Initiation (18 page)

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Carter exhaled. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve never seen a boy that wasn’t happy about playin’ for the state championship. You get to stay in a hotel tonight. You’re gonna be playin’ at UVA.”

“I can’t seem to shake it. You know, what happened to Ben.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this? I think what he did is just … creepy.”

“I think the initiation killed Ben.”

She frowned. “What are you talkin’ about? He was perfectly fine. Nobody hurt him.”

“You don’t understand. Zach and Justin humiliated him in front of the whole team. And he wanted to be accepted more than anyone. It crushed him.”

“Why would you bring this up now?”

He rubbed his temples and looked at Amber. “Because nobody fucking cares. Coach Cowan told me he was gonna do something about it. He’s a liar.”

Cowan stood in front of two idling school buses. The buses were half-full, with players immersed in their headphones or socializing with the kids around them. Players queued up at the doors, their equipment bags slung over their shoulders.

“Let’s go everyone. Buses are leavin’,” Cowan called out.

Amber took her hands out of Carter’s pocket, stepped back and crossed her arms. “And what’s he supposed to do? Ben’s dead. He’s not comin’ back.”

“He could stop the initiation.”

“This is stupid. It’s not like he was even there.”

Carter shook his head. “If he told everyone that they would be kicked off the team if they participated in any hazing, it would stop. I guarantee it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand you. Ben didn’t even like you. You said so yourself.”

“Carter, move it,” Coach Cowan called out.

Carter glanced at the coach, then back to Amber. “That doesn’t matter. It could have just as easily been me in his shoes. Shit, Noah almost died from alcohol poisoning a couple years ago.”

“You know what, Ben was a little bitch. It’s nobody’s fault but his own.”

“I said move it, Carter,” Cowan called out.

Carter pushed off the wall, grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He glared at Amber. “No. You’re a little bitch.”

Amber’s eyes went wide. She slapped Carter across the face. Onlookers from the crowd and the bus snickered, laughed, and heckled. Carter held his glare for a moment. He turned and marched toward the bus.

Justin hung out the bus window with a wide smile. “Damn, Carter, she hits harder than you.” The bus erupted in laughter.

Cowan was beet red, his jaw tight, his fists clenched. Carter ignored his gaze as he moved to the bus door. “Don’t you step on my bus,” Coach said.

Carter stopped and turned toward the coach. He was close enough that Carter could smell the coffee on his breath. Carter glanced at Cowan’s clenched fists at his side.

“What the hell is your problem, boy?”

Carter stared at the asphalt beneath his feet.

“
Look at me
when I’m talkin’ to you,” Coach Cowan said.

Carter looked up.

“You gotta be the most selfish god damn kid I know. We’re about to play for the state championship and you’re holdin’ up my buses. We got a hundred guys on this team, and they’re all
waitin’
on you.” Cowan shook his head. “Then you’re gonna bring your
god damn girlfriend problems
too. This is football, son, not
Days of Our Lives
. I oughta send your ass home now. Is that what you want?”

Carter stared at the coach’s clenched fists and white knuckles.

“I said look at me!”

Carter blinked and stared at the coach. He dropped his equipment bag on the asphalt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’ boy?”

Carter started to walk past. The coach grabbed him by the upper arm. Carter stopped and looked at the tight grip around his arm. He turned slowly, looking Coach Cowan in the eye.

“Get your
fucking
hands off of me,” Carter said.

Coach Pitts appeared from the bus. “Coach, let me talk to him,” he said.

Coach Cowan let go. “You’re done. You’re off this team!”

Carter walked away.

“You can forget about next year too,” Coach Cowan called out.

“Do you really think this is necessary?” Coach Pitts asked. “Let me talk to him. I can work it out.”

“He’s done,” Coach Cowan said. “Let’s go, we got a state championship to win.”

Carter pulled his hood over his head, slid his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and walked past the assembled families and friends of his former teammates. The crowd was silent as he moved past.

A young boy yelled out in a high pitched voice, “Quitter.”

A few kids giggled. Their parents shushed them.

