Sanctuary (28 page)

Coach Keith said, “The ESPN crew is still here. The interview wouldn’t take five minutes.”

“No thanks.”

Despite my best efforts, college scouts were rating me as one of the best quarterbacks in the nation. A Blue Chip recruit, one of the top three guys every coach wanted. But news about me refusing college scholarships spread like wildfire, catching the attention of ESPN, who would be televising a short documentary on me whether I liked it or not.

Coach Keith pulled out the grey metal folding chair across the table and sat down. “I’ve never seen such a beloved and successful quarterback look so bummed. If you went into the parking lot right now, the fans would probably parade you around the field on their shoulders.”

“Conditional love, Coach,” I said, and he nodded with understanding. “That’s all that is. Performance-based adoration is…tiresome.”

“I sometimes forget that you are wise beyond your years, Chase.”

“No. I’ve just experienced the power of
un
conditional love. There’s no contest.”

“How’d your dad take the news? That you won’t play in college?”

Hah! He handled that news better than the Outlaw discovery. “He understands some things are more important than football. I wish more people got that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our country is facing its biggest threat since World War Two, in my opinion. There’s a terrorist-occupied city
down the street
. And yet football still dominates our culture. How can people still be so obsessed with sports?”

“I agree. Our priorities are skewed.” He drummed his fingertips on the table. The gold ring on his finger had some special Catholic significance. “But don’t judge us too harshly. We need happy things to cling to, in dark times. Sometimes the best we can do is eat, drink, and be merry.”

“That’s
not
the best we can do. We can fight. Fight the darkness.”

“Ah, but you see, eating and drinking and being merry
is
fighting the darkness. Just not with violence.”

“How on earth is that fighting?”

“Well. Take the evil in Los Angeles. What is that guy after?”

“The Chemist? He’s after chaos. He wants to topple our society, our way of life.”

“Notice, Chase, that the Chemist conquered one of the most segregated and unhappy parts of our state. Maybe the country.”

“Okay. You’re probably right. So?”

“Evil cannot win where there is unity, where there is community, where there is happiness and love. The Chemist is still in Compton because the people haven’t kicked him out. The people there were already divided, already full of anger and divided into gangs. It’s hard for us to fight evil together when we hate each other.”

I nodded and said, “A house divided against itself…”

“Precisely. If Compton had been a happy place, with healthy levels of communal eating and drinking and merriment, the Chemist would have been forced to pick another location to land.”

“So it’s partially the people’s fault?”

“Didn’t say that. Assigning blame is narrow-minded and accomplishes almost nothing. Society’s ills are never black and white.”

“I forget…what does this have to do with football?”

“One of the reasons you’d be carried on your fans’ shoulders is because you’re good at football. Another reason is that they love you. You draw people. You create community. I’ve seen your lunch table in the cafeteria. Fifty people sit there. I’ve seen the way our football team obeys you. They would die for you. You love unconditionally, Chase, and people respond. You create community naturally. You’re a safe place. A sanctuary for people who need it. Love is powerful. It drives out evil more effectively than violence.”

That’s wildly ironic. Coach Keith and the Chemist telling me the exact same thing about love within a week of each other. Love is a hurricane, the Chemist said.

“I get how community can help a football team,” I said. “And even a school. But I’m not sure how it defeats evil and violence.”

“Who knows,” Keith shrugged with a grim expression. “Maybe, before it’s all over, the people of Compton will surprise us.”

“You’re a priest,” I said. “Or something like it. Do you ever wonder where God is in all of this?”

“I know exactly where He is. God is in Compton. He hurts when His people hurt. He cries when we do. If there is pain, that is where God goes.”

One of the linebackers in the other room was howling and pounding on the lockers, either letting off steam or trying to generate some. To be good at football required a certain abandonment and mania.

I said, “Sure would be nice if God would deal with the Chemist, instead of the hurting.”

He chuckled. I loved Coach Keith; nothing I ever said was ridiculous to him. He took it all seriously, even when I displayed my ignorance. “Our God does not carry a sniper rifle. Or launch nuclear missiles. Because where would He draw the line, between those who get executed and those who don’t?”

