Students of the Game

      
Students of the Game

                     
Sarah Bumpus

For my mother,

Without her there would be no “Joy.”

         The summer of our seventh year, we’re running barefoot in bathing suits through the grass. The sprinkler juts ice cold circles across the backyard of my parent’s house. My three year old brother is toddling after us trying to mimic our every leap and bound. As I jump, I turn my face away from the cold slap of water. I can see my mom watching us through the window over the kitchen sink. She smiles at me and holds up a glass pitcher full of pink lemonade.

We keep running. Running and jumping in infinite hurdles, over the rhythmic pulse. I start to trip and he is right there, defying
gravity to reach me. He grabs my arm to prevent the fall. I hold on to him and pull. And together we land in the soggy, fresh cut grass.

My brother starts to cry thinking we are hurt, and my friend…my best friend……begins to laugh. I’m laughing now, too. We lie side by side for a moment, face up, absorbing the warmth of the sun and the quiet calm of a summer afternoon. The water umbrellas over
us, just out of striking range and I silently wish it could be like this forever. Picking up a water-logged chunk of sod, I place it delicately on his forehead. It falls as he turns and starts to tickle me. We squirm and scream with laughter, and my brother is still standing there crying.

I hear the echo of our house phone ring through open windows. Soon after, my mom comes out through the screen door. She’s juggling the pitcher in one hand and glasses in the other, with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. She turns and slides the door shut with her sandal clad foot. We are still lying
in the grass, both covered in matted confetti of green.

I start to sit up, anticipating the delivery of even more refreshment and I see my mom’s hand drop. In slow motion, I
watch the pitcher fall and shatter, sending an explosion of pink crystals across the deck. Her other hand shakes, as she sets down the remaining stack of glasses on the railing, then hangs up the phone. She calls to us and we are running again, this time away from the innocence of our seventh year summer.

My mom squats down, leveling herself at my eye level. “Joy, your dad’s been in an accident.” She embraces my wet, shivering body and I let her hold me. Over her shoulder, I watch my best friend Bryce
, sink slowly to the ground. All I can think is how dirty my mom’s shirt will be when we pull out of the hug. And my brother Devon is still standing there crying.

CHAPTER ONE

JOY

I’m attempting the combination to my locker for the second time, when I hear a male’s voice calling me over the flurry of students in the hall, all trying their best to get to first period on time. Believe me when I say that a guy trying to get my attention in the halls of North Tide High is not an everyday thing. So I pause and try to locate the source. Scanning the masses, I roll my eyes when I see that it’s just my younger brother Devon. He’s making his way towards my locker against the flow of traffic, an abnormally large book bag and trumpet case bouncing along at each side.

Devon is a thirteen year old freshman and small for the grade, but was lucky enough to skip a year in elementary school because he’s naturally smart, unlike me. I mean, I’m smart…but I’ve had to work really hard to keep my near perfect GPA. (Let’s just say Physical Education is not my best subject.) I study a lot, and hopefully it will pay off. I really want to get accepted into Brown University next fall. That’s where my dad went to college, and it’s been my goal since…well, since I can remember.

“What is it Dev? I’m kind of busy here,” I snap, returning my attention back to the padlock.

“Jeez, Joy.
” Devon pauses, trying to catch his breath. “I just talked to Ms. Higgins. She needs to see you…something about peer tutoring?”

I drop the padlock in aggravation.
Crap.
I’d forgotten all about that. I reluctantly signed up to be a tutor at the end of last year, knowing that I’d have a full plate with homework and college applications to juggle this semester. Yet, under the not so subtle pressuring of my guidance counselor Ms. Higgins, the enthusiastic uppercut to the air is what did it.
Just think of it as that last punch to add to your college applications.
I caved in and agreed, knowing whole heartedly that she meant Brown.

“Alright, I’ll go now. I have a free period.”  I soften a little, now feeling bad about snapping at him. “Thanks, Dev.” He nods and heads off toward his next class. I finally manage to get my locker open, but can’t remember exactly what to get, as I wonder just who it could be that’s in need of my help.

