September 18, 2015
Walkerville High Cafeteria
11:52 A.M.
Purposefully, with a stern look plastered on his usually cheerful face, Ralphie scanned the packed lunchroom for a glimpse of familiar bright-red hair. Of course, he didn't need to search hard for the boy in question; as always, he and the rest of the gang were seated at their favorite lunch table, tucked neatly away in the back corner of the bustling cafeteria. With fury in each step, Ralphie pushed his way past meandering students and aimless teens until he stood directly behind the unsuspecting form of Arnold Perlstein.
"Hey, guys!" Ralphie grinned, taking his seat beside his friend. "Happy Friday!"
A few grunts greeted Ralphie as he unpacked his new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox, a senior year gift from his mom and Jake. Disregarding the tired, gargled response, Ralphie's upbeat spirit remained unhindered, despite the serious concern weighing on his mind. As the table descended into its usual routine (Wanda telling her ridiculous stories about fighting some beast or another while the others tuned out the noise, thinking instead about their own concerns or frustrations about their morning classes), he turned to Arnold. "I need your help."
"Sure, what's up?" Arnold was grateful for the distraction from Wanda's incessant need for attention. If only he knew what Ralphie had in mind for him, he might not have been so eager to hear his friend out.
"You're not going to want to do it," Ralphie warned vaguely. "But just remember that I wouldn't ask if I didn't really, really need you to agree. And not just me – the whole school needs you, Arn! You gotta do it!"
Concern crossed Arnold's face. "Wha- what do I need to do?" he stammered weakly, already regretting the direction this conversation had taken.
Ralphie persisted. "Just promise to hear me out, okay? This could seriously be a disaster if you don't-"
"I think you have his attention, Ralphie," Keesha cut in. "Just get to the point, would you?"
"Of course. Arnold…" Ralphie put on a serious face once more. "I need you to become a football player."
Though Arnold's concern remained etched across his face, the rest of the friends burst into a fit of hysterics. "You're trying to recruit Arnold? For the football team?" Carlos laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Arnold? Who once ate enough Seaweedies to turn orange?"
"Arnold, who couldn't even get an award for competitive napping?" Wanda chimed in enthusiastically.
"Who stepped into a whole damn pond on the way to school?"
"Who lost a bullfrog in less than two minutes?"
"Arnold the chicken dad? ThatArnold?"
Arnold seemed less than amused at the reaction, but Ralphie simply nodded solemnly. "He's got the right butt."
Arnold turned to Ralphie, a blank look on his face. The teasing, he was used to – everyone received a fair bit of teasing from time to time at this lunch table. The butt talk, on the other hand, was entirely unexplored territory. "I'm going to need you to elaborate on that one."
Ralphie nodded. "The homecoming game is tonight, right? Well, Evans just called coach and told him that he and a bunch of the guys won't be able to make it – I guess they're in DC protesting some big vote in the House of whatever you call them."
"The House of Representatives," Keesha filled in. "They're voting on Planned Parenthood. Which, by the way, is completely ridiculous, so good on Evans for taking a stand."
"Uh… Right. It would be, except now the team is a player short and at risk of not being allowed to play tonight. Tonight - at the homecoming game! We can't not play! That would be, like… I don't know what it'd be like! There's nothing else that horrible in the entire world!" Ralphie took a deep breath, trying to compose himself after his temporary panic, as the rest of the group watched on apprehensively. "Anyway, we don't have time to properly recruit a new player and train him or anything, but I do have an extra set of Evans's gear in my locker – long story – so we figured, maybe we don't need a 'new' teammate. Maybe we just need an old one who happens to not be in Washington DC and instead happens to be sitting next to his very bestest friend in the entire darn universe. See, if he were here – or if, say, the other team and ref and everyone thought he was here and not off on some protest slash road trip slash tour of the nation's Waffle Houses - then the game could go on as planned! Obviously, it's super important, dude."
Arnold furrowed his brow. "Okay, I'm with you… Kind of… But why do I have to do it? What's so important about my butt?"
