A Deal With Nothing to Lose
There was nothing wrong with the deal.
After the season's first loss, a subtle change began to take root. My teammates trained with sharper focus, and they stepped onto the field with a more combative edge.
And the results spoke for themselves.
00 00 00 00 — 00 Moanalua
21 10 14 14 — 59 Kahuku
00 00 00 00 — 00 Kaiser
17 28 07 10 — 62 Kahuku
Very, very good indeed.
#. October 3rd, 2016
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States
#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu
#-3. Kahuku High School
With the new month underway, photos of girls began appearing all over the school hallways. It was time for the so-called Queen Pageant — the period when the school crowned its queen.
Memories of my past life came trickling back. Now, who was it that won back then?
Beats me.
“Moi! Moi!”
“What?”
When Marcus came sprinting over this urgently, it meant he was about to pull some pointless stunt again. And sure enough.
“Who'd you bet on? The odds are juicy.”
“What?! Get lost. Don't waste my—”
“Why not? It's fun!”
“You do realize that's grounds for dismissal from the team, right?”
“?! S-seriously?”
“Idiot.”
And so my friend — kind, good-natured, and just a little dim — had no idea that what he was doing constituted a fireable offense. Betting on who would become queen was, technically, gambling, and organizing the whole thing front and center was outright operation of that gamble.
What did he think would happen if the school found out?
Dismissal from the team, obviously.
“I'm out.”
Visibly terrified, Marcus loosened the money pouch at his waist and shot me a look that asked what he should do with this.
“What do you think? Give it back to its owners.”
“It's almost a thousand dollars!”
“Damn it, Marcus! How many people did you collect from?”
“Like... fifty or so?”
That's a lot of people.
Not my problem. Deal with it.
“If I don't give it back, you'll tell Coach?”
“Damn right. Should've thought of that before you started.”
“What was the rulebook I handed out for, then?”
Knowing him, he'd stuffed it somewhere without reading a word.
I told him to sort it all out before lunch ended, and Marcus trudged off with his head hanging low.
Aigoo. That dummy.
I watched my thoroughly lovable but thoroughly pathetic friend for a moment, then remembered I had somewhere to be and quickened my pace. Second period had just ended, and Teacher Macy had sent word for me to stop by her office.
Knock knock—
“You wanted to see me?”
“Oh— yes, Moi. Have a seat.”
“Should I close the door?”
“No, leave it.”
I sat down on the couch right beside the open door. Now, why had she called me in?
Nothing immediately came to mind. My teammates got summoned daily over falling grades; the only times I ever got called in were for requests like, “How about tutoring some of your friends?”
“Actually, someone from Washington came by earlier.”
“...The Huskies?”
“Mm-hm.”
The Huskies. The flagship football program of the University of Washington. Members of the Pac-12, coming off a mediocre 7-6 season last year. But with sophomore quarterback Jake Browning breaking out this year, they were currently running the table in Pac-12 play.
And yet.
Why them?
“They asked an awful lot of detailed questions about you.”
“Really?”
“Yep. How your grades are. How you get along with others. Your day-to-day school life, your attitude, things like that. You're a smart kid, so I'm sure you know exactly what this means?”
Of course I did.
This was recruiting.
An offer would be coming soon enough.
“It seems like situations like this are going to keep coming up, and I realized we've never actually talked about your future. Washington asked me a lot of questions, but there was one I couldn't answer.”
“Which was?”
“Are you going to the SEC?”
NCAA Division 1 Football was composed of ten conferences in total. The AAC. The Big Ten. The Pac-12. And so on. Among them, the most prestigious and popular by far was the SEC.
Alabama, the best team in the country right now, called it home.
“I still can't believe I'm having this conversation with a freshman. Anyway. You'll keep getting questions like these, and I have to keep doing this job. I don't want to leave a bad impression on college recruiters. Can you understand that?”
“Of course. One hundred percent.”
“Goodness. You really don't act like a fourteen-year-old.”
“I hear that a lot.”
I truly did understand her position one hundred percent. Suppose I wanted nothing but the SEC — and Teacher Macy told a recruiter that wasn't happening? The trust between her and that recruiter would shatter on the spot. The damage would fall squarely on the Kahuku High football program, and Macy would lose her job and her reputation, never to work at an AAA school again.
