Divided We Fall (8 page)

“Whoa,” Cal said again. “Mr. Shiratori, how do you memorize all —”

“I study, Mr. Riccon, and I’ve been teaching this class here for fifteen years. The Idaho state assembly and our governor recently voted for what is called the
nullification
of a law passed by the US Congress, a law that would require us all to carry a national identification card. Idaho basically said that requiring people to carry ID cards is a power reserved to the states. They say certain features of the new federal ID cards, such as the fact that they’ll carry all our medical records and contain a chip allowing the location of the card to be tracked by satellite, constitute an illegal invasion of our privacy.”

JoBell could hardly stay in her seat. “But the Supremacy Clause —”

“Only counts” — Mr. Shiratori spun to face JoBell, pointing the Stick of Power at her — “when the law the US Congress passes is constitutional. The Idaho state government said that the law was not constitutional, so the federal government didn’t have the power to pass it, and that Idaho will refuse to enforce it.”

“Can Idaho do that?” Samantha Monohan asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?
That’s
what people were arguing about in Boise, and
that’s
why we need to understand our government and how it works. Because what I’ve described to you are only the basics of the case. Nullification, or the right of a state to, on its own, declare federal laws unconstitutional, goes all the way back to some of Thomas Jefferson’s ideas, and most especially to the 1830s, the state of South Carolina, and the vice president at the time, John Calhoun. Calhoun and his supporters opposed certain tariffs, or taxes, on the importation of foreign goods, and they argued that any state in the union had the power to declare any federal law to be unconstitutional for the entire country.”

I couldn’t believe it. The whole disaster in Boise had happened over a stupid argument about ID cards? How could people be dead as a result of something so unimportant?

JoBell couldn’t remain silent. “But —”

Mr. Shiratori held up the Stick of Power to cut her off. “South Carolina argued that once a state had nullified a law, it would take a constitutional amendment passed by three-fourths of the states to make the law constitutional. President Jackson believed that everything Calhoun and South Carolina were proposing was dangerous and illegal. He said, ‘Nullification means insurrection and war.’ So the federal government did two things. They passed a law that would allow President Jackson to use the military to force South Carolina to obey the federal tariff laws, and they also reduced the tariffs that South Carolina had been mad about in the first place. In a way, both sides won.”

“So are we going to have a war?” TJ asked.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “This is America. There’s no way —”

“Mr. Wright, you’re free to debate in this classroom, but you will not insult people.”

Did TJ really count as a person? I decided to let that issue rest. “Fine. Sorry. But that stuff you were saying about South Carolina is totally different from what Idaho is doing, right? Idaho is only saying that the federal law is not allowed in Idaho. It’s still allowed in the rest of the country.”

“It’s allowed in the rest of the country for now, Mr. Wright,” said Mr. Shiratori. “But the states of Texas, Oklahoma, and maybe even New Hampshire are already considering nullifying the law as well.”

“People need to calm down and talk this out,” I said. “Find a way to get along and then come to an agreement. That President Jackson guy is from way back. Things are different now.”

“Yeah,” Sweeney said. “No way is anyone going to fight over this. No way could a president get reelected if he launched a war on a state, if he killed people just over stupid ID cards.”

“Exactly,” I said. “This isn’t old pioneer times or whatever. We’re a united country. We’re all one big Army. Soldiers all go to the same basic training, wear the same uniforms.”

“Maybe you and Sweeney are right about all that,” JoBell said to me and the class, “but the bottom line is Idaho doesn’t get to decide which federal laws to obey and which to outlaw.”

Mr. Shiratori tapped the stick on the floor. “It’s a hot controversy, and now that people have died, now with Governor Montaine refusing to even release to the federal government the identities of the soldiers involved, it’s more contentious than ever.”

JoBell switched Eleanor back on and held up the photo of me leaning over that dead girl. “Whatever they decide with this ID card law is one thing, but our governor should be in jail along with this guy who murdered those people Friday.” She held up the image of me on her comm. “I hope the president gets them!”

Mr. Shiratori pointed at JoBell with the Stick of Power. “Miss Linder, I think the situation is a lot more complicated than you think.”

I sank down lower in my seat. Mr. Shiratori had never been so right.

Friday brought the first football game of the season. Coach posted the starting roster on Thursday, and I was glad to have my shot as one of the starting wide receivers.

In the locker room Friday night, Sweeney had some of his screaming, thrashing metal music blasting from the new high-powered speakers that he’d bought for his comm this season. TJ and Dylan traded fierce licks on pretend guitars. Cal wore all his gear except his helmet and cleats. He walked back and forth with his fists pressed to the side of his head, his biceps bulging. He was whispering something so fiercely that he looked like he could literally kill someone. Timmy Macer wasn’t watching where he was going and only stepped out of Cal’s way at the last second.

“I want to
hurt
somebody!” Our starting center Brad Robinson threw fake punches at his locker door. “Rip their guts out!”

This was what it was all about. The intense concentrated rage, the anticipation. Football was half the reason I bothered showing up at school. JoBell was probably the other half. Tonight, though, with everything that had happened, I couldn’t get myself into it. I sat there in my football pants and shoulder pads, holding my helmet and shoes.

