Students of the Game (19 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-
SIX

My heart can’t decide how many pieces it wants to break in. It feels as if it’s being butchered by a one hundred pound meat tenderizer, but instead of being pulpy and resilient to the blows, mine is brittle and dry. Every thwack of the mallet smashes it up into even smaller crumbling bits and pretty soon there will be nothing left but dust; the pain I feel for my best friend is that bad. Somehow I manage to locate Farah’s room without being stopped by anyone in scrubs. The door is cracked open and I’m about to knock, when I hear Seth muffle a sob. I freeze in place, not shocked by the fact that he’s crying, but simply because I have never witnessed it before. The sound resonates within me and it’s like witnessing a horrible accident unfold before you, and the trance you’re pulled into won’t let you move. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I picture the ones who saw my dad’s accident doing the very same thing. I try to erase the image when I hear Seth begin to speak.

“I just want you to know that despite everything that’s happened. I still care about you.” He pauses and I hear him take a deep breath. “This is probably the wrong time to tell you this, but I-I’m in love with you, Farah.”

Her reply is weak and it sounds like she’s crying. I have to strain to hear it. “I don’t know why, Seth. I don’t deserve it. I’ve made so many mistakes and hurt you, and everyone else. How could you still love someone that does that?”

“Farah, if you didn’t make mistakes, there would be nothing to make better.” I hear a
rustling and assume Seth is sitting down on her bed. “I’ve made mistakes too. Like not telling you how I feel sooner…and about other things, too.”

I can’t help but wonder if he means the fight with me, and if he does, I really don’t want to eavesdrop on a conversation about myself. That’s even worse than what I’m doing now. I take a breath and knock on the door, and enter after I hear a feeble, “Come in.”

Seth is sitting on the bed like I pictured and is blocking my view of Farah. When he sees it’s me, he sucks in his lip ring and stands up.

“Hey, guys.” I manage shakily. My eyes dart from Seth’s face to Farah’s and for a moment I can’t tell who hurts more. Seth gives me a hug that implies everything is going to be alright between us, and I hug him back tightly. He then excuses himself to give us some alone time.

With Seth gone, I have no choice but to focus solely on Farah. Her skin is so pale, it’s practically translucent and there’s an IV stuck into the back of her hand. Her body is engulfed by a short sleeved johnny, and it’s only then do I see the track marks. Now I understand why I haven’t been seeing her in the revealing clothes she used to favor. I want to yell and scream and know why she feels the need to something as stupid as heroin. Yet, when she looks up at me like a little doll tucked tightly into bed, surrounded by tubes and blinking machines, I feel no anger towards her. I just miss her, and I want my old Farah back.

“I’m so sorry, Joy,” she sobs, not being able to manage any other words.

“It’s OK.” I sit down on the edge of the bed and take her hand, afraid to hug her and hurt her even more. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Please don’t hate me. I know I’m a horrible, weak person…and obviously a horrible mother.”

I shake my head. “That’s not a fair thing to say, you didn’t know. Charlotte told me.”

“I didn’t, I swear. I honestly thought my period stopped because I was using, she admits. “Did Charlotte tell you that the asshole left me here alone at the hospital?” Farah says bitterly. “
He couldn’t even take responsibility.”

“Maybe it was for the better.” I picture Derek in need of his own hospital room after Farah’s dad got his hands on him.

“Yeah, if he can’t be responsible for this, how would he be as a father?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Farah manages a weak smile. “I have something for you.”

You do?” I ask, surprised.

Farah nods, “It’s in my bag, if you’ll get it.”

I retrieve her bag and she directs me to a photograph tucked in the side pocket. “I meant to give it to you the night of the party, but I was so focused on getting high, that I forgot,” she says sheepishly.

I look down at the photo. It is a side shot of Bryce and I together, taken candidly, when we were alone in the gym after the playoff pep-rally. Farah must have come back in after taking pictures for yearbook, and zoomed the lens in to take it. I had no idea she was there. In the picture, Bryce is balancing his gym bag on his shoulder, looking down at me and smiling. I’m staring back into his eyes, giving him a smile of my own. I can see the imaginary thought b
ubble hovering over my own head.
I love you, Bryce.

‘Why wouldn’t I want to hear that from you?’
is what he said. And the picture says that completely.

“Farah, I’ve been so stupid.” Tears start to well up in my eyes.

“No,
Joy. I’ve been the stupid one, putting myself before everyone else and losing the bigger picture in the process.”

“Me too,” I squeeze her hand. “We’ll get through this together. Some people are just too important to come in second anymore.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

BRYCE

Jeez, for a so called superstar and small town celebrity, I’m definitely not as cool as those titles imply, sitting home alone in my room on a Friday night. Even my parents have gone out. My stomach growls, so I wander down to the kitchen and make a quick sandwich.

