Fury (17 page)

She sat down on one of the swings. Its chain still shrieked with every motion. Some things hadn’t changed, at least. She pumped her legs listlessly, letting the cold air chill her even through her coat, hoping it would clear her head, help shake loose the trapped feeling in her chest and throat.

Was this what love was? Complicated, sad, messy? Why
couldn’t life just go back to how it used to be, when the biggest problem was who got to go down the slide first? She sighed and looked up at the stars, shoving her hands into her pockets with a quick shiver.

Deep in her peacoat, her hand brushed against a piece of paper. She pulled it out and saw that her name was on the outside fold, but didn’t recognize the handwriting. She opened the paper and as she deciphered the words, her breathing got increasingly shallow.

Sometimes sorry isn’t enough.

Em leaped off the swing and swiveled around and around in the still, dark playground. For a second she thought she saw a flash of white beyond the seesaw.

Without waiting another second, Em bolted toward the gate, totally shaken. How long had this note been in her pocket? Who put it there?
Sometimes sorry isn’t enough.
The words jumbled in her head.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her this very second, following her. Her heart hammered heavily as she ran the rest of the way down her block and back to her house, knowing that even inside, she wouldn’t feel safe.

Sometimes sorry isn’t enough.
She didn’t know what the note meant. Not really. But she could tell by the cold, black feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that it was true.

Ice hoops were already in full swing when Chase showed up to Galvin’s Pond on Friday afternoon. Every year, during winter break, the guys would get together at the pond and set up Zach’s portable basketball hoops. Assuming the ice was thick enough, they would half-skate, half-run through unwieldy games of Horse or 21. More than a few nasty bruises had been sustained over the years thanks to these games, but they were worth it. If nothing else, ice hoops was another way to make Ascension’s long winters bearable.

The tiny pond was set back from the road, behind a curtain of trees, in the Galvin Nature Preserve. On the far side of the preserve was Ascension’s oldest cemetery, one of those historic relics that contained just a handful of crumbling stones. Every Halloween, the land was overrun by a haunted hayride,
complete with swamp things emerging from the water and zombies popping out from behind trees. Chase liked the hayride—it was girl bait; they seemed to love snuggling up and being fake scared. Last year, Kelly Van Doran had actually whispered, “You’re so brave,” into his ear as they’d bounced along the rocky path. During the summer months, Galvin was a cramped swimming hole, crowded with teenagers reveling in Maine’s short window of hot weather, too lazy to drive to the beach.

Chase had more somber memories here, too. After Zach’s dad’s funeral freshman year, the two of them had ended up at Galvin, while folks were still mingling at the McCord house. At home, Zach had been stoic and serious, but by the pond, he’d broken down in tears, throwing rocks angrily into the pond. Chase had sat quietly by, thinking about how different their dads had been. How he almost envied Zach his grief—Zach, who was actually losing a father figure, a mentor. After a while, Chase had pulled a fifth of bourbon from his coat. “Here, have some of this,” he’d said. And Zach had drunk gratefully. “Thanks,” Zach had said. “I know you get it.” Then they’d gone to Zach’s car for a Wiffle ball and bat. Chase had fed Zach easy pitches, allowing him the satisfaction of seeing the ball sail through the air, almost to the trees, by the force of his hits.

Today, Galvin was practically deserted. There were only
three cars in the parking lot when Chase pulled up, all of them bearing Ascension stickers.

Winter had come early and strong this year. There was no doubt the pond was frozen solid. As he crunched across the frozen field toward the “court,” Chase heard the guys shouting, talking shit, laughing. He could see six or seven of them jumping around on the ice and snow. He rubbed his hands together and pulled his cap down over his ears. No snow was in the forecast today, but the wind was blowing with a particular intensity. His nose wouldn’t stop running no matter how many times he dragged his arm across it.

He hadn’t really wanted to show up today. Since the painting and picture-taking, he hadn’t stopped thinking about Ty: All he wanted to do was see her again. But then Zach had called to remind him about the game, and Chase felt bad. He really hadn’t been hanging out much lately.

“Surprised you showed up, Singer.” Barton’s voice carried crisply over the ice. “Thought you might be busy panhandling.”

