Chapter 34: Nickname: Alien

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Nolan’s middle-run touchdown and the two-point conversion pushed the lead to twenty-nine.

That broke Culver City.

The Centaurs managed one more slow scoring drive, but it took nearly five minutes and their two-point attempt failed. By the time BHHS got the ball back, there was nothing left for them to chase.

Nolan lined up under center. Two fullbacks sat behind and beside him. The running back stood deeper. The bodies stayed tight.

Victory formation.

The snap came clean.

Nolan took a knee.

By the 1990s, every quarterback knew the ritual. Protect the snap, protect the ball, let the clock die. The last minute looked boring because it was supposed to.

The home announcer filled the silence as best he could.

"However you feel about it, congratulations to the Beverly Hills Normans. Their temporary quarterback, number 88, Nolan Callahan, has shown an impressive arm tonight. We may be looking at a player who can reach a much higher level."

On the road, even praise sounded restrained.

At Nickoll Field, the crowd would have been chanting Nolan’s name by now.

The handful of Normans fans in the stands did not care. They had more than a minute to celebrate, and they used it.

"Another win," Katherine said, laughing despite herself. "Maybe Nolan really can make BHHS football matter again."

BHHS had history, but most of it was old enough to gather dust. In the last decade, the Normans had barely sniffed the second round of the playoffs. Producing a professional football player had become a fantasy.

"I am happy for you," Lisa told Mia. "Having a son like that must feel extraordinary."

Only another mother could understand the weight of it.

Mia tried to look modest and failed completely.

"He’s all right," she said.

Her smile nearly reached her ears.

Lisa and Mia were close in age. Both single now. Both carrying complicated histories. Once the first layer of politeness passed, they found more to talk about than either expected.

Katherine was not thrilled, but she held her tongue. Lisa could help Nolan. That mattered.

And after the suggestion Lisa had made, Katherine had to admit the woman was serious about giving Nolan something real.

"Let’s go find him," Mia said when she saw Nolan walking off with his helmet in one hand.

Nolan reached the sideline and tossed his helmet to an assistant coach.

This time, fans did not rush the field for pictures.

Opposing players did.

"Can we swap jerseys?" one of the Culver City players asked.

Football did not have soccer’s formal shirt-swap culture at every level, but after a hard game, players still traded gloves, towels, signatures, and pieces of equipment as respect.

The last matchup had been too bitter for anything like that. This one was different. Culver City had never truly expected much once its starting quarterback went down, and Nolan’s performance had turned irritation into admiration.

"Sure," Nolan said.

They clasped hands, bumped shoulders, and exchanged jerseys.

That opened the gate.

Gloves. Towels. Stickers. Autographs.

By the end, Nolan had almost nothing left to trade, so he signed what people handed him.

His signature looked terrible.

He had never practiced one. Until recently, practicing an autograph would have felt absurd.

Then number 24 appeared in front of him, still in most of his gear.

Through the facemask, Nolan saw a cold, guarded expression.

Monst removed his helmet.

"How did you learn that?" he asked.

"I played receiver before," Nolan said.

"Receiver? What school did you transfer from?"

"I was already at BHHS." Nolan shrugged. "I joined the team last month."

Monst had been ready to smile.

The expression died halfway.

His mouth moved once before he found words.

It was envy, frustration, disbelief, and respect all tangled together.

"That is a rough thing to hear," Nolan said, almost apologetic. "You were good. Thomas changed our defensive plan because of you. If your quarterback had not been hurt, this would have been a very different game."

Monst shook his head.

"Passing is the future. Running backs are going to get squeezed."

He said it like someone who had thought about his own ceiling.

As training methods improved and athletes lasted longer, football would keep changing. Passing games would grow. Quarterbacks would become more valuable. Running backs, the men who met defenders head-on play after play, would pay the price.

In 1994, that future had not fully arrived.

Monst could already feel it coming.

"You think far ahead," Nolan said.

"I have to." Monst offered his hand. "Next time, I will be chasing you."

Nolan shook it.

After Monst came Culver City’s head coach, who had the same question everyone else did.

How could a quarterback run like that?

Nolan gave the same answer.

Receiver background. Movement. Instinct.

The coach studied him, then smiled.

"Interesting kid. Ever think about transferring to Culver City? We take care of our players."

Nolan had heard of college recruiting wars and professional tampering. He had not expected a high school coach to try it in the handshake line.

That information was useful.

Before he could answer, Thomas arrived like an angry storm.

"Back off," Thomas snapped. "Do not even look at my quarterback that way."

He hooked an arm around Nolan’s shoulders and marched him toward the tunnel.

"Do not lie to me," Thomas said once they were clear. "I know you have not trained that run. Tell me what happened."

"What happened?"

"You are not going to tell me you watched him a few times and then..." Thomas stopped himself.

"Then what?"

Thomas stared at him.

"No. Do not say it."

"I watched him," Nolan said. "Then I practiced it in my head. A lot."

Thomas looked as if someone had slapped twenty years of coaching out of him.

"Mental reps," Nolan said.

"Mental reps do not turn a quarterback into a power back in one quarter."

"Mine did."

Thomas backed up and looked Nolan over from head to toe, as if searching for a zipper, antenna, or some other proof that the boy had not been built on Earth.

"You are messing with me."

"Am I?"

For several seconds, Thomas had no answer.

If Nolan could turn observation into execution that quickly, his improvement would not be fast.

It would be absurd.

Thomas suddenly felt very grateful for every decision that had brought Nolan onto his roster. Nolan’s rise would lift the school, the staff, the players, and anyone smart enough to stand near him early.

That was what a star did.

"Do you need a private coach?" Thomas asked. "I mean, I would do it for free. Just mention I coached you."

"No," Nolan said. "You would have to pay me."

Thomas actually considered it.

"Could I defer payment?"

Nolan laughed.

Only then did Thomas realize he had been played.

Thomas had treated him well. Mentioning his coach someday would cost Nolan nothing.

"By the way," Thomas said as they reached the locker room, "I ran into a Los Angeles Times reporter. Old friend of mine. He is very interested in you. I told him to wait outside the players’ tunnel."

"He may need to wait a minute."

Thomas followed Nolan’s gaze.

Three women were waiting.

He knew Katherine. The woman with Nolan’s hair had to be Mia Callahan. The tall dark-haired woman beside them, though...

Thomas gave a low whistle under his breath.

Then he noticed several players peering from the locker room door.

"Inside," he barked. "All of you. Change."

One player recognized Lisa anyway.

"Rice’s mom is gorgeous."

The younger ones laughed because they did not know better.

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