Exasperated, Ralphie rolled his eyes as though the reason were obvious. "Because your butt looks exactly like Evans!" Met with only cocked heads and raised brows, Ralphie realized he would need to elaborate on his point. He frowned. "Look, with the jersey and shoulder pads and everything, no one will be able to tell that you're a scrawny-ass dork, but those stretchy pants? Believe me, nothing is left to the imagination. The butt is the number one identifier on the football field and I'm telling you now, Arn – your butt just screams Evans."
Wanda raised a brow. "Really? Arnold, give me a spin."
"I'm not-"
"Do it!"
Wanda's harsh shout was enough to get Arnold on his feet. He clambered uncomfortably out of his lunch seat and spun slowly as Wanda eyed his body up and down. "Wow, I never thought I would say this, but Ralphie has a point. The resemblance is uncanny."
Ralphie nodded. "Right? They're serious butt twins!"
"You're so lucky, Arn," Wanda beamed as the boy took his seat once more. "Some people go their whole lives never meeting their butt twin."
"I hate everything about this conversation," Arnold pouted, crossing his arms indignantly. "And I hate to disappoint, Ralphie, but I don't know the first thing about football."
"That's okay! Coach can just keep you on the bench the whole game. Like I said, we don't need a player, we just need the butt." Ralphie looked up at Arnold with wide, blinking eyes, his lower lip quivering. "Pwease say you'll do it, Awn!"
Arnold shuddered. "Geez, fine! Just… Never do that again. Ever. And stop looking at my butt! That goes for all of you!"
Ralphie pulled Arnold into a tight hug. "You're the best!"
September 18, 2015
Stadium Locker Rooms
6:13 P.M.
"How're you feeling, dude?"
Awkwardly, Arnold fiddled with a large, heavily-used set of shoulder pads. "Similar to how Custer felt, I presume."
Ralphie cocked his head. "Which team did he play for?"
"The losing one, Ralphie."
"Can't be worse than Browns," Ralphie laughed, giving his friend a hearty slap on the back. The redhead toppled over, hitting the dinged, dented metal of Evans's ancient locker. Ralphie cringed at the sight. "Okay, so you're a little top heavy. Not a problem. Coach has you arranged to stay on the bleachers for the entire game. All you need to do is keep that helmet on and never let on that you're not the real Evans. Should be a walk in the park. Or along the side lines, in your case."
Arnold rubbed the back of his head, a difficult motion in his bulky, oversized football gear, and slowly rose to his feet. "Do you really think this is going to work? I don't want to be the reason we lose the homecoming game."
Ralphie shrugged. "I give it a 50/50 chance. But we gotta try, right?"
"Hang on, 50/50?"
"Maybe more like 40/60. But don't stress it," Ralphie reassured, shoving Arnold towards the door. "Evans never stresses football. He says that in the grand scheme of things, all of this will be lost to the endless void of time. And hey, the pants flatter the ass, so what more could you want?"
"To not play football?"
Ralphie laughed, ignorant to Arnold's genuine concerns for the game. After all, what was the worst that could happen?
September 18, 2015
Stadium Locker Rooms
7:02 P.M.
Ralphie, Arnold, and the rest of the Walkerville football team watched on in anticipation as Donovan, the team's best wide receiver, twisted his ankle only to grimace in pain. Coach shook his head at the sight. "I'd say you've got a decent sprain there, boy. No way you're getting back on the field."
Arnold turned to Ralphie with wide eyes. "What does that mean?" he whispered in terror.
Unfortunately, Coach's keen ears picked up on the boy's concerned words. "It means that for the second half, Donovan is out and you're in."
"But-"
"No buts, kid. Either you play, or we have to forfeit the game. Think about it."
As the rest of the team dispersed around the chilly locker room, Ralphie put an arm around Arnold's shoulder. "Maybe playing won't be so bad-"
"I don't know how to play football, Ralphie!" Arnold hissed in a harsh whisper. "I don't even know the rules!"
"Crap." Ralphie considered the problem for a moment. "Okay, maybe we can teach you."
"In 15 minutes?" Arnold firmly shook his head. "It's not happening."
Ralphie groaned. "Well, we can't just give up!" He furrowed his brow. "Come on, I have an idea."
Ralphie dragged Arnold out of the locker room, typing wildly on his phone as he did. By the time the boys stepped outside of the building, 6 pairs of concerned eyes were awaiting the two.
