Nate Langford spiked the ball into the painted turf of the end-zone, cackling as he ran up to the fenced off fans beyond the goalposts.
'Didn't I tell you, NOBODY can catch the Bullet Train!' BT screamed.
He slapped outstretched hands for aggressive high-fives and even turned to pose with a fan taking a selfie. As he smiled for the camera, he glanced towards Ty, who was picking himself off the dirt and dusting himself off. BT motioned with a finger. That was the first touchdown, but he saw many more on the tracks ahead.
Ty stormed off the field, not saying anything to anyone. He thudded onto the bench and stared down at his legs. BT was faster than him, but how was that possible?
Ty stamped his feet. His legs were on fire. He couldn't remember the last time someone had—summer camp didn't count, Harry Kerrigan was on another level, literally, let him have his time, Ty was the fastest in high school, and as soon as Ty was in college he'd be the fastest there too.
As the rest of the defence came off the field, Coach Hoang pulled Zayden aside. 'Hover over Samuels,' Coach Hoang said. 'He'll need the help. That stubborn kid isn't gonna learn his lesson that fast.'
Zayden looked at Ty, then nodded. 'Understood, Coach. That's why I'm the Safety right? Gotta cover for the team's screw ups as the last line of defence.'
Coach Hoang laughed. 'Yeah, but being that last line of defence puts a target on your back. Especially with a team like Mater Dei, they're gonna keep testing you to see how long you can hold strong. It's up to you to hold up all your teammates. They've got a lot of faith in you.'
Zayden's attention was drawn back to Ty. 'He doesn't.'
'Hey.' Coach Hoang pulled him away from Ty. 'Don't take that personal. Samuels doesn't trust anyone but himself, and that's HIS problem. Not yours.'
The extra point sailed through, pushing the Monarchs out to an early lead of 7–0. Whilst the teams prepared for the following kickoff, Coach Hoang noticed sullen looks on all the faces of his defence. Watching one of their aces get beaten so handily, so early into the game, was about as demoralising a blow as any could've struck.
That blow would turn into a death knell if the attitudes didn't flip before they went back out there.
'Hey. What's with all the shocked faces?' Coach Hoang asked, moving along the line of players. 'So what they scored a touchdown? It was one mistake. Your mothers didn't die so stop looking like it!'
JJ stood, clapping. 'Come on, hermanos, Coach Hoang is right. It's just one touchdown. It's good it happened so early, means we got plenty of time to make up for it.'
The dread eased, but the confidence that had been exuberant before the game was almost non-existent.
Coach Hoang stopped in front of Ty, staring at him, happy about the fire staring back, but still concerned with what had just happened.
Just a mistake. Ty knew that. He also knew it was a mistake he was going to rectify as soon as possible.
The Monarchs' second kickoff was much like their first, and though Chris fielded it in nearly the exact same position, this time he looked ahead at the Monarch wave surging towards him. They shouldn't have been that close. He took a knee, downing the ball in the end-zone for a touchback.
The Dons' offence had the ball once more, and their drive started from the 25-yard line … and that was where it remained. Almost.
Of the three plays they ran, only one earned them yards, and only a single yard at that—a Draw, which didn't catch the Monarchs as off-balance as the Dons hoped.
Though not even Play-Action could free up their Receivers. Cole struggled most of all and was the only one the Monarchs weren't giving space. He couldn't BUY space out there, wherever he went, whatever he tried, a Monarch was draped all over him. Even if he got a step, it wasn't even a second of space; they closed it almost instantly.
Benny and Stephen were treated oppositely. The Monarchs were still giving them plenty of space, but that space was a falsehood. The gaps they left could be closed in the blink of an eye.
Whether the pass was short or long, the DBs knew exactly how far away they could be and still recover. Explosive jumping power even negated the height advantages Stephen and Benny had against their opponents.
Stephen couldn't stand it. That bright-eyed Twenty-One staring at him, all smug thinking he was hot shit after every play. But as they both returned to the bench, it was clear Twenty-One, and the Monarchs were winning.
The Dons had to punt again, and again they booted the ball out of bounds, though this time it only reached the Monarchs' 35-yard line.
BT's grin stretched from ear to ear as he swaggered back into position when the Monarchs resumed control. Each time the Dons avoided him on their punts, he could feel the fear oozing out of them. At least they knew not to challenge a train to a game of chicken … Ty, however, hadn't learned such even after being run over on his previous challenge. He now had his back turned to BT, standing like a second WR almost, still wanting to race.
'You really want a rematch that bad, mon? It ain't gonna go any better for you. I don't want no excuses about how you slipped or some other shit.'
'Nah. No excuses. You just haven't seen as fast as I can go,' Ty said.
