Mrs. McCready sat at her desk working. She was a tall woman with shoulder-length brown hair she kept in a ponytail. The quiet hours at the end of the school day were when she liked to grade papers.
She paused while looking at the zeros she had typed in her grade spreadsheet next to Mario Sosa’s name. As she pushed herself back from her desk, the wheels on the bottom of her desk chair squeaked on the tile floor. She leaned back and sighed. Like most high schools, Foggy Creek High had rules that made participation in sports or other activities dependent upon students passing all of their classes. Mrs. McCready was upset after telling Mario that he had failed to complete a pair of routine homework assignments. As a result, she had no choice but to let him know that he was in jeopardy of missing out on the state championship game.
With a sense of duty, she pulled out her phone to call Coach Crawford. After all, she thought to herself as she scrolled her contacts, the football coach deserves to know he might have to try and win the state championship without his best ball carrier.
“Hello, Crain?” she asked as a voice on the other end of the call picked up. “I’m sorry to bother you. But I need to give you a little heads-up on Mario Sosa’s status for Saturday.”
“Alright, Mary Ann,” Coach said. “What’s going on?”
“Mario is failing my English class. I’m sorry to put you in a bad spot. I know Mario is an important part of the team. I told him if he finishes an extra credit assignment by the end of school Friday, he can still play in the game.”
“I appreciate the heads up. School work comes first before football,” he said. “I’m going to go ahead and let him keep practicing. He’ll have to understand, though, that if he can’t hold up his end of the bargain in your class, he won’t see the field on Saturday. Does that sound good?”
“Of course. I appreciate the cooperation,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“You bet, Mary Ann. Goodbye.”
That evening, after another spirited practice, Mario and Reggie went their separate ways. Mario needed to have his chat with Coach Crawford before heading home to get started on his homework, the all-important assignment for Mrs. McCready.
Meanwhile, Reggie headed to work over at Win Construction. His work duties included getting equipment cleaned and ready for the morning crews. He worked silently and efficiently for about two hours. Reggie brought an easy focus to pretty much everything he did.
“I’m all done. Is it OK if I head home?” he asked Mr. Nguyen.
“Sure thing, Reggie!” his boss answered. “You coiled up that cable and put it back on the hook, right? They’ll need that right off the bat tomorrow.”
“It’s on the hook,” Reggie said.
Reggie admired Mr. Nguyen. Mr. Nguyen started his construction business in Foggy Creek after growing up near Austin, the state capital of Texas. His family had moved to Texas from Vietnam when he was a young child. Now a successful business owner, he was cheerful and easy-going despite his responsibilities. In addition to his construction business, he owned some oil and gas operations.
As a football quarterback, Reggie took notice of his boss’s calm demeanor, even when things got really busy. It wasn’t busy tonight, but Mr. Nguyen assured him the work he was doing tonight would make tomorrow’s job easier for the other workers. Reggie liked knowing that his role was important for the overall operation of the business. He got that same fulfillment from playing quarterback on a successful football team.
The conversation with his boss reminded Reggie of a phrase Coach Crawford loved to shout during practice through the side of his teeth, which were always clenched onto his ever-present whistle.
“Hey, guys! If we fail to plan right for this opponent,” Coach Crawford would yell, “we might as well be planning to fail! Am I Right?”
A grin would always stretch the coach’s lips whenever he delivered that line, as if he were proud of his own turn-of-phrase. Thinking about his coach’s quirks caused Reggie to chuckle. Then, he felt a pat on his back from Mr. Nguyen.
“Have a good night, Reggie,” Mr. Nguyen said. “Get your sleep. This is a big week!”
“Thanks,” Reggie said as he left.
On his way out the door, Reggie’s attention quickly turned to Mario and the classroom trouble that threatened his spot in Saturday’s game. Reggie texted Mario to check on his progress. He got no response. So, he called Mario’s phone. Again, no answer. “Huh, that’s weird,” Reggie muttered to himself.
After the short drive home, Reggie made himself something to eat and texted his parents a quick update. They were working late at the hospital that day. Then he did his own homework and went to bed.
