All The Glory (5 page)

“Fine.”

No mention of the black eye. I wondered if that meant Mr. Bradley already knew how it had happened.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have access to bathrooms?”

Jason finally looked up. “Jesus Christ, Dad, do you really care if I used the toilet or not? Is that your biggest issue right now?”

Anguished. That’s what he was. It made my heart hurt just to see that expression on his beautiful, beat up face. He was never so emotional before that I could remember. Even when they won State last year, he just smiled when pretty much the rest of the team was crying like a bunch of babies.

It had nothing to do with me, but I wanted him to have his easy life back. I wanted him to be walking around town with his great, big, blown-up head, knowing he was the shit for every girl who passed by. No kid should have to deal with what he had on his plate right then.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation. Relax, Son. Relax.” He took Jason’s hands and covered them with his own. It was touching and sad. I’d have bet a million bucks right then that these two men never held hands like this before today. Before the coach was dead. They’d smack each other on the butts and say
Good game!
but they wouldn’t hold hands. It was blowing my mind how crazy the world was in that moment, and how it seemed like I was the only one who could see it.

Jason sat that way for a few seconds, but then leaned back in his chair, pulling his hands off the table and resting them in his lap. He looked over at me.

“I know why he’s here. Why are you here?”

I tried to smile, but my face wouldn’t cooperate. I gave up and tried to answer in a way that wouldn’t make me sound like a psycho.

“I just … wanted to show you some support. See if I can do anything for you.”

His smile was bitter. “I think Brittney had the better idea.”

“What’s that?” I asked, wishing immediately after that I hadn’t.

“Get lost. Stay gone. Don’t let my shit mess up your life too.”

“Jason …”

“Dad, shut the hell up, okay?” Jason’s attention shifted lightning quick to his father. “I did it, okay? I fucking killed the guy. It’s over for me and you too if you get all caught up in it.” He looked at me and scowled. “You should go.”

“Listen, Son …,” Mr. Bradley’s volume went up and sternness came in, “… I’m your father. I’m not going anywhere, and this young lady deserves your thanks and your respect, at the very least. She risked a lot coming in here and that’s not
nothing.”

I watched shamelessly as Jason’s face underwent a transformation. I could literally see the emotions battling inside him. The storm cloud that had surrounded him went darker, then his face went red, and finally when it seemed like he was going to blow, he lost all his mojo. His shoulders sagged and his head dropped, chin to chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lifting his head after a few seconds to look at me. There were tears in his red-rimmed eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. Thanks for coming.”

I nodded, the only thing I could do and hold back my own tears at the same time. My heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself with the pain. I wanted this to be all over for him, to be just a bad dream, but no matter how many times I pinched my wrist, it just wouldn’t work. We were all three really here. In the jailhouse. Listening to the sounds of Jason’s chains clinking together.

The door opened again before anything else could be said, and a police officer in plain clothes told us we had to leave. Jason was pulled to his feet by his upper arm, and he shuffled out of the room in front of us, the chains on his body making clanking sounds all the way down the hall until he disappeared behind a heavy metal door.

It seemed so final when it banged closed. It crossed my mind that I might never see him again after that moment. I hated myself for not saying more when I’d had the chance. For not telling him that I believed in him.

And then I laughed at myself. What does that even mean, to believe in someone? It was just garbage from movies that I’d swallowed my whole life and never questioned. Just like my freedom. Just like my ability to walk out of this place and never come back.

I never appreciated that stuff before now, and I wasn’t even sure I could fully grasp how big it was. After all, I wasn’t the person being led away in chains. The only thing clinking on me was my ridiculous key-chain collection. It felt really silly and immature for the first time since I started building it eight months ago.

I walked out with Jason’s dad and didn’t stop until I was at my car. Bobby was sitting on the hood waiting for me.

A few reporters followed us, but thankfully not so closely that Mr. Bradley couldn’t say a few things in private.