Great. This again. Chase had almost forgotten about that whole gag over the last few days. “Thought you would have come up with a new insult since then,” he tossed over his shoulder as he high-fived Zach in greeting. “Barton, save your shit talk for the court.”

He jogged up and down on the ice, trying to get into game mode.

Zach grabbed the ball from Barton’s grasp and sailed a jump shot into the basket.

“In the bag, baby.” Zach did a small victory dance. “I’m just that good.” It was a nice shot, Chase had to admit.

“Speaking of bagging,” Carl Feder said with an exaggerated wink. “Which one are you going to bring to the Feast? How can you possibly choose between them?”

“Moving on, Feder. Okay, so we’ll have me, Wagner, you, and Nick on one team,” Zach was saying, pointing to the players as he spoke. “And Chase, Brian, Barton, Steve, and Will on the other. Sound good?”

Barton scoffed quietly but didn’t say anything. The rest of them nodded and assembled themselves into small huddles.

As they split up, Chase heard Steve Sawyer say to Zach, “You know I couldn’t even get her pants off, right, dude?”

So they were talking about Em. Chase remembered the time Steve had come to practice boasting about having made out with Winters. Then the next time he hadn’t been boasting so much. He’d brought her down to his basement to watch old episodes of
Saturday Night Live
hoping for a blow job and he’d gotten no further than second base.

“Maybe you just don’t have my skills,” Zach said, bounding out onto the ice. “So, same rules as last year?”

Chase couldn’t help but flash back to the other day, when he’d walked in on Em and Zach. Em had been so embarrassed
as she clutched a pillow to her chest and searched frantically for her bra.

“Zach’s trying to bone Emily Winters,” Barton said, thinking he was filling Chase in on a big secret. Chase nodded and looked away. He didn’t want to talk about Em and Zach. It felt shitty. Invasive.

Zach very artfully managed to neither confirm nor deny the allegations. But his confident laugh made Chase feel colder than the wind did.

Chase thought back to the day Zach had told him that he was going to ask Gabby out. It was right at the beginning of last summer. Zach had spent all of their freshman and sophomore years bouncing from girl to girl, including the ridiculously hot UMaine sophomore he’d met when he was out sailing on his stepdad’s boat. That was when he’d coined the “college tours” term. But he was getting a bit of a reputation for being a player. So last summer, after a day when a bunch of them had gone to the beach and Zach and Gabby had flirted all afternoon, Zach had told Chase his plan. He was going to ask Gabby out. It was perfect. She was hot. He’d heard she wasn’t a prude from Ryan Chandler, a senior on the basketball team who’d taken her to prom and supposedly had inside knowledge. She’d been smiling at him a lot. Her parents would love it. And it’s not like they didn’t have fun together. She was cute and smart. She giggled a lot. She and Em were always up for sneaking into the
Woods Knoll golf course and drinking rum and Cokes. It was just natural. Easy.

And yeah, he’d cheated on her a few times. Chase had even congratulated Zach. Zach got away with it, and no one got hurt.

But now . . . Chase didn’t know if it was because Em had been helping him, or because of how tortured she’d looked when she’d gotten out of Zach’s car the other day, but when Zach talked like this, Chase couldn’t even fake a smile.

He bounced up and down to get his blood pumping, to show that he was ready to play.

“Okay, so it’s our ball first,” Zach announced.

Chase’s head snapped up. “Why?”

Zach looked quizzical. “My team won last year. Winner’s ball.”

“Winner’s ball does not span a full year, dude.”

Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Zach relented. “Okay. Touchy, touchy. Shoot to see who goes first. Me versus Singer.” Zach threw him the ball.

Chase jogged out to the middle of the pond and aimed at one of the hoops. He missed. Zach did the same, shooting for the opposite basket. Another miss. They went back and forth a couple of times, the wind taking the ball in a new direction with every shot. Chase started to zone in on the game, the ball, the feeling of physical exertion.

He swished one right in.

“Our ball,” he said, flashing a triumphant grin.

“I still get my shot.” Zach toed up to the makeshift line—a thin line carved faintly into the ice. But as the ball sailed from his hands, Chase saw him take a giant step forward. The ball hit the backboard, rolled around the rim, and dropped through the net.

