Lakshya Gupta

Abstract Inspirational

3  

Lakshya Gupta

Abstract Inspirational

The Sinister Grin

The Sinister Grin

16 mins
190


 “What about me?”

As these three words left my mouth—the bald, shady figure of Coach Smith turned to look at me. His green eyes darkened and face reddened; obviously, he was angry. He dropped his clipboard, stomped towards me and said, “Get out. You are expelled.”—and normally walked back to the others. 

My heart was beating louder and faster than ever before—I thought I might die right at that spot. But I didn’t. I kept telling myself that this was a dream, and Coach Smith would admit he was kidding.

“For what?” I unwillingly blurted out. 

Coach probably heard me, but he didn’t look back. Neither did he respond. I wanted to yell at him, “GIVE ME A CHANCE.” or “GO GET A LIFE.” But I remained silent, and gathered my belongings from the bench, and walked out of the park, unnoticed by anyone—my mind contemplating on what had just happened and why I had been unfairly expelled. 

I had been enthusiastic and ready to play the finals against James Warren Middle School. Today was the day the Coach would announce the playing team for this match. And I had known that I would get to play. Coach Smith hadn’t allowed me to play a single match this whole season—now he would probably reconsider. (“Guy has gotten a lot better this year. He seems ready for the finals. I am sure he will impact the team in a positive way.”) That is what I wanted to hear from him. As he had announced the players, I had been waiting for my name to come out of his mouth— me jumping in pride, and giving the Coach a hug, forgetting how bad he had treated me this entire year. But as he had said the names, I hadn’t heard mine get called out; I had patiently waited but Coach had told the team to get ready for laps. As I had muttered those three words, “What about me?”, Coach Smith had gotten mad at me and I had been expelled. All my hardwork and persistence this year had gone down the drain.

He was the exact opposite of me—I was nice, interesting and funny, whereas Coach Smith was cruel, boring and strict. God knows how he became a teacher. He was a detention monitor during the day, and coached the boy’s football team after school.    

I was the only hope of this team winning the Seattle Football League Finals. 45 teams were playing in this league. And there would be one winner: one team who would hold the shimmering golden trophy, planted with rubies, with the governor’s signature inscripted, and take it to their middle school, victorious and proud. And not only that—they would also go on a trip to MetLife Stadium in New Jersey. It was either us or James Warren. 

But there was one problem: our coach was a freaking madman! I was the tallest, most experienced running back in the team but he always favored Brody and James over me. Those two were bullies—young criminals who beat the heck out of anyone who dared to cross paths with them. Coach Smith had also turned all the people in the team, the quarterback, Alan; the two wide receivers, Monty and Rhodes; the tight ends, Sunny and Kyle; the kicker, Barney and the quintuplets, Gary, Larry, Barry, Jerry, and Carey who were part of the offensive line—against me. They were all my friends, but now none of them talked to me. I had no idea who was a part of the defensive line, or the substitutes, because they had practice on the days we didn’t. That sounds kinda stupid—but you can guess who made that rule. 

The evening breeze hit me hard, and the autumn leaves crunched under my feet, as I walked back home. The alleyways were empty; no cars were parked on the street. I didn’t feel like going home, and instead took a detour. A crow was squawking madly on the big oak tree. I sat under the tree, for a while, trying to get my mind off of Coach Smith.

Everybody’s porches were full of Halloween decorations. Somebody had a big Beetlejuice standing in front of their door, which was surrounded by Jack-o-lanterns glowing with a goofy, green light. Others had tombstones planted all over their gardens and skeletons hanging from the tree branches. One house had small plastic babies, with dark black eyes, and bloody lips—lying over the garden. Some of them had broken hands, others had twisted faces and one was grinning maliciously, with its rotten teeth biting the flesh of its cousin off. They reminded me of Coach Brody. But I dumped that thought out my mind. I didn’t want to be reminded of him, or the team. And just like that, I buried myself under my surroundings—and made friends with the oak tree, the plastic babies, and Beetlejuice. Without them, I would still be alone, just like I was before: when I got expelled. 

                             ***

“Rise and shine, Guy,” a familiar voice burst through my room, as I unwantedly woke up on Saturday morning. 

“Let me sleep,” I whined and pulled the covers up.

“Guy, you are late,” the voice said, soothingly.

I lingered around the room trying to get a couple of more minutes of sleep. The lights turned on. 

“Gosh, it is a Saturday. Go get a calendar, mom. And close the damn light!” I screamed and closed my eyes, since they weren’t used to the LED lights mom had attached to the ceiling last week.

