High School Football – The Temptation (first in the high school series), Page 3

  From the back, Karl spotted Justin and waved him back.

  “Come on down, oh great spewer of breakfast,” he yelled at Justin.

  “Yeah, we’ve been waiting for you, chief,” Eric said. “I guess you know that it’s an old Eagle tradition that he who sprays, pays. Drinks are on you, my man.”

  Justin pulled an empty chair up to the table, pulled a five out of his pocket, turned the pocket inside out, and sat. “It’s great to be an Eagle, guys. But this is as far as the old dollar stretches. I’m a little short today.

  “No problem, dude,” Eric said as he patted his pocket. “I got you covered. Hey, Arlissa, seven large Cokes, and go heavy on the ice, okay?”

  “All right, man. I’ll take care of you tomorrow.” Justin flashed him a grateful smile.

  “No hurry. Do it when you can.”

  The conversation was primed for talk about money and included discussion of expensive girls and cars and even the hog and cattle markets. Justin just listened, not really understanding the fine points of topping the market in Kansas City nor of attracting the attention of certain named females.

  After Arlissa slapped the round of Cokes on the table, the only sound was the swishing of ice in plastic tumblers. Justin waited a decent interval before he interjected a question.

  “Speaking of money, which is easy for YOU guys, are there any jobs in town? For high school kids?”

  The group looked at each other collectively and shook heads.

  “No, most of us do farm work,” Hank grunted. “Except for Eric there, who somehow managed to land a job with his favorite commodity, groceries, at the AG.”

  “Hey, I want you all to know that the only grocery packing I do there is in paper bags for little old ladies. And the place is a real sweatshop, too.”

  “Yeah, I can see you sweating now in that air conditioning. You wanna come out and try out the air conditioning on an open tractor sometime?” Hank wiped his forehead. “Yeah, maybe some tractors have all the conveniences, but my dad says a sunshade is good enough for us.”

  “Okay, no openings.” Justin stared at his tumbler. “Now, what if someone were to … knock on doors and offer to mow lawns, trim trees, that sort of thing? You think people in this town would go for it?” No one spoke

  Eric broke the silence. “Depends on how much you charge, and who you are; you know, how well they know you, and stuff.”

  Justin looked around the group. Might as well kill two birds with that old stone. “What if I were, say, T. J.?”

  Karl, the only senior in the group, and the leading candidate for quarterback, cleared his throat. “What’s on your mind, Justin?”

  “Well, two things. One, I’ve notice that some of the yards in town could use some attention. And I actually did a little work for a lawn care company back in Topeka, so I know how to take care of a yard.”

  He paused and looked around the group. “And two, what’s up with T. J.? He’s not here now with you, with us, and I get the definite impression that he thinks he’s God’s gift to the football team.”

  The chuckle traveled around the booth. “Yeah, we were just saying when you walked in that you and T. J. definitely are not alike, man,” Karl said. “If you know what I mean. No offense, of course.”

  Justin grinned. “None taken, dude. We may all look alike, but T. J.’s definitely way out there.”

  Karl nodded. “He really has a thing against Coach Greene this year, too. Last year he was a hot dogger, too, but this year … man! It’s a wonder Coach hasn’t kicked him off the team.”

  Eric snorted. “Like anyone’s going to get bumped from this team. I bet if some junior high snotnose walked out on the field, Coach would play him first and ask questions later. Why, even you have a chance, Justin!”

  “Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence, G. Anyway, so if I walked up to some front door, you know, after wading through knee-high grass, and I knock on it and some white lady opens it and I say, ’Good afternoon, ma’am; your yard is a mess, and for twenty-five bucks I can spiffy it up in no time,’ what’s she gonna do?”

  “That’s easy,” Eric said. “She’s going to slam the door in your face and call nine-one-one and say, ’Send the sheriff over, quick. This black dude’s trying to jack me out of twenty-five bucks for a fifteen-dollar yard!’ The table erupted in guffaws, and Eric and Karl high-fived, almost knocking over a Coke.

