Students of the Game (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

           Drunk? Am I drunk? No…all I had was some punch…

         
“I must be if I’m dancing with you!” I laugh.

          
He grabs my arm and I stop dancing. Well, my lower half does, my head is still spinning and I’m starting to feel slightly queasy. Bryce now has a mixture of concern and anger on his face. The gym starts spinning faster. I start to see little shimmery black dots, moving with the ebb and flow of pop music, and I know I’m going to puke.

I need to leave now.

Turning abruptly, I make for the exit. Running as fast as the tight silver shoes will allow, I manage to make it outdoors and locate an inviting boxwood shrub just outside the doors to the parking lot. Thank god everyone is inside by now because I just can’t hold it. I kneel down into the bush as a fire-y coagulation of pink and brown expels from my mouth. Holding the back of my hand to my lips doesn’t help, and I start to heave again.

I feel a cool hand collect my hair and bring it back into a ponytail. It’s Carver, and with his free hand, he uses his fingers to brush back a few loose strands along my temple. The 1% sober part of me is completely mortified, while the 99% drunk me is feeling rather smug that my plan worked. Not quite
the way I intended, but worked never the less.

Moments later Bryce comes exploding out the double doors and sees Carver bent over me. He glares at him and then crouches down next to me. “Joy, are you OK?” He puts his hand on my back and his bulky size forces Carver out of the way. “Let me drive you home.”

Not wanting to leave Carver, I try and protest but have a hard time standing up. I grab for the nearest anchor which happens to be Bryce’s arm. Carver crosses his and stares at Bryce. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Colton. How do I know you haven’t had any alcohol as well?” he accuses, throwing him a smirk.

“You know I don’t drink, dude… and I know where she lives. Does it look like she’s in a state to give you directions right now?” he throws right back at Carver, not quite in his face, but close.

Wait a sec…are they arguing over me?

Bryce scoops me up easily, like I’m a mall Santa’s sack of fake presents, and lifts me over his shoulder. My arms are dangling freely down his back and he’s wrapped his own around my knees. Angry at not having a choice in the matter, I start hitting his back with my fists. I try to kick my way out of his grasp, but Bryce’s hold is too strong and he carries me off in the direction of his jeep. Carver just stands there, arms still crossed, watching us go. As we get further into the parking lot, he becomes a dark shadow, silhouetted by the flood light mounted over the entryway.

Finally acknowledging defeated, I give up and relax my body. I’m tired from throwing up and just now starting to realize exactly what has happened. Bryce unlocks his Jeep and loads me into the passenger seat. As he’s fastening my seatbelt, I chance looking at his face. Wincing, I regret it instantly. He looks pissed. His lips are set in a tight line, and his tie is askew, a result of my struggling against him. I try to think of something to say but can’t muster up the right words. He just slams my door shut and moves around to the driver’s side.

We ride in silence. I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, trying to absorb as much as I can, willing it to sober me up completely. After pulling into my driveway, Bryce
turns off the engine and stares at the steering wheel a moment before finally speaking. “I can’t believe it. You, of all people, getting wasted like that!”

He turns to face me. “Do you even know
why
I don’t drink? It’s not because of staying in shape for damn football like everyone assumes!” He slams his right fist down on the dash. “It’s because of your dad, Joy! How could I put the very thing that caused his death into my body and actually enjoy it?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I look down at my lap and feel a warm tear slide down my cheek. It leaves a round splotch on my dress that I wish coul
d be made permanent, forcing the thing to never be worn again.

“I didn’t know it was spiked,” I admit. Even though it’s truth, it sounds like a lame excuse. I just don’t know what else to say.

“Just rest up, OK?” he looks straight ahead and turns the key in the ignition.

I nod and stumble out of the car. Our eyes meet briefly before I shut the door. Bryce backs out of the drive way and leaves me again. This time, though, it’s no fault but my own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-
NINE

My alarm wakes me Sunday morning and I fumble to turn it off. It keeps ringing…
Ringing?

Realizing it’s my cell phone, by the time I locate it I’ve managed to establish that it’s after ten in the morning, and I have a killer headache. “Hello,” I croak.

