Jeff Carlisle looked at the padded rump in front of him through sweat-clouded eyes. Signals rang in his ears even as he called them. Then … Thump! The football slammed into his hands. He clutched it against his chest for a moment, backed up, and glanced around for the wide receiver who was to catch the pass.

The receiver was down, on his bottom in the dewy grass, and no one had touched him. Jeff groaned and kept moving back. Milltown’s defensive line rushed in and slammed into the Springdale blockers with a concession that echoed clear into the stands.

Jeff Cocked his arm, spotted the tight end running clear near the end zone, and fired the ball straight into his hands. SLAM! Jeff was hit. The shock of the impact knocked him back a few feet before he landed on his back. He tried to catch his breath, but two Milltown tackles were taking their time coming out of the pileup. A third boy moved a little to hide what he was doing from the officials, then drove a fist hard into Jeff’s stomach.

Jeff gasped in pain but was ready for Milltown’s dirty tricks this time. As the player got to his feet and turned to go, Jeff swung his leg hard and caught the boy right behind the knees.

Whistles were blowing, and yellow flags fell like snow, but Jeff didn’t stop. He had watched his teammates catch fists in the stomach, fingers in the eyes, and even razor blade cuts from the Milltown team every time Springdale played them.

With a savage growl, he jerked the boy’s chin strap and helmet off and replaced them with pounding fists. Jeff’s teammates cried out in pure joy and joined in, turning the football field into a battleground. But Jeff didn’t see much of that. The next thing he saw was a water bucked upturned over his head.

He shook and spat himself clear of the deluge. “What happened?” he sputtered as Richard Casey and Lance McDonald pulled him into a sitting position. They were on the sidelines. From the sounds on the field, Jeff knew the game was continuing.

“That butt-head turned the tables on you,” Casey scowled. “Got his hand on your face mask, tore your headgear off, and knocked you out cold.”

McDonald joined in. “Then the dirty son-of-a-Thran…” He broke off in an embarrassed silence. “Uh, sorry about that Thran remark, Jeff. I forgot your Dad works for them.”

Jeff frowned. “Never mind that. Did any of the other guys get hurt?”

Casey shook his head. “Just you. Of course, we got penalized on the next kickoff.”

Jeff started to his feet, but Casey and McDonald stopped him. “Coach said to make you take it easy until Doc Green finishes with the Milltown bunch and can take a look at you.”

Again Jeff started to his feet. This time, Jose Gonzolez, coming off the field, pushed him back to the ground. “Hey, wildman, choke it! We don’t want anything to happen to our Senior Class president.”

Jeff scowled. “Star quarterback, ha! I’m second string, class D material. I can’t even take a punch from the Milltown mud.”

“Man, that was a lights-out blow,” Gonzalez consoled. “Would’ve knocked out any of us.”

Jeff knew that wasn’t so, but let it pass. He wanted back in the game. With Jeff out, only the junior varsity quarterbacks could fill in. “Would you musclebound mother hens stand clear and let a man get some air?” Jeff grunted. As they moved back, Jeff rolled to his feet. Then wished he hadn’t.

Doc Green stepped up just then. “Nice to see you off the ground, Jeff.” He gave Jeff a quick going-over to check for apparent injuries, then gave jess a comradely cuff on his shoulder pads.

“Am I back in the game, Doc?” Jeff asked urgently. From where he stood, Jeff could see that the sophomore quarterback was having a rough time of it.

Green seemed to study Jeff wryly. “You’re a good leader, kid. You would have made one outstanding officer in the old days when we had a regional military.” Green took a deep breath seemingly hesitating over what he would say next. “Jeff, I’ve watched you. Your strategy is good, but you’re not physically strong. A Junior high kid can bench press more than you. Are you sure you want another piece of that?” Doc motioned toward the field.

“Look, I know I’m the skinniest guy at the school, but Bienvenue’s going under,” Jeff explained as His and Doc Green’s eyes watched the young quarterback take a pounding for the defensive linemen. “At least I can keep from getting hit most of the time.”

Green grunted a reluctant agreement. “Okay, hotshot, let's see if the coach buys that.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Jeff was aching in more muscles than he realized he had as he got into the car beside his mother later that evening. His mother, Gwen, noticed and winced in sympathy. “Sorry I couldn’t make the game,” She said as lightly as she could manage.

Jeff nodded. “It’s ok, mom. I know you’re too scared of seeing me get hurt to go. I’m just glad you let me play.”

The car’s antigravs came on, and Gwen eased the vehicle into the air and set the course for home. “So, who won?”

“They did,” Jeff said tensely. “Slick as a razor blade.”

Gwen tensed. “Not that again!” Her expression tightened in anger. “I’ve had it with that, Jeff! I really have! I’m going to the next school board meeting and insist that the Regional Athletic Council fire that coach for letting this team do that! Then…”

“Mom,” Jeff cut in gently but firmly. “We took care of it, okay. Me and the other guys handled it just fine.”

Gwen wasn’t placated. Jeff glanced at his mother, saw the fire of battle still burning in her eyes, and knew he’d better defuse the situation fast. A mother tiger fighting for her cubs had nothing on his mom, Gwen Carlisle. Didn’t she realize he was almost legally an adult able to handle his own battles and sometimes his own mother? Like right now. Jeff rubbed the sore ribs on his right side, deliberately wincing and groaning a little.

