Chapter 8

Will's fury was burning, bubbling through his veins. To him, it was unbelievable Halt had the nerve to criticize his pride. Yes, Will admitted Halt to be partially correct of trying to appear indestructible, but not entirely for his reasoning. Alyss played role of Will's strife; under normal circumstances, Will would have allowed the coach to examine the dame done to his knee. However, Alyss' presence had seized control of his mind. Pain could not reveal itself before her, it was forbidden. Will not only hungered for the victory over Mill, but desired Alyss' heart. Appearing weak was not an option. Coach Duncan had also said there was no running back to match his talent. If he sat out, Meadow Ridge may experience another bitter loss to Miller. He dressed in silence, ignoring the whispers in the background and prying eyes. He strapped Horace's shoulder pads and slumped down in his locker, staring at the floor angrily, as if it had offended him somehow. Horace sat below, facing Will. It looked as if he wanted to say something, hopefully a few assuring words. Will's eyes fixed their gaze onto Horace. Horace studied his face; Will's expression was testing, warning him to choose his words carefully. After a few minutes of pondering, Horace had finally spoken up.

"Halt is right you know." Will's eyes flashed in agitated manner. His low tolerance had dropped to none whatsoever. He did not want to hear anything that spoke of Halt's accuracy. Will breathed, sedating the boiling anger in his chest, ignoring the sudden throb his knee had given. Horace might have been his best friend, but even Horace's level of toleration had limits.

"How so?" Will muttered, trying to make his anger undetectable. Horace debated, wondering how harmful this conversation could become.

"Well, with you in this state." He waved his hand up and down Will's leg, implicating his maimed knee. "This mounts more pressure on us because we'll have to choose plays with much more caution." Will groaned.

"Oh can it, Horace!" Will snapped. "I am not jeopardizing any chance we have of defeating Miller. If I sit out, then our chances of winning will be in danger!" Horace stared blankly. He wished Will would see reason. His next words were spoken in a low tone, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"An injured running back cannot keep ground like an uninjured second string player." Will shot Horace a disdainful glare. Red hot rage surged through his bloodstream, pulling him to his feet. Horace stood unfazed. He towered over Will and was much more brawn. Will's knee gave a sudden shudder, nearly pulling him off balance. Still, Will did not back down from the menacing monster that was the captain of the defense.

"I will not risk this victory because somebody!" He jabbed a finger into Horace's barrel chest. "By the likes of you who wants me to switch to a spectator's point of view!" In a split second, a sudden shove had thrown the back of Will's head into a wooden locker. The sound of bells ringing filled his ears and eyesight went foggy. Will shook his head and despite the state of his leg, leapt at Horace. Horace, who was startled by Will's unannounced retaliation, fell onto his back. Multiple pairs of arms were attempting to wrestle Will off of Horace. Will's knee had chosen this moment to give out. He felt maybe five or six bodies topple over onto him. Horace scrambled to his feet, and began pulling people off of Will. Will pulled himself painfully back onto his feet, aiming a hostile stare at Horace. Many of whom that observed the violent outbreak, expected Horace to charge at Will. Yet, Horace had stood frozen, breathing like a provoked animal. George took it upon himself to contain the distance between the two. Funny enough, he was much more petite than Will and Horace. Horace turned his back away to retrieve his helmet. Will imitated his action and shoved his headphones into his ears. George had not yet left his side. He gazed at Will, as if silently requesting something. Will removed a headphone and stared back at George warningly. Instead of lecturing him like Horace and Halt had, George patted Will on the shoulder.

"Forget about them," George told him. "They are right though; forget about Alyss; if you're in pain, its okay. You did as much as you could for the team." Will nodded apprehensively; he consulted his IPod for a song to recreate his mood. He chose Issues by Escape the Fate. He sat back against the locker, his mind hanging on every lyric of the song.

This is the death of me

I feel it constantly

Just like an enemy

That wants to see me bleed

So I try to be silent

But my words they explode like hand grenades

I've just got to stay calm

Before I let this time bomb blow up in my face

Will felt that it was too late; the time bomb had already blown up in his face. The words might not have been inspirational, but the roar of the electric guitars surely was. He repeated George's words in the back of his mind, trying to make some sort of sense out of them.

If you're in pain, it's okay. You did as much as you could for the team. Maybe he should sit out for the second half. He had already scored two touchdowns and Malcolm was obviously more than capable at catching 'Peyton Manning-like' passes from Halt. Surely, Horace and George would be able to maintain this defense for the remainder of the game. They had done it before against other teams. However, Miller was not like other teams. Unlike other teams, whose team consists of very few players with bodies composed of steel, nearly Miller's entire roster looked as if they overdosed heavily on steroids. Even with this detail in mind, Will still had to consider the score. It wasn't okay that he was in pain; Miller was behind only by seven points and if the referees refused to call personal fouls, like the blatant pass interference and face mask penalty, then it wouldn't matter. Will thought assuredly that it wouldn't take Miller long to seize the lead should this pattern keep up. Inevitably, and probably most importantly, if Will showed that he was suffering, Alyss would develop doubts of her interest in him. According to Will's knowledge, no girl desired a guy who would lie down, defeated because he couldn't push through a few aches. Will banished these demoralizing thoughts and returned his focus to the lyrics of the song.

