Will and D Novels.com

Excerpts

Excerpt 1

Two dark- skinned men sat in their 24- foot Ryder cargo truck in silence, heater running full bore in order to stave off the invading cold. The temperature wasn‟t so bad, only 30 degrees, but the arctic winds that had done nothing but pick up velocity on its migration towards the Carolinas severely chilled the air. Forty plus mile an hour winds had pushed the wind chill into negative territory. The world around them was coated in a layer of frost which broke the bright yellow of the Golden Arches into a billion kaleidoscopic fragments. The landscape took on an otherworldly glow. This day would be an otherworldly day and they were two of only a handful of people on this planet who knew what was going to take place. Finally, the driver broke the silence.

“Are you scared?” asked the older man. His name was Hassan Al-Meidi. He was of Pakistani descent, but had lived most of his life in the states. His father was from a long line of wool merchants and he had followed his ancestors into the business. He had opened a U.S. office for his business, so the family had lived in both places for many years. Hassan held dual citizenship in Pakistan and the U.S. and was quite Americanized. A chance meeting with some people near the Afghan border nearly four years ago was the reason he was sitting in this seat.

“Yes, I am scared. But I know Allah will guide me through my mission. God is good. Allah Akbar!” Those were the words of Achmed Pervez, also a Pakistani who had illegally entered the U.S. by way of the Mexican border. He was twenty- seven years old and a Muslim fanatic. He truly believed that you should be Muslim or die. Now.

“We have much to do in preparation and we must meet someone at 10:00. By 4:00 today, my dear Achmed, we shall be in heaven and we shall take many infidels off the Earth. We are great soldiers, my friend, and our greatest battle is only a few hours away. Today, we shall kill thousands, but our target is one person. On that account, we must not fail. The clock starts ticking now, my friend. The fate of the world is about to change forever and you and I shall be martyrs and share the glory. Let us go now, Achmed. Our destiny awaits us.”
“Allah Akbar.” replied Achmed as he put the gearshift into DRIVE and stepped on the gas.

"Get up, D. You ain‟t gonna miss yo‟ bus on the first day.” Leah Simmons was running around trying to get D up and ready for school. She knew D would be a problem. He had always hated school. Now at 13, with 14 not that far off, he was starting sixth grade. He failed, then repeated fifth grade, and Leah had battled constantly to get him to go to that elementary school again. He didn‟t do any better the second time around in fifth grade, but the social promotion policy allowed him to move along. Leah had done all she could to motivate him, but the environment around Belfour made it impossible. His goals, and not necessarily in this order, were: not to go to school, hang at the park like older kids do, and get a girl. “School ain‟t about none of dat.” was his favorite saying.

D got up and grabbed a pair of Enyce shorts that were so baggy he could have carried a loaf of bread and a two-liter drink in each leg. He grabbed a clean wife- beater and threw on his Michael Jordan high school replica jersey. One of his uncles had given it to him before he went to prison. He was finally big enough to wear it.

D was out the door with a handful of Doritos and an orange soda. He reached the bus stop and met all his boyz along with the older kids. D was popular among the older kids because he was born with more God–given basketball talent than Lebron James. He regularly joined in at the park when the older kids were playing. At thirteen, he was a magician. Not only could he play with the bigger kids, he sometimes left them in awe of some move or pass that had not been planned or practiced. It just happened.
“„S up, D?” asked D‟s best friend, an eighth grader named Ben, AKA Phat Benny and the newest member of the BF-8‟s, the local housing project street gang. Phat Benny had robbed a white man at gunpoint near the Convention Center to earn his Lakers cap. Benny passed his initiation with flying colors when he discovered that the man he had robbed had over $2,000 in his wallet. He became a hero at his initiation ceremony when he sliced an “8” into the back of his hand and then handed the gang‟s founder, Charles “Black Deac” Deacon, the money from the stick up. Ben had been bestowed his new gang name “Phat Benny” because of that phat stack of hundred dollar bills.