“What happened last night?”
Farah, of course!
I feel bad that I completely forgot all about her during my escapades at the dance.

“The punch was spiked,” I say, as if this will explain everything.

She giggles. “I know and they still don’t know who did it. Well, when you’re feeling better, check yourself out on YouTube. You’re actually not a bad dancer!”

I groan, mentally praying that Devon will be able to make the video go away, permanently. Farah goes on to tell me how after Bryce left, they announced the Harvest Couple, and of course it went to him and Missy. She was so pissed that he wasn’t there to dance with her that she threw the crown in a trashcan and took off, leaving a slow song playing for an empty dance floor. “I picked the crown out of the garbage if you want it as a souvenir,” Farah jokes.

Emotionally, I feel worse than I did yesterday. I forgot all about the stupid Harvest Couple. Bryce chose to drive me home, rather than stay and except his title.

“So, is there something you want to tell me?” Farah asks bluntly.

“What do you mean?”

“Um…hello, Bryce Colton? You
have
been spending a lot of time together lately and of all the guys you could have danced with, you go right for him?”

“What? How could you even think that? I’m only spending time with him so I can spend time with Carver. I was just trying to get him to notice I was there. I guess it worked, because he held my hair while I puked,” I whine into my cell.
       She laughs and offers as much condolence to a girl who humiliated herself, as a best friend can. We start to finish up our conversation and I tell Farah that I’m sorry about leaving her at the dance. She says it’s no big deal, that she called Seth and begged him to come and keep her company. “He’s not very happy with you right now,” she adds.

Yeah, no one is.
I mentally add Missy to that list, too.

“He’ll come around. He’s probably ju
st jealous because you spend more time with Bryce, than him.”

I laugh and add, “What about you two? I forgot to tell you, the hand holding was
kinda obvious the other day.”

“Oh…yeah,” she agrees. “He hasn’t told me, but I know he likes me. I’ve sensed it for a
while. It’s just…” Farah pauses and breathes into the receiver. I feel my insides drop ever so slightly.

“You don’t like him like that,” I say flatly, finishing the sentence for her.

“No. I didn’t say that. I do like him. I’m just kind of seeing someone else.”

“What?” I exclaim. “Who?”

  “It’s someone I met at a party with Charlotte. I just didn’t tell you because he’s…you know…older, a college student,” she throws in hastily.

That’s why she hadn’t been mentioning the weekend parties with her sister, so much for telling each other everything. “Farah, c’mon, I’m your best friend. Did you really think I’d care about you seeing an older guy?”

“I guess not,” she determines. “You just seemed really preoccupied with Carver,
and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Oh, please,” I beg. “When can I meet him?” 

Farah laughs and tells me soon, then blows it off by telling me a bit more about the dance. Ending the conversation, I’m informed that she and Seth (reluctantly) dropped my car off and the keys are under the front door mat.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell her, and we say goodbye. I’m now on a mission…to talk to Bryce.

Getting up as quickly as my head will allow, I run a bath with enough water to submerge my entire body, hoping to soak away feelings of guilt and regret. There’s no farewell kiss as I send them swirling down the drain once the stopper is pulled. I hastily get dressed then brush my teeth twice, ridding my mouth of last night’s amalgamation.

  Thankfully my mom isn’t home when I go downstairs, nor is Devon around. I frown thinking about that YouTube clip, but don’t have time to dwell on it. I quickly drink a tall glass of water and fetch my keys from under the mat as I say a silent
thank you
to Farah and Seth.

  Pulling up to the Colton’s house a little after one o’clock, I am greeted by the same beautifully landscaped yard and two story shingled bungalow that I remember as a child. The house has a screened in front porch, accessible by three wide steps which Mrs. Colton has decorated with cornstalks and various sized pumpkins for the fall holidays.

I remember one Halloween when we were six… it was the last one we spent together. Bryce and I were so excited to go trick-or-treating. He was Batman for like the third year in a row, and I was a mermaid with fangs because I also wanted to be a vampire, and stubbornly couldn’t make up my mind. The sky looked threatening all afternoon, but we stayed optimistic. Just after my dad dropped me off it started to down pour. We were devastated, but ended up sitting out on the porch, listening to the rain while Bryce’s dad told us spooky stories. His mom gave us each a flashlight and allowed us to eat all the candy that she had bought to give out, since there would most likely be no one trick-or-treating by boat that evening. It was probably the best Halloween I ever had.