I whistle to
Unitas and he climbs up onto the couch in our TV room. Picking up a DVD off the coffee table, I find it’s a copy of my highlight reel that Coach had someone put together to send to VT. My dad must have been watching it. Bored, I pop it in for kicks.  

There’s a clip from the championship game last year, that Coach always said would be the icing on the cake, as soon as any school saw it. We’re lined up in formation and just before the snap, I sense the blitz. Calling an audible, I change the play. Quincy manages to get wide open, and I throw a bomb. He masterfully secures it and brings it in for the touchdown.

Quincy.
Seeing him, makes me think of the incident in the locker room with Seth, and I wonder what he was trying to prove. The only thing he managed to prove to me was his fear. He’s not comfortable in his own skin, afraid to be, who he really is. And by picking on those more confident and secure, he’s able to mask his fear, making it look like he really is. God knows I can relate to that, and maybe that’s why we ended up best friends. Fear is what has haunted me for so long.

Joy.
The coward in me hasn’t been able to talk to her for years, and when finally given the opportunity, I’ve spent my entire senior year hoping to prove to her that I want to make up for the biggest mistake of my life, the mistake of leaving her. Honesty, I was young when Joy’s dad died and I was scared my own dad would die, too. It was hard to understand how such a fixture in your everyday life could disappear in an instant. Now I know that’s how Joy must have felt about not only her dad, but regrettably, me too.

I ended up becoming quite attached to my dad. He taught me how to play football and I used it as an outlet to hide my fear. I became big, bad, Bryce Colton. I made friends with other kids that showed no fear, didn’t allow regrets, and (now I know) didn’t have real feelings. Though my dad never forced the sport on me, he did encourage it with whole-heartedness. The better I got, the more he encouraged me. But I don’t blame any part of him for the loss of my frien
dship with Joy, that was all me. And it was already gone by that point anyway. By then I was too
afraid
to talk to her, and time just kept passing, making it harder and harder to do.

I toss the rest of my sandwich down on the coffee table in disgust, and
Unitas jumps up after it. Switching the TV off, the screen goes black, and I quickly make my way upstairs to find my cell phone. Right now I absolutely need to talk to her, to tell her exactly how I feel. It’s been a week since Farah overdosed and I pray that it’s not too soon to burden her with this. I just can’t wait any longer. I’m no longer afraid. Dialing her number, I hold my breath as it starts to ring.

Here goes nothing…

             “Hello?”

“Mrs. A.? It’s Bryce…is Joy there?” I ask, confused as to why she’s answering Joy’s cell phone.

“Hi, Bryce. No, sorry. Joy’s actually is closing the library tonight. She’s there until nine as a last minute favor to Bernice, who had a family emergency. She forgot her cell phone in a rush to get there,” Mrs. A. explains.

“Oh. Can you tell
her I called when she gets home? She can call me back anytime.”

“Will do
, kiddo.”

I thank her, and after hanging up the silence is deaf
ening, so I end up switching on the TV in my room. The Red Sox are on, but it’s still too early in the season for me to be excited about baseball. I try to do homework, but can’t focus, so I hit up Facebook for a while. I haven’t been on since the permanent breakup with Missy, so I take some time to delete all the pictures of us together. I sign off and end up pacing around my room. To get rid of nervous energy, I do some crunches and pushups. After that, I collect up all my dirty clothes, and head down to the basement. As I’m measuring out the detergent, I pause.

Dude, what are you even doing right now? Just go see her!

I hastily dump the soap in the machine, sending little white granules flying. After hitting start, I race up the stairs two at a time. Grabbing my baseball hat and keys from the kitchen table, I make for the door with Unitas running after me. He’s yipping in excitement at the outburst of sudden energy. “Sorry buddy, not right now.” I lean down and quickly pat his head.

Tossing on my hat, I let the screen door slam shut behind me. It’s almost quarter to nine and if I hurry I’ll catch her before she leaves.

The air is damp and cool, but in my nervous state, I can’t really feel the temperature. I think it’s funny that you can put me in a do or die position on the field and I’m calm as a hurricane’s eye, but telling a girl how I feel about her? It’s another game, completely. 

I crack the windows, then click the radio on and switch through the stations. I find an old Led Zeppelin song and hum along as a temporary distraction, trying not to think about how Joy
might react to what I have to say. When I pull up to the library, I don’t see the Jetta. Though parked on the street, near the pathway to the front entrance, is a car I’d recognize anywhere, anyplace. That goddamn blue BMW.

Carver Halsey’s car…a
nd it’s empty.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

JOY

Everything here has been silent for the past hour. Friday night dates with the library seem to have gone the way of the pay phone, only needed in a dire emergency. (That is if you can still find one that hasn’t been cut off.) I’ve done all the filing, straightened out shelves, and I’m currently hitting up Facebook on one of the communal desktop computers. It’s not something I usually do while at work, but I was really getting desperate to fend off the boredom. It only seems to create room for sad thoughts about Seth and Farah. I wonder how she is settling in at the rehab center and when I will get to see her. I think about what I overheard Seth say at the hospital, and how he was wrong about ‘things’. Now I know, after talking to him about a certain gym incident-by things, he meant Bryce.

