Whatever It Takes

"No, Kherington, what this comes down to is the fact that you lied to me. You lied to me, you lied to my staff and you lied to this team!" Darren yelled, coming to a short stop as we neared a red light.

"You get on me for stealing my chance, but why don't you talk about the fact that you people didn't even want to give me a chance? This is your fault! You and your stupid hick town all can't accept the fact that Football isn't some 'all boys club'."

It's dark outside, a warm breeze replacing the sweltering heat of the day as west Texas begins to shut down for the night. The streets are empty, stores shut down with 'gone to the game' signs posted to their windows. Streetlights and lamp posts shed light on the deserted areas, but the packed highway in the distance is jammed to the brim with traffic. We're only close enough to hear a faint honk every now and again, but the traffic extends out just about as far as the eye can see with only one destination on everyone's mind: Ratliff Stadium.

"Well JR, I reckon it don't make no sense to take Sparks out for some flimsy little sissy." A caller chimed over the radio. "We know this boy is going to take us to state. Hell, Daniel Sparks could bring us in that National Title and that ain't something I'm willing to let some little bitch take from-"

I flip to the next station with a sour glare.

"We all know this is Mojo's year. Our boys have worked too damned hard to let it slip away thanks to some weak little slut who can make one good tackle."

I rest my forehead against the window, letting the cool pane calm my throbbing headache. Three days we've been going at this yelling match and I wager my throat is nearly raw from defending myself. Ector County has been buzzing about last week's try-outs every chance they get, on TV, on the radio. It's all they talk about around here. As if there's nothing more important to these people than the sanctity of their football team.

"Well I wager Coach Allman is nothing but a stupid motherfucker for even thinking about replacing Daniel Sparks or any of our Mojo starters with that there pile of bones." Another laughed. "It's an insult to Mojo football, it's an insult to those boys and it's an insult to football in West Texas to let that girl so much as touch our green! It ain't happening and you can bet your ass I'll be there tonight to drive this thing home."

"Those boys have been together since Pre-K." Darren articulated with a calm breath. His white knuckles grasped the steering wheel hard as the radio stations all centered on that very argument. “Do you have any idea of what you're getting yourself into right about now, Kherington?"

For a moment I held my silence close, turning my eyes to the shop signs that lit up the night. 'Carter doesn't play' flashed across the automatic lettering, posted up on signs, in windows and all over their front doors.

"I can play this game." My lowly retort became something so much more personal as the car rolled on. "I can play this game just as well as your boys can and you know it. I want this just as badly as your boys do and I've been playing for just as long as any of them. You and this hick town and your Booster Club and these signs aren't going to change any of that."

Tight-lipped silence met my anger.

"So yes, I lied. Of course I lied! And I'm not sorry about it either." My hand hit the dash out of pure desperation. "Because no matter what I do; no matter what I say- it isn't enough for you! I love football! I've played for the same amount of time as Sparks and those other starters, but you won't give me the time of day because I'm a girl?"

He sighed. "Kherington, sit down."

No, I'm not going to sit down and shut up. I'm not going to do that, because I'm tired of this. I'm damned tired of this. I'm tired of not having an opinion- not having a say in anything. You don't just lie to my face and tell me to sit down like it's nothing.

I don't care who you think you are.

That's always how it starts too: Sit down and shut up. No, I'm not going to sit down and shut up, because me playing for Mojo makes him uneasy. I won't sit down and shut up like everyone in this damned hick town wants me to, because if I do, it'll only be the beginning.

If I want to play football, I'm going to play myself some goddamned football. That's what I'm going to do. And if all of these hicks are as ignorant as Darren, I wager I'll have myself a hell of a time sidestepping these fools one by one.

"Get back in this car right now Kherington Carter!" Darren called, but I'd long since slammed the door in his face. "What in the hell is your problem?"

Sit down, Kherington Carter. Sit down. That's what they mean to say on the radio, on TV, on their pointless signs. I don't want you to play football, because it makes me uncomfortable. Why don't you go on and sit down? Sit down, Kherington. Sit down, shut up, know your place.

