As yet another upperclassman elbowed Joe out of the way while muttering a few veiled threats, Joe wondered whatever made him think the other students would be happy about losing their star quarterback and winning coach, no matter what the reason. The senior who had just pushed him aside gave Joe another hard shove, knocking his books to the floor, much to his friends’ delight. Kneeling dejectedly to pick up his books, Joe wished he could be anywhere else in the world at that moment.

Reaching to pick up the last book, Joe was stopped by a sneaker-clad foot holding the book solidly in place. "If we lose tonight, Hardy, you are dead meat," an unfamiliar voice snarled.

Before Joe could even look up the speaker had melted into the throng of students crowding the hallways. "Yeah, take a number," Joe muttered as he slowly stood up.

"There you are!" a female voice called out. "I’ve been looking all over for you!"

‘Great, now what,’ Joe scowled, turning to face the young woman who had spoken to him.

Expecting yet another verbal tirade from an irate student, Joe was shocked and pleasantly surprised when Iola Morton threw her arms around his neck and gave him a resounding kiss. He reddened amid the whistles and catcalls of the other students at the same time wishing she would do it again!

Iola stepped back and beamed at Joe. "It’s all over school! How you single handedly stood up to the bullying and hazing Steven and his friends were dishing out and put a stop to it for good! And you’re going to be the starting quarterback for tonight’s game! Guess you’re not just my hero anymore," she smiled proudly, linking her arm through his as they walked down the hall.

Joe couldn’t wipe the grin off his face listening to Iola’s praise. While she was obviously in the very small minority of students who felt that way, it was still nice to hear.

"Why did you do it anyway?" Iola asked curiously, walking next to Joe and acting as a buffer between him and the other students, glaring at anyone who dared look at him the wrong way.

Joe pulled up short, dumbfounded. He stared at her, perplexed. "I did it for you. I didn’t care what they did to me, but I wasn’t about to stand around and let Steven put his hands on you again."

Iola’s entire demeanor changed as her eyes grew bright and her chin began to quiver. It appeared she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite put her feelings into words. Placing her backpack on the floor, she reached up and put her arms around Joe’s neck. Laying her head on his shoulder she stood quietly and hugged him.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Joe wordlessly returned the warm embrace. He heard her sniffle and felt a fleeting moment of panic, wondering if she were about to start crying! Finally he felt her move and slowly she pulled away, brushing a hand across his cheek. She gazed into his eyes for a few seconds before reaching for her backpack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she slipped her hand into Joe’s and squeezed it tightly. "Let’s go," she said softly. "We’re gonna be late for class."

*****

At times Joe thought the school day seemed to pass in a blur, while at other times it seemed to drag on forever. Joe had quickly grown weary of being the target of everyone’s wrath, especially since he felt he’d done nothing wrong. Suddenly he had a new respect for those students who were considered the school outcasts.

He had gotten a small reprieve at lunchtime when, surrounded by his brother and friends, no one dared get near him. However that had lasted only until his next class when the verbal abuse and whispered threats resumed full force. With the changing of each class came a new round of bumping, pushing and shoving, making Joe pray for a quick end to the school day. Several more starting players were abruptly pulled out of class over the course of the day, fueling rumors that Joe had orchestrated everything simply to get the nod as starting quarterback for the opening game.

When Joe walked into the locker room for gym class, his final period of the day, silence descended. Everyone turned to look at him. Slowly, Joe made his way towards an empty spot on the bench in front of his locker, shivering at a few of the glares he received en route.

"Hey," he mumbled to Chet as he plopped down on the bench. Looking up, he saw a sheet of notebook paper with a hastily scribbled skull and crossbones on it taped to his locker. Scowling, he reached up and ripped off. Glaring around the room, he wadded it into a ball and shot it into the trashcan against the wall.

"How ya doin’?" Chet asked quietly as he began to change.

"Great, just great," Joe muttered as he was pushed from behind. His open gym bag fell from his hands and hit the floor with a muffled thud. As he was debating whether to give up and run away or turn on his classmates and tell them what he really thought of them, Coach Tanning entered the room.

"Okay, listen up people. Everyone on the football team suit up and meet me on the field. The rest of you, report to Ms. Weston in the gym." He eyed Joe’s gym bag on the floor, the contents strewn about, and glowered at the room in general. "And don’t keep me waiting," he growled. Turning, he left the locker room, slamming the door behind him.

Once on the field, the coach was all business. He stated the game against Southport was still on despite the events of the day and began announcing the names of the starting players. Joe grew nervous as he saw several juniors and seniors who hadn’t been pulled out of school that day, looking at him with more than a little contempt. As Tanning announced Joe as the starting quarterback, a few players sighed, rolled their eyes or quietly voiced their displeasure.

Tanning stopped speaking and stared at his players until a very tense silence hung in the air. "As of this moment I am your coach and Joe Hardy is your starting quarterback. Maybe if some of you had been man enough to speak up, we wouldn’t be in this situation now. So, those of you who find it unacceptable can turn in your uniforms and join the rest of the students in the gym for Ms. Weston’s PE class," he challenged.

Someone coughed nervously and there was a little bit of nervous shuffling. Several of the upperclassmen looked to Paul Corby, a senior who had a reputation of being his own man. He was one of the best defensive tackles on the team and already had a four-year football scholarship to Notre Dame all locked up. He was something of a loner and was someone even Steven and his friends tried their best not to cross. With their ‘leaders’ now gone, most of the players were looking to take their cue from Paul.

Rather than acknowledge the questioning looks from the others, Paul stood in the same spot, helmet in hand, patiently – and respectfully – waiting for the coach to finish speaking.

Joe looked around nervously, waiting for a mass exodus that never came. He let out a relieved sigh when not one player left. Coach Tanning and his assistants quickly separated the players into opposing teams and then into starters and replacements. For the next hour and a half, the ragtag team practiced play after play, over and over again, until they could make the moves instinctively, without even having to think.

As he called an end to practice, the coach released his team with a smile and a final pep talk, telling them to rest and fuel up for the big game that night. Silently, Joe trudged back to the locker room, more depressed than ever. At the conclusion of almost every play, after the coach’s back was turned, Joe had been tripped, pushed, shoved or threatened by his own teammates. While most of the freshman and a few sophomores clapped Joe on the back and whispered their thanks for putting an end to Steven Miller’s reign of terror, Joe felt as if he now had a target on his back.

He knew the remaining juniors and seniors wouldn’t think twice about leaving him unprotected against Southport’s imposing defensive line. Cutting through the gym towards the locker room, Joe wondered if it was all worth it; maybe he should have kept his mouth shut and minded his own business. Trudging disconsolately behind his teammates, Joe felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up – someone was watching him.

Looking up, he glanced around the gym and at the students decorating it for the dance after the game. He saw Frank and Callie fighting an uncooperative roll of crepe paper; Phil and Tony setting up tables for the refreshments; Liz Webling blowing up balloons and handing them to… Iola Morton.

Ignoring Liz’s outstretched hand, Iola stared at Joe, a huge smile lighting her face. Watching Joe’s progress towards the locker room, Iola waved and blew him a kiss. Suddenly Joe felt as if he were floating across the room.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he thought mesmerized by the dark haired pixie who had stolen his heart. ‘Definitely worth it!’