Chapter 38: The Best Draw

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The next morning, Katherine came to training with Nolan.

By then, everyone at BHHS had stopped pretending the delayed football calendar made sense. The regular season had bled into senior week, and the CIF Southern Section bracket still had to be played.

Volleyball practice would not resume for a few days, so she had time to keep him company.

She wore workout clothes, a ponytail, and a headband, bright with the kind of athletic energy that made half the football team look twice before remembering Nolan was standing beside her.

News of prom had already spread.

"Beautiful Mrs. Callahan," Flea said, bowing with one leg extended like a medieval courtier, "please accept my respect."

Katherine gave him a look that made the bow shorter.

An assistant coach soon brought news.

"Coach Thomas is at the CIF Southern Section bracket meeting for the Normans. Before he left, he said today is open strength work."

Nolan turned to the team.

"Weight room."

On the way across campus, Ford thought about the Los Angeles Times article and shook his head.

"Let’s pray for a good draw. If we get Santa Ana right away, we are cooked."

"How strong is Santa Ana?" Nolan asked.

Flea answered first.

"Think Michigan football, but for Southern California high schools."

He exaggerated, but not by much. Everyone knew the type: tradition, facilities, alumni, talent pipeline, opponents half-beaten before kickoff.

"Our next volleyball match is Santa Ana," Katherine said.

"Then I wish you luck," Ford said.

"Do not worry," Flea said. "If you get knocked out, Nolan will avenge you. He makes miracles now."

"I would rather we handle our own match," Katherine said. "And if your football team beats Santa Ana, I should buy a SuperLotto ticket."

Nolan had confidence, but he also needed money. He did not want Santa Ana in the first round. He needed at least one playoff win, preferably two, before the giant arrived.

When they reached the weight room, a crowd had already gathered near the bench press.

Football players loved simple measures of strength, and bench press was the easiest one to argue over.

The strongest bencher in BHHS history was on the team.

"Come on, Boar," Flea called, slapping the center’s shoulder. "Show our volleyball captain something."

His real name was Pittsburgh. His nickname fit him better. Huge, round, powerful, and somehow terrified of anything that crawled. At a party, someone had dropped a cockroach on his face and nearly made him faint. Locking him in a dark room with a horror movie would have been crueler than extra sprints.

Nolan watched the plates climb.

The bar reached 320 pounds.

Boar lay down, sucked in air, and pressed. His round face turned red. His features twisted into something no one should photograph.

Ugly or not, the bar rose.

He held it for five seconds.

The room cheered.

"Nolan should go against Boar," Flea said. "To make it fair, use a combine-style house rule. Two-twenty-five, clean reps, five-minute cap. Most reps wins."

"Do it. Do it. Do it."

The crowd picked it up at once.

"Actually," Flea said, changing tone, "Nolan might not be feeling great today. Maybe another time."

"Right. He looks uncomfortable. Better not."

The fake concern worked better than mockery.

If Nolan backed down, his authority would take a dent.

He smiled.

"I will do it on one condition. Flea competes with Katherine first."

Flea blinked.

"That is not exactly appropriate. She is a girl."

"Flea," Katherine said, suddenly interested, "are you afraid?"

Raw upper-body strength usually favored men, but Flea was thin and nervous. Thomas had told him more than once to eat until he looked like a football player.

"Maybe Flea really is not feeling well," Nolan said.

The room booed.

"Fine," Flea snapped. "Let’s go."

"I cannot ask you to use my weight," he added. "You can use 160."

Katherine looked ready to argue.

Nolan made the call for her. Lower weight. No stupid injuries.

The room formed a circle around the benches. Ford became judge and timekeeper.

"Five-minute cap," Ford called. "Three, two, one. Go."

Flea started fast.

Katherine started steady.

After thirty seconds, he had opened a gap of seven or eight reps. After ninety seconds, his speed began to fall. Katherine’s did not.

"She is catching him."

"She passed him."

Flea clenched his teeth and forced another rep with a grunt.

Katherine said nothing. Nolan saw the strain in her face and the tremor starting in her arms, but she kept her rhythm.

By the final minute, Flea was nearly done.

Katherine had slowed too, but she was still moving.

"Time."

Ford lifted the stopwatch.

"Flea: nineteen."

"That might be my personal best," Flea wheezed, sitting up with sweat dark across his chest and both arms shaking.

"And Katherine..."

Ford milked the pause.

"Twenty-one."

The room erupted.

For her frame, the number was absurd. With more weight training, she would only get stronger.

"No shame in that loss," Flea said, spitting to the side.

Nolan was a monster. Of course his girlfriend was not ordinary either.

Thomas walked into the weight room just then. When he saw everyone crowded together, he knew Nolan was probably involved.

He was in too good a mood to explode. Classes were ending, postseason was here, and the fact that players had shown up to train at all mattered.

"I have good news," Thomas said.

The room quieted.

"We got a favorable draw. First round: Burbank High."

Burbank sat north of Los Angeles, near the valley. Among the playoff teams, the Bulldogs were one of the softest openings they could have hoped for, weaker than Culver City on paper.

The weight room burst into celebration.

Thomas let them have two seconds.

"But," he said, "we are in the same half of the bracket as Santa Ana. If things go as expected, we see the defending champions in round two."

The celebration died.

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