I'll shut my ass up when I'm dead.

"If you think you'll get your way because I'm a girl and I don't 'belong on the field', then you've got another thing coming. I'm here. I'll fight you and everyone else on this if I have to, even if it's just me. If it makes you uncomfortable, get used to it." I snapped, letting my feet scuff the dirt road with an angry yell. "I'm not going to sit down. I'm not going to shut up and I'm not going to go away, because you are wrong, not me! This town is wrong and this team is wrong. You're all wrong and I'm not going to sit down! Not this time. I won’t sit down.”

I'll take bullshit like that lying down when I'm dead.

“Just because you people chained my mother down in this stupid hick town doesn’t mean you can do the same thing to me.” I think I only capitalized off of the wide-eyed shock he donned as the color drained from his cheeks. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

The moment I said it I knew I'd taken things too far, but that's exactly what kept me to it. Three days I've been yelling at this man, screaming at him for one shred of attention.

Suddenly the silence of the night overtook the anger and the heat behind our exchange. Things took a turn for the worst- a turn for the nitty-gritty of our personal lives all too quickly.

Maybe I took it a little too far.

“Kherington Carter.” He spoke my name with such finality, as if this were all over the moment he declared it so. You can see that there are so many things he wants to say to me, so many things he'd rather scream than swallow back like this. "I wager if you want to go and talk to me like that, you can walk yourself over to Ratliff."

"Son of a bitch!" I cursed him out, watching the Range Rover drive off down the road. "You've got to be kidding me, Darren!"

With a thick forest to my right and a never-ending oil field- long since abandoned- to my left, the deep breaths I took were drown out by the sound of crickets and the rustling grass of these Texas back roads. As Darren's lights flew off into the distance, the light source fell dimmer and dimmer, leaving me on a deserted gravel path with nothing but the stars.

"I hate this place!" I screamed out, kicking the gravel path with another yell into the night. "I hate this stupid town! Why can't I just play football?"

It was nice to stop and take a breath, leaning back with my eye on the sky. I wager one of the nicest things about this hick town are the stars at night, especially on these back roads. It's not like Vegas. The sky isn't completely masked by city lights. No, in Texas you can see all of the stars. They're the only things that light up the pitch blackness ahead.

As a set of headlights roll down the road, I'm forced to sit up.

"I just want to play football." I brush myself off, standing to face the line of cars in the distance. If I want to play some football, I'm going to play myself some damned football is what I'm going to do. If those cars in the distance are all headed to the meeting at Ratliff, It's only logical to follow the line cars, isn't it.

"Well, city-girl, I wager if you want to play yourself some football in Mojotown, we need to get you down to Ratliff." A familiar voice beamed from the driver's side, "I was wonderin' how long I'd have to drive 'round these parts looking for you. God forbid I get a chance to speak with my client before we ward off the dogs. We've got about fifteen minutes to prep our case and make the half-hour drive through these here back roads. I reckon you should go on and take a seat right about now, you hear?"

Something about that seems mathematically impossible.

Resting her hands on the hood, the olive-skinned cheerleader bent over to get a better look at me. She looked as if she were ready for a football game, dressed in her black and white Panther uniform; from the makeshift bow in her hair to the crisp, white, cheer-shoes stained a pale brown from the track.

"Every seat in Ratliff stadium has been sold for this meeting. People are commuting over from the next county for it. The Mayor moved it at the last minute and cancelled my cheer practice to auction off seats to this here 'town meeting'. And then those damned Boosters have the nerve to ask me to act as your defence at the last minute. Think they can push me around because of their money?" She laughed, moreso to herself than me, clearly. I was a little too stunned by all of the information she let slip out of her mouth like a water-gate. "Little do those conniving little cheats know I've been planning out our defence campaign since you ran out onto the field three days ago."

Ushering me into the car, she thrust a net book into my hands.

"Fill this out on the way, would you, sugar?" She smiled, rearing off down the long road without a glance in my direction. "I wager the first thing you need to realize is that it ain't gonna do us any good to attack these people directly. Stay away from insults and direct appeals to these people. We're a football town, it's in our blood. Stick to the facts. You're filling out your stats: I need to know your run time, your yardage, your interceptions and completions so I can compare them to Sparks. Make note of how much you bench, your height, weight and previous football experience."

