It's Gonna Be Suuuper Loud, Right?
#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu
#-3. Kahuku High School
#-4. Cafeteria
Midterm season was finally over.
And the school was gearing up for its class trip.
The destination: Las Vegas, Nevada.
“Ugh, my allowance won't stretch far enough.”
“What are you even planning to buy?”
“Dunno. Just... stuff?”
“Moi, come on, chip in some cash.”
Just like Marcus had planned, he came asking for money. In moments like these, the middle finger was the only proper answer.
There you go, buddy.
Eat this.
What could possibly be so great about it? Marcus just snickered and pocketed the gesture like it was a gift.
Wiping the cold tomato sauce smeared around my mouth with a napkin, I told my friends not to get too carried away. For everyone else, this was a field trip.
“For us, it's a game we're going there to win.”
“But we get to go to the FSE!”
“Haah...”
FSE. The Fremont Street Experience. A massive shopping and entertainment complex in Las Vegas. The day after tomorrow, every Kahuku student would board a plane, land in Vegas, dump their bags at the hotel, and spend free time at the FSE from five to eight in the evening. That was why everyone was this worked up. We were going to a real mainland mall. Hawaii doesn't have anything like it.
You could visit fairly sizable malls in Honolulu, sure, but nothing that compared to the mainland—let alone Las Vegas.
Anyway. As I said a moment ago, the football team wasn't going on a field trip. We were going to play a game.
The school had simply lined up the trip dates with our Nevada road game, and everyone else would enjoy themselves until Saturday, when they'd come cheer us on.
For the record, this opponent was a seriously strong team.
Bishop Gorman High School.
They'd been sending players to NCAA Division 1 programs for years, and even now they had five positions stocked with prospects ranked in the national Top 100.
Us? I was the only one on that list.
After that came Sioele Huamatu at 174th. Loto Fuamatu at 309th.
Royce and Harmon were somewhere outside the top two thousand. The rest weren't ranked at all.
Scouts had always been stingy with Hawaii-born players—hard to evaluate from a distance—but the fact remained: we were the underdogs. Clear and simple.
So, was I scared?
Not in the slightest.
Quite the opposite, actually. I saw it as a chance to prove myself.
“I heard their linebacker is really good.”
“So? You scared?”
“Damn! That Gaoteote guy's the real deal, I'm telling you!”
“It's not Gaote-Ray, it's Gaoteote.”
“Is he Polynesian?”
“Probably.”
Obvious as it sounds, the mainland has Polynesians too. Palaie Gaoteote was one of them.
Nineteenth in the nation. Second at his position. First overall in the entire state of Nevada—and that linebacker was already instilling fear into our offensive linemen before we'd even crossed the state line.
“Nothing to be scared of. He's a high schooler just like us.”
“Man, I don't think you're the one I should be hearing that from.”
“Exactly. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“Ugh.”
With team practice fully wrapped up, we lingered in the cafeteria waiting for extra training to begin, keeping the conversation going. All the coaches had left the field, so we were just idly shooting the breeze.
And then—
“Let me join you too.”
“You serious?”
Loto had suddenly come up to our table. From far across the field, Sioele shouted.
“Loto! What do you think you're doing?!”
But Loto didn't so much as acknowledge Sioele's voice. He just asked again to train with us.
“The next game matters.”
“To all of us.”
“...”
With our first-ever mainland game approaching, the media was reporting that around 220 college programs would be sending recruiters. For a team as starved of exposure as ours, playing on the mainland was a golden opportunity to appeal to far more universities.
Granted, plenty of NCAA officials had already come to Hawaii because of me, but they still doubted whether I—and Kahuku as a whole—could hold our own against a mainland team. From that standpoint, this game was the perfect stage.
A test of what I and this team were capable of.
“I'm not like my brothers. If Sioele can't make the NCAA, he's planning to just inherit the family business back home. But I want football. And for that, team practice alone isn't enough.”
“Loto!! Get over here right now!!”
“FUCK YOU!! I'm not coming!!”
Turning his back, Loto raised his voice at Sioele for the first time in his life. Everyone standing nearby froze, stunned. But I just nodded quietly.
“Welcome aboard, bro. You're one of us now.”
“Thanks.”