'Bahaha! And you think you've seen the Bullet Train's top speed? Trust me, I ain't even reached top gear yet.'
The ball was snapped. BT lunged forward. Ty scrambled ahead, keeping his head turned back. But BT stopped after a single stride, laughing.
Ty whipped around. "Is it a Screen?" He looked to the middle of the field. But the QB didn't even have the ball; it was in the RB's hands, heading away from them.
The RB ran right into Donte's path as he beat the LT to the edge and got around their block. Donte wrapped the RB up and shut them down for only a yard.
The Monarchs retreated to their huddle. BT was still giggling on the sideline with Ty for a moment. 'Look how jumpy you are, mon. Almost leaping right outta your boots and I ain't even going anywhere. You already KNOW you can't beat the Bullet Train.'
Ty growled, fists shaking as he went back to the Dons' huddle. BT was still laughing as he joined his team.
The QB stood in the middle of the huddle. Only the RB was shorter than him. He was a strange figure, top heavy, with huge shoulders and bulging biceps. Veins stuck out along his thick forearms as he clenched his hands together. But his hips were wide and powerful, too. He had an hourglass figure in a weird sort of way, like if the glass was bulging and bubbling.
'Why the fuck did Coach say to run it? Of course, that wouldn't work,' the QB complained.
'Fuck off, Brett,' another said. He was the RB, barely an inch shorter than Brett, but Brett let him know it every chance he got. He was compact and hard as cement. Dark eyes glared out from an even darker face that was scrunched with anger under his helmet.
'It's these fat fucks who couldn't block a nigga to save their whore mamas from taking dick,' the RB finished.
'You wanna go there, JaMychal?' A hand, thick like a gorilla's paw, clasped onto the RB's shoulder. Behind him was one of those "fat fucks" from the Monarchs' O-Line. The shortest of the bunch, but the widest too, like a square in that way … or maybe more like a circle. 'Maybe, instead of insulting our mamas when we know yours ain't even around, you should explain why we'd do ANYTHING for a slow ass short ass like you.'
The rest of the Linemen grumbled their agreement. The whole team seemed in consensus on the matter. Nate stepped in.
'C'mon now. It's just one play, brothers,' BT said. 'We got the Dons to beat up, so let's not fight each other. Let the mon go, Shaq.'
'We ain't gonna block shit for your runs 'til you beg for it, lil bitch,' Shaq the LT said. He shoved JaMychal away, and the huddle broke apart.
Coach Kirby's experiment with the run was over, and the Monarchs were moving back to their passing game.
Shaq lined up opposite Donte, growling at the plucky face waiting for him. He couldn't wait to ground it into the dirt.
Donte tilted his head, but didn't leave his stance or open his mouth. He had no time for distractions; he had to get to the QB and FAST if he wanted to help his brothers and stop a touchdown like the previous from happening ever again.
The Monarchs snapped the ball. Donte sprung to the outside, trying to dip under Shaq, but those heavy hands found him and drove him lower and lower until he was face down on the turf and Shaq fell on top of him.
Brett was untouched in the pocket, statuesque, as he watched BT and Ty's race down the sideline. Brett smirked—BT was winning again.
Ty pumped his arms and legs as quickly as he could. His cleats tore through the turf. His muscles screamed with how he tried to force more power, more speed from them … and it wasn't enough. BT kept pulling away.
With longer strides, though still just as quick as Ty's, BT was unstoppable. Each step brought him closer to the finish line, carried him further clear of Ty's pitiful attempt at pursuit.
He looked back, from the corner of his eye he saw Ty a little closer in his rear-view mirror than he had been last time, but Brett had already launched the ball out in front of them, where Ty had no hope of reaching.
BT thought about the highlight he'd have, how he could edit the clip, and how he'd celebrate. The ball reached his hands, but it also reached Zayden's.
BT and Zayden crashed into one another, the ball spilling out of bounds as they skidded and tumbled along the grass.
TY leapt over the crash and wheeled around, panting. Ire and fury filled his glare, and that glare was directed at Zayden.
'What the fuck are you doing?' Ty yelled.
Zayden groaned, sitting up. He rubbed his shoulder, it'd be bruised in the morning, but he was alright for now. What wasn't alright was that shitty fucking tone from that arrogant asshole barking at him again.
'Covering for you! What does it fucking look like?' he shouted back, staring up at Ty. '… You not gonna help me up?'
Ty leaned down, but didn't extend a hand to Zayden. 'No. And if I wanted YOUR help, I'd fucking ask for that too.' Ty walked off back to the huddle.
Zayden pushed himself up, lips curled into a snarl.