For a moment she pauses, turning to me for a nod.

"If we can build our case off of stat comparisons alone, we should be set. If you're gunnin' for QB1, that pits you against Daniel Sparks and that ain't anything easy." Without a moment's notice she paused, turning from the wheel to dig through the back, soon emerging with a bag. "Here's your change of clothes. Fill out your depth charts on the left hand column, take a peek at Sparks' stats on the right, then get your kiester back there and change into these clothes. There's also a Texas High school Division 5A Code of Rules and Regulations in there too, all key sections are already flagged for you. Don't worry about the specifics, I've got most of it covered."

I look at her, wide eyed and baffled at the twenty page document that lit up her laptop. These statistics are so in depth, specific questions and answers filled in for the 'untouchable' Daniel Sparks; any scout would kill for these.

"And, yes, I'll print you out a copy when we get there!" Her bubbly grin reads my mind, taking her hands off the wheel once more to text. "Alright, perfect! According to my sources we've got twelve camera crews on site and three national networks."

"Let's go over some key terms, starting with The Boosters." The lively cheerleader continued. "Mojo's Booster Club is a group the twelve richest men in Odessa who so happen to have also been football stars back in their day. They're all nothing but trouble if you ask me, 'cept for Case and Shipman, I reckon, but the second you hear the name Alexander Sparks, I wager you need to run for the hills.

These guys sponsor everything: upgrades to the football stadium, trips to away games, flight packages, hotel deals, Mojo merchandise. They even have some pull with the scouts in most Division one schools. Think of them as the 'inner circle'. I'm talking weekly meetings with Coach Allman, Mayor Melton and a lot of– if not total – control over Mojo's roster. Don't be surprised to see a few familiar names on the field and in our history books: Sparks, Barbosa, Iverson, Bertier and Case to name a few. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Her car flew down the long stretch of open road as she laid it out for me.

"Number two: Dream Team. Do not forget this: Our Panthers haven't seen a National Championship since 1989. We've made State titles, but our Boosters work to make Mojo the best so anything less than a National Championship is a failure.

The Dream Team is a prediction made and backed by ESPN, NBC, all major Texas football stations and NCAA scouts. Mojo's got four all-state senior starters who topped the lists of most college scouts before their junior year. Now that they're all seniors, everyone expects them to get the most play-time. I wager they expect Allman to build his playbook around them: Daniel Sparks, Alejandro Barbosa, Allan Iverson and Brock Peterson. The four of them are this town's ticket to a national title- Sparks and Barbosa especially- and I reckon it really doesn't help that we're challenging Sparks for his position. You crunch his numbers and I wager he's one of the best quarterbacks in the country."

As she makes to take a breath, I intervene with one of many questions.

"Who are you?" I ask, steering the car for her with wide eyes and a sharp yelp as the cheerleader took full advantage of the opportunity to climb into the back. "And how do you still have a licence?"

"Well I wager all it takes is a pretty smile up at Officer Peterson whenever I- We don't have time for this Kherington! I'll fill you in on the specifics later. Fill out my stat sheets! We've only got ten minutes left!" She urged, slipping off her uniform and rummaging through one of many bags. "I reckon the only thing you need to worry about is appealing to these networks, alright? If we can stifle those damned Boosters, Principle Garcia and the mayor with statistics, Coach Allman won't have any other choice, but to let you on the team! Your stats match Sparks, even exceed him in some places, well at least that's what Coach Robinson said when I called him-"

"You called my old football coach?" I gaped, straddling the two front seats as I swerved down the road.

To this she only laughed, "I'm your representation, Kherington Carter, I'd call your second cousin twice removed if I thought it'd give us an edge."

Remind me not to get on her bad side.

"In all seriousness, their case is bull is what it is, I wager. This entire case would be scrapped in any other state, but no, not Texas football." The cheerleader rolls her eyes, slipping her shoes on with a grunt. "A smear campaign by those damned boosters is what this is right here."