So yes. This was a genuinely serious matter.
“Then... could you just tell them I haven't decided yet?”
It might come across as lukewarm, but I genuinely had no intention of deciding right now. Not that I couldn't sympathize with the universities. If I committed now, they could plot long-term — recruiting the entire 2020 graduating class with pitches like, “Want to play alongside Dwayne Moi Stone?”
And I hated that idea.
It just rubbed me the wrong way. Too easy a path.
As much as I craved the NFL and Division 1 college football, I had never cared for the NCAA itself. It was the most unjust — and most corrupt — organization in America.
“Feel free to let them sweat a little.”
“Haha. So you're handing me the reins?”
“I like you, ma'am. You always work hard for us.”
“Oh~ Moi.”
With a hand pressed to her chest in a show of being touched, Teacher Macy saw me rise and excuse myself.
Come to think of it, with Washington, that made...
“Four, isn't it?”
Since the Bishop Gorman game, four schools including the Washington Huskies had offered me enrollment. Meanwhile seventeen different high schools — Bishop Gorman among them — had dangled transfers instead, quietly slipping out under-the-table sums ranging from one hundred to four hundred thousand dollars. To my parents, of course, not to me.
And naturally, my parents turned them all down flat.
Do we look poor to you?
One of them got a boot to the rear and shown the door.
I'm not kidding. It really happened.
Anyway. Since the Las Vegas trip, I had become undeniably famous. Television programs were seriously debating whether I or fifteen-year-old Justin Bieber was the bigger star.
If I lived on the mainland, this would be exhausting. Hawaii was the only reason I had any breathing room.
“Heeey.”
“Hey, Brittany.”
“So, Moi... think you could push me a little?”
“For queen?”
“Yeah.”
From Teacher Macy's office all the way to my third-period classroom, every single queen candidate I passed asked me to back her.
I needed to escape, so I told them all I'd think about it.
As far as I knew, the frontrunners were Stephanie, the cheerleading captain, and some freshman girl who'd undergone a total glow-up.
Ugh.
Beats me.
Better get to class.
#. October 5th, 2016
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States
#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu
#-3. Kahuku High School
#-4. Football Field
The atmosphere at practice these days was absolutely electric. Everyone attacked the drills with fire in their eyes.
“Move faster!”
“Don't let those legs rest!!”
“Push harder!”
A few days after the Bishop Gorman game, the major recruiting sites — ESPN, 247Sports, MP — had all posted their updated high school rankings, and the numbers told the story.
Sioele, previously ranked 174th nationally, had climbed to 130th overall and 5th at his position. Loto, sitting at 309th, had rocketed up more than two hundred spots to land at 98th — cracking the Top 100.
But the biggest risers belonged to others.
Royce Pao. Sekope Latu. Kaluna Nihipali.
Royce, originally outside the top 2,000, had jumped to 590th thanks to two impressive touchdowns. And our tight end Sekope earned a spot at 883rd, with Yahoo noting that he had “done his duty as Kahuku's motor.”
The most stunning rise, though, was Kaluna Nihipali.
The kid was now 205th.
He'd matched Tyjon Lindsey — 50th overall and the 8th-ranked wide receiver — in pure speed, twice breaking up passes against him. Those visible results were becoming the engine driving this team.
“Everyone gather up!!”
When practice ended, Coach called us together.
For the record, our regular season was already over. We'd finished 7-0 in the OIA Blue Division, and the Bishop Gorman loss was recorded only in our overall season record, to be factored in at the very end. Blame the needlessly convoluted NFHS rules — and honestly, high school team rankings ran on their own whims anyway. They were hardly objective data.
Anyway.
We took a knee and waited for Coach to speak.
“We've become a hell of a team!”
“...”
“But this isn't the end! The playoffs! And beyond that, we have to beat those sons of bitches from Saint Louis in the Open Division Tournament! That's how we get to nationals and win the whole damn thing! You understand what I'm saying? We're going for the championship! RED RAIDERS!!”
“OORAH!!”
These days, Coach Gavin Travis was openly talking about a national championship.
To reach nationals, we needed five more wins — and it was practically a given that the final one would come against Hawaii's final boss, Saint Louis.
After the speech, as we were about to break, Coach pulled me aside.