“Ain‟t nothin‟ Phatty” grumbled D. “I ain‟t got no damn desire to go to no new school. I don‟t wanna listen to no white ass cracker woman tell me what I gotta do, man. I don‟t wanna sit in no damn desk and listen to a bunch of bullsh…..”
“Chill out my brother. It ain‟t dat bad. If you real lucky, you get Mr. Douglass. He a funny ass old white dude. Da man can break off a little Snoop, some Dre, and even some Tupac. Dances like a white boy would in 1970‟s Soul Train. He‟s funny, bro. I hope you get him.” said Benny.

The bright orange school bus pulls to a stop and 22 middle school students jump on. Benny heads to the back of the bus to sit with the other two BF-8‟s (that‟s the code of the colors, always sit together). Both of them are repeat eighth graders and all three of the BF-8‟s are sporting their Lakers apparel with the number 8 on it. BRYANT across the shoulders in the back. Lakers cap. No one on that bus would sit near them except for D. No, he wasn‟t a banger yet, but he was next on the BF-8 recruit list. Even Black Deac had the greatest respect for his mad, sick natural skills on the hardwood. He would wait to go after D. He would see if the kid would give himself a chance to get out of the „hood. School was now just a bus ride away.

D is awakened by his CD player /clock radio to the sound of Everclear‟s “Santa Monica”. It is 7:00 am on his first day of middle school. His feet hit the floor running.
"We can live beside the ocean...” He is in the shower singing and thinking about what public school is going to be like. “Leave the fire behind”…..
He knew not one soul that went to this school. Would he fit in?
“Swim out past the breakers…..”
Would he make new friends? Would his teachers be nice? Would there be fights and drugs and gangs?
“Watch the world die.”

Will was clean scrubbed and out before Everclear started “AM Radio”. He squirted a little gel in to his hand and liberally applied it to his short brown hair. “Spiky.” he said to himself. He grabbed his Ralph Lauren khaki shorts, which one of the maids had ironed for him yesterday, and his favorite green polo shirt that had Blackbeard‟s Blues Shack, Anegada, BVI, embroidered on the left breast above a nasty–looking pirate face. He slipped his feet into his Sperry Topsiders and went downstairs.

“Who‟s ready for his first day of middle school, first day of public school, and first day of real football practice?” asked his mother in a cheery voice that suggested she had been awake for several hours.

“I am, Mother. Ready, start to finish in 18 minutes. I packed my backpack and football stuff last night, so I am ready to roll.” said Will. Will sat down to breakfast which consisted of two scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, and fresh buttermilk biscuits. Although Bitsy made sure her family ate a healthy diet, breakfast could not be compromised. Will‟s dad, Billy, had always eaten a big breakfast from his earliest memories. He never grumbled about eating his fruit and vegetables later in the day, but Billy Matthias had to have his breakfast. Will had grown up just as his father had and his stomach also demanded the “Southern Man‟s Breakfast of Superstars”. Although it was permissible to substitute bacon, ham, or livermush for the sausage, this was a landmark day. Will was starting out with his favorite meal.

Billy Matthias eased down the stairs, video camera in hand, and skulked around the door frame in to the dining room.
“Ah jeez, Dad, not again.” said Will. “Do we really have to do this every year?” Will wasn‟t really aggravated; he was just giving his Dad a hard time.

“Damn straight we do, son. You‟ll thank me one day, I promise. That‟s the only reason I keep this old camera with the old VHS tape in it.” Billy had allotted nine minutes for each first day of school. He had been taping Will since the first day of kindergarten and would continue until his senior year. He planned on giving a copy to Will on the occasion of his graduation.
The same script of questions that Billy asked every year magically appeared in Billy‟s hand and the interview began:
Billy: How old are you?
Will: Twelve.
Billy: What school are you going to today and what grade will you be in?
Will: John Martain Middle. A public school for the first time. Sixth grade.
Billy: Who are your best friends?

