Seventeen-year-old Jordan Ellis was tying his right cleat when the police officer stopped in front of him.
Jordan looked up only because the shadow fell across his hands.
He was sitting on the low concrete wall outside Pine Valley High School’s football stadium, still wearing purple football pants beneath a navy-and-white varsity jacket. His practice bag rested on one side of him. His helmet was inside the locker room, but his shoulder pads, water bottle, and second pair of cleats were stuffed into the purple duffel at his feet.
Saturday walk-through had ended twenty minutes earlier.
Everybody else had gone home.
Almost everybody.
Jordan was waiting for Coach Thomas Brennan.
The head coach had told him to stay outside the south equipment entrance because there was something he wanted Jordan to carry into the stadium before the evening ceremony.
Jordan knew what it was.
His mother did not.
At least not officially.
That was why he had agreed to wait.
The officer standing in front of him was white, probably in his early thirties, with sandy blond hair combed neatly away from his forehead and a Lakewood Police Department patch on his sleeve.
Jordan recognized him.
Officer Evan Mercer.
He had worked traffic at two Pine Valley games that season.
Mercer looked toward Jordan’s duffel.
“School’s closed.”
Jordan frowned.
“No, sir.”
The officer looked toward the empty parking lot.
“Looks closed.”
“We had practice.”
“Practice ended.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So what are you doing?”
“Waiting for Coach Brennan.”
Mercer looked at the stadium gate.
“Coach inside?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
Jordan almost smiled.
Then remembered his mother’s rule.
Never smile when a person with authority already thinks you are making fun of him.
“Yes, sir.”
Mercer studied him.
Jordan became aware of everything visible.
Black teenager.
Empty athletic complex.
Duffel bag.
Football gear.
Phone in hand.
No adults immediately nearby.
He looked toward the officer’s body camera.
Small red light.
Recording.
Good.
Mercer nodded toward the bag.
“What’s in there?”
“My stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Practice stuff.”
“Open it.”
Jordan stopped.
“Why?”
The officer’s expression changed slightly.
“Because we’ve had theft reports out here.”
Jordan looked toward the stadium.
“What theft reports?”
“Equipment.”
“I’m on the team.”
“I can see the jacket.”
Jordan looked down at the large PV stitched over his chest.
Then back up.
“So…”
Mercer smiled faintly.
“So jackets can be borrowed.”
Jordan’s stomach tightened.
He heard his mother again.
Do not give somebody the argument they came looking for.
“Coach Brennan is right inside.”
“I heard you.”
“Then he can tell you.”
Mercer looked toward the closed equipment door.
“Open the bag.”
Jordan hesitated.
Then unzipped it.
He pulled the top apart.
Gloves.
Compression shirt.
Towel.
Tape.
A white practice jersey.
Cleats.
Nothing remotely interesting.
Mercer looked inside.
Then noticed another piece of purple fabric folded beneath Jordan’s jacket on the concrete.
“What’s that?”
Jordan’s hand moved toward it automatically.
Mercer noticed.
“Let me see.”
Jordan picked up the folded jersey.
“No, sir.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?”
“It’s not school equipment.”
Mercer held out his hand.
“Then let me see it.”