Playing for the Other Team (20 page)

Someone was calling my name, and I was pretty sure my head and chest had been crushed by a collapsing building.

I wasn’t sure if these two things were related.

“Bry,” the voice said, “I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass up right the hell now, I’m gonna put my dirty gym socks in your mouth.”

“Charming,” I told Trip, or tried. Talking hurt like a son of a bitch. So did trying to move.

“Hold still,” Trip said. “You’re pretty fucked-up. Asshole got you real good.”

Right. Fletcher. Slowly the occurrences of the past few minutes trickled back into my mind like a blurry picture gaining focus.

“Don’t tell me I passed out,” I muttered, annoyed. Trip cackled. Talking still hurt, and I winced. “How bad?”

“I dunno. You’re gonna need stitches; that’s for sure,” Trip said. “You want me to drive you to the hospital?”

I knew there was something else I needed to do, but it took me a while to grab hold of the thought.

“Shit,” I said, sat up with some major help on Trip’s part and a lot of teeth-gritting, and opened one eye. The other remained shut despite my best efforts. Fast swelling. Trip’s slightly blurred face hovered in front of me, looking concerned.

“Jasper.” The word came out weak and wheezy. “I was looking for him. I think something happened.”

Trip bit his lip, and just when I thought he would insist on driving me to the hospital anyway, he nodded.

“Dude,” he said when he saw my expression. “If something happened to Elle, I’d be punching faces instead of worrying about my own. I get it.”

He helped me up. I nearly puked, it hurt that much when I tried to straighten up.

“Shit,” I half growled, half gasped in pain, not sounding nearly as impressive as I wanted to. “Where’s Fletcher? I owe him.”

“Dunno. He ran off when I came in.”

“Why…” I tried to catch my breath, which didn’t happen. Every time I breathed, I wanted to cry. “…were you still here, anyway?”

“I was…um, I was trying to talk to Elle, except she told me to fuck off in front of the entire dance team, including your sister.”

“Try…flowers,” I deadpanned. I was pretty proud of managing that much.

“Whatever, asshole. Anyway, I saw Fletch and his people hanging around looking like they were up to something, so I wanted to make sure they didn’t come gunning for you.”

“Which…they did.”

“Yeah. Which they did.”

“Where did his friends go? It was only him and me in here.”

“Dunno, I lost track of them. Saw them walking toward the fine-arts hallway last thing.”

My good eye widened when I realized the implications of what he’d just said. “Shit,” I said, and then we hurried toward the art rooms with Trip supporting me the best he could while I tried not to howl in pain.

I’d love to say we ran, but, well, that didn’t happen. I leaned on Trip heavily and mouthed some curse words that were normally too hardcore for me, and Trip had his arm around me and kept telling me to save my breath “for the ass-kicking.” I wasn’t sure whose ass he expected me to kick in that condition. A grade-schooler could have knocked me over right then, but points for optimism, I supposed. The only thing that kept me going was the fear of something happening to Jasper—or something having already happened, which was worse.

“Why’s this school so big?” I gasped, stumbling.

“Because,” Trip said helpfully and pulled me farther. “Suck it up so we can find your boyfriend. I can’t believe I just said
your boyfriend
.”

“Might want to…get used to it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Trip was suddenly smiling. Weakly, but it was there. “I will.”

A muffled scream made us break into as much of a run as I was capable of, which wasn’t much. The noise had come from the room in which Jasper and I had art class together, and when I half fell into it and saw Fletcher and two of his cronies, including the basketbro, I felt like the room’s sanctity had been violated.

Jasper was lying curled up on the ground at the three guys’ feet. He had a bloody nose and was breathing heavily, and Fletcher’s booted foot was crushing his hand.

His painting hand.

With a scream of absolute rage, I threw myself at Fletcher, which was a terrible idea because the pain of the impact really did make me throw up a little in my mouth. I spit and tried to aim it Fletcher’s way. My body felt like someone was torturing me with electric shocks as we bumped against a wall. I tried to keep Fletcher from hurting me the best I could, but it was next to impossible, and soon I couldn’t breathe at all. Everything went pitch-black while I fought to draw a breath, but my diaphragm didn’t seem to be cooperating.

