Ty sat alone in the darkened gym. Again he was covered in sweat, again his legs burned and ached. He'd had a week to reach Stringbean's peak. After that first day, he hadn't attempted another jump.
Every day, as soon as school was finished, he'd gone straight to the gym, and started working his legs. Leg curls; leg press; numerous variations of squats, each one more strenuous than the last; lunges; calf raises; and step ups; you name it he was doing it. He worked himself until he couldn't stand, and the lights went out, then he dragged himself to his bike and waited for his legs to un-jellify so he could ride home.
He spent a lot of time on his bike as well. Every morning, the moment he woke up, he was out the door and on his bike, racing through the streets whilst most everyone was still asleep.
Only when it was the day before the game, the last day of his week striving to catch Stringbean, did he dare look at the marker again, and test himself against it once more.
As he sat there, sweat pouring off him, mere hours away from the pickup time for the bus that'd take them to Vegas, many more pieces of tape clung to the wall. Yet none came close to the one standing above all.
He'd come close-ER but there was still a foot between his highest piece of tape, from a running jump, and Stringbean's. He was out of time.
Growling at himself, Ty turned away, pushing himself up to his feet. He staggered to the door, his legs almost numb. It didn't matter; he'd ride home, ice his knees—the pain in the left was distinctly sharper—then go to sleep. In the morning, he went into battle.
"No matter how tall you are, on that field, NO-ONE reaches higher than me."
The image of Stringbean's marker stretching above a sea of his own, untouched, unchallenged, taunted Ty until he shut his eyes, and slept finally took him; his dreams were nightmares were he was repeatedly crushed under the foot of a laughing giant.
###
Ty woke as darkness still reigned over the world; the deepest gloom just before dawn had settled over the land, and though there was a chill in the room, he'd kicked off all his covers, and was laying on damp sheets, sweat dripping from him.
It was like preparing for Denzel Kingston and the Bears; a battle where physicality would define the victor rather than skill. Ty laughed softly to himself. Yes, just like Denzel's strength, and Nate Langford's speed. His laugh shut off suddenly, and he stood.
He grabbed his bag, stuffing it full of his uniform and cleats, before dressing himself in a grey sweater and matching pants. It was much too early to meet at the school, but he could ride around until then. He thought of it as squeezing in as much training as he could; he WASN'T nervous. Why would he be? Denzel and Langford had fallen just like all the rest … but a tiny voice in the back of his head raised the question—would there be anyone to save him today?
He rode around the wakening streets, thoughts still full of Jeremiah Byrd and those giant Shamrocks. There was no room for Devon, who hadn't returned home since the "accident"—Father was furious, drinking even more, something Ty would've thought impossible before all this.
Ty shook his head. His thoughts had been drifting. He needed to focus. He couldn't run along underfoot, that wouldn't get help the Dons win. They had to cut down those giants, and be the first to tower over them.
However, even though he racked his brain for a solution, it didn't come to him. Unless he could add another foot to his vertical, or went through a sudden growth spurt, he was all out of ideas.
He got so bogged down in the quagmire this problem created in his mind, he ended up forgetting about the bus, arriving later than most other Dons.
He locked his bike in the rack at school, and tossed his luggage into the undercarriage, apologising for his tardiness as he hurried into the bus. Stepping on, a revelation came to him. Coach Hoang would be his saviour.
He slid into the seat just behind the DC; the back was full, and after their victory last week, the Dons were full of confidence, ready to tear down the giants ahead of them. One couldn't be blamed if they thought the boys were heading to a party rather than a semi-final of a national tournament.
Coach Hoang turned to Ty. 'Slept in again, Samuels?'
'Not this time. I was caught up thinking about how we're going to win this game.'
'Oh really?'
Ty nodded. 'So how will we?'
Coach Hoang frowned, going silent.
'Oh, come on.' Ty leaned further over the back of the seats separating them. 'I know you've been working on a plan all week. What do we need to do to neutralise their height advantage?'
