Students of the Game (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BRYCE (Freshman Year)

Making varsity
as a freshman definitely has its perks. Even though I don’t get a lot of offensive playing time, I’m ready. More physically than emotionally, but ready none the less…for when it’s my turn. Most of the upperclassmen on the team are alright dudes and even though Carver’s not on the team, it’s sort of accepted that he’s part of the club, because he’s a friend of mine.

In between classes one day, I’m walking with Carver when Bobby Dawson comes up to us. No Blondie as arm candy this time, however.

“Bryce, I’m having a get together tonight.” He looks at Carver. “This one is going to be more laid back than the rest, not really a party, just some of the guys from the team.”

“Alright, man. See you tonight.” I nod and Bobby heads off down the hall.

“So, I think we should just get a ride this time, since it’s a school night.” Carver says after he’s gone.

“He said
team only
.”

Carver puts his arm around me and smiles. “Dude, he wouldn’t have told you in front of me if he didn’t want me to go.”

I don’t have the time to argue about it as the bell rings, so I just shrug, leading Carver to take that as an agreement.

When my mom drops us off at Bobby’s house that night, I ring the bell, and this time
someone actually answers. Bobby’s mom smiles at us and ushers us in. She leads us through the house to a door off the kitchen. “The guys are all downstairs, just head on down.” Then she disappears, going back to whatever she was doing before we interrupted it.

I open the door and Carver follows me down the carpeted stairwell to the finished basement be
low. You can definitely tell its Bobby’s lair, a workout area set up with a weight bench is in one corner, and TV with a video game system hooked up in the other. Two mismatched love-seats are angled, facing towards it. A glass coffee table in the center is home to a scattering of open sports drink bottle and back issues of Maxim magazine. There are two seniors, one on each couch playing
Call of Duty
, and a handful of on lookers sitting on the floor. I’d say about four or five of the guys including Bobby are upperclassmen, and as I look around at the ones on the floor, I realize the rest are the few new freshman players that made the cut.

“Colton.” Bobby comes up behind me. “What’s he doing here? I said team only.”

I shoot Carver a dirty look that says,
I told you so
.

“
Hey, I’m cool, man. Don’t worry.” Carver smiles and I wonder if it would be possible for him to bottle up and sell me some of his confidence. If I drank it, then it would hit my insides and penetrate my entire system. Actually having it would be better than living with the false pretense on the outside.

Bobby looks at me. “Yeah, well you’d better hope so, Colton. It’ll be on you, if he’s not.”

What will be on me?

Confused I just nod, and Bobby leads us over to the group of gamers. I say hi to Quincy and sit down next to him on the floor.

Bobby slides some of the magazines out of the way and places down a black leather shaving kit. He unzips it and methodically starts taking things out, while the two seniors stay focused on their game. I watch as he places a handful of packaged sterile hypodermic needles, and small vials of…I lean in closer to read the label, but I already know what they are.
Steroids.

Suddenly I realize why it’s mostly underclassmen here, it’s a recruiting party. I look over at the senior players and judging
by their size, they’re the ones on the team already using. Bobby gives a little speech on how much stronger and amazing our performance will be on the field compared to what it is now. I only half listen, still in shock about what is being laid out before me. Obviously, Bobby gives us the option, but emphasizes the fact that we will become meatloaf, if those that decline shoot off their mouths. Well, he actually said it a lot more crudely, but you get the idea.

He starts talking one on one to a teammate, and Quincy turns to me. “No way,” he whispers, “I’m not down with this. That shit could screw up my chances of a scholarship.” He gets up and casually thanks Bobby with a bro hug, before heading up the stairs.

Carver elbows me and says something, but the sound of rapid gunfire from the video game prevents me from hearing him, each blast further drilling into my head the fact that these drugs are wrong,
and
illegal. Like Quincy, I’m dreaming of a scholarship one day and like my dad, I hope to lead my team to a championship. Neither of those things are going to happen if I get caught using, trying to get there. I don’t need them anyway. I’ve been working hard for the last ten years at this. I made varsity without roids, I know I can play without them.

“C’mon,” I nudge Carver. “I’m going too.” And just maybe, some of that
confidence has already made its way inside me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

              
At the end of practice on Thursday, a few days after the ‘thing’ at Bobby’s, I take a quick shower then leave the locker room as soon as possible. Between the stifling hot steam of the showers, and the uncomfortable divide between the players using and the non, the atmosphere inside is suffocating. When I push through the door, I feel like I can finally breathe. I take a moment to look through my backpack, making sure I have everything I need for tonight’s homework, and realize I forgot my math book. I walk down the deserted halls, which is actually a calming change from their usual daytime activity. I find myself able to do something I hardly ever can at North Tide, take off my mask and relax.