   “Mind your language, son. Now get up, or I won’t take you to the BFT tryouts. I am in the basement doing the laundry,” said Mom and I heard footsteps leading out of the room. I groaned and woke up—a couple of minutes later. I looked over at my alarm clock. I had only thirty minutes to eat breakfast, get changed and leave for the BFT tryouts I had totally forgotten about.

   After the big, depressing blowout yesterday—I had decided to join a different Football team. Mom had given me the suggestion. After all, I had been expelled! A new day, a new start. I hoped that I would be well-respected in this new team, and that Coach Smith would remain a distant memory, in my head. 

   I woke up, and went downstairs for breakfast. I quickly prepared a few pancakes and dropped loads of maple syrup on it, for better taste. 

   As I ripped a big piece of the pancake with the knife, Mom’s phone rang. Normally, I would be tempted to see who was calling her, but I was too busy eating. 

“Mom, someone’s calling you!” I screamed, hoping to make my voice reach her down in the basement. 

I heard Mom running from the basement, climbing stairs. By the time she came to the kitchen, it had stopped ringing. 

“Who was it?” asked Mom, grabbing hold of her iPhone 14.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, and went back to eating. 

She called the person back, and I waited to hear who it was.

   “Hello? ……Sally, here……..Yeah……Uh-huh……Um, okay…….Yeah, sure, I will ask him……..No, you’re good……Sure……Yeah, he will be there……No problem……Have a nice day!

   “Change of plans, we are heading to Mt. Holland,” said Mom, after she hung up the phone. 

   Mt. Holland? There was nothing on Mt. Holland. 

Wait. 

There was—a football stadium! 

“Why are we going there? Are the tryouts going to be there?” I cautiously asked.

“No.”

“What? Mom, I have tryouts. You know how important this is to me, don’t you?” I whined.

   “Guy, Coach Smith needs you. Brody broke his leg yesterday. Coach wants you to play in the finals. As a substitute.”

My insides vanished. Coach Smith? What would I want to do with that man? He ruined my life yesterday, didn’t he? Why should I play for him now? If he had given me this opportunity a bit earlier, I would have blindly agreed. Now, I would never do anything to help this man, or his team. The team I didn’t belong to anymore. I quickly finished whatever was left on my plate, and wiped my sticky hands, covered with maple syrup off the towel.

“Yeah, no,” I sarcastically refused.

“Guy, come on. Don’t be too hung up about yesterday. I am sure Coach Smith was in a bad mood,” said Mom, who was now making her own breakfast, probably pancakes as well.

“Mom, you know what he did to me yesterday. All year long, I had been attending his practices. All year long, I had been concentrating and practicing to get better. But he….he didn’t bother to give me a chance, mom,” I let all of those inner thoughts out, and started to cry a bit. “What kind of man does that? He is not a coach, he is a biased scumbag! You tell me mom, what did I do to upset him? Why wouldn’t he let me play?”

Mom let out a big, hopeless, sigh.

“I don’t know, Guy. Don’t ask me. After all, it is your choice. If you don’t want to play, I will tell Coach that, and take you to the tryouts,” Mom shrugged and sat down to eat her half-burnt pancakes.

Burnt Pancakes. My least favorite food.

“I will go to the tryouts, thank you very much,” I replied. It took me merely seconds to decide whether or not I would help Coach Smith.

   “Okay,” said Mom, who finished her pancakes in a hurry, and now was making more. Probably burnt too.

   I went upstairs and started to gather my belongings. I grabbed a duffel and packed some extra pairs of shirts, sweatpants and socks. I put on my football equipment. I also took two lemon-lime gatorade bottles as a refreshment and graham crackers as a snack. After I was done, I headed downstairs. 

Mom wasn’t in the kitchen. I figured she was probably getting changed too. Meanwhile, I grabbed my phone to pass the time. As I was scrolling through social media, a familiar picture popped up in my story; it was from exactly one year ago. Me and Alan, the quarterback, had been goofing off since Coach Smith had been off duty. We were in 7-11, and both of us were drinking slurpees. The memory jolted back to me.

   Me and Alan were walking from the school—when he thought it would be good to take a stop at 7-11 for a slurpee. Both of us had lunch money left, since we wouldn’t dare buy the tofu cake—which was the only thing available that day. We had been hungry for hours. 

   We had made jokes about Coach for half an hour there, drinking slurpees. 

As we were heading off to our homes, Alan had said, “Guy, honestly, I don’t care about Coach Smith. I care about my team. My team is the most important to me, and I would do anything to make us win this league. I am looking forward to playing with you and everybody else. Are you?”