'You should stop worrying about that, Samuels.'
'Stop worrying? The whole game depends—'
'And it's not gonna matter if you burn yourself out before even stepping on the field. You've worked yourself harder than ever this week, and from the sounds of it, even when you do go home, you're still mentally in the gym. You haven't rested at all, not meaningfully.' He sighed, shoulders slumping. 'I never should've given you that key.'
Ty's fingers clenched around the backrest of the seat. 'You're mad I was working my ass off to prepare for this game? Should I have sat on my ass doing nothing?'
'No! God dammit, Samuels, do you listen? You need to start. What I'm saying is that you need to sit down and shut up right now. There's still hours before the game; use the drive as a chance to cool down and relax. Maybe you can even get some sleep in, you look like you could use it.'
Slowly, still scowling, Ty lowered back into his seat, slumping against the foam-cushioned plastic. Staring out of the window, he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.
Coach Hoang peered over the seat. 'Just relax, Samuels. I've got a plan, so let me worry about implementing it. That's my JOB after all. You don't have to do EVERYTHING yourself. Plans change, and games evolve. You just need to trust me, and do what you're told when the time comes. We'll get through this together.'
Ty closed his eyes, nodding. He could get behind that. Coach Hoang was smart, and more importantly, competent. They'd win. Though no matter how much he told himself it'd all be alright, and that together the Dons were unstoppable because nobody worked harder, or wanted it more than them, he couldn't rid himself of the abundance of nervous energy plaguing him; though he expelled all thoughts of the game from his mind, sleep didn't replace them.
###
The drive to Allegiant Stadium was a smooth one, but upon arriving, the tunnel leading to the private entrance was closed by a large roller door.
After the bus pulled to a stop, people left their seats, murmurs spreading as the same question was on everyone's lips: what's going on?
A nearby worker flagged the bus down, and as the engine shut off, the front door opened. Before Coach Long stepped out, he turned to the rest of the team, assuring them he'd get to the bottom of it all soon.
People crowded the windows facing Coach Long's conversation, though what they were talking about couldn't be heard within the confines of the bus; based on Coach Long's reaction, however, it wasn't good news.
After the two separated, Coach Long checked his phone, bald head wrinkling further as he frowned down at his screen. He shook his head, climbing back into the bus.
'I'm sorry, boys. I… there's been a mix up. Apparently there's some issues with the field, and a message was sent out, but the gist of it is—our game's been postponed to tomorrow morning.'
There were groans and complaints from the back of the bus, though JJ's voice cut through them. 'What does that mean for us right now?'
'All it means is now we go back to the hotel, and tomorrow we have our game. Otherwise it's done nothing, and there's nothing for you to worry about.'
There were still some concerns about the field being fucked up, and Coach Long tried his best to assuage those fears as the bus backed out to find the space to U-turn so it could head to their hotel for the night instead.
Once there, the boys were confined to either their rooms, or the gym, though with warnings not to strain themselves or overdue any workouts before the game.
Simple gym work wasn't enough to subdue Ty's fire, especially not when he'd been expecting the thrill of battle that day. All that worrying, all those nervous jitters, for what? Just to have to suffer through another day of waiting, another night of fitful sleep, dreaming of giants.
The hotel felt more like a prison. He had to get out; he had to run and keep running until he'd finally escaped these feelings or burnt them down to nothing.
It wasn't hard to sneak out—Coach Long was using more of an honour system with the boys rather than watching them vigilantly—though Ty knew his absence would be noticed. He'd just have to deal with being scolded when he returned.
It was warm outside, almost stifling as little wind penetrated that concrete jungle. Would that he could've had his bike to generate his own breeze, it would've been a perfect day for another ride; his own two feet would have to suffice.
He kept his head down, headphones on as he jogged through the streets, weaving through unaware tourists too busy staring up at the sights to notice him, and locals who looked like they wouldn't move out of the way if a rhino was charging towards them.
