Any Way You Slice It (19 page)

None of that matters if Warren murders us in the hallway. Sure, we knew it would piss him off, but neither of us considered the actual outcome.

Warren's reading the paper as he walks down the corridor. A few of his teammates appear out of the crowd and hover behind him, unsure of what they're supposed to be doing. The end of the hallway is clear, and for a second I consider grabbing Lori and Jake and making a run for it. But that would be too obvious. It's time to face the music.

Warren stops in front of us and waves the paper. His face is red and his jaw is clenched so hard his teeth might break. At first he doesn't say a word; he just opens his mouth and shuts it again. “You.” He points at Lori. “You wrote this article.”

“Yes. Yes I did.” She nods. “And you apparently read the article.”

“How can you say the Rejects are better than varsity? They are just a bunch of wannabes.” He points at Jake. “And you agree with her. You're better than we are? No way in hell.”

Jake clears his throat. “Actually, if you read the article, you'll notice that nowhere in the article did anyone actually say the Rink Rats were better.” He gestures in deference to Warren. “I think we can all agree that varsity is, in fact, the more technically proficient team. No one can argue that you are a bigger, stronger, and more skilled hockey team.”

I love it when Jake goes into nerdy sportscaster mode.

Warren grins, “Then you'll print another article that says that.” He motions to Caroline. “Next edition, another article.”

Caroline nods her head, but then disappears into the crowd. I'm sure Warren thinks the yearbook and the newspaper are the same thing—and no one is about to correct him.

“But,” Jake continues as if the interruption never happened, “sometimes when a team has to work harder and be smarter about how they play, they become a better team. A team that enjoys each other. A team that plays with heart.”

“You're saying you're smarter now?” He glances around as if daring someone to agree with Jake.

Jake reaches out and takes my hand. It feels amazing to be standing in solidarity. My heart soars, even though we're about to die.

Where is the school administration when you need them?

I'm not sure where the rest of our team is either … and then Carter and Flores step out from the crowd.

Jimmy walks to the middle of the floor. With the checkered pattern on the linoleum, it's almost like he's taking his place on the chessboard. He looks around at the crowd. Someone hoots from the back.

“Yeah, that's what we're saying.” Jimmy's voice wavers, but he keeps talking. “We play smarter. Who the hell cares if we win? We have fun.” He glances at me and smiles. “Right, Pen?”

I've never been prouder of Flores. “Right, Jimmy!”

“I say we settle this with a game. We'll crush you.” Warren crumples the paper and throws it at Jake. “And then we'll see which team is better or smarter.”

The crowd murmurs excitedly; they think it's a great idea.

Warren glances down at our clasped hands. He crosses his arms and straightens his back. Through his gritted teeth, he says, “I never really wanted that date, Spaulding. Just so you know.”

“Good, because I was never going to go through with it.” Under my breath as Warren pushes his way back through the crowd, I say to Jake, “This is ridiculous. They're going to crush us.”

“Us? So, what, you're playing now?” Jake shifts his backpack. “Doesn't that mean you're going to have to convince your parents?”

“How can I not?” I look at Jake, hoping he agrees. “They've got to let me play. Just one last time.” My head is spinning. “They're still going to crush us.”

“Yeah, but we'll go down looking like the underdog. People will relate to us; and Warren and the varsity team will only look like the big bullies they are, so it's a win-win.”

I'm not sure how he can call us getting crushed “win-win” but I don't say anything. Because there's the real potential that we could get crushed—literally. But there's no way I'm missing this, even if it means being grounded for the rest of my life.

There have been some legendary fights at Vernon High School. The memory of some of them are fused into the collective membranes of the community, while others are passed down through the generations by word of mouth. It's weird because even though Jake is known to be one of the biggest fighters in the history of the school, there's never been a credible witness to any of his fights.

Of course that's because there haven't really been any fights. Principal Jones generally trusts the critical mass. So when a kid comes forward with a black eye and blames Jake, she takes his word for it. It sucks, but there it is. She'd rather punish Jake than bear the wrath of a helicopter parent and a potential lawsuit.

News about something as big as a fight travels fast. I hear about it almost immediately after it happens. For once, Caroline doesn't have the scoop, though. The story comes from Ashley Spring—she's a varsity hockey tramp, so it's immediately obvious her source can't be trusted. I don't know how I ever believed any of those stories.

“All of varsity hockey witnessed it!” she says in a loud voice in front of the salad bar at lunch. “Jake cornered Warren during gym and beat him senseless, until someone broke them up.”

It's just that no one besides varsity hockey can corroborate.

“What the hell happened?” I ask Jake as soon as I see him in the hallway before seventh period. “They're lying, aren't they?”

He sighs. “Jones made me sit there and listen while Warren told a very convincing story about how I attacked him under the bleachers and punched his lights out. Apparently I'm pissed about comments he made this morning about a newspaper article and an upcoming hockey grudge match. Thing is,” he says, swinging his arms, “I didn't have a very good alibi. I was sitting under the bleachers during gym.”

“What's she going to do?” I say, but something in his tone tells me he's already accepted the punishment.

“Jones is giving me detention every day after school this week. I'm not sure she believes I really did it, because she's not suspending me. But it means I'm going to miss practice all week.” He shrugs.

“You've got to appeal it.” I can't believe he's okay with people thinking he's a thug. He's okay standing there and taking it.

He shakes his head. “I just have to get through next year, and then we all graduate. No big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal. You're innocent. What happened to due process?” I'm pacing up and down the hall, like a caged animal. “This is not fair.”

“She's got a dozen witnesses. And a school board with a zero-tolerance policy. Her hands are tied.” He shrugs again. “It's nothing new.”

“You promised me you'd try to convince her,” I say.

“It's not that easy.”