Mike Keelin walked by me on his way to his locker. “You ready to rock, Wright?”

I couldn’t take it. I heaved myself up off the bench and headed out of the locker room into the gym. Sweeney was playing catch with our tight end, Randy Huff, and with TJ, who had somehow snagged the other starting receiver slot.

“Dude, where you been?” Sweeney fired a perfect pass right to me. “We need to get warmed up.”

I caught the ball.

“We’ve been waiting for you forever,” said TJ. “Some of us actually want to win this game.”

I whipped a hard pass straight for TJ’s head and kept on walking through the gym out to the school lobby and drinking fountain. The door to the gym closed behind me, and I ducked down to get a drink. A moment later I heard someone slam into the door, throwing it open.

Sweeney walked up and leaned against the wall by the fountain. “Okay, Wright, it’s game night. Time to get focused. So tell me. What’s your problem?”

I stood up and wiped my mouth. “Nothing. I just can’t stand when TJ —”

“Cut the bullshit. This isn’t about TJ. You’ve been weird all week.”

“You want to warm up?” I said. “Fine. Let’s go throw the football around.” I started back for the gym, but Sweeney pushed himself off the wall and grabbed my arm.

“We’ve known each other since we were both shitting our diapers. Something’s wrong. You have to tell me.”

“I can’t get into it tonight. Into football, the zone, whatever.”

Sweeney stared at me. He wasn’t going to let this go. I tried to get past him to the gym, but he stepped in front of me.

Fine. The governor could stuff his orders. I needed someone to know what was going on. I checked the hallway to make sure nobody was around. “The other night when you had your pontoon party? I didn’t stay home to take care of my mom.”

“What? That was a cool party. You should have been there. Where did you go?”

“I went to Boise with the Guard.”

Sweeney almost always kept his cool, but now his jaw dropped right open. Before he could start asking a million questions, I told him everything that had happened, swearing him to secrecy when I was finished.

“Of course I won’t tell. You know you can trust me. But dude, JoBell is
pissed
about this. You have to talk to her.”

“I know she’s mad! Why do you think I can’t tell her? She’s taken this up as her personal … political … whatever. She set that stupid photo of me as her comm’s background. Every time I almost work up the guts to tell her, she cuts in with the latest bad news or some rant about how terrible I am for what I did.”

Sweeney held his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. First, she doesn’t know it was you. Second, she doesn’t know what really happened. Third, and most importantly —” He grabbed me by the shoulder pads. “Danny, we have a game tonight. We’ve waited for this forever. Plus you had to work extra hard to prove you were good enough to start at receiver after missing all the summer workouts. You know how Coach is always telling us to leave it all out on the field? Let’s do that tonight. Right now … forget all that other stuff. Just put it all to the side and let’s play some football.”

“I don’t know if I can. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Sweeney shook me. “Sure you can. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He put his arm over my shoulder and led me back toward the gym. “Since I’m the quarterback, I’m telling you right now, you better get open, because I’m gunning for you.”

“Don’t,” I said. “I’m really not up to it.”

“Then we’re gonna get our asses kicked tonight, because the ball is coming for you whether you like it or not. So be ready.”

*  *  *

Our team got off to a strong start, marching down the field with a bunch of seven- and eight-yard gains along with a couple quick passes to Randy. Then Cal broke open a crazy thirty-eight-yard touchdown run. I made it downfield to block one safety. I thought the other one had him, but Cal ran him right over.

Our defense slipped up, though, and the Sandpoint Pirates did much the same as we had, driving downfield a little at a time, until their tailback weaseled his way in past us for a forty-eight-yard touchdown.

Our kickoff return brought us to our thirty-five-yard line. We were huddling up waiting for TJ to run the play in from Coach Shiratori. Sweeney leaned over and tapped his face mask against mine. “Coach is probably going to call for a pass play. Run the first part of your route and then get deep. I’m bombing it to you.”

“Don’t do it,” I said.

“It’s coming to you. Get in the game or not. Your call.” Sweeney heard the play from TJ and then called it out. He was right. The play called for both receivers and our tight end to run pass routes.

The huddle was broken and I went to the line, split off from our offensive tackle. I looked over to the middle to see if I could get Sweeney’s attention, but he was all business. “Damn it, Sweeney,” I whispered. The ball was snapped and I shot out ahead, faking inside and then dodging outside of an outside linebacker. Then I cut a slant across the middle, feeling the Sandpoint cornerback right on my six.

TJ was wide open on the out he’d run. Sweeney could have connected with him for at least twenty yards. For a second I thought he would, but he pump-faked and looked back to the left. A defensive end tore through our line, but Cal knocked him out, giving Sweeney more time. Randy scrambled and escaped his coverage. Any sane quarterback would have thrown to him, but Sweeney moved to dodge another defender. That one hooked an arm around his middle, but Sweeney held on to the ball and twisted free.

“Damn it, Sweeney,” I whispered again, and then shot off downfield. The Sandpoint safety had screwed up, thinking our quarterback had a brain and was going to pass to Randy. He slowed down, and I sprinted back behind him into the open field.

