It was crowded, busy, overwhelming. The room wasn't louder than a championship game, but it was a different noise, unfocused and overlapping, compounded by its confines, as expansive as they were; the noise was still locked in with them.
Heads turned as the Dons entered, though the noise didn't falter. A woman approached Mrs and Coach Long.
Ty looked around, getting his bearings. Chandeliers dazzled from the tall ceiling, but the height of it was mocking. There was a sea of people within the room, and the open space was unreachable. Even the second floor—a ring around the edge of the room—was packed. A wall that seemed a hundred feet long was all glass, overlooking the city; there was a balcony that way on the second floor. Speakers must've been built into the walls or pillars; Ty couldn't see where the classical music emanated from, but it was everywhere, clearly discernible under the flood of voices. There was a buffet table on the left side of the room adorned with mountains of food and pyramids of drinks. What looked like a stage sat at the far end opposite the doors.
Ty needed a drink, but when he started for the buffet, a man stepped in front of him. 'Tyrese Samuels?' The man was only a few inches taller than Ty and wore an easygoing smile, a fine blue suit, and oily, slicked-back black hair.
'Yeah, you're looking at him.'
'Wow. It's a pleasure to meet you.' He extended a hand. 'I've heard great things about you. Chuck Palmer, LSU.'
Ty took Chuck's hand, shaking it firmly; he hardly noticed how clammy it was. Louisiana State University wasn't at the top of Ty's list, but it was still a great school. If they were interested in him already … by his senior year he'd have his choice of stepping stones to the NFL.
'Sorry to ambush you after you've only just arrived,' Chuck said, 'but I've just got a few questions if you don't mind? I'm a big fan.'
Big fan. Ty wondered how many Dons games Chuck had watched. The state championship? Probably not even every snap. 'Sure. That's what we're here for, right?'
'First off, do you mind travelling far from home?' It wasn't Chuck who asked, but a woman who barged into the conversation. Her high heels put her on Ty's level, and her auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders where they met a blazer sporting two big and bold interlocking letters—U and K; the University of Kentucky.
Ty noticed she wasn't the only interloper, though she was the rudest. Others were waiting in the wings, more veering towards him by the second, all awaiting his answer, waiting to ask a question of their own. He was not only known, but sought after. He grinned unconsciously.
Chuck was fuming; Ty thought his oiled hair might catch alight. But this woman, her brown eyes had a fierce edge to them.
'Actually, I see it as a bonus,' Ty finally answered.
A jumble of voices piled atop one another as they tried to get their questions out. Before one could pierce through clearly, an arm looped around Ty's shoulders and Stephen's giant frame lurched into view.
'Ya know, I don't mind dipping out and heading cross country either,' Stephen said.
The barrage of questions stopped; eyes turned to him, some with contempt, others with mock sincerity, though there were one or two at the fringes of the growing crowd who were actually interested. They spoke up and pulled Stephen aside. He stepped out as quickly as he'd swooped in, a big grin on his big face, as if he couldn't tell he'd pissed off several other scouts already.
Someone—Ty didn't see who, there were too many faces—took advantage of the silence and plunged forward with their question. 'Tyrese, what's the most important factor in a team to you? Do you want to sit behind another star and learn for two or three seasons? Or do you want to be number one from your sophomore year?'
Ty bristled, scanning the crowd. Some leaned aside as a taller man stepped forward. He had some heft to him, maybe an old Lineman who'd let himself go, but his face looked tiny on his head, not helped by the large glasses he wore. He wore the University of North Carolina logo.
'If you knew anything about me, you'd know I'm the best player in the country. I was the star on the Dons from day one, my freshman year, and it'll be the same in college.'
Murmurs spread through the small crowd surrounding Ty. The man with glasses puffed himself up further and stalked away from the gathering; he wasn't the only one who left.
'Tyrese'—Chuck finally got a word in—'what do you think of Kentavious Rice Junior and the Longhorns?'
'Who?'
'The Texas champs,' another person cut in. 'Most people think they're the best team in the country. Rice is a freshman like yourself, and not only do most reports tout him as the number one prospect from your draft class, he's a Wide Receiver so you might have the chance to go head-to-head with him in the upcoming tournament.'
Ty's teeth ground together. Who the hell was this guy? After he'd beaten Marshall Ward, Nate Langford, and now Lennox Freeman, people were still hyping up other Receivers? 'Again. Who? I've never heard of this loser, but I know he's not better than me—nobody is.'
More murmurs; the noise was a buzz that rivalled an angry hornet's nest. Someone tried to get another question out, but Ty stomped them down.
'And let me tell you something right now. If I were to face him in Nationals—WHEN I face him, if he's as good as you think he is—it'll be the same result as every other star I've faced. I'll CRUSH him.'