“I really appreciate you coming, and even though he was kind of pigheaded about it, I know Jason does too. So, thank you. Thanks a lot.” He got a little choked up at the end, so I kind of just went with my gut and threw my arms around him awkwardly. My bag banged against our sides with the momentum of my movements.

“I’m happy to. I can come back if you want. I’d like to.”

“That would be great,” he said over my shoulder. His grip around my back was like iron. I felt for second that I was his anchor before he let me go.

“Want my number?” I asked, wondering if I was overstepping my bounds.

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to me. “That’d be great.”

I quickly entered the digits and then called myself, letting it ring a few times before I hit the red button. Now I could get in touch with him too if necessary. “Call me if you need anything,” I said, handing it back.

“Will do. He has his arraignment Monday.”

“What time?” I wasn’t sure what an arraignment was, but I’d for sure be looking it up online when I got home.

“In the morning. Not sure what time.”

I put my hand on his arm when his eyes suddenly got all watery.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bradley. Everything is going to work out.” I prayed I wasn’t lying when I said that.

“Let’s hope so,” he said, and then he walked away.

Chapter Eight

BOBBY AND I TALKED ABOUT The Incident, as we came to call it between us, all weekend. The news channels were loaded with conjecture, but so far no one knew the hows or the whys.

I knew Jason had done it; he’d said as much in that room with me and his father. But I wanted to know why. I felt like I
needed
to know, like I’d never be able to rest until I did. There had to be a reason. Not just a reason, but a good reason why he’d snapped.

Bobby and I reminisced about some of our years with Jason. We both had the same image in our minds; he was a privileged kid with everything going for him, charm enough for three guys, and a body and face that made every girl and gay want to be on his arm.

But he wasn’t always a douchebag. He’d stuck up for Bobby once, when we were all pretty young. Bobby reminded me and the memory came back like a movie in my head.

Jason pushed a kid down on the playground for calling Bobby a fag-bag. Back then we weren’t very creative with our name-calling, but that didn’t make it hurt any less, and Jason knew that. He was to some degree the champion of the underdogs in our younger years, always coming to our rescue when kids got too rough — and that happened more often than I care to remember. I think Bobby and I must have had the words
Easy Victim
stamped on our backs or something. It was only when the whole world started showering Jason with accolades that he kind of stopped having time for the superhero act.

Bobby and I decided after discussing it for the entire day Sunday and into the morning Monday on the way to school that Jason was still a champion, deep down inside. That meant he had a story to tell, and I for one wanted to hear what it was.

Turns out, so did everyone else at school. Every single conversation I heard in the halls and in the classrooms was about him. Suddenly upcoming dances, exams, and the latest break-ups were no longer front-page news. Most of the words spoken about Jason were dark. I heard
murderer
, and
cold-blooded
, and
sociopath
more than one time, often from people I was pretty sure he’d had on his BFF list three days ago.

Brittney was really playing it up. I felt like punching her in the boob every time I looked at her. She was crying pretty much the entire day, but whenever someone tried to placate her, it was to tell her she would be fine, that her life wasn’t over.

What about Jason?
was all I could think.
What about his life being over?
No one seemed to care about that part of the equation.

The football players were being more circumspect. When they talked it was at a whisper. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to pick up any of their thoughts, but none of them looked happy. I couldn’t tell who they were mad at until I saw one of them in a back hallway with his arms around Brittney.

I ducked behind a wall of lockers and shamelessly eavesdropped.

“Babe, you’re going to be fine. It’s not you dead in the ground, it’s the coach, okay?”

“But it could have been me! It could have been! I was dating a murderer. I slept with him! Oh, God, I feel so dirty!”

“Shhhh, shhhh, don’t worry. The law’s got him now. He’ll be punished for what he did to the coach. For what he did to you. You’re going to be all right…”

Some other people were coming from another hall and being loud about it, so Brittney and Trace, her comforter, broke apart and walked away.

It took everything I had not to run after her and bonk her over her stupid air-head with my books.

“Here you are, you little sneak!”

