reverse order. Craig who was just behind Darry whispered his congratulations and praise. Darry unable to turn round and engage in conversation with his friend, offered Craig a thumbs up behind his back to show his thanks. The message conveyed clearly.
The ball was snapped and the oppositions quarterback was off down the pitch. The defensive line was off after him in a flash. Again it was Mitchell who tackled him in spectacular fashion ramming square into the charging figure with his shoulder and reaching for the other players face mask in clear violation of the rules. The stricken player crashed to the ground completely and utterly winded, his team converged on him and a whistle was blown. The rest of the defensive line stood scattered and looking blank. Darry, Christopher, Craig and Andrew all exchanged a wary look and Mitchell stood still grinning like a wayward God looking down on the havoc he had reeked.
The fallen player was taken off and a substitution was made, equally as big and equally as imposing as his predecessor, but then, thought Darry, really what else had he expected.
"Penalty," called the referee while calling Mitchell on his blatant disregard for rules and regulations. He gave a stern warning but no further action was taken.
The Fireballs got to retake the down, they surpassed it easily, and the next, and the next, charging like the tanks they were, no-one was brave enough nor foolish enough, save Mitchell to interfere with their course, who seemed to take his warning of 'play by the rules' to mean; stand sedimentary in the center of the field and observe your fellow players. As such, the fireballs scored a field goal in spectacular fashion.
The crowd cheered again albeit not as loudly while Darry and the rest of his team groaned. Mitch was determined to make this harder than it had to be. Did he not understand, could he not get it? Darry was and always had been a greaser and although the immense popularity was fun for a while it had molded him into something monstrous. Something that he wanted to distance himself away from as far as possible, now that everyone else knew what Mitch and the others had always known, did it make so much difference? No. in fact it was better, he was the same person he used to be only this time without the undesirable qualities. Never mind Mitch not understanding, Darry himself did not understand. He didn't understand Mitch's reaction, he seemed to want to ruin everything for everyone ... wait ... what if it wasn't everyone else he wanted to ruin things for? ... What if it was only Darry he wanted to ruin things for and everyone else just got in the way? For the second time during that match Darry's stomach lurched uncomfortably.
Things started out bad and soon proceed to get worse. Mitch worked tirelessly to ruin their teams chances; field goals and touchdowns were out of the question and it was becoming increasingly harder to even gain one down. He also seemed to have taken a liking for expressing his immense anger the only way one could on a football field surrounded by hundreds of spectators, to tackle the opposition mercilessly. His warning had taught him one thing, to be sneakier and less obvious with his flaunting of the rules.
By the end of the first quarter, The Fireballs led by twelve points. They sauntered off the field victorious while Darry led his dejected team back over to the bench where refreshments lay waiting. Drinking sparingly he decided that if he were ever going to confront his wayward friend then now would be the perfect opportunity. Advancing towards Mitchell who stood a short distance away from the rest of the team, Darry asked in a tone that commanded authority but was not rude enough to be a demand;
"What are you doing out there?" He made certain to imply calmness through his tone while inwardly his stomach churned with anger.
Mitchell made no reply, he just stared past Darry in evident rudeness. Did that mean that he did not have an answer? Or simply that he just wasn't willing to share? Darry already thought he knew the answer anyway
Going on the basis of thus, he tried a different approach;
"Look Mitch, whatever issues you have with me, don't take it out of the rest of the team. They haven't done anything. Just let us win this game, and then you can be as angry with me as you want." What could he say? If Mitchell kept up his campaign against him then on some level, although maybe never specified, he could be held responsible for the teams loss, and that was not something that he was willing to have on his conscience.
Again Mitchell payed him no heed. Darry threw his arms up in exasperation, shaking his head in defeat. There was nothing more he could do. He turned away from the root of all his new trouble and went to rejoin Christopher, Craig and Andrew who seemed enthralled in a conversation with Paul, George and Kevin which seemed to entail a lot of hand movements. Grabbing a second bottle of water and compensating for his sparing first drink he too joined in the conversation.
The second quarter commenced with the team in higher spirits due to a pep talk from the coach. But such joviality was rendered in vain almost as soon as the whistle was blown. Neither team advanced the ball and neither team scored, a state of stalemate had been achieved through one lone person. All his fouls and disregardful actions culminated in Mitchell being sent off. At the end quarter whistle it was with conflicting feelings of relief and sorrow that Darry took his place upon the bench for the half time intermission. This was not the way he had wanted to things to be.
"It's for the best," Craig told him, startling Darry a little as he hadn't been paying attention to his friends approach.