  “Yuk, yuk,” Justin grimaced. “Okay, so you’re trying to say that maybe I won’t cause any problems if I go around knocking on doors.”

  “Naw,” Karl answered. “Just don’t forget to use the deodorant after the shower. Seriously, we’ve never had the problems here that some of the bigger cities in Kansas had. I suppose having a college here makes a difference in attitude. Niotaka’s not Wichita, so you do what you like here, as long as it’s not illegal, man. And as for T. J., forget him. He’s more blow than go.”

  Justin nodded silently. Things were not that much different here than it had been on the east side in Topeka, he thought. Except for the “illegal” part. Maybe this afternoon he’d push the lawn mower across the street and see if he could raise some quick cash.

  “Oh, hey, Karl, you think your sister’s car’s going to be for sale?

  “Yep. She doesn’t know it yet, but there’s a yellow convertible down at Herbert North Chevrolet with her name on the title; I helped my dad pick it out yesterday after practice. We’re gonna give it to her this weekend, and by Monday we should have the old one ready to show. You wanna come by and look at it Monday afternoon?”

  “Bet,” Justin grinned.

  Chapter Five

  The lawn mower and a metal can filled with gas parked behind him on a cracked sidewalk, Justin stepped carefully onto the porch. His footsteps echoed hollowly, almost as loud as his knock on the screen doorframe. He waited a few seconds and knocked again. His hand was raised for the third knock when the white door behind the wooden screen door cracked open a few inches.

  “Yes?”

  Justin could see that the owner of the voice was an older woman, but she kept the door open a precise three inches, and he could not see into the darkened interior behind her.

  “Hello. My name’s Justin Jefferson. I … we just moved into the house across the street. I just mowed my lawn the other day, and I couldn’t help but notice that …

  “No thanks. I’m getting it mowed by someone else.”

  Justin nodded. “Oh. That’s fine. But if you ever need help with it, just let me know.”

  “I don’t think so. Anything else?”

  What did she really want? Justin thought. Miracle cleaning fluid? A set of encyclopedias? Perhaps a copy of Malcolm X’s autobiography?

  “No. I guess that’s it. Thank you for … “

  The door closed before he could finish his sentence. Perhaps a volume of Miss Manners’ etiquette? It would be a cold day before he crossed this street again, he decided.

  He picked up the gas can and pushed the mower into the street, glancing behind him at the house. A drape quickly flipped shut in the window to the left of the door. All right, lady, don’t have a panic, he thought. I’m getting off your property as fast as I can.

  The next stop down the street was more profitable, however. In an hour’s time he earned twenty dollars and had downed a large glass of lemonade, pink lemonade at that. By the time the sun had dipped into a bank of clouds in the west, he’d scored three for nine, and the ones who turned him down did so with a smile, informing him that they just hadn’t gotten around to taking care of their yards yet.

  At least he’d be able to pay off Eric the next time he saw him. And with any luck he’d be able to earn enough to add to his meager savings and have enough to make payments on Karl’s sister’s car. Even though Niotaka was small, he’d had enough of being on foot. His mother started work next Monday, on the early shift at 6:00 am, too early for him to ride with her to practice or later to school, and Sharice had informed them after enrolling that no school
buses ran inside the city limit to pick up students. He would be expected to drop Sharice off at the middle school a block away from the high school, although his mother could pick her up after school while he went on to practice.

  Yeah, having a real job would be a lot better than what he was used to doing back in Topeka.

  Sharice, in shorts and t-shirt, braids flying, was practicing cheerleader routines in the front yard, and he turned loose of the lawn mower and imitated her until she stuck her tongue out at him and stomped her foot.

  “You’re stupid, you know?” She folded her arms and glared at him.

  “You’re uncoordinated, you know?” he grinned.

  “Oh, yeah? How about this!” She did a quick cartwheel, threw both hands together in the air in front of her, and yelled, “Rah! Now you try it.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I gotta go count all the money I earned working today.”

  Immediately she was a step away from him. “Oh, let me help you count it. How much?”