Carter shuffled home, his eyes focused on the concrete sidewalk. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty parking spot in front of his parents’ townhouse. He pushed the garage door open and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He locked his bedroom door, stripped down to his boxer briefs and crawled into bed. He pulled the comforter tight over his body. He lay on his side, his knees pulled to his chest. He was silent as the tears ran across his face.

* * *

Carter’s stomach growled. His whole body was sore, as if he’d been fighting while he slept. Sunlight punctured his blinds. He smelled bacon and coffee. He glanced at his alarm clock:
10:11 a.m.
He picked up his jeans and hooded sweatshirt from the floor and dressed. He used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Steeling himself, he trudged up the basement steps to the kitchen. His parents and younger sister sat on stools at the counter eating breakfast. They were still in their pajamas. They looked at him with wide eyes and arched eyebrows.

Jim set his fork down with a clang. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the team?” Grace asked.

“I quit,” Carter said.

Jim shook his head, a smirk on his face. “Why?”

Carter shrugged. “The coach …”

Jim chuckled. “The quitter’s mantra. It’s always someone else’s fault.” Jim spoke in a mocking girlish voice. “The coach was mean to me. He was always yellin’. It hurt my feelin’s.”

“Jim,” Grace shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Alyssa said. A piece of bacon was stuck between her braces. “Do you know what a nightmare this is going to be for me?”

Carter glared at his sister. “Shut up, this isn’t about you.”

Jim stood up, his fists clenched. “You will not talk to your sister that way.”

“Why do you care if I play football or not?” Carter said to Jim. “I’m too small, remember? I’m just taking your wise advice.”

Jim shook his head and marched around the counter, closer to Carter. “You’re not puttin’ your cowardice on me. So damn sensitive. I offer some constructive criticism and you just fall apart. If you’re gonna get anywhere in this world, you best develop a thick skin.”

“Your dad’s right,” Grace said. “You can’t go quitting when things are hard.”

“I could care less if you play football,” Jim said. “But you’re not gonna sit around here after school and not contribute. From now on, if you want somethin’, you’re gonna have to buy it yourself. No more free rides.”

Carter’s mouth was a flat line. “When I turn eighteen, you’ll never see me again.”

Jim pounced on Carter, his meaty hands wrenching Carter’s neck. Carter’s eyes dimmed, his breath stymied.

“You think you can make threats in my house?” Jim said.

Jim let go. Carter coughed and sucked in oxygen. He stood straight, glaring at his father, his fists clenched. He stood there for a moment then turned and marched down the basement steps. He grabbed his knit cap, opened the garage door and left. He pulled his cap over his head and started jogging, the cold wind biting his face. He continued running until he was outside of his neighborhood, along the main highway. He slowed to a walk along the concrete sidewalk. Steam spilled from his mouth with each breath. He shoved his hands in his front pocket and leaned into the headwind.

After a few miles, his feet were frozen, his face numb. He hiked into the parking lot of the public library. Two cars were parked in a lot that could hold a hundred. He took off his hat as he entered the heated building. Immediately to his right was a long desk with an elderly woman sitting behind a fat computer monitor. She glanced up from her bifocals.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked.

“No thank you,” Carter said, “I’m just looking.”

Carter strolled through every bookshelf, glancing at the titles. Past the shelves he browsed through the magazines and newspapers. The front cover of the
Alexandria Gazette
read
The Marauders Plan to Pillage Another State Title
. He grabbed a copy of
Sports Illustrated
and ambled to a cluster of tables and chairs. He read the magazine cover to cover. After, he read another one. He continued like that until the elderly woman told him that they were closing.

A gust of wind smacked him in the face as soon as he stepped out of the library. He felt faint, his stomach rumbling. He jogged on the sidewalk, the wind swirling, his eyes watering, and his face numb. Cars zipped by, leaving their exhaust hanging in the air. His feet smacked the sidewalk, but he could barely feel them. A few miles later, he turned into his neighborhood. He slowed to a walk and put his hands on his hips, sucking in the bitter air.