“I am right with you Alan. But I really hope Coach Smith lets me play in the next couple of matches.”

“I am sure he will. You are our best running back!” Alan had said, before saying goodbye and going back home. 

   I thought about this for a while. But then, I heard Mom’s muffled voice and reentered the present.

   As I headed out of the house with mom, I thought about my team–my former team. I thought about Alan and each and every one of my teammates. How all of their practice and hardwork and determination, too, would go down the drain. How will they, too, be affected by Coach Smith’s cruel ways—or my cruel ways?

I took a seat in the shotgun of our Camaro, and banged the car door. 

“Jeez, why are you so mad?” asked Mom, laughing. “Cheer up. I am not taking you to the game against James Warren.”

   “You know what, mom? I changed my mind. I want to play the finals today. And not just play, I actually want to win this thing and get our team the trophy,” I said, my voice sounding determined.

   “Are you sure, Guy? Just ten minutes ago you were complaining how unfair Coach Smith was to you,” said Mom, indignant with a big frown. 

   “Yes. And one thing—I am not doing this for Coach Smith, I am doing this for the team,” I said, dramatically. 

   “Uh..sure, why not?” said Mom, and quickly turned left for the highway leading up to Mt. Holland. There was no turning back now.

                       ***

   “Why do you think they are hosting the match in this stadium? Isn’t it only meant for like, professional NFL teams?” asked Mom, when she found an empty space in the parking lot, which seemed to be full of cars and people.

   “I guess so.” I shrugged. “Well it is a big event, though. I mean, the winning team does get the trophy and all, and a trip to MetLife stadium in New Jersey.”

“NEW JERSEY?” screamed Mom. “Yeah you’re not going, son.”

“Well, we have to win the match first, don’t we?” I said, with a grin on my face.

   We walked up to the stadium, but the guards didn’t allow us to enter. Mom told them countless times that I was supposed to be playing in that match, but they didn’t listen. But then a familiar, shady figure arose, with the same sinister grin it had yesterday—the sinister grin I absolutely hated. 

   “Mrs. Wills? I thought you weren’t coming,” said Coach Smith, and I immediately looked at him, with bitter disgust and not a single ounce of trust.

   “Well, Guy changed his mind. He said he wanted to play for you, and make the team win. What can I do to argue now?” said Mom, and her and Coach Smith got into chit-chat about the game. When Coach Smith finally apologized about yesterday, my eyebrows raised up in disbelief.

   “Guy surely is a young, sarcastic fella, isn’t he? I was just kidding about yesterday, and he took it damn seriously. Well, I am sure that he is back in his senses now, isn’t he?” asked Coach Smith, and looked at me with the exact same sinister smirk. 

   “Uh, yes, Coach Smith, I am sorry I left you hanging yesterday,” I lied, and looked away.   

   The air around me started to heat up, and the afternoon breeze shook my hair gently. My insides were hurting in pain; I almost thought about forfeiting. I felt bad apologizing to someone who was supposed to be apologizing to me. It was just wrong!

I had two choices: 

Either help this team win.

Or purposely make them lose.

And I immediately knew what I was going to do. 

                          ***

   When I had first reunited with my team, all of my teammates had welcomed me and repeatedly asked about yesterday. I didn’t want to bring the topic of me getting expelled up, so I just quietly wore my uniform. 

   The score was 26-21. And James Warren was winning. I had no idea where my mom was. Probably one of those thousand people cheering up in the crowd. 

James Warren had the ball. Set…go! A weird kid snapped the ball to the quarterback. It was first and goal, and their team was just inches away from a touchdown. 

But as their quarterback passed the ball to the wide receiver, one of our defensive teammates jumped, intercepted the ball and fell down. The other half of the crowd stood up and started cheering for us now. We had a chance of winning, now. FOUR MINUTES ON THE CLOCK. 

As we lined up on the scrimmage line, some photographers near us snapped some dirty pics of me. I was annoyed, but I had to focus on the game. The ball was rarely handed down to me, so there wasn’t much I could do. 

   First down: 90 yards for touchdown. Set…go! Snap! Monty caught the ball and ran 2 more yards. THREE AND A HALF MINUTES ON THE CLOCK. 

   Second down: 88 yards for touchdown. Set…go! Snap! It was a handout to James who took time, but dodged all the defensive players and ran a mighty 40 yards. TWO MINUTES ON THE CLOCK.    

   First down again: 48 yards for touchdown. Set…go! Snap! Uh-oh, the quarterback encountered some difficulties, and there was nobody to pass to. Sack! Amazing job by the defense. Five yards extra for us. 