"How's Donovan?" Carlos asked conversationally. Unlike Ralphie, he didn't care much about the outcome of the game; still, Donovan was nice enough, and usually shared his fruit snacks with Carlos in English.
Ralphie frowned. "Not good. Looks like Arnold's going to be playing the rest of the game."
"That's never going to work," Wanda complained with crossed arms. "Arnold sucks."
"My point exactly," Arnold nodded.
But Ralphie was determined to see the night through. "He doesn't have to be good," he insisted, the desperation evident in his tone. "He just has to be good enough to let Walkerville finish the game! Losing is acceptable; forfeit isn't an option. Only… We're going to need your help to pull it off."
DA scowled as she eyed the pair of football players. "Isn't it cheating to sneak him in? Why should we dirty our hands for some pointless sports tradition?"
"High school football isn't pointless, DA – it's the heart of the American people! When we charge onto that field during Homecoming, we aren't just a group of popular, conventionally attractive, athletically-gifted teens; no, we're representing every kid that's ever dreamed of beating the odds, ever imagined a better life for themselves. On Homecoming night, we're not just jocks: we stand for all of the Arnold's of our school. Those kids deserve to feel like a part of a worthy team that never goes down without a fight, and by gosh, it's our job to give it to them."
Arnold rolled his eyes. "Also, sneaking me into the game is the furthest thing from an advantage, so who really cares?"
"I suppose," DA conceded. "But what are we supposed to do?"
"I might have an idea…" Without another word, Tim turned and walked towards the main school building. The rest of the friends, after a shared confused glance, shrugged and followed their friend's lead.
September 18, 2015
Walkerville High Computer Lab
7:16 P.M.
Tim scanned the dim classroom for a moment. His eyes fell upon a tall wooden cabinet on the far side of classroom, and as the others filed into the small lab, he rushed over to the sturdy doors and swung them open. Inside, numerous strange electronic contraptions filled every shelf. Tim picked an object off of the bottom shelf and returned to his companions.
"I've been working on this during my spare time in Computer Tech," Tim explained, handed a small, black device to Ralphie. "It should help Arnold look semi-competent on the field."
"Okay… What is it?" Ralphie turned the piece over in his hands a few times. "It looks like a headphone or something."
"Sort of. It's a walkie-talkie, one strong enough to withstand extreme damage. I thought my parents might appreciate a less disruptive baby monitor for my sister, but… I guess this is important."
Ralphie perked up at the explanation. "Awesome! So, Arnold just pops this in, and you guys can explain to him what he needs to do! Easy-peasy!"
Tim sighed. "There's just one problem…"
"Of course there is." Keesha smirked. "Because this was just way to simple to begin with."
Tim ignored the comment. "I only have one ear-piece. The only device that can communicate with it at the moment is my assigned computer."
"Meaning…"
"I have to be down here to communicate with Arnold," Tim summarized briefly. "And obviously, I can't see the game from here. Someone else needs to tell me what's happening so that I can pass on the directions."
Arnold frowned. "I'm going to get killed out there, aren't I?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But we have to try!"
Triumphantly, Ralphie threw a fist in the air and strutted out of the lab, leaving the remaining friends to sort out the kinks of the system. All he knew was that Walkerville had a chance to win the game after all.
September 18, 2015
Stadium Bleachers
7:23 P.M.
As the football players paraded onto the field once more, the gang busied themselves getting comfortable in their assigned positions. From their seats high in the bleachers, Carlos and Phoebe had an ideal vantage point from which to watch the remainder of the game, and as they discussed general strategy amongst themselves, DA crossed her arms and huffed. "What happened to not coming to Homecoming ever again?"
"Sorry, DA," Carlos offered sympathetically. Football was very much not one of the blonde girl's interests, and she had never made any secret about it. He could only imagine the more intellectual pastimes she'd had scheduled for the evening. "Our friends need us."
"Just think of this as official class president work," Phoebe suggested. "You're protecting our school spirit or something."
"I haven't been re-elected yet," DA muttered, pulling her thin jacket tighter in the rapidly cooling evening air. Despite her obvious discomfort, she said nothing more on the subject, leaving Carlos and Phoebe to return to the conversation at hand.
Carlos watched the opponent team warming up on the far side of the field. "They have the advantage right now," he mused, referencing the large 10-7 lit up on the scoreboard overhead. "But we're still in the game."
