The lights over the stadium lit up the cool autumn night sky as Brad Carter pulled his black Escalade into the parking lot. When Joe Morton, his buddy from college, had called him up to invite him to a football game at their old alma mater, he was less than enthusiastic. But, with the promise that afterwards they would hit the local club scene, Brad had agreed.
Brad joined the mass of people pouring into the stadium and looked for his seat. He found it and a slightly drunk Joe Morton on the 40 yard line about 5 rows up from the field. After a big hug and a warm greeting from his old friend, Scott settled in his seat to watch the pageantry of small town college football.
It had been at least 15 years since he had been a student at Delta University. He had graduated with honors from the small college which only had 5000 students but boasted a reputation for high academic standards. He had really enjoyed his time at Delta. Of course, that was partly due to how favorably it compared to the hell of high school.
The fans stood and cheered loudly as the teams ran onto the field led by their cheerleaders. As the game got under way, Brad's attention was diverted to the cheerleaders on the field directly below them. When he saw her, he gasped out loud. "What's the matter buddy? You look like you saw a ghost," Joe asked.
"It's nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew," Brad lied. It was her. But it couldn't be. He stared at the young cheerleader on the end. As she jumped, her short skirt flared revealing a pair of red briefs that cupped her tight ass. Her jump also caused her full breasts to bounce under the thin top. Her shiny, straight black hair was tied in a ponytail with a red ribbon. But what caught Brad's attention was her stunning face. Alabaster skin, full dark red lips, crystal blue eyes, and a tiny mole on her cheek just above her lip that only accentuated her beauty.
The game and Joe's rant on the blind referees faded away as he stared at her. He was deluged with emotions and memories long since buried. The young cheerleader was the spitting image of Sara Harper, the girl who had caused him so much pain in high school. Even down to the beauty mark on her cheek.
---
Hardly a week went by when he didn't think about Sara Harper. Brad had been overwhelmed by her beauty since he had first laid eyes on her in the 5th grade. As her body blossomed with maturity, she became very popular. He, on the other hand, did not. With a slight build, shoulder length hair, thick glasses and bad acne, he was just one more high school loser even with excellent grades. But even losers have dreams.
Brad's childhood crush grew into elaborate fantasies as he hit puberty. He dreamed of dating her, kissing her lush, red lips and even making love to her nude, willing body. But as the years went by, their paths diverged. She became a popular cheerleader while he became, well, pathetically lovesick. He tried to talk to her a few times but was always brushed aside by her bitchy friends. But, hope springs eternal in the mind of a hormonally challenged teenage boy so he kept trying.
With their senior year in full swing, Brad knew that his opportunity to date Sara would have to come soon. One afternoon he saw her alone at her locker and, with his heart racing, went up to her and asked her out to a dance the following weekend. She gazed at him coolly then smiled, showing him her perfect, white teeth. "Sure, Brad, I'll go with you. My house at 7. Oh, and wear something nice for me ok." Unfortunately for the young man, in his joy at her acceptance, he failed to see her laugh as he turned away.
---
Brad carried the bouquet of flowers up the sidewalk leading to Sara's front door. His heart pounded in his chest as this was the realization of seven years of fantasies. He had gone over this night a million times in his mind. It was going to be perfect. He rang the doorbell.
Mr. Harper jerked the door open and, at 6'2" tall, looked down at the slight teenager. "What the hell do you want?" he bellowed.
"Uh, I'm here to pick up Sara, sir. We have a date for the dance."
The large man snorted. "I don't think so. Now get the hell out of here." He started to shut the door.
Brad panicked. "No, wait. You're wrong. We do have a date."
Mr. Harper stepped out on the front porch. "You listen here, you little shit head. She's already gone. I'm tired of you little piss ants sniffing around my daughter like a pack of dogs after fresh meat. Now get!" With that he pushed Brad off the small porch onto the sidewalk and slammed the door.
Tears ran down his face as Brad picked himself up. With the flowers ruined, his hands and knees stinging from falling on the concrete and his best pants torn, Brad ran back to his dad's freshly washed car. He wiped his eyes and sped off to the dance.
