Chapter 55: Secret Weapon

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On the two-point conversion, Eric Barrera did not bother adding a special call.

That casual attitude showed exactly what Santa Ana thought of the Normans’ defense.

They were not wrong.

BHHS’s front could not absorb the Saints’ surge. Eric handed the ball to Roberto, and the running back nearly jogged into the end zone in front of everyone.

The Normans could only stare.

The physical gap was too large.

In a way, Nolan now faced the same thing Katherine had faced. Santa Ana’s chemically enhanced muscle wall did not live on the same athletic level as ordinary high-school opponents.

"Next defensive series, we go to a six-man front," Thomas said beside him.

He sounded frustrated because the cost was obvious. There were only so many players on the field. Move bodies into the front, and the back end opened up.

Plug one leak, and another started spraying.

Still, they had no better choice.

Santa Ana led, 8-7.

The defense was not the only unit under pressure. Nolan felt it too.

Santa Ana’s offensive line was a wall. BHHS’s protection looked like paper by comparison. Almost every snap, a linebacker or defensive end was already closing before Nolan had enough time to breathe.

He kept getting the ball out with movement and body control, but the release slowed, and the receivers began losing their windows.

The offense’s efficiency dropped.

At the Santa Ana 26, Thomas gave up on the drive and sent Mark out for a field goal.

Katherine turned away from the railing.

She could not watch. It felt like a middle school team playing varsity. There was no fair path to victory.

She began thinking about how to comfort Nolan that night. Words probably would not be enough. Maybe she should agree to the thing he kept teasing about.

’No. It would hurt.’

Katherine forced her attention back to the stands. The game mattered, but so did the sale. She picked up a rolled-paper megaphone and started calling to the crowd.

Near the sideline, John and Adam both looked grim.

John had watched football for years. Adam had played it. They understood what they were seeing.

"Maybe losing once would be good for him," John said, mostly to comfort himself. "He is still young. He has another year."

"And what happens when we meet Santa Ana again next year?" Adam asked.

That was the real problem.

Santa Ana was the regional gate. If BHHS could not get through them, the Normans would never break out. Once, you could call it inexperience. Twice, bad form. Three times? Four?

Adam had trained with Nolan. He knew the talent. That made the thought of watching it fail even harder.

He still had no solution.

"It is Santa Ana," Rice said, cutting in. "You people did not really think we were going to win, did you?"

Rice had joined the team because he liked the status of being a quarterback at Beverly Hills High. Somewhere deep down, he knew his own limits. Winning mattered less to him than position.

Mark’s field goal put BHHS back ahead, 10-8.

Then Santa Ana punished them.

Two fast touchdown drives, both followed by two-point conversions, turned the game into 24-10.

Nolan watched his teammates. Compared with Santa Ana’s rising energy, the Normans looked beaten. Every player knew what the scoreboard meant.

For a moment, Nolan was grateful the game at least had revenue attached to it.

Then he found himself thinking about next season.

Strength, speed, stamina...

Stamina.

The volleyball match flashed through his mind.

An idea surfaced.

He told Thomas. At first, the coach did not agree.

"If the gap is too big to close under normal conditions," Nolan said, "why not gamble?"

"That is..."

Thomas scratched his head.

"The players are my problem," Nolan said. "You only have to execute."

He raised his fist.

They had not lost yet.

Thomas laughed under his breath. Usually, he gave the orders. Tonight, Nolan was trying to turn the table.

"It is still the first quarter," Nolan said. "This is our only chance. If we wait until the second, the effect drops."

Thomas clenched his jaw.

"Fine. We do it your way."

Nolan kept his side of the bargain and went to the team.

"Do you trust me enough?"

"What are you talking about?" Flea laughed and slapped his shoulder. "Of course."

"We may not win," Ford said, trying to comfort him, "but we have improved a lot. Next season..."

"No." Nolan shook his head. "You do not trust me enough, because you still think we cannot win."

The group quieted.

"No matter what happens from here," he said, "ignore the noise. Run every play. Finish every assignment. If you do that, we win this game."