'Shit. You two argue like my parents,' BT said, rubbing his neck.
Zayden glared down at him.
'The fuck you looking at me like that for, Two-Face? You the one who ran into me.' BT got up, looking around. 'Hey ref! Are you blind or what, mon? Where's your bloody flag for that? He almost took my head off.'
The official ignored BT's complaints and told him to head back to his team's huddle.
The teams lined up once again, and whilst the Monarchs were now facing third down and still needed 9 yards, they didn't feel pressured at all and stuck to their guns.
BT went deep again, once more winning the race against Ty, easing further away from him the longer their race continued. But Zayden was still there, covering for Ty.
Brett knew what to look for, and avoided BT and the double team that followed him. With the Line remaining intact—Shaq leading the way as he buried Donte once more—Brett looked along the opposite sideline, where Deshaun was ALSO lagging behind his man.
Brett heaved the ball over. Zayden saw the pass headed for the opposite side of the field, and turned around, but he'd never reach it in time.
Luckily for the Dons, no one did. The ball slammed into the turf, untouched by anyone after Brett overthrew his Receiver. The pass landed right where Nate would've caught it, but Brett wasn't throwing at Nate. The other Receivers always felt so much slower than BT.
BT let out a heavy sigh as the Bullet Train rolled to a stop. But his smile returned quickly. Ty caught up to him, panting loudly, whilst BT looked as fresh as ever.
'I was expecting more of a fight from you, mon,' BT said. 'This is real disappointing, you know.'
'The game's just started, and you fuckers didn't score again. That first touchdown was a fluke. You know it.'
'Nah. It ain't no fluke that I beat you, mon. You know THAT. That's why you need help from that Two-Face over there. But that don't matter either. See, it don't matter how many people try, you STILL can't catch the Bullet Train.'
BT sauntered off the field, head held high. Ty looked over to Zayden who was by Deshaun's side. The two bumped fists before heading for the sideline together. Ty stared daggers into their backs.
When Ty left the field, he went straight to Coach Hoang. 'Why the fuck is he getting involved in my shit?' Ty said, pointing out Zayden. 'I don't need him babysitting me. I can handle Bullet Train—Langford—myself.'
Coach Hoang's point was directed at the scoreboard. 'That seven up there says otherwise, Samuels.'
Ty gritted his teeth. 'It was a fucking fluke.'
'I don't think it was, and I don't think you believe it was either, Samuels. Because if it was, Richardson would've run into you instead, and I'd be on your side. But that didn't happen. What happened was Langford beat you. Three times. Richardson was just there for two of them.'
Ty sat beside Coach Hoang, slamming into his seat. His fists clenched one over the other, held in front of his face. 'I can beat him,' he muttered.
'I know you can. And if you want to do it by yourself, and let Richardson go back to the other places he's actually needed, you need to step up and start JAMMING Langford instead of letting him run free.'
'Fuck no!' Ty shot Coach Hoang a dirty look. Coach Hoang looked back at him as if Ty had just slapped him. 'I haven't been beaten yet. I won't admit defeat. I chose to beat Langford in a battle of speed because I KNOW I can beat him there, and when I do, I won't have just beaten him, I'll have BROKEN him. Taking the one thing someone's best at, the one thing that they falsely believe makes them special, and crushing them with that exact thing, that's how you destroy someone, how you steal their soul. That's how you WIN.'
'Is that what you tried with Warren and Downey? You didn't beat Kingston or Ward your first time matching them. They beat you in specific ways, Kingston with power, Ward with incredible reach. They were better than you at those things … but you came back, and you beat them—well, you didn't really beat Kingston.'
'No, but JJ did, and JJ beat him with strength and power. You saw how defeated that false king was after that, didn't you?'
'Yeah, I get it. And you beat Ward at his own game. But you had WEEKS to train for that and grow. You don't have that same luxury now. You need to beat Langford and the Monarchs RIGHT NOW. There won't be any second chances.'
'But I can—'
'I know you can. I know you COULD. And I know you will, SOMEDAY. But today isn't that day, Samuels, as much as we'd both like it to be. You have to understand that.'
Ty trembled. His leg bounced until he reached down and stopped it with a shaking hand. Coach Hoang placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
'Think of the bigger picture, Samuels. Is this dick-measuring contest you've roped yourself into with Langford more important than the State Championship? I know you want to prove you're the best, but if you TRULY want to win and prove yourself to be the best player in the country, then you'll win by any means necessary. Any LEGAL means, of course.'
Ty's shoulders sagged, but his shaking stopped. Coach Hoang sighed.
'I know it'll be a tough pill to swallow, but it's what you have to do. You have to win, even if it means admitting you're not the best at EVERYTHING.'