The buzzing grew into an explosion of questions. "Is that a promise?" "Do you think you're the best player in high school?" "Are you going to win the tournament?" Even one person brazenly asked—"Which college are you going to?" but Ty ignored them all and pushed through the crowd. It was too much noise, he was drowning in it. He needed air and water.
Thankfully, they didn't follow him to the buffet. It must've been the one area free from the press. Ty snatched a glass of water from the table, ice cubes clinking within before he gulped it down. A hand rested on Ty's shoulder, calming despite its suddenness.
'You needed a breather too, hermano?'
JJ stood by the table, a strained smile on his face. In his other hand was a plate stacked with food. Ty leaned against the table and shuddered. He'd felt like he'd run through a kick return where BOTH teams were trying to take his head off, not the ball.
'I can't imagine how popular you would've been. Even I was feeling like a piñata out there.'
Ty breathed deeply. He started plucking food from the table and dumping it onto a plate. There were roasted vegetables, grilled vegetables, salads of all kinds and protein ranging from lobster to turkey. 'You heard about this Texas Rice guy?' Ty asked. '…Fucking Junior something, plays for the Longhorns.'
JJ shrugged. 'Sorry, can't help you there. I wasn't paying any attention to the other states; I never dreamed we'd make it this far.' His hand left Ty's shoulder, and he turned his head. 'Hey Jackson, have you heard about this? Jackson?'
Ty looked up. Standing on JJ's other side was a stranger. A kid, young, a freshman or sophomore, though they didn't have a nametag. They were taller than Ty, and well-built but looked small next to JJ. A mop of short blond curls sat atop his head, and his amber eyes were bulging out of his skull. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
'Ah, Ty, mi hermano,' JJsaid. 'Meet mi amigo Jackson. Jackson, meet mi hermano Tyrese.'
The boy—Jackson—didn't move. Ty stared at him. Before he could ask what was wrong with the freak, said freak bolted, his plate clattering to the table and then the floor. Jackson almost fell over and crashed into a couple of people on his mad dash to the restrooms.
JJ stared dubiously at the food strewn across the floor, zeroing in on the half-eaten chicken wing. He picked a chicken leg off his own plate and placed it back down on the table. 'Maybe stay away from the chicken.'
Jackson burst into the men's restroom and through to the first unoccupied stall he found. He made it just in time, barely. He vomited his recently eaten dinner into the toilet bowl.
Slumping to his knees, he heaved his guts out, trembling from head to toe. It was stupid. He'd forgotten all about HIM, but he should've known HE would've shown up. The best high school stars were going to show up that night, and it made sense for HIM to be among them.
The thought that HE was in his dad's book as one of only two freshman prospects to look out for made Jackson puke again.
It'd been such a nice night until that point. Nerve-wracking, but nice. To calm himself before he vomited everything he'd eaten in the last week, Jackson retreated to the earlier hours of the night.
Jackson and his dad arrived at the Convention Center early. The earlier they were, the more prospects they could look at, that was the thinking behind it. They weren't the only ones who had the same idea, but it wasn't just scouts who shared that line of thought. The South Miami Cobras were the first team to show.
Perhaps the Cobras' staff knew just how popular Colby Jenkins would be that evening and thought to give him as much time with as many scouts as they could by arriving early. There were already nearly a dozen scouts and representatives from different universities waiting when the Cobras arrived, and they all flocked around the boy wearing the Colby Jenkins nametag like seagulls to unguarded food.
Colby's teammates lacked reaction mostly, like they were used to such an occurrence. Though one disgruntled boy caught Jackson's attention.
He was a couple of inches taller than Jackson, with a slim build. A Receiver, plain as day. Dad had said Colby and the Cobras had a great receiving corps. Jackson even remembered a name from the notebook—Richaun Howard. A sophomore Receiver. Five stars. Jackson took a deep breath, then approached.
'Uh, excuse me?'
Richaun turned, regarded Jackson. He leaned his head back, looking down his wide nose at him. His blue eyes were as cold as ice, and he widened his already broad shoulders. A gold chain hung over a black turtleneck. He wore his short twists like a crown—Everything about Richaun screamed he thought he was better than you, and it was his mission for you to know it.
'The hell you supposed to be?' Richaun asked.
'I'm here as … an unofficial representative for Arizona State University? I'm with my dad.' Jackson gestured to his dad, who was almost lost in the small pack surrounding Colby.
Richaun sneered at Jackson and his dad. ' 'Ight daddy's boy. Whachu want?'
Jackson bit his tongue. This guy was a five-star recruit, he had to be good, but even Grant wasn't this much of an ass. He glanced at the crowd surrounding Colby. 'You think you should be in the middle of that, don't you?'
'Obviously. But I ain't dumb enough to forget it's a QB's game. We make him look good, he gets all the credit.'
