Students of the Game (17 page)

“Your shirt’s probably dry, I’ll go get it,” Joy tells me, but it kind of feels like more of an excuse to leave the room.

When she returns, I strip again, happy to no longer be a human delicatessen. Joy doesn’t watch this time, however. She just sits back down on the edge of the bed.

“Are you alright?” I question, finally back in my own shirt. I sit down next to her.

“No.” Joy shakes her head and tears well up in her eyes. She laughs and swipes them with the back of her hand.

“Are you sure you want me to go?”

“Yeah.”

I look at her face, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. I stand up and fish my own keys out of my pocket. Turning back to look at Joy, eyes linger on her lips. I long to kiss her again, or simply just hold her and take all her troubles away. Instead I just reach down and squeeze her hand. “Bye, Joy.”

She looks up and smiles weakly. “
Thanks for what you did tonight. You’re like my own personal Batman.”

I return the smile, and nod. It’s been awhile since I’ve done it, but I put my mask on. And I don’t look back at her as I leave.

CHAPTER FORTY-
ONE

“Bryce?” my mom calls up the stairs. It is Saturday morning…I think. I look at my clock.
Oh, shit.
It’s Saturday afternoon. I groan and stick a pillow over my head.

“Bryce!” This time I hear her right outside my door. “Your father wants to know when you’re getting up. It’s after lunch already.” Trying to bribe me out of bed she adds, “We have presents for you.”

Unitas starts barking somewhere downstairs and I know I won’t fall back to sleep.

“OK, Ma,” I call, from under the momentarily lifted up pillow. Then reality of last night’s events hit me and I drop it back over my face. The fight with Missy is the least of my concern. I’m done with her for good, and can handle the rumors she’s sure to spread, but Joy? I don’t know. I need to call her, but it will have to wait until later. My mom doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially when presents are involved.

I pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and head downstairs where my parents are waiting at the kitchen table with a few nicely wrapped packages. I stretch and stifle a yawn, then kiss my mom on the cheek after she gives me a birthday hug.

My dad gives me a hug as well, though a much more fatherly one. Pulling away he says, “You look like crap. Must have been a good night, huh?”

I instantly think of Joy…
of the kiss
. I picture her beneath me, big blue eyes looking up into mine. How badly I wanted to kiss more than her mouth, I wanted to explore every single inch of her body with my lips. If that is ever possible I will be able to die a happy man. Until then, I’ll more than settle for what I was able to have last night. “The best I’ve ever had,” I reply.

“Why don’t you open your gifts?” My mom hands me a present that’s a little bit larger than the size of a shoebox. “Your dad has been driving me nuts about this one all morning, so open it first.”

I grin like a little kid and tear open the paper. Inside the box, I dig through a mound of tissue paper
to finally uncover a football. It’s worn and dirty from seeing some play time on the field and I know exactly what game it was used in. “Dad,” I say in a whisper, mixed with surprise and awe. “This is your championship ball!”

“Happy Eighteenth, Son,” he says proudly.

“I-I can’t take this…it’s too special to you.”

“It is special.” My dad picks up the ball and starts to run his fingers over its skin, feeling memories along with the touch as well. “That’s why I want you to have it.” He clears his throat and glances at my mom who’s in the process of making a pot of coffee, but still listening in. She smiles at him before he continues. “Bryce, it represents much more to me than just football. It’s everything that my life has become. As you know, I met your mother while in Virginia, and well, this ball represents the life we made together. It represents you.”

My dad hands me the ball and I look down at it, afraid that if I look up at either of my parents, I might actually shed a tear. And that would be all kinds of embarrassing.

“Anyway, I just want you to understand that your mother and I have always been proud of you. Not just for what you’ve done athletically, but for all the decisions you’ve made so far.” Dad puts his hand on top of the ball, and I finally manage to look at him. “I just want you to remember that there’s so much more to the game than just football, and no matter what you do, we’ll continue to be proud of you.”

