Page 13 of Dirty Filthy Boy
"You're saving those for tomorrow?" Ty Mathews asks when I return.
"Hopefully they'll still be there."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Last week I brought an extra yogurt. It was gone the next day."
His eyes narrow. I'm glad not to be the target of that scowl. Bound to leave a nasty burn.
"Somebody stole it?" he asks.
Nodding, I pull out my recorder and spiral bound notebook. The latter has seen better days, but it's still usable. "Ready?"
"Yes."
"You were born in Texas?" I'd performed background research on him. Not much was available, but I devoured what little there was.
"Yes. A small town in the eastern part of the state."
"And what's the name of this small town?"
"Doesn't matter. It no longer exists. The factory which which served as the main business in town moved its operations south of the border. After it closed, people drifted off to bigger cities until only a few residents remained."
Okay, so he's not going to tell me where he grew up. "What about your family?"
"I don't have one. No siblings, and my parents have passed."
Another brick wall. "How long have you played football?"
He smiles. "Since I was ten. A few boys were passing the ball around during school recess. When it landed at my feet, I picked it up and tossed it farther than their quarterback, so I was drafted to play."
I do a quick calculation. "So that was fifth grade?"
He nods. "Something like that. In high school, I joined the junior varsity team, but after one year they moved me to the regular team. The next season, I became their quarterback. Their starting quarterback." Grinning, he leans forward to impress upon me the importance of the position, something I failed to understand the day we met.
I grin back at him. "The starting quarterback, huh? You must have been good."
"I was. My senior year, I took them all the way to the state championship. We won, but the press paid no attention to us." Another scowl.
"Why?"
"We were only a 1A high school. The press was too busy focusing on the 5A Dallas team. I HATE Dallas." When he says Dallas, he bares his teeth.
Obviously, a touchy subject with him. I make a note to explore it further.
"But one good thing came out of the championship. The Nebraska State coach was scouting that day. He offered me a full-ride scholarship, so I would play for his team."
"Where, let me guess, you became the starting quarterback in no time." I curve my lips up on purpose.
He smiles back. "You learn fast."
"I try."
We spend another twenty minutes in a convivial back and forth, until it's time for him to leave for his promo appearance. I grab my gear, before escorting him toward the front door. After we say goodbye, I'll drive to the Boys & Girls Club.
But before we exit, he pauses in the center of the office. "Listen up, everybody."
A couple of heads pop up from their cubicles. Mr. Bartlett sticks his head out of his office.
"MacKenna Perkins stored some leftovers in the refrigerator. Chateaubriand. Beef, in case you're not familiar with the word. She's looking forward to eating it for lunch tomorrow. If for any reason they're missing"—his voice lowers, his tone grows gruff—"I will find out who stole it and that person will answer to me. Capisce?"
Except for Dotty who pipes up with,"I'm a vegetarian," dead silence greets him.
He walks up and nods at her. "Good to know, ma'am."
My cheeks heat up. How dare he threaten the newspaper staff? This is not a football field where Neanderthal rules apply. This is my place of business. We're polite. We're civilized. More embarrassed than I've ever been in my life, I follow him out the door, determined to let him know he's crossed the line.