“Moi? I'm sorry, son, but I'd rather you stopped running extra training from here on out.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“The school's gotten too famous.”
“...”
He wasn't wrong — there'd definitely been more people lingering around the edges of the field lately. Some of them surely didn't have good intentions. I'd been training as carefully as possible, but the truth was, anyone determined to nitpick could find endless things to nitpick. Reluctantly, I had to accept the coach's decision.
And I passed the news on to my friends.
They were all visibly stunned.
“What? For real?”
“Yeah. One busybody complaint and it's all over.”
“Damn it. Going halfway makes me more anxious than not training at all.”
“Which is why...”
If we couldn't train on the field, there was another way. Train indoors.
“Two hours of weight training, starting at nine thirty at night? Are you serious?”
“Yep. Three times a week. What do you say?”
Royce and Kaluna had cars. Loto's rental house was a three-minute walk away. Marcus and Kaonohi could crash at my place. Sure, it was cramped now, but it slept three just fine.
It's not like I'd sleep on the floor.
“I guess that'll have to do.”
“And from now on, we're holding meetings too.”
“Meetings?”
“Yep. Tactical meetings. Reviewing everything we've already covered.”
“Damnnn— now that actually sounds appealing?”
“You do spit out the strangest ideas, after all.”
“Then we're doing it?”
“You bet—”
Back in my past life, when I coached and managed, there was a speech I gave young players every single year. If you want an excuse, anything will do — but if you want to train, you'll find a way. I mostly aimed it at the guys who thought the day was over once team practice ended, and it was me who grilled them, dragged them into the weight room or the film room, and forged them into better football players.
Losing the field stung, sure. But there were plenty of ways to grow a football player.
“Anyway, let's rest today.”
“Then how about Giovanni's for old times' sake?”
“Sounds good. Everyone in?”
“I'm broke.”
“Forget it. My treat today.”
Crowning Royce Pao as our benefactor, we washed up and headed for Giovanni's — the most popular restaurant in all of Kahuku.
“Well, I'll be damned! Look who it is! Moi!”
“Hello. Any tables open?”
“The star of Kahuku shows up and I'd build him a table if I had to. Come on in. Food's on the house today — eat as much as you like.”
The moment the owner, Mr. Giovanni, said that, the friends who'd been fawning over Royce pivoted instantly to worshipping me instead.
“Oooh~ our king (Moi) has arrived.”
“Shall I fetch you some water, Your Majesty?”
“Un-be-lievably fast pivot, you guys.”
“Kukkukku.”
Platters piled with absurd quantities of food soon covered the hastily assembled table. This felt just like...
Grandma's house.
“...This is exactly your grandma's style, isn't it?”
“Literally just thought the same thing.”
“Whoa. We'd better brace ourselves before eating this.”
Midway through the meal, tourists who'd come to play golf nearby recognized me and asked for autographs. That, too, had become a regular occurrence lately.
But hold on.
Why was my plate suddenly looking so empty?
It was full just a second ago.
“Hey! Where's my shrimp?!”
Marcus, who'd averted his eyes with impressive speed, chewed behind a covered hand. The culprit.
So I locked his head in a headlock immediately.
“Mmph—! Mmph!”
“Spit it out, you bastard! Spit it out!”
“Too late. It's already in my stomach.”
“Then reverse the process and cough it back up! Do you have any idea how much work it was peeling that shrimp?!”
“Ack! Ow, ow! Fine, I'll peel you a new one, I will!”
“I don't want a new one!”
“Then what do you want from me?!”
“The same shrimp, you jackass! Hand over the shrimp!”
At some point, whenever Marcus and I started roughhousing like this, the others had taken to watching us with the expression of people enjoying a sitcom.
“You two are straight-up Dumb and Dumber.”
“What?! Why lump me in with him?”
“What can I say, you two just look the part.”
“...”
As the old saying goes: an eagle doesn't fly with pigeons. Meaning that even an eagle, once mixed into a flock of pigeons, starts looking like a pigeon.
The thought struck me out of nowhere, and I peeled away from Marcus. Grabbing my plate, I sat down as far from him as the table allowed.
“What the hell is this about?”
“Get lost. From now on, this is exactly how much distance you and I keep.”
“You're hilarious.”
“Screw off.”
“Screw you.”
Aw, damn it.