  He pulled the folded money, three fives, two tens, and a twenty, from his pocket, pretending that they were a larger bundle of cash and flipping them so that his sister could not get a good look at them. “Forty, seventy, ninety-eleven, two hundred, and change.”

  She glared at him. “Oh, come on. How much?”

  He put the bills back in his pocket. “Enough. Maybe I’ll go buy a car tomorrow.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You really didn’t … “

  “No, not yet, but I’m gettin’ there. Anything cold to drink in the house?”

  “‘I’ll get you a nice glass of iced tea. You just wait there!” She practically flew into the house, and Justin grinned. Maybe giving the kid sister rides wouldn’t be so bad after all. He pushed the lawn mower into the garage, and by the time he closed the folding doors, Sharice was back with a tall, tinkling glass.

  “Thanks, kid. Maybe I’ll give you a ride sometime.”

  “Promises, promises. I don’t see no golden chariots out front. Oh, you mean a car! You got keys on you?” She slapped the side pocket of his jeans, and he pretended to splash tea from the glass on her. She twisted away and ran, giggling, disappearing around the side of the house. Too tired to chase her down, he leaned against the garage door and sipped from the glass. She was getting taller, those legs stretching out, and he might have a little trouble catching up with her anyway. Maybe she’s the one who should be called “Stretch".

  A flicker of light distracted him. He looked up at the sky, waited, and was rewarded by a flash of sheet lightning in the northwest. Good; mowing had been dusty work today, and rain on the lawn meant grass growing all that much faster.

  * * *

  Justin lay stretched out on his bed, earphones on and his favorite CD in his portable player, when the storm hit. The wind rattled the window and the rain beat on his window, only slightly dissipated by the rusty window screen. He watched the ash and hackberry trees bend in the onslaught during each flash of lightning. Suddenly, a small branch broke free and slapped against the side of the house. Well, more yard work wouldn’t hurt him, he decided. And he’d have all of the weekend ahead of him to clean up storm debris; tomorrow was Saturday. The storm gradually died down within a half-hour, although thunder continued to grumble and the rain fell steadily. Justin eventually fell asleep with the sound of rain splattering in a puddle outside his window mixing with old-school rap from LL Cool J.

  Chapter Six

  He was on a motorcycle, headed west on a darkened highway, chased by something he couldn’t quite see. His motor thrummed steadily underneath him, but the steady rhythm soon changed to a knocking sound. He desperately tried to increase the throttle, but the pounding continued …

  “Justin, wake up! It’s past nine o’clock, and Mama says you have to get up and get the branches out of the yard!

  He awoke with a jerk. “Uh … all right, all right, Shar. I’m awake.”

  “You’d better be. Breakfast was over a half-hour ago.”

  Justin grunted a reply and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, glancing out the window and trying to ignore the aches that ran up and down his stiff back and legs. He blinked, and blinked again. What he thought was going to be only one branch to clean up had multiplied to a dozen or more, including one that looked to be as big around as his head. So much for a fun Saturday.

  When he appeared at the living room entrance, Sharice glanced up from the cartoons she was watching. “I saved you some French toast, Justin, but you’ll have to warm it up in the microwave.”

  “No problem. I’ve given up cold cereal for a while. Any juice left?”

  “Just grapefruit. And pru-u-une!” She made it sound enticing.

  Justin grimaced. “You should try it sometime.”

  Sharice stuck her tongue out at him but passed up the opportunity for a rejoinder, instead ignoring him in favor of Bugs Bunny. Justin sighed and tried to set his taste for soggy French toast.

  * * *

  Justin dragged the last branch onto the curbside pile he had made, where the city truck could pick them up later. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky, and the humidity was definitely up. He had to stop and mop his face, and as he put the handkerchief away, he glanced at the yard across the street. Leaves and branches, mostly smaller ones, littered the yard, but he could see one larger branch leaning against the front of the garage.

  He stuffed the handkerchief in his hip pocket and walked across the street. It was shadier here and cooler; the trees were older and taller than those in his yard.