Well, you've got to hand it to her, the girl's certainly one for multi-tasking and chatting up a storm.

"Alright, thanks!" She crawled back into the front, straightening out her suit jacket with puckered lips and a thoughtful silence.

With a quick glance up at the fast approaching stadium and another cast my way, she took the computer from my hands, setting it down in her lap. "First thing's first: get into the back and change, there ain't any time! Do you reckon we're about the same size? Everything should fit. I'll ask the questions and you start talking. We should have this thing filled out in no time. "

I'm still not sure how comfortable I feel changing in the backseat of a car being steered by a cheerleader typing furiously away at a computer document. Regardless, we drove. And for every moment of our ride I filled her in on everything as she asked: my football history, my stats, runtimes, passing percentages, everything there was to mention.

"I wager neither of us are getting any younger, city girl, you hear? Five minutes we've got to prep this case then it's you and me versus twenty-thousand people." Her amused twang nudged out of the back.

Only as she nodded to the front of the stadium did I bother taking my eyes from the seriousness of her expression, letting them sit on the crowded front entrance as we got out of the car. The wide-eyed shock I sucked back as her 'twenty thousand' really began to sink in was far from masked. The floodlights shot up from Ratliff Stadium, illuminating the sky in a way that rivalled all of Ector County.

"What are our chances of winning this thing?" I ask, closing my eyes as the wind hit my face.

A wave of cameras, people and their angry yells could be heard as we neared the stadium; too far to be seen, but close enough to hear their words. The thoughts they hollered were a lot like the signs: Carter doesn't play; Keep the Dream Team Alive; No crying in football.

"Well, I reckon when someone tells you they believe in you, Kherington, it lasts a little longer than a Friday night football tryout." She closed the lap top, locking it into a slim briefcase with a smile my way before cutting the ignition. "Come on, we'll go through the back."

They don their jerseys and 'Go Mojo, go!' posters as if they're headed to a game; as if this is something they can yell their way through.

"No, stop." I shake it off, veering towards them instead. "We're not scared of them and we're not weak. We're going in through the front."

For a moment she paused, taking in the tense silence followed us into the angry jeers. Waves of silence washed over the crowded turnstiles as we made our way through the crowd, all eyes and ears waiting on us to say or do anything. The cheerleader latched onto my arm firmly, pulling me through the gates without a second look back as cameras began rolling and the questions came flying.

"Kherington Carter has every right to play for this team, just as Daniel Sparks or any one of Mojo's starters does. If you don't believe that, her depth charts speak for themselves." She spoke, waving over another person to close and lock the gate. I kept my eyes on the lights as she fought them off, wandering over only after the gates had been secured. "What is it?"

It really bothers me to look out at what they're up to. People standing around in Mojo jerseys, children holding posters, playing cards and t-shirts. It's like every single one of them already has their mind made up; that's what's so frustrating. You can see the hope on their faces too, as if I come around here and threaten everything their team stands for. I'm an enemy; an outsider, but my intentions aren't bad.

"I just want to play football." I reply, letting my eyes sit on the cheerleaders a mere ten feet away selling Dream Team calendars.

"It's not that simple in a place like this, I reckon." Her honey, brown eyes wander over the pandemonium too, drinking it all in with a shake of her head. "I get so up and frazzled about it because football comes before everything here. I can't take it anymore."

The cheerleader takes a moment to catch her breath, taking a seat next to me before continuing.

"The way that these people play their football comes before everything else... It hurts so many of us." The wayward glance she cast up at the sky spoke volumes, so clearly frustrated, but stubborn nonetheless. "I'm supposed to represent this school, but I wager I've been screwed over by this team so many times. I've had to sign off on things that cut our school's budget for extra-curricular activities, our textbooks, wages and people's jobs. All for Panther football. It's like the rest of the world takes a backseat when it comes to this team and it ain't right. I can't do it anymore."

There are tears shining in her eyes as she speaks, and despite the fact that I can barely place a name to her face, it's already unsettling. I don't like it.