Out of curiosity, I click on Bryce’s page and find that he’s deleted all evidence of Missy Flemings. I smile as I picture her in a tizzy over this fact, arms crossed, with a huffy indignant look about her face. My thoughts drift back to Bryce and I wonder what exactly this means for us. Since my relationship with him has rekindled this past fall, I feel like we’ve been playing a game of tug-o-war with our feelings. For a brief moment we’re on solid ground, o
ne of us tests the rope lightly then the other pulls back harder. We’ll just keep tugging and tugging until the rope breaks in two, and there will be no winner. Yet, I want us both to be. I know how I’ve felt about him for a while. I was just too afraid to admit it to myself. Maybe I should just tell him and let go of the rope completely.

The phone ringing behind the front desk, shaking me back to reality. I reluctantly make my way over to answer it. Late evening calls haven’t been my friend lately, and I wonder who could be calling just before closing time.

“Hello?” I answer nervously, forgetting to add, ‘North Tide Public Library’ to that greeting.

“Joy, it’s Bernice,” she says, not seeming to care about the informality.

“Bernice! Is everything alright? How’s your brother?”

“He’s fine, actually,” she says with a surprise. “It’s the strangest thing. I went to the hospital and they had no record of him checking in, then when I called his house, there was no answer. So, I swing by and he’s
sittin’ there in his underwear, watching re-runs of Law and Order with the volume sky high.”

“That’s odd,” I agree, trying not to picture Bernice’s brother in his underwear.

“Yes, quite…but anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in tomorrow, since this whole thing was a misunderstanding.”

“OK, see you then. Glad everything is alright.” Before hanging up I ask Bernice if she’d mind if I closed up a few minutes early since it’s been painfully slow, to which she says no. We hang u
p and I lock the front entrance then start flicking off lights, wondering about the puzzling situation with Bernice. I’m still trying to sort out the mistake in my head as I lock the back door. Walking with my head down, I don’t even realize he’s here, until I’m half way to my car.

“There’s my baby doll.” I hear Carver’s voice and my head snaps up. He’s leaning casually against my car with his legs crossed, wearing his staple, white tee and jeans. That familiar hound
’s tooth scarf is wrapped around his neck.

Startled, I stop dead in my tracks. My heart starts to pound, but not for the same reason that Carver’s presence used to cause. He must sense my fear, because he calmly starts to walk towards me with his hands up in defense. “I just want to talk, Joy.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I snap, then regret it instantly when I see a flash in Carver’s eyes that I recognize as anger. I curse at myself for forgetting my cell phone, and decide I need to just play along, to get out of this situation as soon as possible…and into my car.

“Look, I’m sorry Carver. I didn’t mean that,” I tell him, sweetly.

Taking a shaky breath, I walk closer to him…closer to my car. I start to casually finger my keys, searching for the mate to the Jetta and Carver grabs my hand firmly, jolting the keyring from my grasp. “What’s the hurry, don’t feel like talking?”

I try to pull my hand free but his grip is too strong. “Please let go of me, Carver.” I tell him as calmly as I can. “If you don’t, Bernice is still inside, all I have to do is scream.”

The sound that comes out of Carver’s mouth reminds me of a diabolical laugh you’d hear from some over the top villain in the movies, and for a moment I want to laugh myself. However the notion is short lived when he shoves me up against my car.

“Lying really doesn’t become you, Joy. I know that cow’s not here. Didn’t she have some kind of ‘family emergency’?”

I gasp, partly in pain from the push, and partly in surprise. “How did you-?”

Carver laughs again, interrupting me, “I had to find a way to get you alone. I just wanted to talk to you. And, changing your phone number?” He shakes his head in mock disbelief. “You haven’t exactly been making it easy, so I had to do it myself.”

I feel my teeth start to chatter out of shock. So this is Carver’s game, and the only outcome is me losing. I turn my head and look towards the ground for my keys. Carver slides the scarf off his neck and wraps it tightly around my neck. “Here, this will keep you warm. You should have just kept it. It was a gift after all,” he says pulling it tighter, preventing me from further locating my keys. I start to feel lightheaded and small flickers of black and silver, pop into my line of vision. I try to speak, but find that I can’t.

“OK, so now that I have your full attention, Joy. Let’s talk…” He presses me har
d up against the side of my car. His left hand is so tight around my neck, that it’s inevitable I’m going to pass out. I don’t even have the ability to struggle against him. Carver kisses my mouth with sloppy wet lips and whispers, “I told you from the very beginning, I do what I want for me…and I don’t want to lose to him again. You are
my
trophy, not Colton’s.”

Everything starts to fade away as Carver begins to undo his belt.