Finishing up at my locker, I’m just about to slam it shut, when I hear what sounds faintly like someone crying. I close the metal door quietly and start to follow the sound. When I get closer to the girl’s bathroom, I start to hear a female pleading. I jog towards the door and aware of the fact that I’m about to enter a female restroom, I pause and lean my ear against the door to listen. A male voice says, “
C’mon, baby…I’ve heard you like it rough…”
and with that, I make the decision to enter. Dropping my bag, I push through the door.

The smell of disinfectant is overwhelming and a small part of my brain understands that the bathroom must have been recently cleaned, while the immense amount of pink tile and the unfamiliar lay
out causes a second of disorientation. But something that I’ve learned how to do on the field is to be easily adaptable, and with the blink of an eye, I’ve sorted out the play before me. Carver has Missy pressed up against the wall between two hand dryers with his back towards me. His left hand is covering her mouth, while the other has disappeared underneath the fabric of her maroon cheerleading skirt. Missy rolls her head in my direction and when she sees me, her wide eyes plead for help.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I exclaim, and yank Carver off, slamming him into the tile.

Carver rips free of my grasp, and Missy sinks to the floor. The prick of tears begin to form in her eyes, and she tries to will them back.

“Fooling around with my
girlfriend
, what the fuck are
you
doing?” he growls, pushing his hair back with both hands.

I glance at Missy who looks back at me with scared eyes. “That’s not what it looked like.”

“How would you know what it looks like? Have you ever even
fucked
a girl?”

His response causes me to snap and I grab his shirt, shoving him against the wall. “What the hell is your problem?”

Carver starts laughing then calmly takes his time to muster up a reply. “Obviously it will be you, if this…,” he motions in the general vicinity of Missy, “becomes one.”

“Are you threatening me?” I spit, tightening my grip on his shirt. “What have you even got?”

“Oh, hmm…I don’t know, something that involves juice?…And I don’t mean apples or oranges.”

“Fuck you. I didn’t take the
roids and you know it.”

This guy is a diabolical asshole. I should have seen it, the signs were there. I mistakenly passed it all off for confidence because I wanted to give him a chance as a friend.

    Carver pulls free from my grasp and starts walking to the door, “Yeah, but remember what Bobby said, if word ever gets out…it’s on your head.” He doesn’t even glance at Missy before walking out the door.

I’ve become Missy’s protector. She hasn’t really talked too much about what happened with Carver, nor have I pushed her to do so, other than trying to convince her to tell her parents, or even a teacher. However she won’t budge, not wanting me to get in any trouble, since I was the one that ‘saved her’.       

One day after school I’m walking Missy towards her bus, and she tells me that she quit cheerleading. She can’t stand the thought of wearing that little skirt ever again. Missy grabs my hand before climbing onto the bus and over the loud hum of the idling engine she says, “You know I was interested in you the whole time right? I was just using him to get to you. Looks like I got what I wanted,” she acknowledges sickly, then gives me a light kiss on the lips. “You’re my hero. Thanks for saving me.”

And with that we officially become a couple, and Carver and I, officially become enemies.

Honestly I start to feel more and more like a superhero. My mask is never off and I’m constantly watching Carver to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else, and Missy to make sure she’s safe. Deep down inside I know it’s because I never did it for Joy, when I should have, after her dad died. And since I’m t
oo damn chicken to try and make amends with her, I attempt to do it at least with myself. Deep down inside I also know that I’m really a coward, not a hero……my reason to hide behind a mask.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JOY

Glad to be done with the last week of October, I welcome November with open arms. Yet, it seems as the month rolls over, Mother Nature decides that she has been too generous with the mild temperatures. She makes up for it in full force, there’s a chilly wind and the overcast sky and is threatening rain. I even put my heat on low as I drive home, warming up my feet though the thin canvas of my sneakers.

I head inside and take off my jacket, deciding to make a cup of cocoa to warm up. I’m just about to hit the start button on the microwave when my doorbell rings. I open it, thinking maybe Devon forgot his house key again, but I’m surprised to find a solid six foot wall in his place. “Bryce, what are you doing h
ere?” I shiver as a sudden gust whips my hair across my face.

    
He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks into the wind. “I felt bad about what I said the other day. I just wanted to make sure you’re not mad.

    
Looking at him, I realize that despite the familiar black beanie on his head, he’s only wearing a t-shirt. “Aren’t you cold? Look, come inside and we can talk about it. I’m freezing!” I grab his arm and yank him through the door. I offer Bryce some hot cocoa because it would probably be rude not to, and motion for him to take a seat at the bar.

        “So, are you Ok?” Bryce asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You didn’t have to come here, you know. You could have just called.”