"Then we go and we treat these boys like they're celebrities for playing football." Her spiteful smile went on as she wiped at her cheeks. "We go and we treat them like they're God's because they can throw a damned football around! They get cheerleaders and Majorettes and a fan-base; free passes out of class, tests and exams; they get girls, bribes and scholarships for what they can do on the field and it's frustrating, I reckon..."

An exasperated sigh cut through her words, cradling her head in her hands.

"It's like you sit there and you watch as they begin to see themselves as nothing more than football players...Even if there's so much more to him than just football." A short laugh breaks her chain of thought. "Them. There's so much more to them than football. And then we go and we push them. We push and we push and we push them until they lose themselves: win state, get that National Title, work harder, run faster; do not lose."

It almost looked like defeat in her eyes, remnants of memories past flying through her distant sigh.

"When I ran into you the other night, it just kind of clicked for me, I reckon. We can't change any of that. We can't change how people treat these boys, how this game rules this damned county, but you can have this. If you really want it, you can get it and I won't stop until you do, because I've seen one too many people strike out thanks to Mojo Football. Too many of us are scared to do anything about it. I wager it ain't fair."

The clock strikes eight, flooding the stadium in lights as it flashed across the screen. As people began to filter into Ratliff, donning their jerseys, their State Championship rings and their 'Go Mojo, Go' posters, they turned their heated glares on us, some flipping us off, others tossing their garbage at our feet as we sat- some even had the balls to lip off to our cause.

But it really puts things into perspective when this cheerleader- the head cheerleader and a figurehead of this school- looks me dead in the eye and tells me that this is something so sacred, yet so destructive that it renders people helpless. There are others out there who feel cheated by Mojo football too. The fact that she can look me in the eye and let me know that makes it much easier to pick it out as the waves of people slowly filter in; the little girls with their parents who let their eyes linger over me with small smiles; the wives and sisters and mothers and daughters of pride-driven State Champions who wink or nod our way before heading in.

"You've just got to look a little harder for that support." She cast one of the smiling girls a quick wink, turning to me thoughtfully. "I wager if you're willing to dig for it, you'll find it's there. It ain't as impossible as some people make it seem, Kherington-"

"Baby, can I talk to you for a second?" A voice nears, writing me off with a fierce glare.

I can't help the saucy smirk that dances across my face as it registers who this one is- the one who thought I was trying to steal his girlfriend. Don't think I don't recognize that voice, or that jersey- 'Barbosa'. Beside him stands another familiar face- the boy on the dirt road- the one with the icy eyes and determination dripping from his every word. I vividly remember him telling Darren he'd bring home that State title.

"Santana, come on." He pressed, staring down at her averted gaze. "Are you trying to prove a point with this? Is that what you're trying to do? It's cute and all, baby, but I reckon you drop it before someone gets hurt."

"Y'all need to leave, Barbosa." She told him, shaking hands clenched together as, somehow, this arrogant boy shuts her down. "Dan, you too."

It's a strange dynamic those two have, I reckon: she seems so standoffish, but so clearly hurt by the things that he does and he looks as if he's just been hit over the head with a two-by-four, an action I wouldn't mind repeating. Over and over and over again.

The clown looks like he deserves it.

He moves in closer, letting a hand slip down her arm. "Could I just talk to you, Santana?"

The words are different this time as he gets in closer, softer and sympathetic to this entirely new personality she's taken on. Maybe I should jump in, tear him off of her- say something to help her out, but it doesn't really seem my place to do any of that.

Santana scoots away, shaking free from his hold almost immediately. "It's not a good idea."

I pay no attention to their curious exchange, not as this brooding silence picks me apart. He stands there next to Barbosa silently, not taking his eyes from mine. The only thing to say with any hint of certainty is that he isn't particularly happy. He crosses his arms as I refuse to flinch or retreat from his challenging gaze, mirroring his defensive posture without faltering.

"Two minutes, Santana. Come on. Sparks needs to talk to her." Barbosa speaks silently, stepping to her carefully. A lowly voice gives up its competitive edge as he makes to convince her, lacing his fingers through hers. "Give me two minutes."