"Even with Arnold?" Tim's voice come through Carlos's phone, slightly static but largely intact.
"Have some faith."
Both teams began to line up on the field. Carlos brought the phone to his mouth. "They're kicking off now; tell Arnold just to try and catch the ball. And make sure the other team doesn't get it."
DA rolled her eyes. "Oh, catch the ball, brilliant advice. He's lucky to have you guys for support."
Nevertheless, the kick-off went off without a hitch, and without any damage to an increasingly-nervous Arnold. Carlos scratched his chin. "First and 10. We're probably looking to run it. Arnold just needs to stay out of the way."
"They're not even halfway up the field," Phoebe challenged gently. "Ralphie's probably going to want to go long."
"On a first-down? No way."
Phoebe remained firm. "Ralphie has a good arm and he knows it. Why wouldn't he take advantage of that?"
"Maybe he hasn't had a chance to deflate the ball yet…" Though DA was unclear on the subtext of Carlos's quip, it was clear the remark had irked her usually-docile friend. Still, Phoebe backed down from the argument as Carlos phoned in his directions to Tim.
"Football…" she murmured tiredly. "Why did it have to be football?"
September 18, 2015
Stadium Sidelines
7:28 P.M.
Wanda flinched as she watched Arnold fail to catch yet another throw. At least the dropped passes were less painful to watch than the tackles. The only issue was that Evans would never have missed so many perfect passes in a row; soon, people would begin to suspect that something was up with the inadequate athlete.
Fortunately, Wanda knew just how to draw the crowd's attention away from the unimpressive performance on the field. Confidently, she sauntered up to her beloved cheerleading squad. "Okay, ladies," she announced, clapping to get their full focus. "It's Homecoming and the crowd is barely conscious. We need to get some energy in this stadium!"
"But we're losing," Molly complained. "What's to be excited about?"
Wanda scoffed and shook her head indignantly. "You see, Molly, this is why you're a cheer-follower and not the cheer-leader. Who cares if we're losing? Our team sucks at the best of times! No, we don't cheer for victory – we cheer for trying our hardest and still falling short! Which is why…" she stepped up to the bitter cheerleader and jabbed her finger into her forehead. "We're dropping you off the pyramid."
"What!?"
Wanda shushed the girl. "Trust me, it's a beautiful metaphor. Also, I'm in charge and I say we're doing it, so… Gear up."
Despite Molly's protests, the cheerleaders did as their captain ordered and prepared for a routine like no other – one certain to capture the attention of every concerned citizen sitting in the bleachers on this cool Friday night.
September 18, 2015
Walkerville High Stadium Bleachers
7:35 P.M.
"I'm telling you, something weird is going on with this game," Ken, the new freshman reporter for the Walkerville High Newspaper, exclaimed. "That receiver hasn't caught a single pass, and that one cheerleader has been dropped on her head at least 3 times now. There has to be a story in there somewhere."
Internally cursing Arnold's poor football skills, Keesha did her best to redirect the young writer. "We're not a great team," she shrugged, hoping she came across as apathetic.
Ken was certainly a determined young reporter though, and not quick to be deterred by Keesha's composed comments. "Well, someone should be talking about that, right?"
Keesha groaned. "Look, kid, there's more to being a reporter than uncovering conspiracies, okay? I know you want to share the truth with the world, but sometimes, we have to step back and consider our responsibility to our community."
"I don't follow."
"It's Homecoming," Keesha insisted firmly. "Yes, the school should know that their football team sucks, but do we need to shatter their faith in their team today of all days? Being a responsible reporter means sharing the truth when the time is right. Today, I think the students deserve to feel proud of their team for playing hard, not disappointed in them for sucking. Don't you?"
As Ken considered Keesha's remarks, the older girl couldn't help but feel proud of his diligence. She knew the importance of getting the inside story and the desire to expose the problems in an imperfect system – they were exactly the qualities that made her love reporting in the first place. But as she lectured, even for her friend's selfish purposes, she did feel that she had grown from the angry, disempowered teen she had once been. Freshman Keesha would never have uttered these words to Ken; today, she genuinely believed there to be an ounce of truth to what she said.
Still, all things considered, life would be much simpler if Arnold just learned how to catch a God-damned ball.