'Well, I'd like to give you some credit.' Richaun laughed, but Jackson pushed through. 'Anything you tell me, I'll be sure it gets back to my dad and everyone at ASU. If there's anything you want people to know, say it.'
'You pretty funny, daddy's boy. Alright, you want something? Here.' He leaned close. 'I'm the best Receiver in the world. Just 'cause that nigga Rice is the shiny new toy don't make him better than me. When we meet in the tournament, everyone will know the difference between good and true greatness.'
Jackson nodded. The ice in Richaun's eyes had become frozen fire. "That's the intensity of greatness," he thought. 'But … even if you win, don't you think people will just say you had the better QB?'
'What?'
The fire became red hot, steam almost coming out of Richaun's ears.
'Gotta go, been great talking though.' Jackson ducked out of the conversation and hurried—without trying to look like he was hurrying—over to find his dad in the crowd.
Thankfully, more people—scouts and players alike—were coursing into the room, and inquisitive reporters acted as a buffer between him and an angry Richaun.
Dad was still busy with Colby, however, so Jackson wandered aimlessly for a while. Dad had said for Jackson to put himself out there, and try talking with scouts from other colleges, but with a sticker proudly displaying ASU, instead of a nametag like all the other prospects, no one looked twice at Jackson.
And it wasn't like he could just walk up to anyone and demand their attention. What would that even look like? "Hi! I'm Jackson Woods of the Arcadia Titans. I'm a freshman who didn't play a single snap because I broke my leg before the season started. Yes, you should talk to me instead of all these other prospects who you've actually seen film on and who actually helped their team win State."
He'd even seen the Desert Christian Eagles arrive and had avoided them as much as possible. So after his chat with Richaun, he spoke to no-one before retreating to the buffet table. It was there, whilst plating up food, that Jackson ran into another athlete, one with a much more friendly demeanour.
'Hey. I'm Julian Jones,' the older boy said, offering a handshake, 'but you can call me JJ.'
'Jackson Woods.' As they shook hands—God did JJ have a strong grip—Jackson racked his brain, searching for the name. It must've been in the notebook but … yes! Julian Jones, a three-star senior … Jackson had skimmed right past him. 'What school do you play for?'
'Dominguez Dons, we're from California. And you, who do you play for?'
'Uhh… it's a little complicated …'
JJ raised a brow, but waited for Jackson to continue.
'I play for the Arcadia Titans in Arizona, but, uh, we didn't actually win our State championship, and I was um, out with an injury this year … so I'm here with my dad. He's a positional coach over at ASU.'
'Ohh. That's funny actually. I think we're sharing a hotel with the Arizona champs. Some Christian school, the Eagles.'
'Ah… yep, that's the one.' Jackson looked down, rubbing the back of his head. 'They beat us in the championship game.'
'You can't win them all. I'm in my senior year, and this was the first time I reached the state tournament, let alone won. You'll get them next time, amigo.'
JJ was like a breath of fresh air in that place. The two talked, time melting away as they progressed down the seemingly endless buffet, trying a little of everything. The more they talked, the more JJ reminded Jackson of Shane. And he couldn't help but wonder which of them would be stronger if they met on the field.
It was turning into a good night, if not that productive in getting Jackson's name out there to the other scouts, but there was still plenty of time left for that … and then HE arrived, the face of his nightmares.
Jackson shuddered again, but he was done puking. He had to flush the toilet five times, and even then there was still some bile clinging to the side of the bowl. Just seeing HIM wasn't even the worst part. It was the utter lack of recognition on Tyrese Samuels's face that was truly harrowing.
How many times had Jackson replayed that day in his head, in his dreams? For a time he couldn't even think of football without picturing HIS face, twisted into a malevolent grin, with eyes darker than death. And Ty didn't even know who he was.
Tyrese Samuels. The name to go with his nightmares.
How many others had Tyrese Samuels given nightmares to? A lot if he won his State championship and got all the way to the National tournament. And he didn't even care. How many had given up their dreams after running into that monster on the field and realising how hopeless their ambitions were? And he didn't even care. The worst day of some kid's life was just another Sunday to Tyrese Samuels.
Jackson's fists were clenched so tight his nails had drawn blood from his palms. He trembled for altogether different reasons as he emerged from the stall. He washed and dried his face, then his hands, but he was still shaking as he stalked out of the restroom. Someone had to say something to Tyrese, JACKSON had to say something. He couldn't be scared anymore, couldn't let a stranger rule his dreams, ruin them.
Ty was still at the buffet table, munching away, not a care in the world. Jackson started towards him, fury bubbling, words fighting for the front spot in his mind and throat. Before he could reach Ty, the doors slammed open.
It was like the air was sucked out of the room. Everyone somehow knew who it was before they stepped foot inside. Everyone held their breath as the Longhorns entered.