While lying in bed, he wondered if Saturday’s game would be like he imagined. Would there be a large crowd? Would any college scouts be there? Would Mario even be able to play? The thought of having Mario sit out the big game caused Reggie to worry. But, after a few minutes, he was sound asleep.
After practice, Mario picked up a burger mega meal and drove home, determined to get started on Mrs. McCready’s assignment. His parents were a few hours away helping his grandparents do work around their home. They had left that morning, but they would be home Friday night.
To clear his head after eating, he decided to go for a quick evening run. He quickly called his parents before dropping his cell phone on the table. Then he grabbed a water bottle and a hoodie, put them in his backpack with whatever else he had left in it, and took off.
As his feet kept a steady beat along the white line on the side of the highway, he settled into the rhythm of his jog. When cars would approach, he’d veer onto the gravel shoulder. His feet would briefly kick up dust. Mario enjoyed the relative cool of evening runs and the sight of the gorgeous Texas sky at sunset. With his legs and lungs pumping, Mario thought about what he saw. Once again, it looked like the earth was competing against the sky. The thin horizon squeezed between them.
The sky and the ground around Foggy Creek appeared to Mario like football opponents. The sky, Mario imagined, could drop storms and tornadoes down onto the ground. In response, the ground could whip up dust clouds that might partly hide the sky. Mario was always thinking of ways life could imitate football. He sometimes made cereal stick to the milk, coating the sides of his breakfast bowl in the morning. He’d eat all the cereal on the bottom of the bowl, leaving the cereal on the sides and pretend the bowl was a stadium full of fans.
Now, as he ran at twilight, he imagined tumbleweeds were tacklers to be outrun. He also imagined the world itself to be in the shape of a football competition. The sky was the offense, facing off against the ground, which he imagined to be a stout, immovable defense. After about fifteen minutes, he could sense his mind clearing away the stress of his day.
Breaking from his normal route, he veered away from the road and onto a dusty stretch of desert that was unspoiled by fences or oil rigs. With nightfall nearing, Mario thought about the paper he needed to write and about how Mrs. McCready didn’t seem to care about the football team’s fortunes.
“I’m no writer,” he huffed into the open air. “I’m a runner.”
He kept running and let his worries about the assignment fade away. He would deal with it later.
It was nearly dark. After a few hundred yards of off-road running, Mario realized he’d better turn around and get home to start his homework. Before turning, he reached up to wipe sweat from his forehead. At that moment, in the flat expanse of darkening desert, he tumbled. The realization flashed in his mind that he was falling. Not falling to the ground as if he had tripped, but falling as if the ground itself had just disappeared from beneath him. Seconds later, he landed on a sandy gravel slope. The slope was soft. When he landed, he continued to roll downhill for maybe fifteen feet before stopping.
Stunned, he scrambled to his feet and looked around. He took stock of himself. Although he was shocked and a tiny bit panicked after such an unexpected fall, he was not hurt. He shook his hands and brushed dust and dirt off of himself. Looking around, he could see he was inside some sort of small canyon. In the dim light, he could make out the walls of this strange canyon surrounding him. They were reddish-brown, the same color as the desert dirt.
He picked up his backpack, which had fallen off during the tumble. He turned to climb back up and out of the hole. As he scrambled upward, the dirt would give way and spill down the slope beneath his feet. It appeared that the walls around the top of the hole were at least ten feet high and went straight up.
Mario looked around for a few seconds to ponder his fate. He was still breathing heavily from the run and shaken by the fall. But his reality was becoming clear. He was trapped inside a Texas sinkhole.
Finding as smooth a spot as he could on the floor of the sinkhole, he sat down. He calmed himself by speaking out loud. It was somehow comforting to hear the sound of his own voice.
“Dang. I should’ve brought my phone for a change.” Mario was in the habit of leaving his phone behind whenever he went out for a run. It was the one time he liked to be left alone.
He pulled his hoodie out of his backpack and put it on. It felt warm. Gradually, his nerves calmed after his unexpected tumble.
Using his backpack as a makeshift pillow, he laid back and looked at the stars. After a while, he fell asleep.