"Go." My gaze holds firm to the unwavering hostility Daniel Sparks throws at me. "He's nothing I can't handle."

Despite the silence and the angry tension that left all of her eyes on her, Santana's livid gaze met mine.

"I haven't given my team permission to be here in uniform." She runs her lips together , turning to the two boys shortly after. "I wager y'all have sixty seconds to make your point and get it across while I take care of that and fetch those print outs for you, Kherington, you hear?"

Her shifty gaze met mine once more, a hard-set glare speaking volumes: We'll be talking about this later, Carter.

Of all the moments to be smiling, standing right here in Ratliff Stadium- at this time- hardly seems the right moment to crack a grin. But the way she speaks to them as if she could take them out is nothing short of laughable. Both of them tower over her, broad shoulders and toned arms painting the picture of an extremely uneven match up when it comes down to them vs. the head cheerleader.

But what's funnier is the way they nod so respectfully, as if they'd treat her word above all else.

"Santana, baby, come on!" Barbosa huffs, hightailing it after her as she stormed off to deal with the cheerleaders and avoid him at all costs. "You aren't even listening to me!"

And then there were two.

Daniel Sparks doesn't look as if he's about to jump me. He doesn't look as if he's about to yell, or scream or badger me into 'seeing things his way.' No, he looks calm. Too calm. His eyes are so attentive, so calm and fearless that, for lack of better word, I would say he looks powerful. He looks confident.

"Is this the part where you throw some punches and try to change my mind?" I lean back into one of Ratliff's thick pillars, looking him up and down in anticipation of a fight. "If you want to knuckle up, Sparks, it's not an issue."

It's a priceless grin that crosses his lips. Clearly no one's pressed him to get on with his point before. But should that really come as a surprise if half this town is willing to bend over backwards for him?

"Listen to me and listen good, Carter. You might want to think about what you're getting yourself into, you hear?" Sparks stepped to me with ruthless words and an amused grin. "I'm taller than you, I'm faster than you, I'm stronger than you and I'm a better quarterback than you'll ever be."

Of all the people in the world who had to be Daniel Sparks, it had to be him, didn't it?

"Now it's cute that you want to play yourself some Texas-style football and you think your ass might actually get some field time, Carter. But I wager if you want to play yourself some football that's more your style, you can go on and join the cheer team with your little girlfriend and play in the powder-puff game."

"Is that right?" I nudge off of the pillar and into his face with a solid glare. "Because, the way I remember things, Sparks, my 'style of football' cost you the game last week. You can take your bullshit threats and shove them up your-"

"It's a warning." He shakes off my accusation, nearing my hostility with low words. "If you come after my spot, I will end you. I'll run your ass out of Ector County so quickly you won't know what hit you. This is my spot, this is my team and that State Ring is mine to win. You stay the hell away from my team, Carter, or I swear to God-"

"Times up, Dan." Santana returned, cutting him off with an edgy glance at the pair of us. Right as I was about to lunge at him, a slender arm nudged me back, steering me away from his stony eyes and the sour glare 'Barbosa' sported. "Y'all have yourselves a good night, you hear?"

The way they speak so civilly evades me. We're getting ready to shut these guys down with everything we've got and little miss Cheerleader right there has to go and break our united front. I was going to call her out on it- a harmless joke at best-, but then I noticed the peculiar lack of noise, conversation and excitement between the pair of us.

Silence.

"Hey," I paused, gripping her shoulders as we neared the large field. "Are you alright?"

She shook it off with a smile, leading the way to the large conference table set up in the middle of the crowded stands. The deafening roar of disapproval masked any sort of outreach I tried on her. They cheered- actually, they 'booed'- waving their signs and their state rings around as if I were about to be hanged in the middle of the stadium.

"These hicks get so riled up when they miss out on their cattle ranching." I muse, taking the lead as she cracked a grin.

In front of us sat chairs. Hundreds upon hundreds of chairs covering the field, all angled towards the obnoxiously large conference-style table at the fifty yard marker. She really wasn't kidding about this. In the first of countless rows sat a sea of black and white jerseys, bold numbers and names scrawled across the chests of proud Mojo footballers. The looks on their faces told me exactly whose side they were on.