Will: Seth Kardasien, Caleb “Clyde” Barrow, Aaron “Brownie” Brown, and Jenna Cooper. They are all going to Mother Mary Catholic Middle. I‟ve been in school with all of them for six years. Today‟s my first day without them. I hope they have a great first day, too.
Bitsy and Billy passed a wistful look between them. Even though the three of them had come to this decision together, Mom and Dad knew that this was not going to be an easy transition. As in most cases, these parents did not give their child the credit he deserved. Will was only a little

nervous, but mostly he was excited. He was ready for the challenge. Bitsy and Billy were nervous wrecks. The interview continued.
Billy: Is there anything you wanna say before we leave for school?

Will: Dad, I know I‟m only twelve, but I really want to learn a lot this year. I want to make some good friends like Clyde and Seth and Aaron and Jenna. I hope I don‟t get nervous when I start kicking extra points and field goals when I‟m on the field. Most of all, I just want to fit in.”

Billy: “Well done, Will. Let me put this camera back in its place and we‟ll hit the road.” Billy headed for his media room.
“Which car?” cried Will.

“Escalade.” said Billy over his shoulder.

“Cool” said Will, to no one but himself. Bitsy brought Will his lunch, kissed him on the cheek and wished him good luck. “Have a wonderful first day, Will. I‟m so proud of you. I‟ll pick you up after football. Goodbye, dear.” which sounded like “deeya” in that sweet southern drawl.

 

Excerpt 2

Game day. First home game of the season for the 2-0 Martain Cougars. They had easily rolled to victories against Randall Middle (31-12) and Westside Middle (27-0). Coach Douglass played lots of subs in each game and played them early and often in order to keep the final scores respectable. Will had kicked seven extra points and missed one. Although it was a pure shank on Will’s part, D came to the sideline claiming full responsibility for the miss. He also kicked a 26-yard field goal early in the game against Randall. But today was going to be different.

Today’s opponent, Griffith Middle, was a perennial favorite in the Charlotte Metro Middle School Conference. Either Martain or Griffith had won the football championship for the last four years and these two teams did not like each other at all. It was a widely held belief that this year would be no different. Today’s winner would most likely take home the hardware once again. Today was big.
Coach Cully Culbreath finished his pregame speech in the locker room and then the three 8th grade captains took their turns at whipping the players into a motivational frenzy. All forty- six players were bouncing up and down screaming. At the sound of Cully’s whistle, they screamed in unison “Cougars, Cougars!!” Then, as one, they became silent as they walked to the door on the way to the field.

On the field, they spread out in a six line formation for their warm-ups. They counted, as one, as they did various exercises and stretches. Both teams stared each other down for the sake of intimidation. They finished and broke into groups to do position drills. Receivers caught passes, lineman pushed on each other, and backs were running plays. Will, D, and Heffer went to the extra point hash mark near the goal line and began to practice extra points. Coach Douglass walked up and pulled the three together.
“Guys, this is the game we need to win. Even this early in the season, today could determine who gets the trophy at the end of the season. We’ve never had a kicker and I think today, you guys could determine the outcome. I have every confidence in all of you. Do your job. Focus. No crowd. Just you and the ball.” He extended his fist into the center of their group and the three players did likewise. Coach startled them all. “Who are we?” he screamed.
“Cougars!” they cried.
“Who?”
“Cougars!!!” and they all growled as they left their miniature huddle.
The first quarter was an uneventful defensive battle. Both teams had been pumped up from the opening kick, but neither team could move the ball. Will’s opening kick-off pinned the Eagles deep on their side of the field and as the buzzer sounded to end the quarter, the Cougars had the ball deep in Eagles territory, driving toward the goal line.

The Cougars ran three plays; quarterback Andre, AKA “The Rabbit” Logan, the fleet-footed speedster, ran a keeper around the right side for three yards, fullback Rod Plowman, the big corn-fed country boy transfer from Nebraska got two more yards up the middle, and on third down, Logan’s pass to Montrez Dixon, AKA “Frisbee” (so named because he resembled a Frisbee catching dog when he caught a pass), sailed over his outstretched hands, bringing up fourth down and five at the Eagles fifteen yard line.
“Field goal team!” yelled Coach Douglass.