"Yeah, I know. I just wish that things didn't have to be this way." He winced slightly at the sound of the coach's indistinguishable words carried on the on the breeze from where they emitted inside the changing rooms. It was a harsh sound.
"Some people can't be helped." Craig gave a small shrug. "And some, like Mitch I think, are to busy being angry and hating the world to even try."
Chris and Andrew gave Craig and Darry a wide birth while emotions and and all the mess they entailed were the topic of conversation. It was clear to see that the entire team was euphoric now, everything for their gait, excelled conversation and wide smiles were simply buoyant. It was with renewed determination that they took up their positions on the field at the penultimate quarter.
The coin toss was presented to the two captains again. This time The Firerballs called correctly and chose to kick off, while Darry on behalf of his team chose to change their defending goal in the hope that this would finally give them some luck. Most of the third quarter was consumed by Darry's team attempting to play catch up and bridge the distance between themselves and The Fireballs. Without their previous hinderence they fared quite well. Paul Holden scored a spectacular touchdown and conversion, greeted by raucous cheering, closing the gulf considerably. Their field goal was apprehended at the last moment however when Kevin, the full back, flanked by Darry and Paul was tackled to the ground. The ball just a few yard short of the uprights fumbled and fell from his hands, and with just enough momentum to carry it on it's course, rolled over the zero yard line and landed in the end zone. The crowd erupted once again and points for the failed field goal that became a safety were awarded. The ending quarter scores saw The Fireballs leading by a meager three points.
The forth quarter commenced quickly, the anticipation within the stadium once again reaching optimum proportions. They needed a field goal to draw even, and either a safety, another field goal or a touchdown to to gain a lead, preferably the latter.
The whistle was blown and the Fireballs exerted a spectacular kickoff due to their brute strength. It was at the thirteen yard line that Will, the wide receiver, caught the ball and began to advance it forward. The offensive line scattered clearing the way and marking any of the opposition liable to make a play for the ball. Will tossed the ball to Craig who was nearest. Craig advanced it twenty yards before forward passing it to Darry a further twenty yards ahead. The ball now entering the oppositions side of the field, Darry found himself obstructed as some of the Fireballs defensive line had remained behind in case if this very occurrence while his own teams offensive line had been left behind by the forward pass and were not running to his aid. Darry signaled to Paul and Andrew, who tailed him always keeping a short distance away.
Approaching the thirty yard line it became apparent that scoring was going to be virtually an impossibility. The Fireballs defensive line were now on top of the trio making a bid for the lead and their own offense were still closing the distance between themselves and their fellow players. In a last ditch attempt Darry tossed the ball slightly behind him to Andrew, as the onslaught seemed only to have eyes for him and Paul.
For a moment Andrew looked confused as if grappling with impossibilities. Then, taking a gamble he punted the ball. Dropping it from his hands and kicking it before it could come into contact with the ground. It sored into the air, it's height less than he had intended. It was going to be a close one.
Everyone in the stadium, players, opponent and spectators alike, held their breath. Wishing vehemently for or against the field goal. It all seemed to occur in slow motion.
The ball approached, hurtling nearer and nearer. It was going to be tight. Just brushing the crossbar with not even an inch to spare, the ball passed through the uprights.
The cheering commenced and the scores now stood at twenty-one all. It was level pegging. Whoever made the next points would take the lead and with time running out it would be hard to beat.
That was not the case however, for for the next few agonizing minutes, neither team seemed to get anywhere. The ball was advanced no more than a down at any one time, and each player marked his opposition so expertly that every orchestrated move was apprehended. Both teams wanted and needed the advantage, but yet neither gained it.
Time stretched on at an exaggerated pace. Valuable seconds became minutes and all were lost to nothingness, no great achievement came of their occurrence. Both teams embroiled in their increasing desperation tried more and more outrageous strategies to give them an advantage over their opponents, but to no avail. The whole stadium seemed poised on a knife edge, from which things could go either way.
It was during this second stalemate that Darry broke his unspoken oath never to do so, and looked at the large brightly coloured scoreboard that displayed both points and time, along with advertisements and information on future games all in a fluorescent garish yellow. One minute and thirty seconds remaining ... One minute and twenty-nine ... One minute and twenty-eight ...
Receiving the ball, Darry made his decision there and then. Throwing the ball too Will, he made sure that the angle was askew, he watched it sail out of bounds despite Will's valiant attempts to catch it. But that had been his intention, to anyone else it would have just looked like a particularly bad throw. The crowd groaned.