“It's a V-6. Smooth ride, right?”

Carter isn't my first choice for a ride, but he'll do. I just have to ignore his commentary the whole way.

I've got to be at the rink. I'm not going to sneak around anymore, but I promised Jake I would get to the rink and tell Coach why he can't practice. And then tell them all I have to quit.

How can I be at the rink and not suit up?

Coach drops the bomb as soon as we're all sitting on the bench. They've planned an exhibition game at the rink on Saturday, not to prove who is better, but to raise awareness for the hockey program. “We'll trot out the peewees for some drills.” He's practically jumping up and down. “This is going to be huge. We're going to raise awareness for this team, for the rink, and for hockey in general.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes and he starts talking like we're not even in the room. “We'll have some contests and have the crowd come out and try to hit the net for prize money.”

The guys do the team cheer, and I smile in spite of myself. They're getting excited, and I hate myself for what I'm about to say.

I clear my throat to get their attention. “I need to tell you guys something.”

Coach doesn't hear me; he raises his hand to get us to quiet down. “The only problem is that Gomes won't be playing on Saturday.”

The guys go from testosterone tough to silent in an instant. I look around at them and wait for the punch line. “It's a joke, right?”

Jimmy says the words we're all thinking. “What do you mean, Jake's not playing?”

Coach cracks his neck before speaking. “I had it all set up with Frank Sutton, the VHS varsity coach before I heard the news. It was too late to change all the plans. Jake is in detention on Saturday.” He rubs the back of his head. “But don't worry. We'll be fine.”

I think I might hyperventilate.

Carter pokes my shoulder at me, “Did you know about this?”

Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “I just thought he was out of practice this week. He didn't tell me he couldn't play on Saturday.” I look up at the coach. “There's no way we can do this without Jake.” The outrage from this afternoon rears its head. “We're doomed.”

Not everyone knows about the events of the day, so I fill them in. Coach slams his hand against the nearest locker. “Jake didn't tell me it was on trumped-up charges. What if I call the principal? Is she reasonable? Will she listen to me as a character witness?”

The guys are all smirking, looking around.

“This is high school, Coach.” Mark Temple says. “Not
Law and Order
.”

“Cancel it.” I'm looking around the room hoping the rest of the guys will back me up. But no one is biting.

“We can't cancel it now,” says Coach. “I've already called in a favor and one of the guys from the Bruins is coming in to be the master of ceremonies.”

Jimmy opens and shuts his mouth a few times. He finally turns to me and says quietly, “Pen. You're the one who said we should play because we love the game. Not because we care about winning. But because it's fun.”

I shake my head. “This isn't what I meant. Aren't any of you worried about getting slammed by these guys? They're bullies with an ax to grind. We're dead meat out there, and without Jake we've got no chance.” Coach and the guys stare at me like I've betrayed them.

“Is that what you really think, Spaulding?” Johnson yells from the other end of the bench. “And I was finally starting to think you might prove me wrong. It's always been about Gomes for you. He's the only reason you're here.”

They're wrong. But their disappointed faces make me feel like total crap.

“Not true.” Coach scowls. “You guys
can
win without Gomes. And Jimmy's right. It doesn't matter if you don't win. You've all come a long way this year. You might not win without Jake at center, but you can certainly play your hearts out.” He looks at me, but he still doesn't reprimand. “Penelope, will your dad donate some pizza or some prizes or something to give away?”

This would be the perfect time to tell them I'm quitting, but I nod; this thing is bigger than me.

I've got to beg for Dad's forgiveness. I've got to play in Saturday's game. I can't let these guys down; I've got to play—even if Dad forbids it. Even if we have no chance of winning and a really good chance of someone getting killed.

I just hope it's not going to be me.

“Thanks for driving, Carter,” I say with a nod as I hoist my backpack over my shoulder. “But I can get a ride home. No problem.”

“Are you sure? I don't mind,” he says, the locker room door swinging shut behind him.

Reality is that Ethan Carter is a terrible driver. He spent the whole ride over telling me all about the drive train and the transmission and, while that wouldn't have been too bad if he hadn't been all over the road, he almost hit the guardrail three times and didn't seem to notice. All I could think about was how much it would have sucked to be in two car accidents in the same week. With any luck, my parents won't hear about the first one and will keep letting me drive to school with Lori. Whenever the cute mechanic fixes her car.

When Grams pulls into the parking lot, she's beaming from ear to ear. Seriously. She looks like the Cheshire cat. “So you're still playing, then?” She grins, as I climb into the front seat and throw my bag into the backseat.

I can't help it. My eyes tear up and I cover them with my hands.

“Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.” Grams rubs my shoulder. “What happened?” She rifles through the glove box and pulls out a napkin with a fast-food logo on it. “Here. I don't have anything else.”

It's enough to make me laugh, and I realize how dumb I must look. “I came over to tell them I quit, but I couldn't do it. Jake can't play on Saturday, and Coach is … well, he just … I couldn't tell him.”

She dabs at my face with the scratchy napkin. “Your father is being an idiot.”

“Grams, stop it.” I push her hand away.

“Well he is.” She hits the steering wheel. “When he was your age, he would have died rather than quit hockey. Well …” Her tone softens. “I guess he almost did. You know that's why he won't let you play. He knows how close he came to not waking up that day. He doesn't want that to happen to you.”

“I need to play on Saturday. I need to make him let me play.” I stare at her face and whisper. “I don't want to lie anymore. It's one thing to lie by omission, but this time it would be for real.”

“Welllll,” she says and I can almost see the lightbulb over her head. “You're right. There
must
be a way to convince him.” She glances over at me as she starts the car. “By the way, the television people are at Slice right now.”

It takes me a minute to make the connection, but then it hits me like a slap shot to the forehead. “I ask him in front of the cameras!”