These issues pin me to the floor

These issues are my overlord

I feel so dominated

These issues, they choke me like a noose

So much for motivation, Will thought bitterly. He scanned through his playlist and selected This Means War by Nickelback.

Walking to the ring for a battle that you can't win

Swing as hard as you can swing

It will still mean nothing

Should have seen it coming, it had to happen some time

But you went and brought a knife to an all out gun fight

And the only thing to save

Is the banner that you wave

To be wrapped around your grave

He hoped it were like this. However, Miller's attitude is more like bringing a nuclear bomb to a gun fight. Talent was what had awarded them two state championships the past two years. Will bet that if they were willing to share, Miller would have enough talent to improve every team in the county, maybe even the region. Meadow Ridge truthfully, was their only competition. The game between two is almost as famed as the Super Bowl. Other students from 'not so-talented' teams gathered just to experience the passion, the deep hungering sensation to vanquish their foe that both teams possessed. However, no one from Meadow Ridge desired the precious victory as much as Will did. The previous year was the closes Meadow Ridge had ever come to defeating Miller. They had been ahead 28 – 25 with Meadow Ridge at the edge of ceasing their losses to Miller. The large safety had nearly ended Will's high school football career, breaking his leg in two places and fractured in another location. In the process, Will had fumbled two yards away from the end zone. Their smaller safety had seized the opportunity around the laces of the football and sprinted ninety-five yards back for a touchdown. It was truly a stolen victory. This year was different, it just had to be! Alyss, the only girl whose person had drawn Will Treaty to his knees, was in the stands. It was unheard of for a girl like her, top of the class, not so popular, sort of awkward girl, to attract to clutch the heartstrings of Will Treaty, football champion of Brooks County, while he imitated her actions. He never felt more empowered than this night when Alyss took to the view of a spectator, cheering him, willing his spirit onward. Halt was kind of his side, and would never be at fault for the furniture of any play. Horace may be slightly more aggressive than needed, would lead the defense to nothing less than success.

You've gone too far!

Who do you think you are?

Is this what you came for?

Well this means war!

Get up!

Coach Duncan had chosen this moment to lead them back onto the field. Will hurriedly threw his IPod back into his locker and strapped on his helmet. They marched onto the field, the sound of cleats hitting the concrete echoed as one sound. The only thing louder was the wave of cheers emanating from the 'home' section of the stadium. Miller was already gathered around their bench. Will couldn't help but feel sloppy. It felt unnatural for the visiting team to seem more prepared than the home team. Miller stared hatefully across at their adversaries.

"Kick return!" Coach Arald, the special teams coach, called. Will and Malcolm led the returning unit onto the field. He could feel Malcolm's worrisome glance upon him. He bent his knee backwards and forwards, repeating this action to appear as if he were fine. But he was far from fine. With each movement, the pain had intensified, more difficult to resist screaming out. Will discarded it, staring down at Miller's kicking team.

"Welcome to the second half with Meadow Ridge leading Miller 28 – 21," the commentator began, his voice bouncing off every obstruction in the stadium. "Meadow Ridge is awaiting the kick from Miller." Moments later, Miller's kicker number 18, heaved the ball down the field in Will's direction. The moment was crystal clear, too clear to ignore. The ball fell ever so closer to Will; thoughts raced chaotically through his mind, looking for a topic to steal his attention away from his mutilated knee. He attempted to spring upwards, but his knee gave in and collapsed under him. He lay sprawled on his back; embarrassment had filled his insides. His hand shot upwards to bat the ball into the end zone. Instead, the ball bounced off the side of his hand and was sent bounding up the two yard line. Will threw himself onto the ball pressing it tight to his chest. Players from teams piled on; Miller was hoping to dislodge it from his desperate grasp. Will felt the ball wiggle slightly. He prayed silently for a whistle to sound before the mounting weight could crush him. Multiple whistles rang noisily as the referees paused to pull players away from the massive dog pile. Finally, they uncovered Will, who was gasping from his time at the bottom. Malcolm helped Will to his feet who limped painfully to the offensive huddle. Halt was staring at him reproachfully, as if he thought Will had purposely pulled that stunt.

"Kick of sixty yards by number 18 of the Knights, Martin Bartell. Returned by number 23 Will Treaty for no gain!" the commentator called. This was the only time that Will wished for the commentator to remain silent. He wished that there was no one, not even Alyss, in the bleachers to see his idiotic blunder. Halt turned away to hear the call from Coach Duncan. Will glanced up into the stands, his eyes falling upon the spot where Alyss sat with her two friends, laughing and smiling. Her smile, oh gosh her smile...it was like a drug that Will was high on. The feeling of seeing it was treasured; there was nothing that was sweeter than that sight. Will felt his mouth twist itself in adoration, but vanished instantly. Embarrassment came over him, he coveted the play that he should have made instead of the antic had pulled moments before. Halt returned the huddle, ignoring Will's presence as if he wasn't there. Will shifted painfully, hoping his manner would remain undetected. Malcolm surprisingly was the only one who noticed this. He clapped Will on the back reassuringly. This would have been appropriate if the entire play had blown up, but the return had failed thanks to Will's injury. Kind of hard to feel motivated when a play had failed that terribly.