Sweeney cranked back his arm. I kept running, checking back as I went. The ball was sailing toward the end zone. I sped up. Checked again. Reached out and caught the ball on the tip of my fingers. It bobbled for a second and I was sure I’d drop it, but in the next instant I snapped it in close to my chest.

The other safety crashed into my side out of nowhere. I spun to my left, but kept my feet pumping toward the goal line, high-stepping backward with the safety hanging off of me. When the strong safety nailed us both, I fell back and hit the ground.

I groaned against the dull ache in my ribs and looked down to make sure I wasn’t imagining that I still had the football. Then I saw the ref throw both hands straight up in the air. Touchdown. I stood and tossed the football to the other ref right before Cal smashed into me.

“Hell yeah!” He hit his face mask against mine. “That’s the way we
doooooo
it, Wright!”

Cal and I ran back to the huddle to get ready for our extra point attempt. Sweeney just held his hands out down low and flashed me that stupid sly smile of his. I slapped him in the side of the helmet. “Thank you, Sweeney.”

Then I tipped my head back and screamed like a maniac up at the lights. Maybe this touchdown and this game didn’t fix everything that was screwed up in my life. It didn’t erase what had happened last Friday night. But I was back in the game! It felt great.

*  *  *

We ended up winning the game twenty-one to thirteen. Afterward, a bunch of us drove out to the old steel truss Party Bridge. Years before I was born, Highway 41 looped around the north side of Silver Mountain and came down to Freedom Lake farther to the west. It turned east, crossed Freedom River north of the lake, and continued through some low woodlands before coming out into open fields and heading south through town. Eventually the bridge over the Freedom River became unsafe for cars, and someone decided to reroute the highway to avoid it altogether. Some people adopted it as Party Bridge, and the crumbling section of forgotten road between the
ROAD CLOSED
sign and the river was called the Abandoned Highway of Love. Me and JoBell had made some good memories on this road.

Out on the bridge, music played from Sweeney’s comm over by the cooler, where Dylan, Chase, and Cal hung out. Cal was tracing out lines on his hand, no doubt reviewing some play from the game. JoBell was talking with Becca, Caitlyn, and Samantha in folding chairs by the fire, though I think Sam, who hadn’t even changed out of her cheerleading uniform, was vid-chatting with someone else on her comm. Rumor said she was making it with some guy from Sandpoint, but rumor said a lot of things, and I didn’t care what the word was. Sam was cool.

I leaned against the railing off to the side, happy to watch my people having fun. Happy to be with them. To belong. My whole body was stiff and sore with new bruises from the game, but the pain felt like a reminder that I was alive, that we’d won an awesome game, that I had the best friends in the world, and that maybe things would get back to normal after what went down in Boise.

TJ stepped out of the shadows into the faint glow from the firelight. “Hey, Wright,” he said stiffly. “Nice catch.”

I’d only made the one, but at least I’d scored, which was more than TJ could say. I could afford to compliment him back. “Yeah, you had a couple good grabs yourself.”

“Three,” he said as he walked by me, heading for the cooler. “I had three receptions.”

“I know that, jackass,” I said under my breath. By “a couple” I didn’t mean exactly two. I took a deep breath. No way would TJ ruin my night.

“Hey, Wright, you should come down here! The water’s great,” Brad called up to me. Him and Randy and that weirdo Skylar Grenke were down in the river. Brad’s head and shoulders were the only part of him above water.

“Thanks, man,” I said. “I’m good here.”

“At least chuck me a beer?” Randy said.

“Me too,” said Brad, holding his hands up.

“Yeah, hold on,” I said.

Sweeney stepped to the railing, carrying two cans in each hand. “Way ahead of you.” He tossed two cans down to the guys before handing me one and cracking open his own. I popped the top on mine, and me and Sweeney clinked our beers together. He held his up in salute and then drank.

I chugged down half of my beer right away. “Nice pass.” I spoke through a belch.

Sweeney flashed his million-dollar smile. “What did you expect, given my superior Asian coordination and athletic prowess?”

“You’ve lived in Idaho since you were two weeks old. I doubt you mastered too many skills in Asia.”

“Yeah, then explain how else I got the ball to you.”

“I don’t know.” I laughed. “But you need new material besides the stupid jokes about your race.”

Sweeney shrugged. “It was actually a stupid pass too. Coach was kind of pissed about it. If you hadn’t scored on that play, he’d have killed me.”

I looked upriver at the moonlight sparkling on the water. One of my favorite Hank McGrew songs came on Sweeney’s comm. “Hey, crank that up,” I shouted. Dylan did, and the chorus came around:

I took another drink. The beer was perfect, ice cold. “You were right.”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Sweeney said. “Football.”

“Yeah. But also … I needed … I’ve been dreaming about that night. Nightmares about the redhead in that photo with me. I needed a break from all that, you know?” I swept my beer around to take in our friends down in the river and over around the fire and the cooler. “Needed all this too.”

“Don’t sweat it with that Boise stuff. In a week or so, some politician will screw up, or some dizzy nineteen-year-old singer-actress will do something or some
body
stupid, and people will have other stuff to post about on FriendStar.” He took a drink. “It’ll blow over.”