September 18, 2015
Stadium Bleachers
7:41 P.M.
"Give me the phone already! Clearly you don't know anything about football!"
"And you do? News flash, Terese, there's a reason everyone hates your precious little Pats!"
Phoebe narrowed her brow. "At least we can get to a Super Bowl. Last I checked, San Fransisco hasn't been a decent team since '49!"
"Because we don't sell our souls to win!" Carlos growled and lifted the phone to his mouth once more. "Trust me, Tim, Arnold needs to go long this time."
"Just like he did the last 3 plays, right?" Phoebe retorted, sarcasm dripping off her voice. She huffed, her bangs fluttering in the puff of air. "Typical."
As the pair continued to spat, DA simply watched on unenthusiastically. What was it about sports that could get friends so riled up? She certainly didn't understand the appeal, and she had no intention of getting involved in this rivalry. Instead, she watched the minutes tick by on the scoreboard, wondering to herself how 15 minutes could possibly pass by so slowly.
September 18, 2015
Football Field
8:17 P.M.
Calling the team around for their final huddle, Ralphie knew Walkerville High was in trouble. In the second half of the game, the team had gone from just 3-points behind to a devastating 17-point disadvantage. Victory wasn't even in the question at this point; he just wanted to get out of this game with a shred of pride.
"Okay…" He looked around at the sweaty, tired faced of his teammates. "Obviously, this game hasn't been great. But if we get this play right…" He eyed the scoreboard. "Well, we won't win either way. But if this play goes well, Coach might still take us for pizza after. And that, boys, is something worth fighting for. Are we clear?"
The groans that responded were far from encouraging, but Ralphie was satisfied with the response nevertheless. He stuck his hand in and grinned. "On three, we all say Walkerville. Got it? One… Two… Three! WALKERVILLE!"
While Ralphie was the only one to shout that final cheer, he still felt pumped for the end of the game. Soon enough, we would have a gooey, greasy slice of pizza sitting before him.
September 18, 2015
Stadium Sidelines
8:25 P.M.
DA trudged towards Wanda, a silent Carlos and Phoebe behind her, and put a hand on her hip. "So, I take it that went well."
Wanda shrugged. "It wasn't too bad."
"We lost," Carlos spat, narrowing his eyes at Phoebe. "And I think we all know why."
"Probably because Arnold sucks."
Phoebe and Carlos both froze before exchanging a glance. Bashfully, Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh… That's probably why, yeah. Probably nothing to do with your dumb old team."
"Right…" Phoebe kicked at the ground. "I forgot about that…"
Carlos sighed. "I might have gotten caught up in the game, Pheebs. Sorry if I said anything hurtful."
Phoebe nodded and smiled weakly. "Me too, Carlos. I shouldn't have mocked San Francisco so much – it's not their fault Arnold doesn't know the difference between a fumble and a tackle."
"Besides," Wanda cut in, bored by the sincerity of the pair's apologies. "I got to drop Molly on her face. A whole bunch, actually. It was awesome!"
Molly glared from her seat along the bleachers. "I can hear you, you know."
"Yeah, whatever." Wanda searched the field. "Where is Arnold, anyway? Did the team kill him?"
"Actually, he and the team went out for pizza," Phoebe explained, back to her usual chipper tone. "Apparently, he played so badly that the rest of the team looked better by comparison. They're all thrilled."
"So, I guess we did good," Carlos surmised, a smile forming on his face.
From behind, Keesha's voice interrupted his proud moment. "Not even close, Ramon. You guys are not good at football, you know that?"
"Don't get them started…" DA bitterly sat down on the first row of bleachers, tiredly looking across the emptying football field. "Still, I'm glad we came out tonight."
"Really?" Carlos cocked his head to the side. "You seemed pretty miserable."
"Oh, I am. But this is our last Homecoming; it feels right that we all came to watch the game."
Wanda frowned. "Tim didn't get to watch it. He's still stuck in that computer lab."
DA thought for a moment before shrugging. She shut her eyes and relaxed, admiring the sensation of the cool breeze blowing through her hair. "Eh… Fuck Tim."
Nodding, Wanda sat down beside DA. "Fuck Tim," she echoed, and the rest of the friends followed suit.