I just nod and mumble a
‘thanks’, not used to this kind of sentimentality from my dad. Granted he’s never really tough on me, except when I need a good old verbal ass kicking during training, but he’s never forced me to do anything. Always encouraging me to make my own choices, he’s just never been sappy about it.

I take a sip of the coffee my mom hands me before opening the rest of my gifts, though I doubt anything could top the elation of opening the first. Well, on second thought, last night’s kiss would be pretty hard to beat, too.

Then, after spending some time talking with my parents and scarfing down some food, by the time I get to call Joy it’s already late afternoon. She picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s Bryce.”
        “I know,” she says, and I can picture her blue eyes rolling like an ocean wave.

“What’s going on? Have you talked to Farah?”

“No. Not yet. She won’t answer or return my calls.” She quickly changes the subject. “How’s your Birthday?”

“Good! My dad gave me his championship ball from college.”     

“That’s awesome,” she says enthusiastically, then there’s a pause and I hear her breathe into the receiver. “Listen, Bryce…about last night…” By her tone, I suspect that we won’t have to worry about any school rumors. “I get what you were trying to do,” she continues. “I was upset and feeling really down about a lot of things. When you started brushing my hair, I just…I don’t know. It made me feel kind of pretty and…cared for. It was a nice thing to do for me.” She pauses again before adding, “So thanks for the…you know…pity kiss, but it won’t have to happen again.”

I feel like I’m in a nightmare where I’ve been sacked repeatedly during a game, drained
of all feeling mentally and physically, and I can no longer get back up on my feet.
She thinks I kissed her out of pity.
I sigh, “Joy, you are pretty.” And she is. She’s beautiful. Even with ratty hair and makeup halfway down her face. “You don’t need a dumb jock like me to tell you that. And kiss or no kiss, I told you I do care about you.”

A whole lot more than you realize
, I think to myself, but I have to let it go. If she felt the same way, this conversation would be going totally different. Joy tells me that she knows, and makes some comment about how I’m a good friend, which I don’t really pay attention to.  After we hang up, I go back to bed, beaten up and broken from Joy’s words kicking me in the face. I stay there for the rest of what’s no longer the best birthday ever.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

JOY

            How can I be mad at Farah for lying, when I can’t even be honest with myself?

           
A pity kiss?

C’mon, Joy. You’re smarter than that.

No boy would ever kiss a girl like that out of pity. Nor would the girl kiss him back the same way if it was. Friends don’t kiss each other like that, either. When our lips met, it felt like they were never meant to be apart. The way Bryce looked at me that night was a silent confession of a beautiful truth, and I chose not to listen. I wish more than anything I could completely believe it, but I can’t. What if he breaks my heart all over again and leaves me feeling more alone than before? I’m not so sure I’d be strong enough to make it through that again. Besides, there’s a big difference between the type of heartache the seven year old me dealt with, and what this eighteen year old would have to deal with now.

Speaking of dealing, I think I’ve been handed enough to fill my plate in that department for a long time. After I get off the phone with Bryce, I try calling Farah for what feels like the hundredth time today.
This time her cell is shut off and at least that’s some indication that she’s aware of my calling. When it goes to voicemail, I hang up and try her house. Her mom tells me that Farah isn’t feeling well and can’t come to the phone. Anger starts to bubble in my chest. My best friend for years and she won’t even give me the chance to make things right? And even more so, help her see just how dangerous of a road she’s heading down.

I wonder if Seth knows
about it?

No. There’s no way he would stay quiet about something as serious as this. I think long and hard about calling him but when I feel my phone vibrate in my hand and find yet another text from Carver, I temporarily forget everything else round me.

Stop fucking ignoring me! You think this is a game? I’ll show you just how much I hate being played.