     The door to her office is open, but I knock anyway, feeling awkward just walking in. Ms. Higgins is finishing up a phone call at her desk and motions me in. As I sit down across from her and watch as she speaks animatedly into the receiver. I start to wonder why just why Ms. Higgins is in fact, still a
Miss
. She’s smart and pretty, probably in her early thirties, with a stylish wardrobe and light brown hair. Her frame suggests that she may indulge in a late night pint of ice cream on occasion and I frown, understanding why that’s usually a necessity. I start to wonder if someday I’ll be given a similar fate.

“So, Joy...” She hangs up the phone, breaking me free from the depressing thought. “I have two seniors that need your help.”

She leans forward and presses her palms down on top of her desk, as if letting me in on a club secret. “Bryce Colton,” Ms. Higgins says matter of factually. And with the name comes a flood of memories, thoughts and emotions that I quickly push away, replacing solely with disdain. She pulls out a file from a stack on her desk and opens it. “You know him, right?”

Only the understatement of the century.

“Yeah, I know…who he is,” I say instead.

“Well, here’s the thing. Bryce has been offered a full athletic scholarship to Virginia Tech, but it’s contingent on both academic and behavioral performance.” She looks down at her file. “He’s doing fine in his other classes but we’re all a little worried about history. A month into the semester, he’s averaging about a D.”

An internal grown makes itself heard from deep within my mind. Of all the students…why does it have to be him?

Ms. Higgins must see something in my expression, but obviously misinterprets it. “Joy, I know you’ve got a lot going on with your college applications and activities and all,” she sits back and hoping to win me over adds, “but seeing your top of the senior class in well pretty much every subject, I thought you’d be the perfect choice to tutor Bryce.”

Bryce Colton.
I feel my shoulders sag as I repeat his name in my head. Star quarterback of North Tide’s beloved Sea Hounds…Insanely popular, with features reminiscent of a Greek god…The fact that the self-centered jerk won’t give me the time of day, even after going to school with him for the past ten years…No. I can’t do this. I
won’t
do this.

“Oh
and there’s also Carver,” Ms. Higgins suddenly adds.

What?
Hearing that name causes me to stop all decision making abruptly in its tracks.

“Carver Halsey?” s
he rolls her eyes and grabs another folder. “He needs help in math…”

Carver? Did she really just say
Carver
?

Ms. Higgins continues to talk, but sadly I’m no longer listening. I don’t think I’d be able to hear her anyway, as my heart has become a member of the percussion section, drumming
along to some intense beat. I imagine myself sitting by Carver’s side over an open math book, laughing airily as he offers an undisclosed punch line to a joke. Our fingers brushing as I take the pencil from his hands to check his work.

I sigh. Carver Halsey is one of
those
guys. Despite every logical inch of your being, shouting at you to stay away, you just can’t help yourself. He’s just so damn hot. I’m pretty sure I even saw something in Ms. Higgins’s eyes as his name rolled of her tongue. Even though Carver is a senior as well, we haven’t had any classes together. I’ve never had a reason to talk to him, and I’m too chicken to think of an excuse to do so on my own. He pretty much sticks to himself anyway…the brooding bad boy of North Tide High.

It’s also a known fact that Carver and Bryce used to be friends. Obviously, Bryce doesn’t have a good track record with relationships. Something happened between the two of them freshman year, that everyone knows was Bryce stealing Carver’s girlfriend, Missy Flemings. Now when they’re in close proximity of each other at school, the tension is so obviously thick, that using a knife to slice it would be a futile attempt. An ax would be a much better option. I like to think that our mutual dislike for Bryce is what attracted me to Carver in the first place, but when I find myself taking in his chin length, ash blond
hair, and hazel eyes from afar…I know I’m kidding myself into believing that’s the truth.

I wonder if I can I say no to one, but not the other. I look at Ms. Higgins and judging by her expression, I don’t think that’s an option. Honestly, peer tutoring really would be a great addition to my applications. And besides, my past with Bryce is really not something I want to dive into with
her, despite the title of ‘counselor’ on her desktop name plate.