Chase called him on it. “Foul, man! Bullshit. Take it again.”

“What are you talking about?” Zach looked at him innocently.

“You stepped way over the line. Take it again.”

“No I didn’t.” Zach looked around at the other guys. “Was I over?”

“Dude, I saw it,” Chase insisted. For some reason he didn’t want to let this one go. “You can’t just make your own rules. Do over.”

Zach stood there, not moving. “Jesus, you are really uptight these days, man. First the cock block the other day, now this.” He forced a laugh, but his eyes were narrow and hard.

“Shut up, asshole.” Chase spoke a little more forcefully. He dug his nails into his palms, feeling his heart beating faster, feeling his vision closing in slightly on both sides. “I’m just saying you can’t always bend the rules however you fucking want. You pull this shit all the time. Forget it. Go first. I don’t care.”

“Okay, guys. Whatever. Zach’s team goes first. Let’s play.”
Barton came up behind Chase. The others spread out, ready to get moving.

But Zach didn’t give up.

“What’s your problem, Singer? You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, I said it. Your foot was over the damn line.” In the open preserve, their voices echoed. It was getting darker, and Chase’s mood was stormy. “You always cheat when you’re trying to bag something?” he said with a sneer, turning his back on Zach. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but he wouldn’t take them back.

He scanned the others’ faces defiantly, daring them to say something. All of a sudden, there were lots of faces down and feet shuffling.

“Oh, so you’re jealous,” Zach said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Of my basketball skills or of the fact that Em’s into me? I didn’t know you had a thing for her. Go ahead—once Gabby’s back, Em’s off-limits to me. So feel free to take my sloppy seconds. You should be used to hand-me-downs, right?”

That was it: Chase snapped. The anger that had been building for days—no, years—unraveled inside of him. “You’re a dick, you know that?” Chase’s voice was a low growl.

Zach’s mouth curled sinisterly, and Chase could feel his own eyes pulling into mean slits.

“What, you suddenly care about how people
feel
or something?”
Zach practically spit out the words. “Chill out. I’m just having a good time.” He took a menacing step toward Chase.

“Well, I think you’re being a douchebag,” Chase responded, not budging a centimeter. “Think about someone else for a change.”

“Really? That’s what you think? Well, I think you’re being a faggot,” Zach said.

“What did you just call me?”

“You heard me. Faggot.”

The two boys stepped toward each other, and Sean cleared his throat. “Okay, okay. Guys. Come on. Let’s play.” Barton and Nick moved forward instinctively. But Chase barely heard him. His eyes were locked on Zach’s. The anger was a snake, lashing inside him.

Then out of nowhere came the punch. Zach’s fist shot out from the right side of his body, making contact with the left side of Chase’s face.

“Jesus!” Chase didn’t know if he said it or if one of the other guys did, but the word rang out in the open air. His cheek stung and his eyes watered. He felt the rush of adrenaline.

Chase balled up his fist and hit back, making contact with the left side of Zach’s mouth. He thought he felt the skin break beneath his knuckles.

Zach charged, head down, into Chase’s torso. They fell to the ground, grunting and cursing. Chase hit the ice, hard,
with a cracking sound; he rolled over, shoving Zach’s head into the snow. Then the others were there, shouting, trying to break it up. Sean and Nick pulled at Zach, while Barton grabbed Chase under the arms and tugged him in the opposite direction.

Zach spit and dark blood spattered to the snowy ground. Chase couldn’t tell if the blood was from Zach’s oozing lip or nose. He and Zach were both heaving.

Zach looked up at him, squinting. He shook his head ever so slightly, and no one approached him. “You always take things way too far, dude.”

Chase tried to shake free of Barton’s grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Even though he knew. He knew exactly what Zach was referring to. The dark secret that had been haunting him ever since the night of Minster’s party. The unspeakable thing . . .

Zach looked at him hard. “You know what I’m talking about.”

A spasm went through Chase’s chest. He shook at Barton again, who was still gripping his arms like he was a freaking animal. “I’m fine, man,” he said to Barton. “I’m fine. Lemme go.”

Barton finally released him. Chase didn’t look at Zach again. He turned on his heel and walked away. As he walked, he touched the skin around his eye gingerly. It was smarting and tender.