Chip Is Buried

“It’s—it’s happening again,” Bobbi uttered, her voice a choked whisper.

Corky raised her hands to her face, her eyes wide with fear, and stared openmouthed as the closet door continued to move.

And Sean stepped out, a triumphant grin spread across his face, his eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Hi,” he said, giving them a nonchalant wave.

“Oh!” Bobbi jumped up, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

“You little creep!” Corky screamed. She grabbed Sean by the neck and pretended to choke him.

He collapsed to his knees in a fit of giggles.

“How long have you been in the closet?” Bobbi demanded, joining Corky in holding him down on the floor.

“It wasn’t me. It was a ghost,” he said.

Both girls began tickling him furiously.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” he cried, squirming and laughing.

All three of them were laughing hysterically now, wrestling on the floor.

Digging her fingers into Sean’s bony ribs, Bobbi glanced up at the clock. “Oh.” She rolled away and stood up. “Come on, Corky. We’ve got to eat dinner and change. We’ll be late for the game.”

Corky gave Sean one last hard tickle, then climbed to her feet.

“Shadyside’s going to lose,” Sean called after them, following them downstairs. “Shadyside stinks.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The excitement of the game, the cheers of the Shadyside fans who filled the stadium, the white lights cutting through the chill of the night, making the field brighter than daylight under the starless black sky, forced all thoughts of that afternoon from Bobbi’s mind.

“Tigers growl! Tigers roar!

Do it again—more, more, MORE!”

Across the field the Winstead High cheerleaders, in their blue and gold uniforms, were clapping and cheering, rousing the few hundred Winstead fans in the away team bleachers. Their cries barely carried over the cheers and shouts that roared down from the Shadyside supporters, and the loud blasts and drumrolls from the Shadyside marching band in their own bleachers near the end zone.

“Tigers roar! Tigers growl!

We want a touchdown—now, now, NOW!”

Her eyes darting back and forth from the game on the field to the crowd in the stadium, Bobbi led the girls through their cheers. They were onstage now, in full view of everyone. The bitterness and rivalries that had created so much ill feeling in practice were all forgotten.

Bobbi was in charge, and no one questioned her commands. She called out the cheers and routines they were to perform as she carefully watched the action on the field.

“Go team, go team, go-go-go-go-go GO!”

The cheers thundered down from the stadium, punctuated by applause and excited shouts. Bobbi glanced quickly down the line of cheerleaders, catching a smile of encouragement from Corky at the far end.

Before the game, Ronnie had complained that she wasn’t feeling well, that she thought she was coming down with the flu. But Bobbi saw that she was giving one hundred percent, cheering with her usual enthusiasm.

At the far end of the players’ bench, Bobbi spotted Jennifer. She was in her wheelchair, a maroon blanket over her lap, waving her Shadyside pennant. Their eyes met. Jennifer, smiling happily, waved. Bobbi waved back.

Whistles blew on the field. Bobbi heard laughter spread across the stadium bleachers. She turned to see the cause of the interruption. A white wirehaired terrier had run onto the field.

Two Shadyside players were trying to chase it to the sidelines. But the dog, enjoying the attention, ran in wide circles, its stub of a tail wagging furiously.

Finally one of the referees managed to pick the dog up. He jogged to the sidelines with it to a loud chorus of good-natured boos. Then whistles rang out for the game to resume.

Bobbi stared over the heads of the players on the bench, watching Chip lead the offense out of the huddle. The first quarter had been pretty even. Both teams had been able to move the ball, although neither team had scored.

Now, as the second quarter began, the Tigers were starting on the Winstead thirty-five-yard line. Good field position. The cheers grew louder. The noise level in the stadium rose as if someone had turned up the volume control.

Watching Chip step behind the center, Bobbi wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking about the Winstead linemen staring at him from under their helmets, about to come charging toward him? Was he thinking only about the play he had called? Was he nervous? Was he scared to death?

She decided she’d have to ask him these questions when she met him after the game.