Morale climbed with our newest addition, and watching Loto clasp hands with us, Sioele stormed off in a fury.
Once the field had finally gone quiet, I spoke to the friends in front of me: offense would be everything on the 17th.
I didn't believe our defense could stop BGHS's attack, which boasted the nation's #2-ranked quarterback and #8-ranked wide receiver at the position level. At minimum, 28 points. At worst, 42. We had to be prepared to concede that much—and our offense would have to score even more than that.
It was going to be brutally hard. Truly. Truly, truly hard.
So I kept hammering it home: there would be moments of frustration. Moments of despair. It would happen across all sixty minutes. That was exactly why we could never—
“The important thing is that we don't give up.”
—never, ever give up.
Belief that our offense could break the opponent down. Under that belief, we started training.
“Quick Slant!! Jerry Double!! HUT!!”
Loto snapped me the ball and charged into the sled machine, and I, imagining live game conditions, counted off two seconds before firing a pass toward Royce. The ball sailed just wide of him.
I grimaced instantly.
“That's a quick slant, Royce!”
“What?!”
“A quick slant! Come on, remember the route!”
A few days of practice couldn't erase the gap in talent. But we could put the opponent under just a little more pressure. Keep applying that pressure over and over—and who knew? With a little luck, we might steal a win. Luck was exactly what we desperately needed this time.
“HUT!!”
Practice began under a level of focus we'd never mustered before, and it didn't end until the sun sank low enough that the ball became impossible to see.
Two days until we left for Las Vegas.
My heart was pounding like crazy.
#-2. Bishop Gorman High School
#-3. Football Field
The football program at Bishop Gorman High, also well known as a Catholic school, had been one of the best in America for the past three years running.
State champions three consecutive years, from 2013 onward. And on top of that, back-to-back national titles.
“Everybody—! Huddle up—!!”
At the offensive coordinator's shout, the BGHS players gathered. The Black man standing at their center removed his sunglasses.
Kenneth Sanchez. Head coach of Bishop Gorman's football team.
“You all know by now! This time it's a team from Hawaii!”
“...”
“We're going to win, but I want it done decisively! And Saturday's game is on national broadcast! Some of you are bound to be jittery about that, and if you go out there and screw it up, I will not let it slide! Am I understood?!”
“YES SIR!!”
Pleased by the unified roar of the response, Kenneth Sanchez nodded and raised his hand. The students piled their hands together with his.
“Gaels on three. One, two, three.”
“GAELS!!”
As Kenneth Sanchez wrapped up practice, the principal of Bishop Gorman High School sidled up beside him.
“The boys look to be in fine form.”
“Still, we can't afford to be careless.”
“Haha. I never doubt you.”
“So? How are things progressing?”
“Nearly perfect.”
“Excellent.”
Kelvin K. Kiefer, principal of Bishop Gorman High, had transformed the football program in a great many ways. He'd boldly promoted Kenneth Sanchez—proven as head coach material—into the head coaching job, and pioneered a revolutionary program for raising academic achievement that won glowing praise from parents.
And now, Kelvin K. Kiefer was looking to add one more achievement to the list. Namely—
“If he transfers in this January, he can play in games starting in September. I've confirmed the athletic association will raise no objections whatsoever.”
“Dorian is excellent, but this kid is the genuine article.”
“You can never have too many good quarterbacks.”
Last fall, Bishop Gorman had aggressively recruited and landed a quarterback out of South Carolina.
Dorian Thompson-Robinson. A sophomore now in his second year. Currently buried behind starting quarterback Tate Martell as the backup, but a prospect who would draw national attention once he claimed the starting job next year.
Yet Kenneth Sanchez wasn't satisfied even with that. He was searching for a way to bring in Dwayne Moi Stone.
All to build the great BGHS dynasty.
“Is the money ready?”
“We've scraped together two hundred thousand dollars.”
“That's... a little short.”
“We should be able to reach three hundred thousand soon.”
“Good. That will suffice.”
Spending money to recruit high school players is something the NFHS strictly prohibits.
But such dealings had been rampant for decades, and there even existed a guidebook laying out exactly how much money to offer depending on a player's rating and the distance he'd have to travel.