The sights held no interest for Ty. As he ran, his thoughts once again drifted back to the game. He had a lot more time to think things over. Maybe the delay would be a blessing. Maybe he'd be struck with his own revelation instead of having to rely on Coach Hoang's brilliance. Maybe Coach would be more willing to talk once Ty returned, and they could refine their game plan together.
The sound of a bouncing ball caught Ty's attention for a moment. He glanced towards it finding an outdoor basketball court. Stumbling, he stopped himself, staring at the occupants.
One shirtless boy stood head and shoulders above the men, skin reddening in the hot, Vegas sun. If the giant, slender frame wasn't recognisable enough, the arrogant smirk plastered on his dopey face was unmistakable.
Ty watched as Stringbean crossed up one helpless defender, then drove to the rim and dunked all over the second.
'That's game, bitch!' the boy shouted.
The defeated men picked themselves up, grumbling as they shuffled off the court, prides wounded grievously.
Another boy joined Stringbean's side, much shorter, though still with a few good inches over Ty. A ratty mullet sat atop his head like an animal's carcass, and he too was reddening in the sun.
The two fistbumped, smiles on their faces. They began chatting, but didn't get far as Ty approached.
'Hey!'
They snapped towards Ty's voice, the smaller boy's eyes widening. 'Oh shit…'
Stringbean stared down at Ty, then leaned over like he was addressing a child, a condescending smirk on his face. 'Supernova Samuels. Still haven't hit your growth spurt?'
'Maybe we should leave,' the smaller boy said.
'Shut up, Trevor.' A cold dismissal; Stringbean didn't even take his eyes off of Ty. 'What do you want, boy?'
Ty glanced at Trevor Leigh, QB of the Westfield Shamrocks. He looked so insignificant next to Stringbean. Slowly, he looked the giant up and down. 'How about a quick one-on-one?' he asked.
Stringbean looked down at him, sizing him up again. He glanced at Trevor, then started laughing. Trevor echoed the laugh a moment later.
'No offence, Supernova, but you ain't built for basketball,' Stringbean said.
'It doesn't matter how I'm built. I can still beat your ass in any sport you want.'
'Uh-huh.' Stringbean still had a goofy smile on his face, eyes full of derision. He turned away from Ty. 'Let's go back to the hotel, Trevor.'
'You scared?' Ty said.
Stringbean stopped, having only taken one step.
Trevor grabbed one of his arms. 'Jeremiah we should—'
Stringbean raised a hand, silencing him. He turned back to Ty and said: 'First to five? Everything counts as one.'
'Deal.'
'Good, this'll be quick. Trevor, you're the ref.'
Trevor didn't look agreeable, still frowning, but he nodded and didn't refute Stringbean or try to talk him out of the challenge.
'Call your own fouls, pussy,' Ty said.
Stringbean's eyes narrowed. 'Fine.'
'Hey, shouldn't we be saving this for the field, tomorrow?' Trevor asked, worry creeping into his voice. 'Nobody wants to get hurt before the real game.'
'Only thing getting hurt here is your boyfriend's ego,' Ty said.
Trevor's frown deepened. Stringbean leaned into Ty's view. 'Just focus on the game, little boy.'
Ty glared up at him. 'I ain't your boy.'
Stringbean's smirk returned. He held a hand out, and Trevor gave him the ball. He offered it to Ty. 'You wanna shoot for it?'
Ty took the ball from him. 'Nah, you start.' He bounced the ball into Stringbean's gut forcefully, then dropped into a defensive stance.
Stringbean's smirk turned into a snarl for a fraction of a second, before his eyes flicked to the hoop. He raised up in a shooting motion. His hands were empty by the time they reached his head.
Ty had poked the ball loose, then recovered it quickly. He was familiar with basketball, though it'd never held his interest. In theory, defending someone in basketball wasn't too different to defending a Receiver in football, all about staying in front of them, though you could be more physical in basketball.
The main difference, and why he found basketball so boring he dropped it in middle school, was because, along with watching someone's hips, you could just watch the ball, it didn't matter what your opponent was doing as long as you knew where the ball was going and stopped it from getting there.