Ms. Higgins is still rambling on, persuading me into taking the job, while I have a full-on debate team battling it out inside my head. “Coach Miller is putting a lot of pressure on me, Joy.
The whole community is counting on this…”

My stomach growls, as I’m used to eating breakfast during my free period. I’m not sure if it’s really is out of hunger, or in protest, voicing an objection as I agree. “OK, Ms. Higgins,” I interrupt her obviously pre-rehearsed speech, “I’ll do it. When do I start?”

CHAPTER TWO

The rest of my morning passes in a seesaw of childhood memories and mindless fantasies, and I can
’t get one side to outweigh the other so I can let myself off. I still can’t believe I agreed to do the peer tutoring, I should have just said no. It’s hard enough to stomach even being in the same homeroom as Bryce, how am I supposed to sit within a few feet of him? On the other hand, if I don’t tutor him, there will be no Carver…

Lunch time rolls around and I make my way back to my locker, planning to dump a mornings worth of textbooks. I’m in the process of digging my Calculus binder free, and I feel a large shadow loom up behind me, blocking my light. I know it
’s him without even turning around. 

Bryce Colton stands next to me, leaning his six-foot-something mass of fitness against the row of lockers next to mine. I’m hungry and crabby and
poof!
He’s just magically here right now. I’m surprised he even remembers who I am. I continue to fish through my locker, trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Um…Joy?” he says, tentatively. “Ms. H. wanted me to get in touch with you about the tutoring thing. I saw you over here and…” Bryce’s voice thins and trails off.

I stand up and the top of my head is level with his shoulders. I haven’t been this close to him in years. Where he was an awkwardly long and lean, knobby kid, has been replaced with strong confident shoulders, set upon a broad torso. Well worked forearms lead up to equally-if not more, toned biceps, hugged nicely by the sleeves his maroon Sea Hounds t-shirt.

Out of the corner of my eye I see one of my best friends, Farah McKinley, walk by on the way to the cafeteria. Her mouth is a perfect
O
of surprise. She catches my eye and mouths, “
What the hell?”
causing me to frown slightly. Looks like I have some explaining to do.

I focus my attention back towards Bryce and force myself to look up at him. There’s a little dimple in his chin that I don’t remember being there and the shaggy crop of brown hair has reddened a bit to a chestnut hue. My gaze meets his and in one brief moment, I’m completely swept back in time. Those eyes are his only unchanged feature, the same startling Caribbean blue.

Pulling my gaze away, I bend down to grab my bag then slam the door to my locker shut. “Sure,” I reply, not rudely but not entirely friendly either. “My schedule is pretty busy though.”

Well, not really. As far as any extracurricular activities go, their pretty much non-existent. Given my track record in gym class, I’ve managed to avoid any and all team sports. Farah has been trying to get me to join Yearbook, but it’s just not something I have any interest in. As the
senior class’s Vice President it’s bad enough that I have to promote school functions and dances that I never attend, why would I want to help highlight them for eternity in a nicely bound, hard covered volume?

I do have the occasional student government meetings after school. And as far as weekends go, the best part is usually my Saturday’s at the town
’s public library. I volunteer half days, sort of in honor of my dad, who was the librarian there before he was killed. In return, my mom supplies me with a small allowance for gas and things. Other than that, I pretty much just study.

“Okay, are you free Tuesdays?” he asks, hooking his right thumb into the pocket of his jeans. “I have practice after school most of the week and games on weekends…but I guess I
could always do Sunday afternoons though”

“Tuesdays are fine.”

Where are we going to hold these delightful rendezvous? I shouldn’t have to drive to Bryce’s if I’m doing this as a favor to him and I’d definitely feel more comfortable meeting at mine. “You can come to my house,” I decide, not giving him a choice.

I tell him the address, which is the same residence I’ve had my entire seventeen years of existence. He gives me a confused look, and I’m about to tell him to use GPS if  he can’t remember where I live, but before I have the chance
too, his teammate Quincy Webber yells to him from down the hall. “Yo…Col-TON, let’s go man! I wanna hit the track before gym.”