"I 20 bootleg," Halt announced in a low whisper. "I 20 bootleg on go, on go, ready break!" Will staggered to his position behind Halt. Crouching down into his stance seemed near impossible, his knees shuddered fitfully. Halt took his sweet time looking up and down the line of scrimmage, forcing Will to endure seconds of unbearable agony. It felt as if his knee was tearing apart at the joint. Finally, Halt reached beneath the center, awaiting the snap.

"Down! 180…180, set go!" he bellowed, taking the ball into his grasp. He faked handing it to Will and ran off to the side, searching desperately for an open receiver. What Will did not expect was a blitzing middle linebacker. A towering wall smashed into him, sending Will skittering across the ground. He lay there, trying to gather his thoughts and apprehend what happened to him. A few seconds passed and Will heard a dreadful crack! This sound was mixed with Halt's grunt of pain, followed by the visiting section of the stadium erupting in a wave of cheers. Will looked over; the middle linebacker stood triumphant over Halt, staring down at him as if he were a meal. The rest of the defense clamored together, celebrating and sprinting back towards the sideline.

"Sacked by number 52 of the defense, Eric Svengal!" the commentator boomed. "Safety for Miller!" The visitors screamed in approval; they felt that they just might take yet another victorious year home with them. Will's heart sank to the point where he thought he would be dragging it across the ground. He felt no hope, no faith, and no love. They were within the endzone thanks to his asinine performance. Halt had been sacked within their own endzone and this was considered a safety. He watched guiltily as Miller's score increased to 23. In addition to the two points, Meadow Ridge was forced to kick to Miller. A couple lineman pulled Will to his feet, walking beside him as he limped to the sideline. He could feel Halt's glare in the back of his head. He wanted to turn around, to face Halt and repent for his mistake. But he knew if he did, a wave of solecism would wash over him, engulf him until he could no longer be dubbed the best running back in the state. He staggered to the bench and slumped down, ignoring the stares of his teammates and curious spectators. Malcolm walked to his side. He said nothing; instead he patted Will on the shoulder reassuringly. But Will certainly did not feel assured. Shame rang through his ears as Crowley's cleat emitted a thunderous kick. He picked up his head, watching Horace bulldoze over what looked like the middle linebacker and strike the ball carrier with so much force that Horace might have turned his lights out. Flags were thrown in every direction and Will couldn't help but agree with them. There was no need for that kind of brutality, no matter how angry you are. Whistles were screaming deafeningly as the referees guided Horace away. Miller's trainers rushed onto the field, hunched over the unconscious player. The massive safety, number 28, bolted towards an unaware Horace and dove at the back of Horace's thigh. More whistles sounded as the referees wrestled the safety back to the sidelines. Horace lay on the ground, yelling out in agony, clutching his thigh. Will saw both trainers rush to Horace's side, muttering unknown words as they examined him. Will averted his attention across the field, where the two trainers were aiding the ball carrier in walking back to their bench. His arms were draped over their necks. Will wouldn't be surprised Horace would be suspended for the rest of the game. But the wicked deed of number 28 was inexcusable and couldn't go unpunished. If it did, the GFL (A/N: I'm not sure what they call the league of Georgia Football, let me know if you do) office would be flooded with hundreds of inquiries just from this one game. There was no call for a cheap shot of that nature, especially since the play had long since been over. If Horace didn't get suspended, at least the safety would. Or Will hoped he would. He returned his gaze back onto Horace, who was waving the trainers away. He pushed himself onto his feet and exhibited a walk. He faltered slightly in his stride, but the trainers saw nothing worth too much concern.

"Flag on the play against both team!" the commentator announced. The stadium waited breathlessly as the referees conversed with one another. Finally, one of them walked to the middle of the field and looked up at the commentator's booth.

"Personal Foul: Unnecessary Roughness, number 51 on the kicking team, 15 yard penalty, first down!" the referee began. "Personal Foul: Unsportsman-like conduct, number 28 of the returning team, player is ejected from the game!" Will would have rejoiced, but the damage had already been done. His knee made it near impossible to even stand and was extremely trouble some even when Will was resting. Horace was now added to that list, but nowhere near as bad as Will. However, one more cheap shot like that and Horace may find himself either on the bench beside Will or in the back of an ambulance. Will could also guarantee that their offense did not possess the moral as they had when the game first began. With Horace hurt, the defense probably would not be as solid as they were before. Will sighed, preparing to feel the sting of another loss to Miller.