Then, suddenly, Fletcher pulled away from me. I tried to be ready for another attack, which didn’t come, and when I blinked my eye open, I was looking straight at three girls wearing tank tops and yoga pants. Two of them were holding Fletcher’s arms while the third one kicked him in the crotch repeatedly. He hung there, doubled over and whimpering.

I almost felt a little sorry for him. Almost. But I was in too much pain to bother.

“Hello, Bry,” someone said, far too brightly for my taste. “We heard you guys screaming, and I thought this might be a gay bashing. Is it?”

I couldn’t see who it was, because my vision had blurred, but I nodded. Talking wasn’t gonna happen at that point.

There was more crotch kicking. These girls seriously had no idea how much that hurt. Or maybe they did.

“Bry?” asked a new voice. This one I recognized without trouble. Feebly, I nodded at my sister.

A hand patted my shoulder, very gently. “Don’t worry,” Brina said. “We got this. Jenna ran to get Miss Tramble. She’ll be here in a moment, I’m sure.

The softball coach was known for taking no crap from anyone, ever. She’d put an end to this. I looked up and saw Elle leading Jasper to a corner. He was cradling his hand—the sight sent a fresh surge of anger through me—and there were tear tracks on his cheeks, but he was holding his chin stubbornly high as his eyes sought me out. There was relief written in them when he spotted me, and he changed direction and came over to me, dragging Elle along.

“Don’t hug me,” was the first thing I told him. “I think my ribs are bruised.”

“Okay,” he said and kissed the uninjured side of my face. I felt something liquid, either tears or blood, smear along my skin. “Um. Thanks for coming for me.”

“Thank Trip,” I said. “He was the one who kept Fletcher from straight-up putting me in the hospital.”

“Really?” Elle looked doubtful. She looked around and only then seemed to recognize her ex, who was holding Basketbro in a tight headlock that looked surprisingly competent, considering it was Trip who was doing it. Elle’s eyes went wide in startlement. “Holy crap!”

“Apparently he’s coming around,” I said to her. “Might want to give him another chance.”

She went back to looking doubtful.

I turned to Jasper. “What did they do to you?”

“Dispense unimaginative insults and demand unimaginative sexual favors, then punch me, push me down, and step on my hand,” he said. “You look like you’re a lot worse off.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

That was when Miss Tramble burst in the door with a snarl and a raised softball bat, making me want to scream in renewed terror before I fully realized that she was supposed to be on my side.

* * * *

Jasper and I had a lot of time to talk while we were hanging out in the hospital, him getting his hand examined, me waiting to be x-rayed. It turned out that none of the bones in Jasper’s hand were broken, but there was ugly bruising and swelling, which had to be taken care of.

“I won’t be able to paint all summer,” he said, sounding justifiably put out about it.

“Can you use your left?”

“I’ve tried that before.” He lifted the hand in question and waved it around. “I draw like a kindergartener, using it. And just when my suspension was revoked too.”

“Ah,” I said. “I was going to ask how that went.”

“Mom tore Mr. Barron a new one. Missy just sat there and glared. It might have been fun to watch if it hadn’t been all about me and my stupid problems.”

That was when I took him into my arms and told him that he was worth some bruised ribs.

* * * *

I spent a few days at home to recover, during which my mother fussed over me like she hadn’t done since I’d turned six. After the excitement of the past several days, it was nice and boring to be served chicken dumpling soup with crackers, cheese, and hot tea three times a day, and I didn’t complain about it even once.

“I’m proud of you,” she said at one point as she collected my empty dishes, then left without elaborating.

Nova came by and gifted me a pink teddy bear carrying a miniature stethoscope and a tiny briefcase with Band-Aids. Jasper brought Missy along, who gave me a gift certificate for her dojo. When I pointed out that I probably wouldn’t find myself in this kind of situation again anytime soon, she looked skeptical. I thanked her and wisely shut up.

“And as far as that puddle of slime Christopher is concerned,” she said, giving me a saccharine smile just before leaving, “don’t worry. Some of my associates have been shadowing him for a while now, and they may have procured photographic evidence of a rather embarrassing nature. And I may have sent that evidence to his parents. And his summer employer. And the college he’s planning on attending.”