“Better make haste, Colton. I guess I’ll see you t
omorrow,” I remark. Then with a quick adjustment of my backpack, I turn on my heels and walk away.

Having suddenly lost my appetite, I decide to skip my lunch period completely. I’
m not ready to explain to Farah (or the entire lunch table for that matter) why I was talking to Bryce Colton. Instead, I make my way to the library. Maybe it’s from spending so much time at the town’s facility, but as soon as I enter the double doors, I feel a sudden blanket of calmness spread over me. This is where I’m the most comfortable. The morning’s stress melts away as I sign in and smile at the librarian, Mrs. Donnelly, who doesn’t question where I’m really supposed to be.

Tossing my bag down on one of the small round tables towards the back, I wander over to the classics section looking for something to occupy my mind for the next thirty minutes.
Moby Dick
catches my eye and I slide it off the shelf. I begin to examine the cover and turn when I hear a voice address me from behind.

“Gee, I would have pegged you as a
Harry Potter
girl.” Carver moves his gaze from the novel up to my face. My ‘calm and comfortable’ is suddenly balled up and thrown away, a crumpled wad of paper chucked into the trash can.

I feel myself blush, sur
prised by his sudden appearance, and fumble for a response. “Yeah…I mean no. I-It just seems like one of those books I should read,” I manage to spill out.

“Why, because everyone says you should?” he laughs.

Carver looks like a glossy magazine ad for some designer cologne, dressed simply in a tight fitting white t-shirt and jeans.

“You don’t always have to do something because it’s what’s
expected
, Joy. You’re allowed to make decisions for yourself, aren’t you?” Carver’s hazel eyes break away from mine and a loose strand of hair falls along his jaw line as he squats down. He tucks it back then proceeds to run his index finger along a row of book spines.

What is that supposed to mean?
My brain fumbles an attempt to sort it out and I end up standing there silently, like an idiot.

“Wow, maybe Melville isn’t such a bad choice, considering the selection here,” he sighs and stands up.

“Yeah, the town library is definitely much better. Trust me, I know. I volunteer there every Saturday,” I say a little too quickly.

He looks at me and rubs his chin, “I’ll have to check it out.” There’s a slight pause before Carver adds, “So, about this tutoring thing…”

“Um, yeah…about that.” My eyes follow his, down to the clock on the cell phone he’s holding. I find myself wishing the reason he’s talking to me is because he actually wants too. “Do you want to come to my house? Or me to yours?”

    He laughs and throws me a lop
sided smile. “It’s tutoring. Not a date, Joy.”

   
I can guarantee my face is the color of an overripe tomato right about now. “Oh, right. I…uh…I just assumed, since Bryce and I made similar plans…”
Blame it on Bryce. That sounds like a good solution.

   
“You’re tutoring Colton?” Carver’s face turns instantly into a mixture of surprise and disgust.

   
What else can I say in a twenty second time frame that is completely moronic? I kick myself for mentioning Bryce.

   
“Yeah, I am.” Not wanting to set him off further, I don’t elaborate.

   
Oddly as quick as his demeanor changed, it does again and this time replaced with a smile. “Listen, I should go.” he says. “Are you always free this period? We could just meet here, say…Wednesdays?”

   
“Sound good,” I tell him, leaving out that this is supposed to be my lunch period, not study hall.

   
“Alright let’s start next week. Until then…” He smiles again and does this silly mock bow, before heading towards the exit.

I flop down at my staked out corner table and practically dissolve into the chair, though I’m able to ea
sily forgive the library for its loss of normal sanctity, over the opportunity to talk to Carver.

And just w
hat kind of talk was that?
The first actual conversation I have in the entire four years we’ve been in school together, and it was so
coded.
It seemed like Carver was flirting with me, yet he didn’t hesitate to remind me this is entirely a school thing. Then with the flip of a switch, that of which being Bryce’s name, he turns completely cold. I sit there and silently shake my head, wondering just what I might be getting myself into with these two boys.