I jumped a mile and turned around lashing out at my attacker like a madwoman with some crazy-ass girl slaps.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Bobby yelled, holding up his hands and curving himself into an s-shape of self-defense. “Put away your smack-o-matic! You know I bruise easy!”

I dropped my arms and huffed out an anxiety-filled breath. My pulse was going nuts. “Do
not
sneak up on me, Bobby Garrity. You
know
that always freaks me out.”

“Sorry, geez.” He dropped his arm-shield and hiked his backpack up higher on his shoulder. It’s a Hannah Montana design complete with tiny stuffed animal keychains hanging from all the zippers. I nearly gag every time I see it, which is exactly why he keeps carrying it around every day. He didn’t care that he looked like a Hannah-obsessed, third-grade girl. As far as he was concerned, he was a conversation piece.

I was about to lecture him further when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Normally I didn’t risk having it confiscated and kept it off during school hours, but I was hoping Mr. Bradley would call me and update me about Jason so I left it on vibrate. There was really no reason why he would call me, but I didn’t let that stop me from dreaming.

“Who’s that?” Bobby asked.

I read the text.
Arraignment not so good. You can visit after school if you want. This is Chuck, by the way. Jason’s father.

I smiled a little at that. As if I wouldn’t know who he was. Humility in a situation like this was kind of crazy, but nice all the same.

“Who, who, who? Come on, don’t make me beg.” Bobby was twisting around trying to read my screen.

“It’s Jason’s dad. He says I can visit Jason after school.”

Bobby stopped dancing around and just stood there.

“What?” I finally said, hating the expression on his face.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

It pissed me off that he would even ask. “Of course I do. Why would you even say that?”

“Hey, don’t shoot me, okay? I’m just wondering if you’ve played this all out in your head or if you’re just kind of mesmerized by the muscles.”

“What does that even mean?” We had two minutes before our next class, so I walked away, expecting him to follow and harass me some more.

He didn’t disappoint. “It meeeeans, that if you keep going over there and hanging out with him, you risk the wrath of Britt-n-Tiff and possibly other people. Do you know what your motivations are? Are they good ones?”

I sighed loud in annoyance.

Bobby sighed too, mocking me. “Let’s just say that it won’t enhance your reputation here in the hallowed halls, so it better be worth it.”

“Screw my reputation.” I was fuming at this point, not so much at him but at the truth of what he was saying. I was so disappointed in my fellow man at that point.

“Okaaaay, then. Screw the reputation. Got it. Check. Noted.” He followed me all the way to American History. “Call me later?”

“Maybe,” I responded, opening the door.

“Toodles.” He was gone before I could say anything else.

I turned to watch him swish and sway down the hallway, his stupid tiny stuffed animals hanging from his backpack swishing and swaying right along with him. He was impossible to stay mad at, not that I was really mad at him to begin with.

I shook my head at his antics. If anyone should be concerned about his reputation, it was him, not me. He delighted in taunting people over his life choices, his wardrobe, his backpack flair. He dared them to say anything about it. He was loud, he was proud, and he never took any poop from anyone. He could hardly blame me if I’d turned out to be exactly like him. A best friend tends to have that kind of influence on a person.

I took my seat in the classroom and had to work really hard to not turn around and stare at the empty spot in the back row where Jason should have been. Instead, I watched the clock and the minute hand slowly making its way around its face. Ninety more minutes and I’d be able to leave to go see Jason. I wondered if he’d be any happier to see me today than he had been on Friday.

Chapter Nine

I MET MR. BRADLEY IN the parking lot of the jail on the outskirts of town. Jason had been moved after his arraignment to the county facility instead of the small, local police station.

It was seriously depressing for me to drive up to that drab, menacing-looking place. I could only imagine what it must have been like for Jason to arrive in cuffs, knowing he was going to be staying there for the foreseeable future. Apparently he pled not guilty
on the advice of counsel
. At the time I heard this from Mr. Bradley, I wondered if he had some sort of guidance counselor at the jail, but I learned later it was a lawyer that was the counsel person.