Almost Kings (4 page)

8.

I didn’t ask Truck about where he’d been the night Lizzie stopped by. I figured he didn’t need me nagging him, and it wasn’t going to make it any more likely he’d bring me out. As time went by, I spent a lot of nights at home, doing work and taking care of Dad.

The Kings were throwing parties without me, and I asked Truck about them, but he was short on details until after they were over. I didn’t get invited out, and I never went to the Monday meetings where the guys tallied points, but Truck told me about them on the nights he stayed at home.

By the fourth week, Hass was way ahead of everyone. Thirty-eight points.

Eight points for Carrie Weiss: he took her out to the lake to look at stars and made her match him shot for shot until the bottle of gin was gone and she started slurring and laughing. He’d thought she was a virgin, but apparently she’d met a guy at a summer camp and let him do it.

Fourteen for Emily Bayliss. So horny he hadn’t even needed to get her drunk. Took him to her house while her parents were away and lit candles and shit. Screamed with pleasure the whole time he was inside her and told him she loved him. Made him stay the night.

Ten for Rebecca Knox. She’d tried to make him settle for head in the back of his truck, but there was no way he was letting that happen. He hadn’t believed she was a cherry until he was halfway in. She cried all night, even though he’d let her off easy, finishing faster than usual. He didn’t realize she was only a five until he checked the yearbook the next day.

Six for Sarah Wilson. Points like that barely counted. She’d already been with Wood and Miller. Practically would have been no different if they hadn’t done her. Barely seemed to notice he was in her, she was so loose.

Wood had twenty-eight points, most of them from a virgin nine it took him two weeks to nail. Good Baptist girl with a cross around her neck, even when she’d taken off everything else. Even drunk she’d said no the first few times her tried. Finally agreed to let him in after he’d gone down on her for half an hour. Hass said they should take points off for that, but rules were rules.

Miller had fifteen points, four of them from an ex-girlfriend’s younger sister.

Reggie and I had zero.

Of course word got out—but only to a few other guys on the football team at first. I walked out of class one day to see Reggie kneeling beside his locker. Someone had put a Tupperware container full of cherries inside, balanced just right so that they spilled across the floor when Reggie opened the door. Zack Curtis came up from behind him, knelt down, and put a cherry in his mouth.

“Not bad,” he said. “Cherry. Get it? I heard you’re gonna lose a bet.”

“I never did shit to you, Curtis,” said Reggie. “What’s your problem?”

“You think you own this fucking place like the rest of the Queens, and you can’t even get your dick wet.”

By that time, a crowd was gathering, and Truck and Hass had run up. Hass looked at my brother, and Truck nodded. Then Hass went up to Zack and told him, “I told you not to fuck with my friends.”

“You said—” Before Zack could speak another word, Hass dropped him with a sucker punch to the gut. Zack went down hard, and Hass was right on top of him. Tyler Jones, one of Zack’s preppy friends, tried to pull Hass off, but my brother put him up against a locker and said, “Not your fight.”

Hass hit Zack three times hard in the face, then took a handful of cherries and ground them into Zack’s bleeding mouth.

“How’s that taste?” yelled Hass. “Huh? How’s that taste?”

Zack was crying and choking on blood and fruit. I think Hass might have killed him if my brother hadn’t pulled him off. As it was, I watched him for five seconds straight to make sure his chest was still moving.

“We’d better get out of here,” said Truck.

As we walked away Miller sidled up to me and Truck.

“That was awesome, man,” he said. “I can’t believe he just dropped him like—” My brother pushed Miller up against a wall, clutching his collar in one hand, and pulled a fist back.

“Where were you?” he asked. “Watching? Zack has more friends than just Tyler. You think Bug and Reggie were gonna take care of them?”

“Truck,” Miller said. He was breathing hard. “I—”

“Next time, you don’t just watch,” said Truck. “Come on Reggie, Bug, Hass. Let’s go.”

Later that day, Principal Traynor called me into her office. She was an immensely fat woman, but people joked she hid a pair of brass balls in all those fleshy folds. Since taking over the school, she’d instituted a zero-tolerance policy for drugs, alcohol and weapons, and she’d handed out several expulsions over fights, even small ones.

On the other hand, she was no fool: Jefferson was a football town, and we liked to see our guys win. A division championship banner from three years back hung against a wall to my left, and trophies lined the wall behind her.

“Tell me what you saw,” she said, not looking at me. She kept her eyes focused on the massive computer monitor on her desk. She typed as we spoke, and whenever a silence hung between us, it was punctuated with a series of bleeps from instant messages.

I’d never been in the principal’s office before, certainly not for any trouble. I noticed my leg bobbing unconsciously and worked to keep it still.

I said, “Zack played a practical joke on Reggie. Then a bunch of guys crowded around them, so I couldn’t see anything. When everyone cleared out, it looked like Zack was bleeding.”

“You didn’t see who hit who?”

I had no love for Hass. I was even a little afraid of him. But he was also the only one of the Kings that actually seemed to want me around.