My heart pounds as if I’m already on foot trying to flee to safety, as my trembling thumb hovers over the delete button. His texts have been threatening, but mostly cryptic, like him. Not this blatantly obvious. I debate confessing everything to my mom and showing her the text, but she’d just want to call the cops. And what good would that do? Carver’s father
is
one. I’ve seen enough movies to know how things like that turn out. The innocent victim loses everything to the psycho with a knife. Who miraculously gets off scot-free because somehow the evidence just doesn’t stack up, or mysteriously goes missing. Maybe Carver will just give up if I he sees that I won’t give in. Determining that’s my only option right now, I hit delete and throw my phone onto my desk, a little two forcefully, and make a mental note to get my number changed right after school on Monday.

CHAPTER FORTY-
THREE

BRYCE

I’m at work waiting on Mrs. Getty, a little gray haired lady who’s a pretty frequent customer, today in need of an air filter replacement.

“Will a strong young man like yourself
, help install it for an old lady like me?” she asks sweetly, while checking out my biceps that the polo shirt of my uniform is unable to hide. I find it hilarious that older women flirt with me here, more than girls my own age do. 

Art doesn’t want me touching anyone’s cars bec
ause I’m not licensed, but I peek out see his steel toed work boots sticking out the underside of a Chevy Bronco and decide it’s safe. It’s a simple fix, and I tell her I’d be happy to do it.

After completing the task, I slam her hood shut. Mrs. G. and I start to walk back to the shop so she can pay. When we’re just about at the door, I hear a car pull in and turn to look. It’s Joy’s green Jetta. My heart stops for a brief moment, wondering why she’s here. I highly doubt it’s for any kind of car maintenance. The bell over the door rings, and Joy enters as I’m just giving Mrs. G. her receipt. She hovers in close proximity to the counter and sheepishly waves hello to me. Mrs
. G. turns around to leave and when she sees Joy waiting off to the side, she turns back to me. “She’s a pretty one, must be a keeper.”

Joy and I both laugh feeling slightly awkward but not insulted, as only the way old people can make you feel. I lean both my arms down on the checkout counter, catch Joy’s eye and wink, then turn back to Mrs. G. “Don‘t worry, you’re a keeper too.”

She smiles as if my comment made her year and giddily makes her departure. Joy comes over and makes a joke, chiding me for flirting with customers. I hold my hands up defensively, “Hey, it’s not like I get tips or anything!” Then on a more serious note, I ask her what’s up and nervously start to fidget with display of rubber key identifiers.

“Sorry, I probably should have just called you, but I had to get the number changed on my cell and I was still in the area.”

“Oh, it’s OK. Obviously, I’m not that busy.” I stop playing with the display stand and gesture to the now empty store.

“Yeah,” she agrees, more to fill the silence. “So, I didn’t tell you this the other night, but I broke it off with Carver. I kind of knew from the beginning that there’s this different side to him. I think I just tried to ignore it because I liked him so much, and wanted to believe otherwise.”

I sign a breath that could fill a canyon with carbon dioxide. I’m so relieved that asshole can’t screw with her anymore. “He’s bad news. I know you made the right decision, Joy.” I wonder if I should tell her everything that happened between Carver and myself, but decide against it when I look at her. She’s got big watery eyes on the verge of spilling tears, and desperately trying to prevent them from falling.

She fails at the attempt, and swipes at a loose tear. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I was so stupid. I should have listened to you. Everything is so screwed up right now.” Her shoulders sag in defeat and she looks down at the floor. “Farah won’t talk to me and Seth hates me…and honestly I’m really scared of Carver.”

“Hey…Come here.” I walk around the counter with my arms open.

Joy meets me halfway and I envelope her in a hug. I rock her gently for a minute and can
feel the fabric of my shirt getting wet from her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, into my shirt.

I lightly push her away from me and place my fingers over her mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”

That’s what I say, but when I picture that look on Carver’s face in the bathroom, three years ago…T
hat’s my job
, is what I think. This game is officially on, and my mask is finally off for good.