Deep Water: Chapter 6

“It’s a good day to whip some ass!” Skiddie banged on Douglas’s helmet as he shouted the declaration, earning the usual glare from Coach Dugglemin.

Standing shorter than most of the students he oversaw, with a pronounced belly that appeared in constant danger of tipping him forward, Coach Dugglemin had no patience for what he dubbed “cut-ups and screw-offs” of which Skiddie was the prime example.

Two toots on his whistle yanked everyone’s attention over in time to see the sadistic smirk as Coach Dugglemin let the whistle fall from his lips. “Since Kincaid had so much energy, let’s start practice off with some extra laps. Four around the track, move out!”

More than a few of their fellow players bumped into Skiddie as they jostled past, though he only called after them. “You’re welcome! Maybe next week some of you can go fast enough to catch a fucking pass.” Shaking his head, he patted Douglas on the back. “Thank god your back, Curt’s throws are going to waste out here.”

Curt said nothing, merely jogging ahead to the front of the group. While they were childhood friends off the field, Skiddie’s natural nature as a cut-up was a sharp contrast to Curt’s all-business approach. Not only was Curt the quarterback, carrying the weight of team leadership, his family was in a much worse financial situation than Skiddie’s. These games were literally a fight for his future, and the two might have come to blows over Skiddie’s bullshit long ago, if not for one key factor.

Skiddie could run his legs even better than his mouth.

Once he had hold of the ball, Skiddie was hell to halt. Not only could he accelerate at a thought, he was nimble as a coked-up-cat, slipping out of what would should have been sure-fire tackles. The nickname Skiddie had come from his talent for cutting and dashing, in fact, a childhood play on the skids he’d often tear in the turf.

With Curt calling the plays, Skiddie running the ball, and Douglas as a receiver, the three made a potent combination. They were hardly unbeatable, but there was something to be said for the chemistry developed between players who’d shared a field for over a decade.

Of the three, however, Douglas had always considered himself to be the weak link. He had nothing like Skiddie’s natural talents, or Curt’s steady arm and cool head. Really, Douglas’s best skill was that he knew Curt so well that sometime he could read the quaterback from just a look. The drift of his eyes or the shift of his foot meant a change in the throw, and Douglas was able to rapidly respond to those cues.

Knowing that he had to give a real effort for Shanice’s experiment, Douglas took a deep breath and started to run. Usually during these laps he hung to the middle, conserving stamina for the practice still to come. Resigning himself to being gassed for the next several hours, Douglas pushing himself harder, butting up to the edge of a sprint, and then crossing over.

Bodies whipped by as Douglas shot ahead, his teammates wearing surprised expressions. It wasn’t that none of them could match the speed, more that none could imagine why he was going all-out so early on. Only Curt bothered trying enough to stay at the front of the line, and even then it was plainly out of obligation.

But soon Douglas was closing in on his friend, who looked back with visible uncertainty. Hesitating for only a moment, Douglas barreled on past, taking the lead. He’d promised Shanice a sincere effort, and more than that, he was curious too.

For the first time in his entire time playing football, Douglas was outperforming of both Curt and Skiddie. It was, of course, meant to be a temporary condition; he couldn’t keep going full-tilt indefinitely.

And sure enough, Douglas did eventually slow down. But it wasn’t the dramatic drop-off he’d been anticipating. Shifting down from a sprint to a steady jog was enough to let him catch his breath, until Douglas was eventually able to dash off again. Each sprint was shorter, and the recovery period longer, yet never once did Douglas slow below a job.

As he kept running, the rest of the team began to push themselves as well, not enjoying being shown up. In spite of that, by the time their laps were finished, Douglas had lapped everyone save for Curt and Skiddie. The latter had actually stolen second place; rising to the challenge and passing an less motivated Curt, who’d already long lost his lead.

The team staggered over the finish line of the final lap, much to Coach Dugglemin’s consternation, as they’d gone and worn themselves down before the actual practice. Douglas has a hunch their instructor would be slower to hand out laps as punishment, or at least think to save them until after practice.

Skiddie was one of the few people standing steady, striding over to Douglas and peering down, emphasizing the height disparity between them. “What. The Fuck. Was that?”

“Guess a few weeks of rest did me good.”

“Good? Did you good? Do you know what kind of pace you were setting? Me either, but god damn it was definitely fast. You’ve always been able to catch, but now… now you can get deep out there before you do.” Skidding scooped Douglas up in a hug, squeezing him tight as the pair twirled. “We’ve got a real receiver! No offense to all your efforts before, just, well, you know.”

Unfortunately, Douglas did know. His most useful skill was being able to intuit Curt’s throws, not one that came paired with exceptional speed. If he could outrun Skiddie though, even in limited bursts…

Douglas turned his eyes to the patchy, brown and green turf of Middlelake High School’s field. For a fleeting moment, he was no longer on the largely forsaken hunk of grass, but an emerald field of endless possibilities.

He’d thought the water was a curse, but this… this was incredible! Douglas could be more than mediocre, he could leave this town behind, he could be a world-renowned star!

…so long as there weren’t any games in the rain, of course.

That thought brought Douglas’s dreams to an end, just in time for Skiddie to set him down. Nice a perk as the sudden surge of stamina was, it didn’t fix all of his problems. Or many of them, for that matter. It was a pleasant surprise, however he still needed to get the root of whatever was happening.

The fact that doing so required him to play like hell and potentially impress everyone on the team was nothing but a fortunate happenstance.