The Woods' father and son road trip to Vegas began not long after the family breakfast—French toast was the offering on New Year's Eve. However, Jackson and his dad weren't the only ones prepping for a trip.
As they cruised down the street, Jackson saw the rest of the family packing the station wagon in the rear-view mirror. Whilst he and Dad were off to Vegas, the others were heading to Tucson to spend New Year's with Mom's parents.
Jackson settled back into his seat, lowering his eyes to the suburban streets. 'Excited, Jackie?' Dad asked.
'I… guess so?'
Dad laughed. 'You didn't have to come if you didn't want to.'
'No, it's not … I want to come, it's just, I don't know what to expect. What are these things like?'
'Hmm. Well, this one sounds a heck of a lot fancier than other get-togethers I've heard about, but really it shouldn't be anything too different from … Cassandra's wedding, remember that? The reception part.'
'So, a bunch of people standing around and acting like they totally want to be there and not anywhere else in the world?'
Laughter escaped Dad again, though he quickly cut it off with a cough. 'That was a lovely wedding, wasn't it? But no, I suppose it'll be a little different at this party. Everyone's there by choice, not obligation for one … and they'll all be strangers. But you get the idea, don't you?'
'Yeah, I do, Dad, thanks.'
They quietened, the streets rather empty; it was past the morning rush for those who were working, but other than that it didn't seem anyone else in the suburbs were rushing off anywhere for the holiday. 'Why don't we get some music going?' Dad said. 'Can you find a good CD, buddy?'
CDs… Jackson was surprised anyone was still buying and using them, but his dad was proof enough that they must've still been popular with the older generation. Another surprise was that cars could still play them, though it probably helped that Dad's little hatchback was from the last decade.
He pulled open the console between the driver and passenger seat, flicking through the stash of CDs stored within the hollow space.
'Maybe some Metallica would be good,' Dad suggested.
'You sure you don't want any Poison?'
Dad's eyes snapped away from the road. 'Who told you about Poison?'
'A uh … friend from school.'
Dad's surprise melted, and he turned back to the road. 'A friend from school? You making friends with your teachers now?'
'No, she's a student. She's just a big metal fan.'
'She?'
Jackson blushed as he pulled forth a couple of albums. He picked the least off-putting looking one, slipping in the CD for Flesh & Blood. He regretted it not long after the first actual song started playing—not because the music itself was bad, but because soon after, Dad was singing along like the whole neighbourhood had paid to hear a karaoke concert. Jackson groaned and slumped further in his seat, covering his ears, which only caused his Dad to sing louder.
That was how the trip started, cruising through suburbia and the city, windows down to enjoy the crisp wind and combat the sun, which was already warming high above the desert. Thankfully, it didn't take long for them to get out of the city. From there, it was smooth sailing down the highway and onto Route ninety-three.
Dad's sing-along was an old nightmare by then, and once Jackson got to actually hear the music of Poison without any distractions or yowling drowning it out, he didn't mind it. Would he add them to his Spotify playlist once they were back home? Probably not, but they weren't bad.
Time breezed by, and so did the albums. When Flesh & Blood looped back around, Jackson switched it out for another. By the time the second disc did the same, they were pulling into a gas station to refill the gas tank and their stomachs.
Father and son got a greasy cheeseburger and soda each, with a large serving of fries to share between them, eating on the road as they kept driving.
'Won't be long now before you can start driving, hey, Jackie?' Dad said.
'You getting too old to do these road trips now, Dad?'
'How old do you think I am?'
'You're sixty-seven, aren't you?'
'Sixty—! I'm not even FORTY-seven.' Dad tried to scowl but the laughter he was stifling made it comical rather than intimidating.
'So still old enough you had to ride a dinosaur to school?'
Neither could contain their laughter at that. Dad jostled Jackson's shoulder. 'Just you wait, Jackie, you'll be my age one day. I only hope you find these jokes just as funny when you're in my shoes.'
Jackson shuddered at the thought of being thirty, let alone forty. It sounded like an ancient age to someone who'd only just entered their teens.
'But it'll be nice to teach you how to drive,' Dad said. 'What is it, only a year more until you're sixteen, huh?'
'Fourteen months, yeah.' Jackson sighed. It sounded so soon. Too soon. He didn't want to think about the wasted year coming to a close that night. 'Why are we going to this party thing, anyway? I know you said it's scouting future prospects, but, uh, do you have an idea which prospects will be there?'
'It should be all the best recruits from every class. The gala, I think they called it, is for all the state champions. It's a precursor to the national tournament that'll be happening next year. It's a shame your Titans won't be there.'
Jackson frowned, slurping the last of his soda through his straw. It wasn't right that he was getting to go to this event without the rest of the team. 'Uh, right, is there anyone you're focusing on?'
'Hmm. I did have a list. Check in my bag; my notepad should be in there.'
'A notepad? Really, Dad?' Jackson undid his belt, turning and leaning into the backseat to rummage through his dad's bag.