After the game. She forced that thought out of her mind. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to concentrate, stay alert, stay on the ball.

She heard Chip call out the signals in his loud, high-pitched voice. Then she saw him take the snap from center. He took a few steps back. He raised his arm to throwing position.

Another step back, his arm ready to throw.

The crowd roared. Bobbi held her breath.

Chip seemed to freeze, his arm cocked, his feet planted firmly on the grass.

He stood there until two Winstead tacklers swarmed over him and pushed him to the ground.

Bobbi realized she had been holding her breath the whole time. She exhaled, turned to the cheerleaders, and called out a clapping cheer.

What had happened to Chip? she wondered, moving in line and clapping. The crowd responded half-heartedly. The cheer was drowned out by muttering and heated voices. People in the stands must be asking the same question, she realized.

Chip had had plenty of time to throw, but he hadn’t even pumped his arm. He didn’t seem to be looking for a receiver. And he hadn’t tried to scramble away when the line came crashing in on him.

Oh, well, thought Bobbi, it’s just one play.

She and the cheerleaders finished the cheer and turned back to the game. Some of the players on the bench had climbed to their feet, so Bobbi had to move closer to see the playing field.

The stadium grew quiet as Chip stepped up to the center, quiet enough for Bobbi to hear the Winstead cheerleaders on the far side of the field.

Again, Bobbi held her breath as Chip took the ball and stepped back. It appeared to be a running play. Dave Johnson, the Tigers’ big running back, came crunching forward, his arms outstretched.

But again Chip froze in place. He didn’t hand off the ball. Johnson ran past him into the line. Chip stood with the ball in his hands. He didn’t run or step back to pass.

“Oh!” Bobbi cried out as Chip was tackled hard around the knees and dropped for a loss.

Voices in the stadium bleachers cried out in surprise. The entire stadium seemed to buzz. Bobbi heard a scattering of boos.

She shook her head hard as if trying to force the play from her mind. “Let’s do Go Tigers,” she called out.

The girls lined up quickly. Except for Kimmy, who remained just behind the players’ bench, staring onto the field.

“Kimmy!” Bobbi called.

But Kimmy didn’t seem to hear her. She was staring straight ahead with the strangest expression on her face.

“Kimmy!” Bobbi repeated. But it was too late to do the cheer anyway. Chip was leading the team out of the huddle for the third-down play.

Again the stadium grew quiet.

The wind suddenly picked up, blowing the flag and the big Shadyside pennant beneath it on the pole, making them flap noisily, the rope clips clanging against the metal flagpole.

Come on, Chip! Bobbi thought, crossing her fingers.

Across the field the cheerleaders in blue and gold were standing in a tight line, staring in rapt silence at the field.

Chip took the ball from the center. Johnson came rolling toward him. But Chip kept the ball. It was a fake run.

Chip backpedaled quickly and started to roll out.

“Throw it!” Bobbi screamed, cupping her hands to form a megaphone. “Throw it!”

Chip stopped.

He froze.

“Throw it! Throw it!”

Chip didn’t move. He was holding the ball at his waist.

“Throw it!”

Shadyside players were shouting to him.

“I’m open! I’m open!” Johnson was yelling downfield.

Chip was frozen like a statue.

Bobbi’s mouth dropped open in a silent cry as she saw the Winstead players close in on him.

Several tacklers got to him at the same time.

The ball dribbled out of Chip’s hand as they covered him, pulled him down, and piled on top of him.

Players scrambled for the ball.

Whistles blew.

The stadium remained strangely silent.

“They buried him!” Bobbi heard Kimmy say.

Buried him.

Bobbi moved closer to the sidelines, stepping in front of the players’ bench. The Winstead players were slowly climbing off Chip, making their way triumphantly to their bench across the field.

Buried him. Buried him.

Bobbi suddenly felt cold all over.

The tacklers were all gone now.

But Chip, sprawled flat on his back, wasn’t getting up.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 514