He looked around the huddle.

"I promise you."

"You have a plan?" Flea asked.

"Some secret play?" someone muttered. "Can it actually work?"

"I do not care if it works," a huge body said, stepping beside Nolan. "I am following him."

Boar.

Nolan’s monster body and impossible throws had already won him over.

"Me too," Matic said, raising a hand.

"Count me in."

"Screw the walking pharmacies."

"For the volleyball team."

More voices joined.

"Why are you all looking at me?" Flea thumped his chest. "I am right behind Nolan."

"Do not forget me," Mark called.

Nolan held out his right hand. One by one, the others stacked theirs over it.

One, two, three, five, twelve.

Nolan put his left hand on top.

"Three. Two. One."

"Normans!"

On the next drive, Nolan rattled off the coded call and put the whole offense into motion.

The Normans used a layered I-formation with multiple fakes, a sweep look, and a high-arcing pass concept that forced every player on the field to do real work.

On the two-point conversion, Nolan ran beside the back in an option look and read the defense on the fly.

He crossed the goal line himself.

BHHS had taken eight back.

Santa Ana still led, 24-18.

"Beautiful team execution," Roy Feldman said. "The design was tight, and that arcing throw earlier in the drive showed a level of touch you do not usually see from a new quarterback."

He paused.

"I take back what I said earlier. Nolan Callahan has my attention."

Then Thomas made the move that shocked everyone in the stadium.

He pulled the starting defense.

The entire main unit came off. Reserve players ran in.

Santa Ana read it as surrender. They thought garbage time had come early and tried to end the game in a rush.

They did not realize they were walking into Nolan’s trap.

By halftime, the scoreboard looked absurd.

Santa Ana 45, BHHS 35.

"What a half," the host said. "We have not seen a shootout this wild in a long time."

"The Normans’ offense recovered from a rough first quarter," Feldman said. "Nolan Callahan has made several excellent throws."

"But the two halves of Beverly Hills’ performance do not match. Their offense keeps answering. Their defense looks almost like a different team."

Halftime ended. The cheer squad left the field, and the players returned.

Sarah spotted Nolan immediately.

His face was flushed from the effort. Sweat darkened his short blond hair. Compared with the clean, young look he usually carried, he seemed rougher now. More grown. More dangerous.

’Why does he have to be that good-looking?’

The thought made Sarah angrier.

It was unfair that God had treated that jerk like a favorite son.

Then Nolan waved in her direction.

’What do you want? I hold grudges.’

Sarah turned away with a sharp little huff.

"Sarah," one of her teammates said, "I should probably tell you. Nolan was waving at Amy behind you."

"Nobody asked you."

Her face went red as the words squeezed through her teeth.

At the end of the third quarter, BHHS had cut the deficit to four.

Santa Ana led, 52-48.

Both teams had scored enough touchdowns for two or three ordinary games at this level.

Santa Ana’s power was obvious, but Nolan had found the soft spot. He kept attacking Alberto’s side. After the earlier late hit and warning, Alberto had to play carefully. The Normans were rolling now, and the lead had shrunk instead of grown.

It was Nolan’s first game at this intensity, and for the first time he felt real fatigue.

His body still gave him a huge advantage.

Santa Ana did not have that luxury.

Their starters had spent three waves smashing into fresh Norman reserves. They were drenched, blue around the lips, and moving like their organs had been shaken loose.

Football’s brutality had never looked more obvious.

Then Thomas sent his rested starting defense back onto the field.

The announcers understood at once.

"There is the answer," the host said. "Thomas used fresh bodies in waves to drain Santa Ana’s starters and reduce the physical gap."

"Santa Ana fell for it," Feldman said. "They underestimated Beverly Hills’ will and tried to finish too quickly."

"The Saints are talking on their sideline. One quarter left, and this game is suddenly dangerous."

The fourth quarter began.

Santa Ana lined up.

Then the formation shifted.

"Wait," the host said. "Eric Barrera is walking out wide. Elvis Coronado is moving in behind center."

His voice rose.

"Are the Saints revealing their secret weapon?"

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