And if it weren't the expressions, the way a good half of them flipped me off as we passed was also a pretty good indication.

"If we win this, cheerleader, we can count on being stoned to death." My eyes linger over the silent conversation Sparks and Allman have, casting the angry quarterback a saucy wink with a quick kiss to the air before continuing on up to the table. "Trampled if we're lucky."

Ratliff was showered in light as the remaining posts lit up, a stout man rising from his chair at the head of the conference table. He let his fingers rasp on the microphone, locking eyes with my unwavering gaze as silence fell over each of the thousands present.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I thank you for joining The Booster Society, myself, Coach Darren Allman and our Panthers here tonight." He smiled, straightening up as the thick round of applause met his words. "This is a preliminary investigation in to the eligibility of Miss. Kherington Carter."

The cheerleader lets the paperwork sit in front of her, ignoring the words of Principal Garcia and the Mayor as she nods my attention over to another man. He sat beside the Mayor, a handsome in a clean suit and tie; dark hair, blue eyes and a definitive jaw make for easy comparison, but nothing gave away his kinship as much as the arrogant smirk that crossed his lips as we locked eyes.

"That right there is Alexander Sparks." Santana murmurs, tapping her pen with a small shake of her head. "When you win State, I wager I'm going to march myself right up to him just to say 'I told you so'."

"When Mojo wins Nationals, you march your ass up to him and flash our title in his face." I laugh silently, messing with her focus as she shook with laughter.

"Are you guaranteeing me a national title, Carter?" She pokes, gearing up for my cocky nod. "Cause I reckon that makes for one hell of a defense."

She turns back to her laptop with a smile, typing away furiously as she takes in the information on the screen and the notes and printouts she'd laid out in front of her. To watch her read over those notes so carefully, furiously writing out dialogue and rebuttals as the hearing took off- to listen to her speak of why she felt the need to defend me- it really reminded me of what I'd long since forgotten to say.

"Thanks for doing this." I speak as she scribbles down a few more points, gnawing on the edge of her pen with a silent nod.

I really appreciate someone fighting for me.

She leans in close, resting an arm on my shoulder with careful words. "When you play for this team, Kherington, I need you to promise me that you won't let them break you."

A far cry from the attentive notes she'd been glued to seconds before, I turn a glance her way, searching her face for a hint of anything more behind such serious words. But the promise comes simply, pressing her for a pinkie promise on the spot.

When we win this, not "if", but when. I like it.

"When we win this and I play for Mojo, Cheerleader, I'll break their legs before they break me." Grinning as she laces her pinkie through mine. "That's a guarantee."

The man goes on as she organizes the papers so neatly in front of her, highlighting important comparisons and running through her facts once more.

"I completely forgot!" She shoots up from the paperwork with a delighted gasp, extending her hand. "Santana Marie-Sanclemente: Student body President of Permian Highschool, Head Cheerleader, Spirit Coordinator, and, as of now, your defense. Nice to meet you!"

Is she for real right now? This girl sneaks me into a change room and helps me trick Allman and the team, compromises the stability of Football for these stupid hicktowners; rushes me into her car and breaks every traffic law known to man short of killing us on the drive down to this hearing, rams a million definitions down my throat, forces me to change into these god awful clothes and chats her way into my life story in a twenty minute span... and now she remembers to fill me in on her name.

"I was starting to think I'd have to call you 'Cheerleader' forever." I lauded her bright introduction with a smile, sitting back in the comfy swivel chair as the old men droned on. "It's nice to meet you too, Santana."

Their words hardly faze me anymore, because I look at her and I know she'll do whatever it takes to fight for me. And the second we get the go-ahead, I'll take it to the field and work just as hard to keep my promises.

These hicks may have money and state rings and posters; they might wear glares and flip us the bird and run us into the ground with their hot-headed threats; they may have more money, more power, and more influence in a place like Odessa, but we've got something worth fighting for and we've got ourselves some heart too.

It also doesn't hurt that my right hook is a monster.