Will and D trotted out onto the field. Will measured seven yards from the line of scrimmage and placed his tee on the ground. D bent down on one knee as the linemen arranged themselves in formation. Will took three steps back, one to the right, and turned to face the goalpost. D yelled “Down” and all the linemen assumed their two point stance. He turned to look at Will waiting for the “Go” signal.
Will’s eyes were intense and focused and dead on his target. Satisfied, he looked at D and nodded in the affirmative. D lifted his right arm, extended it toward Heffer, opened and closed his hand one time. Right on cue, Heffer shot a spiraling bullet right into D’s hands. D, skillfully and with great fluidity, caught the ball and stood it upright in one motion. He deftly spun the laces on the ball toward the goalpost just as Will’s right foot attacked the ball, sending it long and high and squarely through the uprights.

The whistle blew as the zebra-striped referee extended both arms straight up into the heavens signaling a successful field goal. Will jumped up, signaling as well, while D did his best to bear hug his kicker. He was mobbed by his linemen, and he took the time to thank each and every one of them personally for keeping out the opposition. The crowd was cheering boisterously and was stomping on the metal bleachers. The noise was deafening for a middle school football game, but this was no ordinary game. These two teams hated each other, the coaches didn’t like each other, and their fans didn’t like each other. This game was big and everyone knew it. The Cougars led 3-0.

Will booted the ensuing kickoff deep, once again pinning the Eagles near their goal line. The Cougar defense stiffened again, but so did the Eagles after Martain got the ball back. The first half ended and as the teams headed for the locker room, the crowd whipped itself into a frenzy for the third time today.

The second half started with all of the intensity that both teams had shown in the first half. The defenses looked as if they might rule the day. Martain had the ball first, but could only muster six yards in three plays. Griffith only gained eight in their three plays and the back and forth defensive struggle continued. The third quarter ended with the Cougars still in the lead 3-0 and with the ball.
Martain had rushed for two first downs in the opening plays of the fourth quarter and the Cougars began to smell blood. Griffith called time out. Coach Douglass trotted out onto the field to address his troops.

“They are dead meat!” he stated matter-of- factly. “Look at the big guys who have been stopping us all day. That’s why we kept running at them. They are toast!” He smiled as he pointed to the four large green-jerseyed players, all with numbers in the seventies, bent over, hands on knees, sucking air in voluminous amounts. “Let’s keep going. Try to get points on the board and run the clock. Hold on to the ball! Two hands.” He glanced up at his QB. “Rabbit lead us home, brother.” Rabbit smiled and extended his fist to the middle of the huddle. “Let’s take it home. Who are we?” he screamed.
“Cougars!” they cried.

The Cougars continued to move the ball and after three more first downs, were within Will’s field goal range when the Cougar’s worst nightmare came true. On a third and two play with Will warming up on the sideline, Rabbit was scrambling for extra yardage when the ball popped loose and was immediately scooped up by Tyrese Boger, the speedy safety and running back who played at Martain as a sixth grader. He had tons of talent as a sixth grader. Coaches Douglass and Culbreath had agreed to bring him along slowly, teach him the fundamentals, and let him get a little more size before they threw him to the wolves.

His parents, full of displaced dreams and expectations, disagreed and protested vehemently about his lack of playing time to the point of pulling him out of Martain and sending him to Griffith after securing a promise from Coach Douglass’ nemesis, Coach Chris Woodham of 100% playing time as a seventh grader. Now, Tyrese was sprinting toward the goal line without a single player within 20 yards. He crossed the goal line and turned to point at the Martain defenders he had left in his wake. Taunting. Then he took it to a new low. He turned and pointed at his former coaches.

“Woody has ruined that kid, too, Cully. You gotta teach respect and act like you’ve been there before. Just look at him, dancing and pointing. I think for halftime next year I’ll challenge Woody to an ultimate fight at midfield. I’ve wanted to kick his ass since high school.”
“Calm down, Hulk Hogan. We still got a game to win.” said Cully with his deep raspy laugh.