   Second down: 53 yards for touchdown. Set…go! Snap! Oh no, it was the same formation by the defense again, and there was a person rushing the quarterback. WE WERE ABOUT TO LOSE. Sack! Very strong defense. Five yards extra to the offense again. ONE MINUTE ON THE CLOCK.

Third down. 58 yards of touchdown. Set…go! Snap! The defense was doing the same formation again and again, and there was no hope for the quarterback. I was the only one open but I knew the play we were currently in, Alan would never hand out the ball to me. But he did. 

      At first, I tried to purposely drop the ball. But then it just came right into my hands. I saw all the defense players turn towards me, and eyed me as their target. Then they started to sprint towards me, and I could barely dodge. Then, I tried to fall on purpose, but I….I just couldn’t. All of the crowd, everyone cheering for us, for me, their hopes would be lost, and I would be ashamed. The big timer above me was increasing my pulse rate as I ran for the touchdown. 

   39……A defensive player tried to leap on me, and he did, but I shaked him off………….32…….Two bulky people surrounded me, but I tricked them and ran off between both of them. 26…….I knew I was about to fall……I was breathing louder than ever before, and my heart was about to thump out of my chest……….20…………I could hear footsteps of people chasing me…….17…….I wanted to stop, but it was as if my legs were separated from my brain, and were speeding up as I was nearing the touchdown line……..15……I could hear shouts and screams from the crowd…………12………And Alan’s faint voice, “For the team, Guy!”.......Yes, for the team.. My memories from the 7-11 jolted back in a hurry…………….9……..All of a sudden, five people came in front of me and I came to a halt from my neverending sprint. They didn’t do anything to me, though……Guess they just wanted to stall and waste my precious time……..5………”Come on, Guy, come on!”........I heard someone shout from the bleachers and looked over to see my mom, cringely shouting and jumping on the far end of the bleachers……….I knew what I was supposed to do…….3……..I ran into the defensive players, broke through their pack, my head throbbing……..2……….Almost fell, but kept going……….1……My head was paining, my body was shaking, I was gasping for breath, wanted to remove this hell of a helmet so bad……as I jumped to land on the James Warren endzone; when the audience erupted. 

                      ***

   After the cheers from the crowd, the display of fireworks, hugs from my teammates, kisses from my mom, the golden trophy in my hands, and the feeling of pride and dignity stuck to my personality, I saw the same shady figure walk towards me. I wanted nothing with that man,

   “Hey, Guy, listen,” said Coach Smith, whose face looked apologetic and grateful but it really wasn’t.

   “What?” I asked, refusing a cupcake from Rhodes.

“Look, I am really sorry about um…yesterday. I hope you’ll forgive me now,” said Coach Smith, who was trying to pick up the trophy, but I wasn’t gonna let him.

   “Go on,” I said, snatching the trophy from him, rudely.

“You did really well back there. I hope you can rejoin the team now, until Brody comes back.”

   “Until Brody comes back, Coach? Are you serious right now? I just died back down there and made this team win the league, and you still think of me as a substitute?”

   “YOU PLAY FOR ME!” yelled Coach. 

   “I am sorry but I didn't do anything for you, Coach Smith, I did it for the team.”

       “Well, you are not in this team anymore,” said Coach with a disgusting frown, his blotchy white face curled up.

   “No, Coach, you are wrong,” said Alan, who was now trudging towards me.

   “Excuse me?” asked Coach, surprised.

   “Guy will not leave the team. He will stay with us,” said Alan and I smiled.

“I am sorry, Guy, for not being there for you when you need me, and so are all of us,” he said, now turning towards me. “Aren’t you too Coach? Don’t you think that Alan deserves to have a chance in the league?”

“I am sorr-” said Coach, but I interrupted him.

“Hold your sorry Coach, I don’t need it,” I said solemnly, “I did this for the team, not for you.” 

Cheers came from my team. I felt good. I felt different. I felt proud and ambitious. Not necessarily because I had made the team win. It was because I had let everybody else’s hope up that I wasn’t a substitute. I didn’t suck at Football. I was someone who didn’t reject the team just for his own good, or make them lose because he wanted revenge. I was someone you could trust. Was someone who cared about others more than himself. 

   I left the stadium with mom and my teammates—who were now friends. The trophy glimmered in my hands as I took pictures and selfies with them. I had finally become the person I wanted to be. A football player; a part of the team. I didn’t care about Coach, as long as people like Alan were there to have my back, it was all good. 


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