The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.
For the next year and a half—the remainder of the 11th grade and all the 12th grade—I attended First Baptist Church of Christ and I hung out with the Flaming Five. Looking back, I really don’t know why they included me in their group. I seemed to be the broken spoke in a wheel that was popular and given freedoms that most other high school students could only dream of. The incident in the locker room was never mentioned again but it lingered in my thoughts and became my reason for why I was made a part of the in crowd, although Dad’s reason had a truthful ring to it. I even got my own moniker. Somewhere along the way, I think it was at the beginning of our senior year, people started calling me the Boaz Scorekeeper.
The Flaming Five didn’t disappoint a growing fan base. They rattled every opponent, winning every game, including six games in the playoffs. It was the first ever Class 3A state basketball championship for Boaz High School.
The only game ever in doubt during our Senior year was the last regular season game against the Albertville Aggies. The first half was basket for basket ending with Albertville ahead by two. As the mid-point buzzer rang and the teams were heading to their locker rooms, Wade came to the score table and whispered for me to come to the locker room. He said, “this is serious, you must come,” and walked off. I sat there for a few seconds vividly reminded of the last time I had been asked to come to the locker room. But, now things were different, these guys were my friends.
As I entered the locker room I heard John ask Coach Pearson if the team could have a few minutes alone. He agreed and walked out. The Flaming Five pulled me into a corner and said they were depending on me to help them out in the second half. I asked them what they meant. James said that if needed they would cause a disturbance to distract the refs and the fans. Fred said, “you add us a point or two during the chaos.” Randall said, “Tanner, you owe us.” I told them to forget it, that there was no way I was going to cheat for them or anyone else. John said that I had no choice but to do what they said and that if I didn’t I would regret it. I pushed my way out and returned to the gym.
The second half was pretty much a repeat of the first, basket for basket. Good to their word, with a minute left in the game, Bart Jones, who had just come in for Randall, started a fight with Albertville’s big center, Zack Wilson. The eight other players on the court rushed to the fight and started throwing punches. The refs were virtually powerless to stop the melee and half of the fans in the stands joined the fight on the court. I continued to sit at my station and spent the next minute or so thinking a week’s worth of thought. ‘I will add points. No, I won’t. I don’t care if I’m cast out and un-friended by the entire school.’ But, I did add two points to tie up the game, but got sick and gagged as though I was about to throw up. I immediately removed the two points knowing that it was wrong. I steeled myself for the coming retribution.
The entire Boaz Police force showed up a few minutes later with a megaphone and broke up the fight and quieted the crowd. The game continued and the clock ticked away as each team matched the other’s points. At the end, Albertville tied the game almost assuring an overtime session. But, the Flaming Five had a plan. Against a full-court press and a four second clock John delighted the crowd with a behind the back pass to James who was slanting across mid-court who instantly and with contorted body shot for the basket where a leaping Randall caught the ball above the rim and slammed it through the hoop. Boaz had won and they had done it fairly. There has never been a better basketball team at Boaz High School.
I guess it was God who gave me the strength and courage to face the Flaming Five at church the following Sunday. It sure wasn’t my bravery. Mr. Smith was late to class and the six of us—I never knew why the other class members also showed up late that day—sat in our circle just looking at each other. Wade spoke up and said, “Micaden, we again are ashamed of our conduct. We were wrong to ask you to cheat for us. We ask that you forgive us. We value your company and friendship. Will you forgive us?” The other four chimed in with “I’m sorry too.” Without hesitating I responded, “It’s already done. I’m a Christian and have a duty to forgive.”
The Pencil Driven Life 