The whistle was blown and each team member too up their position in or behind the line of scrimmage ... One minute and eight ... One minute and seven ... One minute and six ... Looking to the side of him, Darry caught sight of Paul and Craig each regarding him with a look of mild confusion, but when he grinned at them their expressions changed to ones of understanding.
"Let's do this!" He called passionately to them.
"Alright!" Whooped Paul, while Craig's grin became wider and more determined.
"Follow my lead," Darry instructed.
Fifty-nine ... Fifty-eight ... Fifty-seven ...
Darry received the snap from Chris and an enthusiastic shout of "Go!" As without hesitation, he charged for the opposite end of the pitch. A low rumbling cheer emanated from the crowd which seemed to grow just that little bit louder with every yard he gained. His teams offensive line spread out to protect their quarterback and Craig and Paul ran either side of him.
He was tired now, he could feel it in every muscle of his body, a stitch seared in his ribs as he forced himself to run faster, surpassing limits that seemed capable to break him.
He'd advanced the ball twenty-five yards when he became aware of ragged breathing behind him. The Fireball he had marked before with the breathing to rival a charging rhino during very little physical exertion was tailing him, getting ever nearer. Darry, aware of what was going to happen, passed the ball sideways to Paul, who's half of the field was open, before he felt his legs being pulled from underneath him, and his heavily padded torso making strong contact with the ground. Down for the count, he could only watch his two fellow team members and friends battle on. Feeling very much the let down.
Thirty-three ... Thirty-two ... Thirty-one ...
Paul ran with speed that appeared to exert almost too much energy from him, his quick pace was marred with uneven strides, and Craig, forever the dependable remained firmly at his side giving the impression of reserved energy for a situation such as this.
Fifteen yards to go and twenty seconds remaining it all got too much for Paul, exhausted from his optimum performance, the last of his energy seemed to fail him and his steps faltered. Passing the ball to Craig and urging him on in a whisper he stopped completely, his hands on his knees while h recovered his breath.
Craig hesitated for a moment, stealing a look behind him he saw the entire field of players swarming towards him. He was now the only person who stood in the way of victory and loss.
... Seventeen seconds ...
He ran flat out, blocking everything from his mind. His heart pumped with exhilaration and exhaustion as he pulled out his last reserve of energy, of determination and of will.
Twelve yards left to go and fourteen seconds remaining ... No breath within the stadium was drawn as all were afraid that even something to simple could break the spell of the moment ... Eight yards and ten seconds ... Craig could hear those behind him drawing ever nearer ... Five yards and seven seconds ... His legs ached terribly as he gave the final push ... Two yards and four seconds remaining ...
"Touchdown!" Sang the commentator joyously as the crowd bellowed their appreciation, the sound ringing out like a gunshot. Craig looked utterly perplexed and shocked standing in the oppositions end zone, he seemed uncertain of what to do, and even more astounded by the fact that all this was due to him.
Darry's team cheered along with the crowd as they rushed forward to envelope their victorious comrades in a large group hug. The Fireballs left the field looking thoroughly displeased and the supporting cheerleaders rushed forward to hail their victorious team.
These scenes were mirrored in the crowd as all around, proud families beamed at their sons' achievements; fathers bellowing into the din, siblings cheering enthusiastically and trying their utmost to get down onto the pitch to join in the celebrations, and mothers discreetly wiping a small tear from the corner of their eyes, their pride swelling.
"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for you winning team!" This was met by more raucous cheering. "And commiserations to the losing team!"
The Fireballs looked like they had a few ideas where the commentator could stick his commiserations.
It was amidst this ceremony of congratulations, back slapping and applause that something happened to turn Darry's blood to ice. He was only there for a second, appearing and disappearing like the specter he was, but Mitchell's words chilled him to the very core.
"I made you Darrel Curtis, and I'll be your undoing."
All noise seemed to be lost to silence within his ears, as those words circled troublesomely round in his mind. He could hear them, being spoken again and again. Today he remained victorious, but tomorrow trouble approached, such was life; who's outcome could change in a heartbeat.
Life's a game. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. But it's always worth the gamble.
If you read these then you should go and heartily reward yourself as you have just acieved an amazing feat and i offer you my most sincerest and deepest thanks.
As you might have guessed the two area's i mentioned before where i have no knowlage are; Rodeo's and American Football, i tried my best.
The two events mentioned in the Rodeo are barrel racing and head and heeling.
Hopefully slitting this chapter in two makes it more easier to read and less wearysome
As always your words are taken into account and appreciated if you want to give them, Anything you liked or didn't like or just your genral opinion are all welcomed.
Thank you :)
One Wish Magic
