American Outlaw by Jesse James Page A

into the melee, swinging. Cops swarmed the field, and the rabid mob instantly seized their billy clubs.
    The fighting and general mayhem raged on for what seemed like forty-five minutes. Finally, backup cops arrived and the crowd was subdued. The game was called: a double forfeit. I felt it was a pretty punk rock night of football.
    “My jaw feels broken,” Bobby groaned, when we were back in the locker room.
    “I’m kind of torn up myself,” I admitted, surveying the damage the mob had exacted upon me.
    “I don’t even really
like
Cornejo,” Bobby confessed. “I was just there for the punching.”
    Gingerly, I pulled my sweaty uniform off me. “So . . . what was it you wanted to talk to me about before?”
    “Oh yeah, the
store
!” Bobby said, instantly cheered. “The
haul.
Man, we got so much shit, we don’t even know what to
do
with it.”
    “That easy, huh?”
    “Goddamn, man, it was child’s play.” Bobby spat on the floor. “You’d think they’d have realized that people know how to disable a burglar alarm these days. I mean, they truly gave us no credit at all.”
    “That’s . . . very rude of them,” I said, gently.
    “Eh,” said Bobby, shaking it off. “Anyway, I can’t keep all of it at my place. I literally don’t have the closet space. What do you say you hold some pieces for me, until I can sell them off? I’ll give you half the dough I make in exchange.”
    I considered. “Yeah, sure. Whatever I can fit in my room, how’s that?”
    “Perfect.” Bobby looked relieved. “Look, I owe you one, okay?”
    “Save Cornejo,” I answered. We looked at each other, then busted out laughing.
    ——
     
    As the season wore on, I began to realize that it could actually be really cool to bring up the kids who were struggling. When we ran our sprints at the end of practice, I’d generally be among the first guys to finish, but I’d push myself to continue running until the last guys were through.
    “Come on!” I’d encourage them, doing my best to channel Gil Lake, my crazy first coach. “Let’s get it, guys. Let’s
go
!”
    We didn’t have any bullies on the team. I made sure of it. And we didn’t follow a big-dick hierarchy, where the grunts carried all the equipment while the seniors sat back all rested and laughing. We were a tight unit. We watched one another’s backs. I came from a fairly crazy one, so maybe I’m not the best judge, but it almost felt like a family to me.
    “Dude, Jesse,” moaned Mike, my backup on offense, “aren’t you
ever
gonna let me get in, man? I haven’t played a dang play the whole season.”
    “Mike, I’m sorry, man,” I said. “I swear, I’m gonna take a quarter off one of these days. That sound good?”
    “Sure,” he said. His big freckled face looked glum, resigned to benchwarming. “Coach wouldn’t let you come out of the game even if you begged him to.”
    “Hey,” I said seriously. “We’ll get you in a game before the season’s over. I promise.”
    Mike looked at me. “Yeah, okay,” he said, finally.
    It seemed like my life was finally leveling out. Scouts had been coming to my games all season. Bit by bit, I’d begun to receive recruitment letters from a handful of Division One schools. In my dresser at home, all stacked up on top of one another, I had envelopes from Pitt, Hawaii, Iowa, and Colorado. At night, I’d take them out and read them over and over again. A hazy vision of the future was beginning to build in my mind, and it felt promising.
    I was feeling so good, I guess I let my guard down. And that’s when they got me.
    I was reading a comic book in my bedroom one evening, dreaming about college cheerleaders and spacious, comfy dorms, when Nina came knocking at my door. Two uniformed Long Beach police officers stood behind her. “These men need to talk to you, Jesse,” she said, with a smug tone in her voice.
    “We just need a moment of your time, son,” one of them said. Both of them walked into my