CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The new high school football stadium was impressive. The football team, on the other hand, was anything but. They were, in Theo's estimation, unbelievably bad.
The boys wanted to show off for him. They did have talent; they just didn't know what to do with it. Conrad Freeland had to scream at the top of his lungs to be heard over the boys' shouting matches. He used his whistle so often the kids pretty much ignored the sound. Practice was chaotic and deafening.
Conrad finally got the first string to cooperate long enough to line up. They then began running back and forth across the beautifully manicured field like chickens with their heads cut off.
Theo and Michelle stood next to the music teacher on the fifty-yard line watching. Beaming with pride, Conrad turned to Theo
and asked, 'What do you think of your boys?'
Theo ignored the 'your boys' reference-he wasn't about to claim ownership of this motley crew-and said, 'Why don't you
run some plays, and Michelle and I will sit in the stands and watch. It's been a few years,' he warned, 'but maybe I can
give you some suggestions.'
Conrad looked confused. Nodding toward the field, he said, 'That was the play.'
'Excuse me?'
'You just saw the play.'
The music teacher nervously tugged on his collar. He was dressed for a music recital in an immaculately pressed long-sleeve white dress shirt, pin-striped tie, and a navy blazer. The clouds were heavy with rain, and it was so sticky and hot that Theo thought Conrad had to be suffocating.
Michelle nudged him. 'It's a nice play, isn't it?'
He didn't answer. Then Conrad said, 'We've only perfected that one play you just saw. We call it the stinger.'
'I see,' he remarked for lack of anything better to say that wasn't a blatant lie.
'Good, isn't it?'
Michelle nudged Theo again. He ignored her and turned to Conrad. He didn't want to hurt the man's feelings. It was obvious
he had worked hard to get the undisciplined boys to cooperate, but Theo wasn't going to start lying to him either, and so he
simply said, 'Interesting.'
'You've got to understand my position and the background of the team,' Conrad said, his voice earnest now. 'Last year was
our first year with a football team, and the coach… well, he just up and left in the middle of the season. Of course, he didn't
win any games. The boys don't know what to do out there. I don't know what I'm doing either,' he admitted.
'Give me a flute, and I'll teach you how to play it, but this,' he added with a wave of his hand, 'is beyond me. It's why we desperately need playbooks. I really have tried to do a good job.'
'I'm sure you have,' Theo agreed, trying to think of something positive to say.
'I even went searching on the computer. I can give you the history of football, but I can't tell you how to play the game. I
couldn't make head nor tail out of all the drawings I found on the Internet. Lots of circles and arrows that didn't make any
sense to me.'
He removed the whistle from around his neck and offered it to Theo. 'See what you can do, Coach.'
'I'm not…' Conrad had already jogged toward the watercooler. '… the coach,' Theo ended.
Michelle leaned into his side. 'They're really awful, aren't they?' she whispered.
'Oh, yes,' he agreed.
She smiled. 'I'll go sit in the bleachers until you're finished.'
Okay, he thought. One practice. He'd talk to the boys, tell them he'd send Freeland some playbooks and maybe a couple of
films they could watch too, and that's it. Then he was out of here. Yeah, that was
Putting two fingers into his mouth, he whistled to get the boys' attention and then motioned them over to him.
They ran like lumbering overweight foals. One kid fell down, got up, ran a couple more yards, and tripped over his own feet
again. Theo hoped he wasn't going out for the position of running back. They squeezed in around him as they pressed him with questions. Theo didn't say a word. He simply held up one hand and waited. The noise finally died down.
In a low voice, he told them to remove their helmets and sit down on the grass in front of him. They actually obeyed. When
they dropped to the ground, Theo swore he felt the earth move underneath him. Then Elliott Waterson shouted, 'Where's
your gun, Coach?' And the noise started all over again.
Theo didn't say a word. He simply stood there with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for them to catch on. It didn't
take long. Within a minute it was quiet again.
In a near whisper, he said, 'Elliott, my gun is in a safe place, but I swear, the next kid who interrupts me while I'm talking is
going to get clobbered. Understood?' He was forcing the boys to sit still and strain to hear what he had to say. 'Now, here's
what we're going to do.'
Michelle sat on the hard bleachers watching the transformation. She was astonished at how easily Theo had taken control of
the boys. The team sat with their legs folded underneath them, their helmets in their laps. Every eye was on Theo, and the boys seemed to be hanging on his every word. Conrad looked impressed. He had walked back to Theo's side and was nodding every now and then.
'Excuse me, ma'am?'
Michelle turned at the sound of the voice and saw a tall, slightly overweight, dark-haired man standing just outside the tunnel that led to the locker rooms. He looked vaguely familiar to her.
'Yes?'
He walked forward. The stranger was dressed in khaki shorts and a matching short-sleeve khaki shirt with the word 'Speedy' sewn above the breast pocket. There was a name tag dangling from the clip below the pocket. He carried a Speedy Messenger package-she recognized the label-but he was too far away for her to read his name.
'I'm looking for a Dr. Michelle Renard. Would you happen to know where I can find her?'
'I'm Dr. Renard.'
The messenger beamed. 'Thank heavens. I've been all over this town searching for you.'
He tucked the package under his arm and hurried up the metal stairs.
'Do you have something for me?'
'No, Doctor. What I've got is a problem, but I'm hoping you'll help me solve it before Eddie gets himself