“Jeff?” Gwen’s voice was suddenly soft and full of concern, her desire to savagely violate the offending coach’s civil rights temporarily forgotten. “Did YOU get cut?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, but Garrett, Stevens, and Cortez did, and those are just the ones who’d admit it. I saw several others bleeding quietly.”

Gwen was silent for a long moment. “Jeff, I wish you wouldn’t play football. You’re taking such an awful chance on lifetime injuries for something that’s only a game. It’s not as though this was war.” She shuddered. “Though sometimes it looks like war!”

Jeff didn’t say anything. Gwen’s argument was old; he had heard it every year since sixth grade. Fortunately, Jeff’s father understood him and overruled Gwen on the sports argument. Jeff frowned. He just hoped his father would understand about the fight.

Jeff followed his mother from the garage to the rear entrance hall when they got home. The door had closed behind him when a sound caught Jeff’s attention; the screaming whine of a skill saw coming from the backyard.

Jeff questioned his mother with raised brows. “Dad’s working on Tessa’s playhouse? I thought he’d have to leave for Space Station Delta Nine pretty soon.”

“Your sister’s sixth birthday is only a few days away,” Gwen reminded.

Jeff sighed and picked up his duffle bag off the floor. “I’ll put this away and go help.”

The brisk fall wind was whirling leaves in random patterns as Jeff stepped out the back door a few minutes later. He fastened the front of his coat and looked up as the saw screamed again. A two-foot plank fell from a dozen feet overhead to the ground.

Jeff called out. “Dad, hold your fire! I’m coming up.”

Rod Carlisle stuck his head out of what later would be the tree-house window and chuckled. “About time. This thing’s got to be finished tonight.”

Jeff groaned as he started up the Circular stairway that wound sharply around the big oak. His dad insisted on old-fashioned tools for woodworking. While a Laser saw would cut it faster, it did not have the same feel, so claimed his dad.

“Just be glad we’re not adding electricity, gas, and plumbing,” Rod said as Jeff stepped onto the landing. “Not that Tess didn’t want it, of course.

Jeff smiled. As a rule, his little sister was not demanding, but the idea of having her own private domain had gone to her head. Jeff put another board onto the saw horse while his father hammered the freshly cut one into place. Jeff watched him a moment. Rod Carlisle was a powerful man, both physically and otherwise. Gwen was no weakling herself. Which made Jeff wonder, yet again, why was He so under par?

Rod slammed the last nail into place, then turned and caught Jeff’s eyes on him. As though reading his son’s mind, Rod set the hammer aside, crossed the room, and put both big hands on Jeff’s thin shoulders. “I heard about the football thing,” he said quietly. “Doc Green called.”

.

Jeff muttered something vicious under his breath, and Rod gave him a little shake. “It wasn’t about the fight. He said he’d done the same thing in your place. He called because he and the coaches are worried about you facing those two-hundred-pound tackles with a body that’s just not strong enough to take the punishment. They’re afraid you’ll get badly hurt if you keep playing A-string.” Rod paused a long moment. “Frankly, I have to agree. If you want to play football, it must be on the JV team.”

Jeff protested. “But Dad, I’m a senior!”

Rod nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. And I know what you must be going through being so underbuilt for your age.”

“But I have to learn to live with it!” I hear that all the time from Doc Green. Along with ‘You’ll catch up with them one of these days, Jeff, some guys take longer, that’s all.’”

Rod grinned at Jeff’s imitation of Doc Green. “I was going to say that the risk isn’t worth it at this point. If you could live with it, with the weakness, I mean, for just a little longer, things will change, I promise you that.”

When Jeff looked puzzled at Rod’s enigmatic statement, Rod turned and picked up the saw as though he regretted bringing up the matter. But Jeff wasn’t about to let it drop.

“Dad, you sound as though something can be done about it?. Is this something besides a genetic problem then?”

Rod exhaled slowly. “Yes, and no.” he paused. “I can’t go into detail right now, Jeff. It would be dangerous for me to do so, especially if I’m wrong in thinking that a move of some kind will be made soon.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rod straightened, holding the heavy saw easily on one slightly-curled finger. “Don’t get in a hurry, son. Live a normal life as long as you can; once you learn all the ins and outs of what I’m talking about, everything will change.”

“You’ll want to get on with things. The problem of the football team will seem infantile compared with the issues you’ll face then. Enjoy your freedom, Jeff. Enjoy every moment of being young and carefree while you still can.

Jeff was quiet for a long time as he studied his father. Rod had never talked to him like this before. “Uh, Dad. I think you know you can’t say something like that and expect to just leave it hanging. You’ve got to tell me what this is about.”

Rod thought a moment, then nodded. “All right. When we finish this, we will go to your room and talk.” He paused to take a deep, thoughtful breath. “Just one thing Jeff.”

Jeff looked up

“Try not to be too judgmental about what I have to tell you. Try to look at things from the standpoint of those making the decisions and those of us who had to accept and implement those decisions.

When Jeff continued to look simply puzzled, not worried or even concerned, Rod felt himself fill with bitterness and self-condemnation. Jeff trusted him; he looked up to Rod as any son would to a kind father. “Jeff, I. .. What I’m trying to say is you may be pleased by what I have to tell you, or you may not be. If it turns out to be the latter, please try not to hate Gwen and me too much when you learn what was done.”