“Good point. That line could get awfully blurry. He’d be a busy guy midnight after Homecoming.”

“Hah!” he laughed. “Good one. Our God heals. He doesn’t destroy.”

“Well. Compton needs some healing. So does all LA.”

“Which is why we need to eat, drink and be merry. Together. In love.”

I grinned and pointed at him. “I see what you did there. You brought it all back around. Very clever.”

“Thanks.” He stood up. “I’ll go tell ESPN there will be no interviews with you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“By the way, bud. I think you’re making a very brave and courageous decision. About college football.”

That was nice to hear. He and Katie were the only two people supporting me. Although neither of them totally understood the reasons, they believed in me and my judgement. “Thanks, Coach. Everyone else seems to think I’m wasting the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“They’re wrong. Football is a terrible place to invest talent. You’re too valuable to waste on this game.”

Former Hidden Spring quarterback Andy Babington returned home from college to watch tonight’s game. He was Glendale nobility, and still beloved here because he was playing well as a rookie at Fresno State.

He didn’t like me. And I didn’t like him. I supplanted him at quarterback last year after he broke his hand, and he resented my success. This year he had loudly campaigned for his younger brother to start, instead of me. Now he sat with his buddies in the stands, an arm around the beautiful girl he brought. His voice separated itself from the caterwauling crowd, rattling around in my brain no matter the distance.

I picked a terrible game to throw my first interception. The center hiked me the ball. I stood in the pocket of protection, slow-motion defenders scrambling in vain, and lazily surveyed the field. Bright lights gleamed off dirty helmets. Steam snorted from facemasks. The linemen growled and barked. In the distance, Katie cheered. The trick was to throw a good pass, but not a perfect one. I wanted my receivers to put up good stats and our team to win, but I needed to play within the boundaries of human limitations. Josh Magee separated from his defender, slashing across the field, so I tossed the ball ahead of him. That gave him room to run after the catch. He’d be the star, not me.

But it was a bad pass! Careless mistake. The safety jumped in front of him and snatched the ball. The crowd groaned.

I was so stunned that I forgot to chase the guy with the ball. We needed to tackle him. Instead, a Burbank linebacker put his shoulder into my stomach and drove me into the dirt. It didn’t hurt, but I was humiliated. He came up wincing in pain and holding his arm.

I dusted myself off and trotted to the sidelines, and Coach Garrett grinned the way he did when his players make a mistake and learn a valuable lesson.

Andy Babington roared in laughter. “What’d I tell ya??! Over-rated!!”

After the game, I texted the prettiest girl on earth.

I’m coming over.

>> No you can’t!

>> But come over anyway =) =)

I am.

>> Okay! I’ve missed you!

>> No. No no no. Not yet.

>> I haven’t broken up with Tank yet.

>> I will soon.

I’ll just come over and not touch you.

>> Good idea!

>> Except I’m going to touch you.

>> A lot.

>> So hurry.

>> No. No don’t! AHH!

>> I’m very conflicted.

I’m not. I’m confident enough for both of us. ;)

>> My scruples are causing me intense grief.

I grinned at the phone and slipped on my shoes. I was going to visit Katie. At eleven at night. Woohoo! Maybe I should pop a breath mint.

My phone buzzed again. From Puck.

>> bad news

>> chemist hijacked another plane this 1 from central america

>> nothing we can do just wanted to alert u

I sighed. Oh yeah. The Chemist. Until he was eliminated, I couldn’t be fully happy. Maybe I’d take Coach Keith’s advice and just go love him. Doubtful. He had threatened Katie.

I will kill her in front of you. Slowly.

I couldn’t go to Katie’s and pretend everything was okay. It wasn’t. She was in danger. It felt like she was always in danger, because of me. But what could I do? I couldn’t find the guy. And he kept getting stronger, because of these stupid airplanes.

Nothing we can do.

Right?

A wild idea popped into my brain. Insane. Crazy. Ludicrous.

Hey Puck. What time will that plane get to Los Angeles?

Fifteen minutes later I was at Lee’s backdoor. I could hear him inside yelling, probably playing video games. The motion sensor activated the porch sconce, casting the backyard into harsh light.

“Oh man. You sure this is a good idea?” Puck asked.