  “It’s cooler over here than across the street, at least. Here goes nothing,” he said to himself. He picked up a branch and deposited it next to the driveway, glancing at the house. No motion at the windows; the front door was shut. He picked up several larger branches and dumped on the pile.

  The driveway to the garage was littered with leaves but otherwise clear except for the large branch against the front corner of the garage. “Might as well take care of that one, too,” he muttered as he strode to the garage.

  The branch was almost heavier than he could manage, and it seemed to be caught on something. Justin paused, caught his breath, and threw his entire weight into the branch. It shifted sideways and broke free, but the sound of glass shattering behind him stopped him. He dropped the branch and stepped to the side of the driveway.

  He hadn’t been able to see the door in the side of the garage before because of the branch, but now he could see that all but one corner of the door’s window was missing, and the broken end of a small, dead branch was just inches from the door. Apparently when the larger branch twisted sideways it speared the door glass with the dead branch.

  “Oh, great,” Justin muttered as he stepped closer to the door to inspect it. But the sound of a shotgun being cocked behind him froze him in his tracks.

  “Don’t move. At all. Trying to break into my garage, now, huh?”

  Justin felt a trickle of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades. He raised both hands slowly. “No, ma’am,” he managed to croak. “I think the branch broke it out. I’m sorry. I’ll … pay for it.” He turned his head slowly. The woman stood inside a screened side porch, a shotgun cradled in her left arm but pointed directly through the screen at his liver.

  “Yeah. Right. I don’t suppose you got the hint yesterday. I knew you were up to something.”

  Justin turned slowly to face her, his hands still up. It wasn’t the first time a gun had been pointed at him, but the shotgun was a first. “You don’t understand. Look, I started to pile up your branches. Out front. Look!” The last word was more of a squeak, in spite of the fact that Justin’s voice had finished changing during his eighth-grade year. Or so he thought.

  The woman pushed open the door with the shotgun, fixed it on Justin, and then looked out at the street.

  “I just thought you might need some help,” Justin said. “Look, lady, no one is going to break into anyone’s garage in bright daylight. All right?”

 
The woman glared at him but slowly let the barrel of the gun drop until it pointed at the porch step. She grimaced. “There’s nothing in there but old tools and junk anyway. And the Fairlane in there hasn’t run for years.”

  She shook her head and leaned the shotgun against the inside frame of the porch. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been jumpy since my house was broken into last month. But that was before you folks moved in. And I still think the scum who lived across the street, in your house, did it.”

  Justin lowered his hands. “I’m … sorry I caused you any trouble. I just wanted to be a good neighbor and help out.”

  She nodded. “I can see that now. How much you want?”

  “What?”

  “How much you want for cleaning up the yard?”

  “Well … it’s the least I can do after busting out your window. Although … you know … it might have been an accident.”

  “Oh, never mind that. Really, how much do you charge?”

  “All right. How about a big glass of ice water.”

  She stared at him, and he looked around the yard.

  “And if the person who cuts your grass for you doesn’t show up, you’ll let me have first shot at it.”

  Her face twisted. “I … don’t know. I can’t pay you very much.”

  “All right; I come cheap when all I have to do is to cross the street. How about ten bucks and a frosty glass of lemonade or something, maybe Monday afternoon after the ground dries out?”

  “That’s not very much. Tell you what; I could add a ham sandwich to that.”

  Justin pretended to frown. “Maybe with a slice of cheese?”

  “Hmph. And I suppose you’ll be wanting lettuce and mustard and maybe butter on it, too?” Her mouth twitched.

  “Naw. Margarine is fine.”

  “Margarine it is. What’s your name again?”

  “It’s Justin, ma’am. Jefferson.”

  She turned toward the front door but hesitated and turned to face him. “I’m Mrs. Garrison. Thank you, Justin. And I apologize for …” She hoisted the shotgun slightly.

  Justin grinned back. “No problem, Mrs. Garrison. I probably should have asked first.”

  She nodded, turned, and let the screen door bang shut, and she disappeared into the house.