As I climb the steps I hear a dog bark inside and I know it’s t
oo late to turn back. I pull the screen door open and step onto the porch. Ringing the doorbell makes the dog bark even more. After a few moments, Mrs. Colton answers, smiling genuinely when she sees me. A feisty black and white dog tries to poke past her to say hello, but she restrains it. She comments on how much I’ve grown up and asks how I’ve been, the usual small talk to which I oblige in, before asking if Bryce is home. (Probably a silly question, since his Jeep is in the driveway.)

She invites me in the front hall and calls to Bryce. I can hear a football game on TV somewhere in the house and smell a hint of cinnamon in the air, the savory aroma of a seasonal meal cooking in the kitchen. I bend down and scratch the dog’s ears while I wait for Bryce. He emerges at the top of the stairs, in sweats and a nothing else. I get a flash of toned stomach as he pulls on a t-shirt and makes his way down the stairs. If he’s surprised to see me, he shows no sign of it, and greets me with a generic hello. The terrier gets excited thinking it’s going outside and Bryce tells it to get back. Apparently it’s a boy and named
Unitas.

“After the quarterback, Johnny
Unitas,” Bryce says. “He’s why I wear the number ninteen.”

“Oh,” There’s a brief pause in our conversation, if you can even call it that. “Look,
can I talk to you for a minute, in private?” I ask.
        “Sure.” Bryce grabs a jacket off a nearby peg rack and shrugs it on. We step out onto the porch with Unitas in foot. Not satisfied within its confines, he waits impatiently for the screen door to be unlatched. Bryce lets him out, and the dog makes his way to the large area which makes up the side yard. We both follow suit.

“I thought your parents didn’t like dogs? When did you get him?” I ask, watching
Unitas search for a good throwing stick.

Bryce takes a moment to think,
“About five or six years ago. I guess they felt bad about me being an only child. They finally gave in and let me get one.” He bends down to pick up a stick the dog has delivered at his feet and effortlessly throws it across the yard. Unitas gallops after it, sending brittle leaves flying about in his wake. I shove my hands in my coat pocket as we gravitate over to the area where Mrs. Colton’s rosebushes bloom, though they’re currently brambly and bare in a derelict state.

“Listen,” I start, determined to say what I came here to say. “I owe you an apology. Not just for yesterday, but for the way I treated you the past two months. I said a lot of rude things. I guess because I’ve been mad at you for so long, I was quick to judge you and I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Bryce tries to say something, but I interrupt him. “You don’t have to justify my behavior to make it alright. Please just accept my apology and we’ll call it even.”

He runs both
his hands through his hair in aggravation, but gives up. “God, you are so stubborn, Joy. OK, fine. I accept your apology.”

“Good.” I cross my arms in satisfaction.

Bryce chucks the stick towards the woods again, then turns to me. “So, what was the deal with Halsey last night, anyway? He shakes his head. “That asshole will take advantage of anything with…female parts.”

Feeling offended by his remark I ask, “What does that mean? That he couldn’t actually be interested in
me
and not just what’s between my legs?”

Bryce’s face falls. “No, I didn’t mean that…Wait. Tell me you’re not seeing him.”

“What the hell, Bryce? It’s not any of your business if I am!” 

He looks as angry as I feel, and takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Joy, you need to be careful. You don’t know what he’s really like-”

“I know he’s not like you!” I exclaim, and know it’s a cheap shot, but I’m so angry by now, I don’t even care.

Bryce shakes his head in disgust and looks me straight in the eye. “Maybe you were right about being quick to judge, because personally I thought you were better than that, Joy.” Then
he adds, “I don’t think I’ll need you as a tutor anymore.”

Bryce whistles to
Unitas, who instantly comes running. He turns and they walk back towards the house together leaving me in the yard like the chewed up throwing stick left at my feet.