“No,” I said. “There were a lot of people around.”

“Some students said you were at the fight,” she said, typing again. “That you were right in the middle of it.”

I thought about that for a second.

“Who?” I asked, but she didn’t answer.

“Your middle school transcripts are very impressive,” she said, still looking at her computer monitor. “Not even one ‘B’.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to see you continue that trend through your time here.”

“Can I go now?” I asked.

She clicked her mouse a few times and wrinkled her face in frustration.

“You may go.”

The next day, I saw Hass at school, sitting under the sequoia with the other Kings, laughing at something Reggie had said. When he spotted me, he sat up, walked over, and put an arm around me.

“Heard you kept your mouth shut in Traynor’s office,” he said. “I told Truck you were a stand-up guy. We need to get you out more often.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Just give me a little time. I’ll work on Truck. God knows he’s stubborn, but he always listens to reason eventually.”

“When’s eventually?” I asked.

“Come on,” he said. “You know how it is. It’s not like Truck doesn’t want you around. He’s just looking out for you, wants you to go be Mr. Brainiac and punch your ticket out of here. He figures all this shit, it’s a distraction.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing he’s always there to protect me. Who knows what would happen if I had to make decisions for myself?”

Hass’s face darkened. He checked to make sure no one else was close, leaned over, and started talking to me in a whisper.

“You say whatever you want, but I happened to know you’ve never had one bruise on your back, and Truck’s had plenty. You dad’s not exactly equipped to lay into you at this point, but that doesn’t mean you can just forget the licks Truck took for you when you were coming up. If he’s got a bad habit of looking out for you, you might want to act a little more grateful.”

“I am,” I said. “Jesus. I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t—”

“Like I was telling you, I’ll make him see the light,” said Hass, suddenly smiling again in his unhappy way. “I owe you one. I happen to know we’re planning something big for after Friday’s game. I’m officially inviting you.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to do this for you,” he said. “But that means you got to help me too. Get some of those girls you’re always talking with to come. Bring your chick, too. Girls like it when a guy shows he can provide. Get her to the party, get her a drink, show her who you’re friends with. She’ll be all yours.”

A couple of days later, I sat on Truck’s weight bench in the garage and curled a twenty-pound dumbbell. I knew I’d never be as big as Truck and the Kings: I got too bored lifting, and I didn’t play ball. But I saw the way girls looked at my brother and his friends, and I wanted that. At least from Kallea, if no one else.

I struggled to curl a pair of twenties, something Truck had been able to do since seventh-grade. He was up to fifty-fives now and benching over two-thirty. I heard the door to the house open, and Truck walked out. He lit a cigarette as he closed the door behind him, and when he exhaled, the smoke hung for a long time in the flickering overhead light.

“Breathe out when you lift,” he said. “So you don’t pop a blood vessel in that big head of yours. Breathe in when you lower the weight.”

“Thanks,” I said, pausing between reps. My bicep was on fire, but I wanted to do one or two more curls so Truck could see me.

“Hass says you’re coming to the party on Friday. That you’re gonna bring some of those girls you know.”

“I was thinking about it.”

He took a long drag on his cigarette and studied the cracks on the ceiling.

“Seems like you’re trying awful hard to make friends with Hass. Never seemed interested before.” He took another cigarette out of his pack and lit it with the one in his mouth. Then he spit out the used one and ground it into the concrete floor.

I put the weight down and said, “I like hanging out with you guys. Not Hass especially. He’s just the one who seems to want me around.”

“Don’t you got some kind of Quiz Bowl trip or homework to do or something?”

“No.”

He watched me curl the weight again.

“Don’t cheat it at the end, with the twist like that,” he said. “Here. Let me show you.” He took the weight and demonstrated a steady motion, his arm working like a lever. His muscle didn’t even tense as he moved it up and down. He set the weight on the bench next to me, and I took it in my left hand. I curled it like he showed me, but his way was harder than mine, and I could only lift the weight four or five times.

“Good,” he said. “Now just keep doing that all night until your arm falls off.”

“Okay.”

“Look, come if you want. Bring some girls. I’m sure the guys’ll appreciate it. I’m not saying come, but if it’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”

I started lifting the weight again, breathing out as I curled it toward my chest. It was the second time Truck had mentioned bringing girls, and he rarely said anything by accident. I suddenly felt a surge of pride: my brother wanted me to come. He wanted me to bring some freshmen girls for his friends to meet. He was giving me a chance to step up and prove I was good for something.

9.

Before Quiz Bowl practice that week, Kallea asked me about the party. Though it was October now and getting colder, she still dressed like it was summer: shorts that went down to right above her knees and a red top with tiny straps that showed off her still-tanned shoulders.

“I hear they’re making some kind of epic jungle juice,” she said. “I say we go, stick to beer, and watch the rest of the world drink itself slutty.”