This isn't how it was supposed to go.
Somehow I was bickering with Marcus again.
“Kikikki. See? Told you. Dumb and Dumber.”
“Un-be-lievable. You don't get to talk to me anymore.”
“Petty over one little shrimp...”
I don't know who first said it, but in my opinion, that person was a towering sage.
What did they say, you ask?
That no matter how old a man gets, he's still a damn kid. Whoever realized that first deserves the tribute.
Forty years lived in my past life. Nearly fifteen more in this one. And yet why did this still feel so fun?
Truly, a mystery beyond my own understanding.
#. October 7th, 2016
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States
#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu
#-3. Kahuku High School
#-4. Principal's Office
When I heard the principal wanted to see me, I assumed — as before — that it was about recruiting.
But I was wrong.
“You need something?”
“That's right. Anything. Name it.”
“...”
The moment I took my seat, Principal John Haggerty declared he'd buy me whatever I needed. An extremely dangerous thing to say. Judging by his face, he had no idea.
“Am I receiving some kind of under-the-table payment, sir?”
“What? Good heavens, no! Absolutely not.”
“Then could you explain in a little more detail?”
At my question, the administrators exchanged glances. And there was someone present who wasn't an administrator at all, either — why, exactly, was the school's accountant here?
“If I'm honest with you, can you keep it confidential?”
“As long as it isn't illegal.”
“Oh, it's nothing like that, I assure you.”
“Then I'll keep it.”
“Good.”
After one more glance at the vice principal, the principal slid a stack of documents across the desk to me.
“You know Under Armour sells your jersey, right?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“That revenue has been coming into the school.”
“I see?”
“Yes. And the thing is...”
“?”
“It's rather more than we expected.”
“How much?”
“Why don't you look for yourself?”
Nodding, I lifted the paper on the desk. Let's see — the number written there...
4.
And the unit...
“Four million dollars?”
“...Staggering, isn't it?”
Oh. My. Goodness.
This really was enormous. A high school football player had moved four million dollars' worth of jerseys alone.
No — wait. This was the settlement figure. The actual retail sales would be roughly double that, wouldn't they? Something in the neighborhood of eight million, then.
And the important part: this almost certainly wasn't the end. This was likely just the first settlement.
“So we've decided to invest about one million of that four million in you. We can't simply hand you money, but we can provide what you need. Building a new dormitory is possible, too.”
“Ah — then—”
“?”
“I have a few requests.”
As I've mentioned before, the school had no dormitories. Kids who came from far away pooled their money — five or six to a group — and rented houses near campus. But that was only possible for the ones whose families were reasonably well-off. The kids without money stayed in ramshackle shelters you'd only see in slums.
“Build housing behind the school.”
“We'll discuss it. Should be doable.”
“And if there's money left over — you know the weight room? Replace the equipment with new machines. And if there's still money after that, the bus. Replace the bus. Used is fine, just something a little bigger.”
I wasn't sure all of that would fit inside one million dollars. Thankfully, the principal agreed.
“We'll start with the weight room, then.”
“That's fantastic.”
“You're changing this school, you know that? So going forward...”
“I'll stay out of trouble and play good football.”
“Haha. You're such a sharp kid, I have every confidence in you.”
I'd come expecting something else, but it turned out to be pure business. The school would keep generating revenue through me in every way they could, and by granting my requests, they intended to keep that revenue flowing for the long haul.
Bottom line: as long as I played well, the money would keep coming in for four years.
Well.
There was nothing wrong with the deal.
“May I go now, then?”
“Off you go.”
“Yes sir.”
The instant I stepped out of the principal's office, Loto, passing by, spotted me and snickered his way over.
“What'd you screw up this time, coming out of there?”
“Piss off. Like I'd tell you.”
“Kikikki. Then what was it?”
Loto slung a friendly arm around my shoulder, and I looked up at him with a meaningful glint in my eye.
“Hey.”
“?”
“Better start preparing to worship me again. Sooner or later.”
“You're hilarious.”
“Wanna bet?”
Loto's attitude flipped one hundred and eighty degrees the following Monday — after he'd laid eyes on the renovated weight room.
“What do you think, huh?”
“...Damn it all. That's freakin' incredible.”
“What did I tell you? Who am I?”
“Moi. Our king.”
“Correct answer.”