Minutes later, Brad sped into the parking lot of the high school gym. Humiliation had turned into rage in that short drive. Something in him had snapped, releasing years of pent-up frustration and rejection. He slammed the car door shut as he stormed up to the gym. He ran into the foyer hearing the steady thump of music coming through the closed gym doors.
"What are you doing here, loser? Can't you take a hint?" Scott spun around to face Bill Morrison, the star quarterback and two of his smug buddies.
"I just want to talk to Sara. Leave me alone."
"No. I don't think she wants to talk to you tonight or any night. Sara is here with me, scumbag. Now leave or we will make you leave," the athletic young man ordered. As Brad stood still, unsure of what to do, the other two boys moved to escort him back outside.
With a quick move that surprised all four boys, Brad found himself with his back to the huge trophy case. Bill and the other two brutes moved in. "Shoulda left, fucker. Now we get to kick your ass. By the way, Sara told everyone what she did. She said she figured it would finally give you the hint that she wants you to leave her the hell alone."
As the three athletes moved closer, Brad's eyes darted around the room. A wooden broom leaned up against the wall by the trophy case and Brad leapt for it. He swung it wildly causing the three to jump back. Then, as they moved back in, he swung and connected with the star quarterback's left knee. Bill crumpled and held his knee. "Kill him, guys," he groaned.
Another wild swing missed both boys but unfortunately connected with the glass trophy case. Shards of glass littered the foyer. Mr. Simmons, the principal, came roaring out of the gym. Seeing the injured quarterback, the broken glass and Brad still clutching the broom, he called for security and snatched the broom from Brad's trembling fingers.
The rest, you could say, is history. The police and an ambulance were summoned. Bill Morrison went to the ER to find out he had a fractured kneecap, ending his season and the hopes of his team's playoff chances. Brad Carter went to the city jail. His humiliation was completed by seeing Sara laughing and extending her middle fingers to him as the police cruiser rolled away from the gym.
---
But Brad was no longer a loser. After Lasik surgery to get rid of the glasses, years in a gym with a personal trainer to harden his body, he had become a strong, handsome man. Of course, the designer clothes and pricy haircuts didn't hurt either. Brad was startled back to the present by the roar of the crowd and his buddy shaking his arm. "Man, did you see that catch? Fucking awesome!" Joe yelled.
"Yeah, Joe, that was great," Brad replied. But his thoughts were no longer on football. A sudden impulsive thought led to the beginnings of a plan. By the time the game ended, the broad strokes of a plot for revenge were worked out in his troubled mind.
As they left the stadium, Brad picked up a discarded program. He flipped through it until he found the cheerleaders' group photo and learned that her name was Ashley Conley. Flipping further, he found an ad with a face shot of the young girl. Below the ad he read the words "We love you, Ashley! Mom and Dad. Courtesy of Dr. Bob and Sara Conley and Dr. Bob's Family Dentistry." Brad smiled as he knew his plan had just begun.
---
After a few days of research online and a little surveillance, Brad was ready to make the call to his friend and business associate. He had known Dante Jackson for almost twenty years. After the cops hauled Brad away that night, he was placed in a holding cell with a group of teenaged thugs. As he sat with his back against the wall, he saw a skinny black kid pull a thin blade from his shoe and move to stab a muscular, black teen in the back. Brad reacted and kicked his leg out causing the skinny kid to fall and drop his blade. The muscular youth spun quickly and spotting the blade, quickly kicked it out of the cell. He then beat his attacker, finishing him with a brutal kick to the head. When the guards got to the cell, they found the young man laid out on the floor while the rest of the boys stood away from him. "What the fuck happened here?" bellowed one of the guards.
No one spoke until Brad softly said, "He fell down, sir."
After the guards removed the injured boy, several other kids told Dante what had happened. He walked over to Brad sticking his large hand out. "Name's Dante Jackson, bro. I owe you one. And that means something."
The next few weeks seemed surreal to Brad. Expulsion from school, court appearances and meetings with lawyers all blurred together. Most everyone agreed he should get probation. But the injured quarterback's father, a prominent banker and city councilman, demanded that he get jail time.