Half of me wanted to tell her we weren’t invited. The Kings knew I was into her, but that didn’t mean they’d kick her out of bed if they had the chance to score. She was still worth six points—no, twelve. I was almost sure of that.

But bringing her was also my best chance to make a move myself. I still spent nights thinking about the dance we’d shared at the last party, how our bodies had pressed together. If we got that close again, I promised myself I’d lean in and kiss her. And hopefully she’d kiss me back.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll go. I’m actually supposed to invite a few more people if I can.”

“You mean, like, Sam Moon? Or hot girls?”

“Hot girls.”

“Your brother and his friends hook up with a lot of girls, huh?”

“Not my brother, but his friends, yeah.”

She arched an eyebrow and smiled.

“So you’re playing matchmaker?”

“Something like that.”

“Cool,” she said. “I’ll help. I know a couple of girls that have been talking about going to a football party for like the last month. We’ll see if they actually have the balls to come.”

We looked across the room at Emily, who was studying a book of maps.

“Not her,” said Kallea. “Her parents totally flipped after that last party. Besides. We know way hotter girls.” Actually, Emily was a seven. She might not have been the best dresser, baggy in all the wrong places, but she had a pretty face, and her yearbook photo made her look hot. I wondered if anyone would take her fourteen points.

Over the next couple of days, Kallea and I asked every girl we knew to come to that week’s party. A lot of them said no, like Steph Chapman, an eight who, not realizing who my brother was, said she didn’t want to come to our “nerd party” or Lily Hellman, a five whose parents had grounded her indefinitely for smoking pot.

A lot of girls, though, were happy to be invited. Most freshmen don’t get invited to decent parties, especially that early in the year, and they were excited to come. You could tell the ones that really had no idea what a party was when they asked what to wear or if they should bring any food. Tina Polis, a four, asked us if it was cool if her parents dropped her off.

After school one day, I bumped into Truck by the sequoia, and he asked me if I wanted a ride home. A lightning storm had rolled in, and the other football players had hit the gym, but Truck preferred working out on his own in the garage, and the coaches didn’t give him any grief.

“I don’t like you biking in the rain,” he said. “You track me down on days like this, and I’ll get you home one way or another.”

We threw my bike in the back of the Ford—it was hard to tell which one was rustier—and were about to take off when Lizzie ran up.

“Hey!” she said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“You sure you want to do that with Ted around?”

“Ha ha,” she said. “Actually, he should come. This involves him too.”

Lizzie sat between me and Truck as we drove, playing coy the whole time, only pointing out “left here, right here” until we got to an apartment complex at the edge of town. It was one of those new developments that got started right before the market cratered and went unsold for years as people waited out the downturn. The small lot by the side of the development where Lizzie told us to park was mostly empty.

“What’s this?” my brother asked.

“You’ll see.”

We got out of the car and followed Lizzie down a concrete walkway toward one of the units. A gray box with a keypad was latched to the door, and a key popped out of it when Lizzie entered in a code. She put the key in the door and opened it.

Inside the small apartment, everything glistened. Light poured in from big windows in the living room and reflected off the hardwood floors. The granite of the countertops shimmered as if wet, and the steel sinks hadn’t been marked by so much as a fingerprint. Truck and I walked through the halls, careful as burglars. We tried not to touch anything. It all felt new, like we were the first people who had ever stepped inside.

“Lizzie—” said Truck.

“Before you say anything, let me tell you the price. Two years ago, this place was selling for three hundred thousand. Now it’s less than half that. A hundred and twenty-nine! It’s a little longer of a drive to work and school, but it’s not
that
bad. I’ve been talking to Miller, and he says his dad will totally cut us a deal, waive the realtor’s fee and everything.  Oh! There’s a second bathroom, under the stairs, and—”

“So what,” said Truck. “I just move in with you. Leave Ted all alone with my dad?”

“Babe, there’s three bedrooms. One for us. One for the baby—and one for Ted, too, if he wants it.”

“Oh. So I just leave my dad all by himself?”

I took a step toward the bathroom. Lizzie looked out the bright windows for a second, her eyes suddenly worried. Then she smiled again and turned back to Truck.

“He can visit any time. You know that. I just want you to think about this. Miller has been learning a lot about real estate from his dad. He says now it the perfect time to buy. There’s this first-time buyers tax credit thing. I know it sounds crazy but—”

I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Everything here shone ever brighter. A line of six bright bulbs shone over the mirror, and as I tried to force myself to piss, I wondered if I was christening the plumbing.

“Since when do we need help from Miller?” asked Truck, his loud voice carrying through the bathroom door. “When’d you have so much time to talk with him, anyway?”

“We’re in Spanish.”

“Yeah? What else you and Miller been talking about?”

I finished peeing and flushed, the water drowning out the sound of the argument outside. I ran the sink and slowly washed my face. Everything practiced and methodical, just like I’d done when I was a kid. When I felt clean, I left the water running at half-volume, put down the top of the toilet seat, and sat there until the voices in the living room softened and I knew it was safe to come outside.