For instance, a four-star prospect (out of five) graduating middle school who had to cross two state lines carried a price tag starting at a minimum of $120,000. And the more competition there was for a player, the higher the figure naturally climbed.
These clandestine transactions over a student's enrollment took place in places like parking lots tucked away in back-alley corners without a single security camera.
Dwayne Moi Stone's rating was a perfect five stars. And he would have to fly all the way from the Hawaiian islands to the mainland.
His price tag, by the book, should have been $250,000. But by adding another $50,000 on top, Bishop Gorman intended to signal just how swiftly they were willing to get the deal done.
“But will the boy actually leave the island?”
“Hard to say. But.”
“?”
“There has never been a parent who wouldn't crumble before money, Kelvin. As you know very well.”
“Heh. Fair point, that.”
The two men looked at each other and laughed like a pair of villains. And behind them stood a large crucifix.
#-2. Fremont Street Experience
The trip to Las Vegas really drove home just how far Hawaii sits from the mainland.
Good grief. Five hours and fifty minutes in the air. I hadn't done anything at all, and it was already five o'clock.
Still, I was keeping my spirits up. I had a job to do.
“Where are you heading first?”
“Hang on, hold on.”
“I'm gonna go off on my own.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Moi!”
“See you later!”
Wandering around with the guys was fun and all, but if I stuck with them I'd only waste time. I needed to buy gifts for the family arriving tomorrow night, so I headed straight for Nike.
The plan was shoes for the men.
“Moi?”
“Yeah?”
“Dwayne Moi Stone. Right?”
“...Do I know you?”
A stranger was standing in front of me. He beamed and held out his hand. I didn't take it. I just stared at him, eyes full of suspicion. And then—
The man awkwardly withdrew his hand.
“I'm actually in a bit of a hurry right now.”
“Sorry. Wasn't trying to hold you up. Anyway, I'm Grayson Sharp. This is what I do.”
“...”
betnevada.com. So he was one of the betting-site people, it seemed.
I handed the business card straight back.
“I'm sorry, but I can't accept this.”
“Aw, come on. I'm that untrustworthy?”
“Honestly? Yes. We've just met for the first time, right here, and I have no idea what kind of operation that is. I don't mean to be rude, but like I said—I'm in a hurry.”
“Haha. Fair enough. Sorry for grabbing you.”
Thankfully, he didn't seem inclined to pester me further. Which just made me feel bad, oddly enough. But ignoring him was the right call. I got some distance fast and made for the Nike store I'd scoped out in advance, walking in and asking a clerk to show me shoes.
“Are these for yourself?”
“No, they're gifts.”
“What sizes will you need?”
“Uh—one moment.”
I had every shoe size in the family saved on my phone. Grandfather. Dad. The uncles. The little cousins. When I said I needed nine pairs total, the clerk's face lit up, and I carefully combed through the designs, picking out ones I thought they'd each like.
By the time I stepped out of the store, both my hands were weighed down. If it was like this now, how was I supposed to carry the gifts for the women too? I was just regretting not shopping for the girls first when a welcome voice came from behind me.
Mrs. Macy Young.
“Moi?”
“Oh, thank God.”
“?”
Spinning around, I made her a request: would she mind digging through my pockets?
“Excuse me—what?”
“There's a paper in there with my family's gifts written on it.”
“Ooo... kay?”
Macy Young reached out as carefully as she could and fished the paper out of my shorts pocket. Then I asked her one more favor—wouldn't she mind buying everything on the list for me? Facing her utterly baffled expression, I flashed the most charming smile I could muster.
“Or, alternatively, could you load these onto the bus for me?”
“It never occurred to you to just put them on yourself?”
“I can't open the luggage compartment.”
“Haah—fine. I'll just buy them for you myself.”
“You know you just saved my life, right?”
“Save it. Money?”
“Oh. One sec.”
I set the bags I was holding down on the floor for a moment and started rummaging through my pockets for cash.
And right then—
Smack.
“Huh?”
“Moi!”
Someone grabbed a few of the bags lying on the ground and bolted off to one side.
A thief. That's—that's a thief.
Snapping back to my senses, I handed the money to Mrs. Young and told her to wait right there a moment. And I added this:
“I'll have him back in a second.”
“What?”
A sudden commotion inside the mall. The culprit was sprinting just ahead of me.