He heard a few polite beeps behind him. He turned to see a red Honda Coupe stop along the sidewalk. The window powered down.

“Carter,” Sarah said from the passenger’s seat.

Carter turned and jogged from the sidewalk to the street where the car was parked along the curb.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sarah said.

Julie leaned over from the driver’s seat with a smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Cunningham,” Carter said.

She frowned. “Stop with the Mrs. Cunningham, and get in before you turn into a Popsicle.”

Sarah opened the door and stepped out of the car. She pushed the seat forward and climbed into the miniscule back seat. “Get in,” she said.

Carter sat in front and shut the door.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked.

“I’m fine,” Carter said, “I just went to the library.”

Julie pulled into her driveway. She was dressed in black tights, a short skirt, and tall boots. The car idled, the headlights still on.

“You’re not coming?” Sarah asked.

Julie frowned. “You know I’m supposed to meet Lincoln.”

“Whatever.”

Carter opened the car door. “Thank you for the ride Mrs. – I mean, Julie.”

She winked. “You’re welcome, cutie pie.”

Sarah pushed the front seat forward and stepped out of the car. Sarah and Carter strolled up the steps to the front door. Julie was already gone. Sarah fished for her key, cranked the deadbolt, and pushed inside. She flipped on the lights. Carter pulled his knit cap off, his short brown hair matted to his head. Sarah took off her jacket and hung it in the hall closet.

She frowned at Carter’s sweatshirt. “Where’s your coat, Panama boy?”

“I left it at home.”

“You want something to eat? I was going to make spaghetti for dinner.”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Carter said.

She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, her warm lips lingering on his cold face. “I’m not.”

“Do you mind if I sit down? I feel a little faint. I haven’t eaten since breakfast … yesterday.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Why don’t you lay down in the living room? I’ll heat you up some bread to tide you over until dinner.”

“I’ll just sit here,” he said, sitting at the kitchen table by the bay window. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You look pale,” she said walking closer to him. She put the back of her hand to his head. “You don’t feel hot.”

He smirked. “How could I? I was freezing my ass off.”

She moved over to the counter, picking up the tea pot. “I’ll put some tea on.”

Carter rubbed his temples. “Thank you.”

She flashed him a grin.

“Why were you looking for me?” he asked.

“My friend Megan was at school yesterday for the big farewell.” Sarah took a deep breath. “She told me what happened.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“After dinner,” she said. “You look like frozen death.”

Carter sipped herbal tea and devoured warm bread slathered in butter. Sarah simultaneously tended a pot of pasta and a pot of bolognaise on the stovetop. She glanced over her shoulder at Carter before fishing a piece of spaghetti out of the pot and tossing it against the wall. It stuck in place.

“I think we’re about ready,” she said.

They ate in silence. Carter inhaled his heaping plate of pasta. Sarah watched him, her eyebrows raised. He wiped his face with his napkin and washed the last of his spaghetti down with water.

“This is the best food I’ve ever had,” he said.

She laughed. “You were starving – literally. I could have fed you crackers and you would have said that.”

“Thank you.”

She grinned. “You look better. There’s color in your face.”

He exhaled, his smile fading. “I quit football.”

She nodded. “I figured. It was interesting timing, though. The state championship and all.”

He frowned.

“I’m not criticizing. I’m just worried about you.”

“I thought you’d be happy. I thought you hated football.”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter what I think. This is about you. Why’d you do it? I thought you loved football.”

“I didn’t plan to quit.” He shook his head. “It all happened so fast.”

“Start from the beginning.”

“I guess I was mad at Coach Cowan. I told him about what happened to Ben like a month ago. Then I asked him about it and he lied to me. He said he was gonna talk to the Wheelers but he never did.”

“Did you tell them?”

He nodded. “I told Mrs. Wheeler.”

Her eyes were wide. “What did she say?”

“She said I should keep quiet about it, that she’s gonna handle it.”

Sarah smiled for a second. “I’m sorry, I interrupted you.”

“It’s okay. So, right before the buses were supposed to leave, I was talking to Amber about Ben, and she said he was a little bitch.”