The extra point failed, but Griffith had new life. A 6-3 lead might just be enough today. As the crowd roared, the Eagles kicked off to the Cougars. Four minutes left, and in middle school football, that’s not much. The Cougars started their drive on their own 32 yard line. On the first play from scrimmage, Rabbit, determined to make up for his mistake, faked a reverse and headed upfield. After two good jock-strap defying moves, he cut to the outside and was seemingly headed for paydirt when the green streak of lightning wearing number 24 caught him and dragged him down at the nine-yard line. Tyrese Boger. Once again, he had come back to bite his old team.
Three plays later, the Cougars could get no closer than the five, so Coach Douglass called on his kicker again. Will and D galloped out to the line and began the ritual they had practiced so many times in the last four weeks. When D gave the signal, Will again booted the ball right through the heart of the uprights to tie the game at six. 2 minutes, 44 seconds left! Will sprinted to the sidelines so he could be there to thank his linemen and had a special smack on the helmet for D and Heffer. The action had become furious and the intensity had ratcheted up yet another notch.

Will kicked deep but this time, number 24 caught the ball and took off up the right sideline and never slowed down. No one ever touched him. 86 yards. Touchdown. This time he exhorted himself by beating on his chest and pointing at the crowd. 12-6 Eagles. 2:27 left.
On the ensuing kickoff, Coach Woodham showed his weakness. He was a spiteful jerk, and if he could run up a score on you or bury you, he would. His ego told him to write checks that his talent and ability couldn’t cash. He decided to bury the Cougars on an onside kick attempt. Unfortunately for him and his team, the ball hopped up gently into the arms of Isaac Ogwodala,
one of the Cougar tackles. Ike was not a prototypical middle school tackle. The kid from Senegal was tall and muscular, not at all fat, and could run pretty fast for a guy his size. He caught the Eagles so off guard that he had run to the twenty- five yard line before he was pulled down by a gang of Eagles. But three plays later, the Cougars were only on the 21. Coach Douglass called time out.
“Cully, field goal, onside kick? Or go for it?” asked Douglass as his team trotted toward the sideline.
“Can Will make 37?” asked Cully. “I’ve seen him do 35 in practice, but those last two would have been close. Whaddayathink?”
“Let’s kick it and see what happens.”

“You’ve always had a horseshoe up your butt when we play this guy. I’ll go with your kicker.”
Douglass turned to his team and yelled “Field goal team.” The crowd did not agree with this decision. A murmur of disapproval spread throughout the home team’s bleachers. The coaches were both confident that this decision would work itself out like most of the others they had made together over the years. With 1:12 left on the clock they would play for the field goal, onsides kick (which Will had practiced tirelessly and become quite good at), get close enough for a tying field goal, win it in overtime at home.
Will, D, and the rest of the field goal team trotted onto the field for the third time. They took their positions as Will and D went through their tasks with a precision only accomplished through ritualistic practice. D squatted on one knee while Will focused on his target. He would have to kick this ball as hard as any he had ever kicked before.

Just as he was about to give D the “go” signal, a wasp buzzed his face close enough that Will could feel the vibration caused by the bug’s wings inside of his facemask. He hesitated and gave D the “go” sign. Unfortunately, the wasp had grown tired of Will and decided to have fun with D. D swatted at the bee, but the act of swatting was misinterpreted by Heffer. He snapped the ball and it flew past them both as the linemen charged at each other.

“Fire! Fire!” yelled D as he glimpsed the ball speeding past him. Will had seen the ball first and was sprinting after it. So were the green-clad Eagles. Will picked up the ball on the 37 and tried to find an open area to run to no avail. He was running for his life around the right side but all he could see was the four green shirts bearing down on him like synchronized freight trains.
Closing fast was number 24. Just as Tyrese Boger was about to make his biggest hit of the day, Will spotted a small speck of orange just beyond the wall of green. At the last second before impact, he tossed the ball just over the outstretched hands of his pursuers. Then, his world went black as he was pile-driven into the ground.

YOU WON’T BELIEVE HOW THE GAME ENDS!!!!!

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