Except he couldn't even run properly. Did he think hauling three or four bags full of shoe boxes was going to be easy? Seriously—if you're going to steal, at least have the sense to grab one bag.
“Hoo—! Hoo—!”
Exhaling hard, I tore after him and caught up before I'd even covered fifty meters from the point of the theft. Then I dove at him from behind, tackling him clean off his feet.
THUD!!
“Gahk!”
The instant the impact registered, a voice echoed through my head.
『“TOUCHDOWN—!!”』
And so, entirely on instinct, my body reacted the only way it knew how. I sprang to my feet and let out a bellowing cry.
“HUOOO—!!”
A huge round of applause and cheering broke out across the mall. The man I'd tackled was currently rolling around on the floor, groaning in pain with every breath.
Seeing that snapped me back to my senses a little. Was he badly hurt? Well. Not that it particularly mattered.
“You okay?”
“Ugh... I need an ambulance.”
“I'm a football player. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Football? Damn it! I stepped in it this time.”
“Yes, you really did.”
Anyone capable of cracking jokes was probably fine. So I looked around and shouted:
“Could somebody call the police?”
Barely had the words left my mouth when I spotted men charging toward me, whistles blaring. Mall security, maybe? They didn't look like police. The men closed in and said:
“What the hell is this?”
What does it look like? I caught a thief. To the guards glancing back and forth between the sprawled-out thief and me like they couldn't believe their eyes, I flashed a bright, white-toothed grin.
I liked the looks on their faces an awful lot.
#-2. Palace Station Hotel
Someone had filmed what happened at the FSE a few hours earlier and uploaded it to social media, and now the whole school knew about it. It looked at first like just another tourist shooting video, but the shot of me mid-tackle had been framed perfectly at the bottom of the screen.
Marcus was still watching it right now.
Deeply, deeply aggrieved.
“Ugh—damn it! How do I miss seeing that live?!”
“Moi! Moi! Explain it again!”
“Nope. Telling it once was enough.”
Brushing off Kaonohi's plea for a replay, I reached for the bag of cookies resting on my chest.
Crunch. Crunch.
“Is Moi in this room?”
“Yes, sir.”
The vice principal suddenly appeared at our door. Then he gestured for me to follow him.
“Whooee—what, are you getting an award or something?”
“Looks like it, maybe.”
Stepping out of the room into the hallway, I noticed several strangers gathered in the direction the vice principal was walking.
My first thought: did the thief sue me? For assault? My country was more than capable of producing something like that, so I advanced with maximum caution.
After a few more steps, a man in a suit came toward me. He didn't appear to be police. A lawyer?
“You're Dwayne Moi Stone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My name is Toby Hopkins. I'm the Public Information Officer for the City of Las Vegas.”
“Public Information Officer?”
“That's right.”
“I don't mean to be rude, but what business would a public information officer have with me?”
“Haha. The Mayor saw your video.”
Mr. Hopkins smiled and patiently explained further. The Mayor had been deeply impressed by the footage.
“So she'd like to formally commend you tomorrow. The school has already been notified, and the principal here...”
“Ahem. Vice principal, actually.”
“Oh, my apologies. In any case, the vice principal has given his approval. The only thing left is your decision—would you be willing?”
A formal commendation ceremony, huh.
I could guess without looking.
It's gonna be suuuper loud, right?
“You know it will. Be honest with yourself.”
“...”
Turning to look at the vice principal, I found him shooting me a silent, urgent look that said accept it, accept it now. Well, what choice did I have?
I told him I'd do it.
“Then I'll send someone for you tomorrow. Around the time practice wraps up.”
“You've researched me quite thoroughly, haven't you?”
“Haha. There can't be many people in America who don't know you.”
“...I see.”
Obviously, I knew I was famous. Had been since I was seven, probably. But when you live in Hawaii, you can barely feel how famous you are, no matter how much the internet exists.
“Whew—so I got myself into trouble, huh?”
“Trouble? Quite the opposite.”
The vice principal clapped my shoulder with a delighted grin and headed off, and I decided to worry about tomorrow tomorrow as I made my way back to my room.
My first day in Las Vegas.
I caught a robber.
And I hadn't the faintest idea, at the time, just how enormous an impact that was about to have.