Now he had the ball in his hands. He stood at the top of the key. Stringbean recovered quickly, a look of concentration and frustration on his face.
While Ty was confident in his defensive prowess even on the basketball court, offensively, he didn't have much hope. He'd just have to blow by Stringbean with speed and get a layup or dunk if he could. But his real strategy was just to keep Stringbean at zero points for so long, he gave up.
He ripped through Stringbean's close defence, pushed the ball out front to the right. Stringbean turned, a step behind. Ty pushed further, surging towards the rim.
With nothing between Ty and the hoop, but Stringbean on his heels, he leapt, and let the ball roll off the tip of his fingers.
It barely got a few inches out of his hand before Stringbean swatted it away, smashing it against the backboard so hard the whole frame shook.
Stringbean tracked the ball down, taking it back out top to the key. Ty was there with him, watching him closely.
Ty rolled his shoulders, and put the block behind him; he already knew scoring was going to be hard if not impossible.
Stringbean hunched low, dribbling close to the ground. He swayed left and right, looking for an opening, trying to rock Ty off balance, but Ty cut off every angle and recovered with ease.
The ball came too high as Stringbean swayed to the right, Ty saw the crossover coming, and knocked the ball away in the middle of it. Stringbean groaned in frustration as the ball bounced out of the court.
Trevor tracked the ball down, and gave it back to Stringbean. Ty grinned up at him, happy with the frustration on Stringbean's face.
'You think you're clever, huh?' Stringbean said.
'Smarter than a country bumpkin like you.'
Stringbean's eyes hardened. He turned, back to the basket as he protected the ball from Ty's long arms. Then he started backing Ty down.
Stringbean laid his shoulder into Ty, forcing him back one dribble at a time. Ty grunted, feet skidding against the asphalt. He stretched, reaching past Stringbean to try to knock the ball loose, but couldn't come close.
Stringbean backed him down into the paint, each bump harder than the last. Then he snatched the ball and jumped high into the air, twisting towards the basket.
Ty jumped, hand outstretched, but Stringbean soared above him, both hands cocking the ball back behind his head. The two collided, and while Ty fell, Stringbean still rose.
Stringbean dunked the ball like he was trying to tear the rim off the backboard. Ty collapsed under him.
The ball bounced into Ty's lap as he lay under the basket, Stringbean standing over him. Stringbean bent down and snatched the ball from Ty's grasp.
'Scorer keeps,' Stringbean said, almost spitting the word out.
Ty pushed himself up. 'Fine.'
As Stringbean walked back to the top of the key, he looked over his shoulder at Ty. 'Time to show you that there's one thing little boys like you can't ever overcome. Height is the greatest advantage in any sport. And for midgets like you, there's nothing you can do about it.'
Ty scowled up at him, undeterred as he got back in his stance. Trevor watched, sighing. It wasn't fair, but that's life. The game's rigged from the start, and the one who pulled the short straw always loses.
The game was quick after that point. Despite Ty's best efforts, there was nothing he could do to prevent Stringbean's jams. The game-winner was the most definitive and powerful, again knocking Ty to his ass.
Stringbean snatched the ball, staring down at Ty, sweat pouring off him, he was almost steaming with the sheer fury he'd worked himself up into during the game.
'Don't let me ever catch you on my court again, nigger.'
Ty's mouth dropped open. The word hit him like a hook to the liver. Stringbean stalked off the court, Trevor scurrying after him, holding their shirts, casting a look over his shoulder to make sure Ty wasn't following.
Ty sat under the basket a while longer, sun beating down on him. His fingers scrabbled at the asphalt, curling into fists. Stringbean had been so satisfied, so smug, as if he'd already won the championship, just because he'd beaten Ty in a basketball game, a pointless, meaningless "accomplishment".
"Enjoy it, you retarded HICK. When you step foot on the gridiron, you'll be my little bitch."