Bryce scratches his head through the fabric of his beanie, trying to figure out how to take
the answer I give him.

I feel bad for knocking his kind gesture. I quickly try to make right of the situation. “I should be apologizing to you, Bryce. I don’t know how I can help you when I know nothing about football-”

Bryce interrupts me, “Come to my game this Friday night, then. That would help you.” You’d think he found the cure for cancer, he’s beaming from ear to ear. He continues, “Maybe your mom can go with you to give you a play by play.”

“Seriously? M
y
mom
? Do you really think I’m that lame?” I slide a steaming mug across the bar in his direction.

“What? No, Joy. That’s not what I meant…I just thought since your mom usually goes to watch Devon, you know, she obviously watches the games…”

It’s actually quite funny to see him so uncomfortable, fumbling for the words to make up for what he thinks I’ve taken as an insult. I sigh as I hop up onto a stool and put him out of his misery. “Alright, I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to show up with pom-poms…or my mom for that matter.”

Bryce gives me a full smile, a hint of familiar boyishness coming through. And he doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s glad I’m going to go.

As if on cue my mom comes in the back door. She sees us sitting together at the bar with our drinks, and I know she is trying her hardest to hide her astonishment.

“Hi, Mom. Want some cocoa?” I giggle.

She looks at me and then at Bryce, who’s attempting to stifle a laugh by holding his mug to his lips. My mom just shakes her head and continues on through the kitchen.

            
Lunch time on Wednesday arrives and it’s the first time facing Carver since he came to the Library last weekend. Trying to gather all my butterflies up in a net, I take a breath and run my fingers through my ponytail, then step through the door.

Carver is sitting in back where we had previously met, bent over his schoolwork. He doesn’t know I’m here yet and I use this opportunity to take him in. As he writes, one side of his hair hangs down, following the angle of his jaw. He’s concentrating too intensely on his work to be bothered with pushing it back. Even though he doesn’t play any sports at North Tide, his fitness is evident by the way the thin material of his shirt clings to his body. He’s tall like Bryce, but much lean
er. I wonder if maybe he runs and the thought causes me to look down at my non-existent definition. I secretly hope he’s not looking for a female equivalent. I shake my head, remembering that I have a lot of good things to offer besides an incredibly flat stomach, and march over to him, refusing to be defeated.

I greet him with confidence and find our conversation to start off pretty formal. After taking a look to see what he’s been working on in math class, I try and concentrate on formulas but they all seem to just jumble together. My confidence slowly deflates, like a scissor snipped helium balloon, and at one point I find myself getting so flustered that I keep making mistakes. Flipping the pencil eraser over for the tenth time, I cause a little accordion-like tear in the loose leaf paper.

“Shit,” I mumble and try to smooth it out with my fingernail.

Carver smiles and slowly wraps his hand around mine, pulling the pencil free from my grasp with his other. He keeps his fingers curled around mine and the touch of his hand creates feeling in nerve endings that I didn’t even know existed.

He stares at me for a moment, then pulls his hand away and retrieves a fresh sheet of paper. “So, why are you tutoring Colton, anyway?”

Surprised by the sudden mention of his name, and punch back into reality, I find myself telling him the truth. “He got offered an athletic scholarship, but he needs to pass history and stay out of trouble to keep it.”

Carver laughs and strokes his chin. “So it’s true, then. I heard the rumors, but wasn’t sure. “Do you actually study? Or does he bore you to death and talk about football the whole time?”

I shrug. “I don’t even know anything about football. I’ve never been to a game. Bryce somehow talked me into going Friday night,” I admit, then instantly wish I could take it back.

“Colton’s invited you to the football game.” He says it as a statement, not a question, and looks slightly annoyed.

I try to come to my own defense. “I don’t know, I guess I thought it would be good for me. Maybe it will be fun…” I let my voice trail off.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry, Joy. After our discussion at the coffee shop, I’d be a hypocrite to tell you not to go.” Carver sighs. “It’s just that I hate to picture some jock football player trying to take advantage of you, especially Colton.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry about Bryce. He’s an OK guy.”

Did I really just say that?

“Trust me, he can be a dick,” Carver replies. Then in a slightly possessive tone, he adds, “I just need to know that you’ll be alright, that’s all.”

My stomach dips, riding its own personal roller coaster and I find myself blushing at the sweetness of his comment. “Well, thanks but I’ll be fine,” I say, knowing full well Bryce’s dick-like qualities.

The bell rings signaling the end of the period. I get up to leave, and Carver says, “You know, I’ve never been to one of North Tide’s football games either.” He has this mischiev
ous look in his eyes that says
just maybe…I’ll see you there
.