'Hey, I know I'm old-school, I'm not ashamed of that.'
The notepad wasn't hard to find, though it was more of a journal than a simple pad. Flicking it open revealed pages filled with names and details. Dad's list of stars to look out for was separated into classes—seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshmen.
Most names had five stars scribbled next to them, though others had four and fewer had three. Their school was listed, followed by their position, and then a short list of traits both positive and negative.
A name that had been encircled multiple times caught Jackson's eye in the senior section. He sat back and buckled his seat belt again as he read. Colby Jenkins of the South Miami Cobras. A five-star QB.
'So these are the kids you're looking for?' Jackson asked.
'Exactimundo. Tonight will be a good chance to meet the kids and talk with them and get a grip on what their attitude is like. Your personality is just as important as your skills if you wanna make the big leagues. You can have all the skill in the world, but if your ego is bigger than the team, you'll never make it anywhere.'
There were countless examples from WRs alone, but it could happen to anyone. You had to stay humble to stay successful. No one wanted to end up like Johnny Manziel, Kelvin Benjamin, or least of all JaMarcus Russell.
Colby Jenkins could be on that path just from looking at the short list of qualities Dad had jotted down. For positives, he had it all—a quick release, strong arm, good decision making, agile, pinpoint accuracy. But there were still worrying downsides even if he was supposedly the number one recruit of his class. He struggled in messy pockets, was weaker against pressure, even if he rarely got pressured, had a tendency to throw into double coverage and challenge defenders. Most surprising was "no grit".
'What's the deal with Colby Jenkins?' Jackson asked.
'All the talent in the world, that kid. You don't have to watch his tape for long to see that. He could be a future number one pick. …'
'… But?' Jackson prodded.
'But he's untested. The Cobras are a great team. Some think they're the best in the country—maybe they are, but that's what this upcoming tournament is for—and they dominated every team in their state. They have for a couple of years. So Colby hasn't dealt with much adversity in his time. His Receivers are some of the best in the country, and the same goes for his Offensive Line.'
'So they make him look better than he is?'
'Maybe. There was a championship game, two years ago—his sophomore year, first year as a starter—it was a dogfight, a great game. Really low-scoring though, and I don't know, to me it just looked like he quit out there. He couldn't deal with it.'
'Huh…' Jackson frowned down at the page.
'But that was two years ago. They've been back to the state championship every year since, and they've won every time since then. Maybe he's changed.'
'Maybe he has.' Jackson flicked through the book. Each class had fewer names than the previous. The freshman section only had two names, and both were five-stars, though the first was circled with the same emphasis as Colby's had been—Kentavious Rice Jr. A Receiver.
'Kentavious Rice Junior?' Jackson asked.
'Number one freshman in the country. … Only because you didn't get to play, of course, Jackie.'
Jackson stared down at the page. The list of positives took up its entirety, and the only negative listed was—never been challenged. Jackson let out a shaky breath. He slowly turned to the next page and looked at the final name on his dad's list of prospects.
Tyrese Samuels, five-star CB of the Dominguez Dons. Freshman.
The name tugged at the edge of familiarity, but Jackson didn't know why. He scanned through the traits listed. Incredible speed, unmatched verticality, natural instincts, exceptional hands, BALL MAGNET.
From his positives, he sounded like a frightening opponent to go up against, but the negatives, whilst short, were baffling—tunnel-vision, poor team play, ANGER ISSUES. The last one was underscored almost to the point of ripping through the page.
Tyrese Samuels and Kentavious Rice. They were Jackson's peers, and the only ones in the entire freshman class who had captured his dad's eye. One was a CB, who Jackson would have to go against personally if they ever played, and the other was a WR who Jackson would be compared to throughout high school and most likely for as long as their careers beyond. And they'd both be at the party tonight.
Jackson set the book down on the dash and watched the world scroll by as they flew down the highway. His leg ached where it'd been fractured.
Vegas was underwhelming in the harsh afternoon light. It looked out of place on the horizon when it came into view. Like a jumbled mess of human history plopped into the desert, like aliens had taken their favourite man-made wonders and mushed them all together. Dad assured Jackson it'd look much more spectacular at night, and hoped their hotel room would have a better view of it.
Speaking of their hotel, it took them half an hour circling through the city just to find the place. It was on the cheaper side, small but still luxurious, though the view wasn't promising. They weren't very high up and were hemmed in by other tall buildings. Jackson could only imagine how blinding it would be at night once all the lights were at their brightest; he had little faith in the curtains that looked far too sheer to be effective.
But they'd made it, and finally they could take a load off. They still had a few hours to kill before the party began, one of which was used so each of them could shower and freshen up.
Then there was the long wait. And throughout it, Jackson couldn't keep those two names out of his mind. What would Tyrese and Kentavious be like? Would Jackson be able to tell just how far out of his league they were simply from talking to them?
The closer the party game, the more he dreaded it, and the harsher his ache became.