Later on, Jasper and I spent some time by ourselves, lying on my bed together. It was a little tricky because Jasper still had his injured hand in a bandage, and my ribs and face were still touchy.

“They asked me about what happened,” Jasper told me. He was chewing his lip, which made me want to lean over and kiss him. “I…didn’t lie. I didn’t want to protect Fletcher or anyone else. Not Christopher either. I told Miss Fisher what being his boyfriend was like. I think she might be planning to talk to his parents. I don’t think it’ll help, but whatever.” He shrugged. “I’m done being scared of him. And I think what Missy did will punish him enough for my taste.”

I patted his waist in a sign of support. In response, he purred a little and cuddled up to me.

“Anyway,” he murmured into my ear, “I think I love you.”

“Okay, cool,” I said and yawned.

Jasper kicked my ankle and started to laugh.

Epilogue

Jasper tore the white plastic that his cap and gown were sealed in and broke down in hysterical laughter. I spent a minute trying to figure out what the hell was so funny. Then I thought to get a good look at his graduation attire. It was forest green.

“I thought we were supposed to be all black,” I said, confused.

“Apparently not. Check yours.”

I did. My cap and gown were an elegant silver-gray color.

“Oh my God,” I whispered when I realized what had happened. “Oh my God, they sent in our measurement cards with the colors we wrote on the back.”

Jasper grinned broadly. “This is gonna be the best graduation ever.”

* * * *

It was. The administration looked on in horror as the entire senior class assembled, looking like a particularly wild fruit basket. There was a lot of yellow and purple, and quite a bit of black and forest green, but also dots of clashing colors. Elle posed for a picture, flaunting her pink gown. Nova had on heels that had to be at least five inches, and nobody cared.

For my part, I was holding on to Jasper as tightly as I could. We still had the summer together, but I couldn’t manage to forget that today stood for moving on, for leaving high school behind once and for all, and that it would set us on separate paths.

Somebody cleared their throat behind us, and we both turned at once.

Christopher was standing there at the side of a tall man who was holding Christopher’s wrist so tightly that the skin around his grip had turned white.

“My son has come to apologize,” the man said.

Christopher’s eyes darted from Jasper to me and back. He looked humiliated and furious all at once, and I worried immediately that he would take revenge on Jasper for getting him into this situation.

“Mr. Malloy, no offense, but I don’t want or need his apology,” Jasper said loudly and clearly.

“Well, you’re getting it anyway.”

My hackles rose at the tone, but before I could say anything, Jasper spoke.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m done being pushed around. If I say I don’t want his apology, you need to listen. You’re as bad as he is.”

Christopher’s dad stared. Jasper stared back without blinking, and I was so, so proud of him. He looked confident, chin raised, eyes blazing.

“Maybe teach him that loving someone doesn’t mean controlling them,” Jasper said eventually. “That’s on you. Anything else you want to say, I’m not interested.”

He pulled me away.

“My hero,” I said when we had covered some distance.

“Shut up,” Jasper croaked. “I’m shaking.”

He was. I grasped his hands—careful on the injured one, of course—and told him, “Seriously, that was awesome. I’m proud of you.”

He lowered his head, looking flustered, and steered me toward Elle, who wouldn’t be talked out of giving the both of us a long hug.

“You two look so good together,” she said. “You’re the cutest couple, seriously.”

Someone clapped a hand onto my shoulder. I turned and found Trip standing there, holding a little pink gift bag. His hair was even frizzier than usual. Elle gave him a reserved look.

I wasn’t entirely sure how things stood between them. “We’re talking” had been the last update Trip had given me, but he had sounded optimistic. Now he was inching closer to Elle while looking immensely hopeful.

“Um,” he said, “I got you something.”

While Elle looked surprised, he fumbled with the gift bag. It looked painfully clumsy. His hands were shaking.

“The lady at the bookstore said”—Trip ripped away the last of the tissue paper—“that this was perfect for a girl like you.”

“A girl like me,” Elle repeated. There was something very dangerous in her voice.

“Uh-huh.” Beaming, Trip held out a medium-sized paperback. There was so much hope in his eyes it was heartbreaking. Or it would have been if the title of the book hadn’t been
The Feminist Porn Manifesto.