Raiders Night

Chapter One

The Back Pack hit the gym in the early afternoon, Matt in the lead, before the yuppies marched in from work, while the young moms were rushing out to pick up their kids from day camp. Matt liked the way their hot eyes roamed over him, wondered if they knew he was still in high school, wondered if they cared. He felt big and hard. Excited. Was it the moms or what was waiting for him upstairs, the iron weights that would make him even bigger, harder. And the juice.

Brody poked him from behind with the football he always carried. "Check the headlights on the one in blue."

"Someday I'm gonna stick that ball up your ass."

"Ooooh, don't tease me, big boy."

Matt led them through the downstairs crowd of designer spandex and pastel sweats, cuties perched on shiny machines jiggling away to love songs as they pretended to work out. What did they know about working out? He liked the sense of leaving their soft world behind as he led the Back Pack up the metal steps into the stink and clang of the second floor, the real workout room.

He was glad they had beaten the linemen to the gym today. Give us a chance to get our session going without Ramp's crap.

The ironheads were there; they were always there, older white guys screaming each other into one more pec-busting rep. They wore tank tops and bandannas that looked like they were soaked in diesel fuel. One of them called out a singsong, half-mocking "Rai-derz."

Tyrell raised two fists. "Raiders rule, niggaz!"

The ironheads liked that and banged metal plates. Some of them had gone to Nearmont High and played ball.

"Matt?" The gym owner, Monty, came out of his office and beckoned him over. "New shipment's in."

Matt nodded and felt the excitement rise. Perfect timing. Load up just before camp so the juice kicks in during the two-a-days when we really need it. He flashed the Back Pack a thumbs-up. Hope they all brought their wallets.

They dressed quickly. They were jittery, psyched for the last heavy workout before camp. Tyrell, as usual, complained about the music on the upstairs speakers, a pounding mix of disco and heavy metal. The ironheads controlled those CDs. For now. See what happens if we win Conference this year.

Matt caught Pete sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror. Pete was more self-conscious than the rest of them about the pimples on his shoulders. Backne they called it. From the steroids. Price you pay. Pete's girlfriend, Lisa, wasn't so sure it was worth the price. She'd said as much, and Pete listened to her. Girls hear about the side effects, but how could they know the feeling of watching a muscle grow bigger and harder? Pete flexed his biceps when he thought no one was looking, as if to remind himself that Lisa didn't know everything.

Matt said, "Quads and glutes win games." He wondered if he was taking this captain thing too seriously.

"Tyrell says bicep curls win hot girls," said Tyrell. He mimicked Pete's flex.

Pete, embarrassed, snapped his shirt at Tyrell, who laughed and danced just out of range. They loved to watch Tyrell move. He had radar. He glided like a phantom. He was the best running back in the conference. If we stay healthy and tight, Matt thought, this could be our season. Maybe State. Senior year, what a way to go.

Out on the mats, stretching, Matt could tell Brody's mind was heading to the same place.

"We got a shot." Brody's big freckly face had that dreamy look. Probably imagining himself winning the state title. With a quarterback sneak. Not a forty-yard bomb to me or a handoff to Tyrell, but a heroic scramble out of a collapsing pocket and a desperate lunge over the goal line. Behind his back, some of the guys called him All-Brody. Dad thought he didn't throw to Matt enough. But Brody was all right. Best friend on the team.

"One day at a time," said Matt.

"You're, like, channeling Coach Mac," said Brody.

"You ready to put the bar where your mouth is?" Matt held up the clipboard with their workout schedule.

"See what I mean?"

They started with squats, lunges, and power cleans to build up their legs and lower backs for the explosive starts off the line of scrimmage. These were the most intense exercises in the daily program the coaches had laid out in the spring. Matt had come to realize that if they left those exercises to the end of the session, they would slack off, especially Pete and Brody. They preferred to work harder on the lat pull downs, the curls and flys to build up their upper bodies for the beach. But they listened to Matt. He was their leader. Tyrell had named them the Back Pack, the four starting backfield seniors. Brody, Pete, and Matt had played together since PeeWee. Tyrell had joined them as a sophomore after he came out from New York, staying at his aunt's house during the week so he could go to Nearmont High.

The linemen stomped in, Ramp bellowing, "Yo, Rydek, your girls done yet?"

Before Matt could respond, Tyrell shouted, "Where you been? Stop off for lunch at the hog farm?"

Ramp cursed, raised a finger, and led the linemen into the locker room.

Matt waited until they were out of earshot. "Chill."

"Nobody cool says chill no more."

"Our last season, last chance to win Conference." He glared at Tyrell until he nodded and started pulling dumbbells off the rack. "Let's be a team."

"You always right, Cap'n Matt, sir."

Matt and Brody moved to the benches. It took a few reps to clear his head, but once Matt felt the blood pumping again, all the good feelings came back. He concentrated on visualizing his muscles swell and harden as he lay on the . . .

Raiders Night. Copyright © by Robert Lipsyte . Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from Raiders Night by Robert Lipsyte
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