Chapter 32: Regular-Season Finale

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By the time Nolan returned to campus and walked back onto the practice field, Coach Thomas looked ready to chew through his whistle.

Nolan had asked for two hours.

Three and a half had passed.

Practice had stalled, the offense had cooled down, and an entire team had spent too much time waiting on one quarterback.

The day had gone further than Nolan expected. Who knew cashing and moving money could drag an actress, a manager arrangement, and a new stream of reimbursement into the same afternoon?

The result was good. If he wanted to be crude about it, Lisa was the large account and Charlize was the smaller one that might grow every time he touched it.

"Everyone stays late tonight," Thomas barked. "Cancel whatever plans you had. The whole team is staying with Callahan until he catches up."

He did not punish Nolan alone. He punished the room around him.

Then Thomas turned to Nolan.

"This is what leadership costs. You do not represent only yourself anymore. Your mistakes pull everyone with you. Me included."

It was a lesson, not only a punishment.

Nolan said nothing. He put his helmet on and joined the offense.

The Normans practiced until nine.

...

On Friday evening, the BHHS buses pulled into the parking lot at Culver City High.

The 1993-94 Ocean League football calendar had become a strange, delayed thing, stretched by facility conflicts, school politics, and a postseason schedule nobody in the locker room cared to defend. By now it had dragged into graduation season, but the games still counted.

"Destination reached," Ford said, throwing an arm over Nolan’s shoulders. "Long regular season, finally almost dead. Next stop is the postseason."

Nolan looked out the window.

Culver City’s campus was rougher around the edges than BHHS. The buildings were not as polished. The crowd waiting near the entrance looked louder, looser, and less interested in being polite.

A few students near the curb raised their middle fingers at the BHHS bus.

"Fair warning," Ford said. "Culver City’s crowd is not friendly. During the game, you’re going to hear some ugly stuff."

"Last year Ford ate dirt right here and wasted a touchdown," the center said from the row ahead. He was so broad he took up nearly three seats by himself.

"Hey. We agreed not to dig up old business." Ford leaned forward. "Nolan, you want to hear what our center did at a party last month?"

"Mutually assured destruction?" Nolan asked.

"Exactly."

The bus loosened with laughter.

At the same time, Mia and Katherine arrived at the school. Culver City was not far from BHHS, and neither of them was about to miss Nolan’s regular-season finale. They had even worn orange-and-black Normans shirts to support him.

The tickets cost two dollars more than BHHS charged.

Katherine took that personally.

"Why doesn’t he have to buy one?" she asked, pointing at a man using another entrance.

"He’s a Los Angeles Times sports reporter," the staffer explained patiently. "Credential and invitation. If you are media, you can apply through the school."

Los Angeles Times.

Katherine immediately thought of Nolan’s last game.

Not long after Mia and Katherine entered the stadium, a striking woman arrived alone at the gate. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves. A brown Hermes Kelly hung from one arm. Diamonds flashed at her wrist and fingers.

Lisa Virgil had dressed to be seen.

She had come to execute a plan that was, by any reasonable standard, a little insane.

That was part of why she had agreed so quickly.

Inside the stands, she found Mia and Katherine without much effort.

Katherine turned at almost the same moment.

Their eyes met across the seats.

"Isn’t that Rice’s mother?" Mia called, waving her over. "Come sit with us."

Lisa smiled and joined them. She sat on the other side of Mia from Katherine.

"Rice is gone from school," Katherine said coolly. "He’s not even on the roster. Why are you here?"

"I was in the area and thought I would watch." Lisa’s smile did not change. "Mia, by the way, Nolan interviewed me for the school paper and showed me your script. I liked it. I have already sent it to a few producers. We should hear something soon."

"Really?" Mia lit up.

Neither Nolan nor Katherine had told her that part. The surprise hit her clean.

"Really," Lisa said. "I’m curious how you wrote it. Religion and crime together, structured that way? It is a strong commercial idea."

"The story began with Nolan," Mia said. "I turned it into a script."

Story credit mattered. Screen credit mattered. Mia had learned enough to say that clearly.

"Nolan?" Lisa was genuinely surprised.

"The premise, the structure, and the emotional reversal. He gave me the shape first, and I built the characters and script from there."

Lisa looked toward the field.

So that was another thing he had not told her.

She had assumed the script was Mia’s creation with a little help from his memory or his mouth. If Nolan had truly delivered that structure as an oral story, then the script itself was less strange than the boy behind it.

"Athletic, good-looking, and he can tell stories," Katherine said suddenly. Her voice was sharp enough to cut. "Mia, you should watch him carefully. Some women outside school have bad intentions. They might eat him alive."

Lisa did not take the bait.

She had come, in part, to solve that problem.

"Mia," Lisa said, "I think Nolan is exceptional. Not only as an athlete. He may have a future in entertainment too. I represent a young actor around his age now. If you are open to it, I would like to..."

"Sign him?" Mia asked. "Or take him on as an assistant?"

"Neither. I have another idea."

Lisa explained.

"Absolutely not," Katherine said at once. "That is ridiculous."

"Why?" Mia asked. "Directors, celebrities, all of them have advisers. If Lisa is offering help, this could be wonderful for Nolan."

To Mia, Lisa’s interest looked like luck knocking on the door. Real resources. Real access. A bridge into a world the Callahans could not reach alone.

"Then let’s agree on the basic idea," Lisa said quickly. "After the game, we will talk to Nolan together."

Below them, the stadium announcer’s voice rolled over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, students, faculty, and guests, welcome to Culver City High for the final game of the 1993-94 Ocean League regular season. Santa Ana has already secured the top seed, but tonight still matters. Let’s hear it for both teams."

As the road team, BHHS did not get the dramatic run-through-the-banner entrance from Nickoll Field.

Nolan watched Culver City’s cheer squad form two lines while their players ran between them.

The Centaurs looked less polished than BHHS, but their sideline had energy. Their players were compact, muscular, and built like contact was a language they spoke at home.

Nolan felt a little sympathy for his defense.

At midfield, he lost the coin toss.

BHHS would kick first.

Nolan and the offense came off. The kickoff unit jogged on. Mark drove the ball high and deep, and a thick, powerful returner caught it near the far side.

Then he tucked the ball under one arm and lowered his head.

He ran like a bulldozer.

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