I said, “No.”

“Puck is nervous.”

“
You’re
nervous?? He’s
my
best friend!”

“So what, jerk? I’m allowed to be nervous too!”

I turned the knob and pushed into Lee’s workshop. Electronic stuff lay everywhere. I carefully stepped around expensive messes on the floor and found Lee on his recliner, learning forward, his face nearly touching the big television, playing a first-person shooter. His fingers were flying over the controller.

“Hey Lee.”

“Sup Chase,” he said, without turning around. Then he yelled at the screen, “Hah! Die Newb! Ridiculous weapon choice for this map. Can’t snipe around corners, bro!”

“How’d you know it was me?

“Saw you on the monitor. Duh.” He pointed at the small screen next to him. A black and white live picture of the backyard. “You tripped the laser, and my new Apple Watch warned me. I’m trying to capture footage of the Outlaw on his next visit.”

“Oh,” I laughed nervously. “That’s really funny. And ironic.” I was soooooooo anxious. Butterflies ROARED around my stomach. “So. I need your help with something.”

He hit pause and instantly stood up. “Boom. I’m in! Whatever it is, dude, let’s do it. What’s up?”

“Okay, wow. Thanks. So…here’s the deal.” I took a deep breath. “I need help using your wing-suit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Pass. No way, bro. You and Croc are idiots. You need dozens of parachute drops before you’re qualified to base jump off a mountain with a wing-suit. Heck, dude, I
made
the suit and I would never try it.”

“Well. I don’t want to jump off a mountain. I want to jump out of a helicopter.”

“It’s like you guys don’t have ears! No! Nooooooooooo! It’s not a toy, bro. Besides no helicopter in the world would take you up and let you jump off.” He shook his head with a huff, shaggy mop of black hair sliding into his eyes.

“I already secured a ride. Tonight. You want to go?”

“What?!” he shouted and he actually shoved me. “Dude! What?? You. Are. In. Sane! You can’t jump at night, bro! That’s suicide!”

“Nah. I’ve done it before.”

He blinked twice, and then held up a forefinger and waved it back in forth in front of my face. He had to reach up. “Chase. Follow my finger, dude. You high, man? Doing drugs?”

“Actually, you shouldn’t go, now that I think about it. It’s an FBI helicopter and I don’t want them to know who you are.”

“Uh huh. Alcohol?” He sniffed my shirt. “Been drinking? I can’t smell anything.” Sniff sniff.

“I just need to know how fast you think your suit can go. And anything else you know about vertical versus horizontal speed. I’m going to try and land on a moving plane. It’ll be tricky.”

“Okay, man. Why don’t you lie down on my couch? Before you hurt yourself. Cause you sound crazy weird.”

Another deep breath. “And if you have any idea how to enter a plane while it’s in flight, I’d like to hear it.”

“This is the strangest conversation ever, dude. I think I’m going to record it, and show you tomorrow.” He began hunting through the junk collection beside his chair, looking for his phone. “That way, you’ll hear how stu-pid you sound, and you’ll never smoke crack again.”

I grinned. This was kind of fun. “I’m ready to go, Lee. I’m already wearing the suit.”

“You’re
what
?!” He glared at my pants. “What the heck, man?! You go through my room?”

“No. You gave-”

“You’re wearing the gloves too!” he hooted in anger. “That’s so messed up! You can NOT try this. If it doesn’t work, you’ll
die
!”

“No way. Your parachute works great!”

“You’re wearing my
vest
too??”

Puck said into my ear piece, “This is hilarious.”

I told Lee, “Of course I’m wearing the vest. You made it for me. I love it.”

“No I didn’t! You big dumb white American, always think stuff belongs to you, take my suit off!”

“Okay,” I laughed. “I think it’s time I show you something.”

“No! Just take my suit off. It cost a lot of money and I’m a lot smaller than you, and you’re probably ripping it!”

I pulled out the mask. My hands trembled. “Just try not to freak out.”

“Too late!”

I tied on the red bandana, Rambo style. He rolled his eyes. The black sleeve was already around my neck, so I tugged it up until it covered my mouth and nose. Lastly, I unzipped and removed the jacket. I was now in full Outlaw regalia.