The Walk On (17 page)

Alex’s mom dropped off Alex and Jonas at Hope Alexander’s house, which was definitely in the McMansion part of town. The house had to be twice as big as any house Alex had ever been in.

“Why don’t they just move the school here?” Jonas murmured as they got out of the car on the circular drive. It was ten-thirty and Jonas’s mom, who was doing the pickup, had said she would be there about midnight. Alex had mixed emotions about that: part of him wanted to stay late; part of him wondered if anyone would talk to them. He was glad to have Jonas riding shotgun.

The place was packed. Much to his surprise, Hope Alexander came over to greet them when they walked in.

“I’m
so
glad you guys made it,” she said. “Jonas, great playing tonight!”

“Thanks,” Jonas said, clearly pleased she had noticed.

“There’s food and drinks all over the place,” she said. She leaned in close for a moment. “No alcohol—my parents are here.”

Alex was kind of relieved to hear that. He’d told his mom there wouldn’t be drinking, but he kind of thought there
might be. The last thing he wanted was someone asking him if he wanted a drink. He had enough on his plate without dealing with that question—much less the answer, whatever it would be.

They walked into what Alex assumed was the living room—it was massive—and heard thumping music. There was a DJ, and furniture had been moved aside to open up a dance floor. A lot of kids smiled or waved at them, a few shouting over the noise, “Nice game, Jonas!”

“Let’s go outside!” Jonas yelled in his ear, pointing at some open doors in the back. There were clearly plenty of people out there too. “Can’t hear anything in here.”

Alex nodded and they walked outside. There was a table piled high with food and drinks. The two of them made a beeline for the food. Alex had just picked up a plate and was setting his sights on a tray filled with buffalo chicken wings when he spotted Jake Bilney standing under a tree.

With Christine Whitford.

They were just talking, each holding a drink. But it was the
way
they were talking that brought Alex up short: Jake was leaning forward just a little and down so he could hear Christine better. Christine was looking up at him as she talked, with that magnetic smile turned up to full wattage.

Jonas noticed Alex staring.

“Easy, big fella,” he said.

“What?” Alex said, starting to put some wings on his plate.

“You don’t like Bilney talking up your girl. I get it.”

“She’s not
my
girl,” Alex said.

“You’d like her to be your girl,” Jonas said. “And if you tell me that’s not true, I’ll tell you you’re a liar or crazy or both.”

“Look—celery sticks,” Alex said, pointing at the bowl in front of them.

“Yeah, right,” Jonas said. “
That’s
what you’re focused on right now.”

They left shortly after midnight. Alex wished it could have been sooner. The food was good and they found a place to sit and eat, but other than the occasional hello or wave or “Nice game, Jonas,” no one came near them.

They got up and mingled and, at Jonas’s urging, Alex finally went over to say hello to Christine. Jake had wandered off and Alex had breathed a sigh of relief. She was standing in the same spot, brushing her hair back with her hand, when he walked over.

“Hey, do you need something to drink?” he asked.

“Oh, no thanks,” she said. “Jake just went to get me another Coke.”

Alex’s heart sank. Jake hadn’t left. He’d just gone back for more drinks.

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” he said, realizing how dorky that sounded as soon as he said it.

She smiled. “We’re not. I never met him before tonight. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Great guy,” Alex said—too enthusiastically. “He just gets down on himself a lot for not being as good a player as he’d like to be.”

That
was a mean thing to say. If Christine thought so, she didn’t say anything.

“I guess Matt got the talent and he got the looks,” she said.

Ouch
. Alex was still trying to think of a response to that remark when Jake walked up behind him.

“Goldie, you made it,” he said.

He handed Christine a Coke.

“I was just telling Christine how tough it is to watch you unleash those rockets every day in practice.”

“And I was telling Jake he should talk to Steve Garland,” she said, giving Jake what Alex
knew
was a flirty smile.

“And I told Christine the
only
reporter I wanted to talk to was her,” Jake said, smiling back at her. “And the subject will
not
be the football team.”

“I better go find Jonas,” Alex mumbled, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

They both looked at him as if they’d just remembered he was there.

“Yeah, sure,” Jake said. “See you at practice on Monday, Goldie.”

“Bye, Alex,” Christine said. “I’m glad you’re feeling okay.”

Alex walked away dazed. This made two Fridays in a row that he’d been blindsided.

The last nonconference game of the season would be the team’s first road trip. The game was at Main Line Prep, which wasn’t that far from Villanova University. He remembered
going to a basketball game at Villanova two years earlier with his dad and his uncle when the family had spent Thanksgiving in Philadelphia.

Alex had great memories of that afternoon. It had been just the three of them and Villanova had played La Salle, one of its local rivals. Now it felt like a lot more than two years had passed. His dad still hadn’t found time to come and visit them, although he had promised to come “sometime in September.” The Main Line game was on September 19 so, Alex guessed, his dad still had two weeks left to make good on that promise.

School was now in its fourth week and Alex was starting to feel more comfortable. At the very least, he now had a routine and a small handful of friends. He ate lunch every day with Jonas, Stephen, and Tim Matte, who was Stephen’s best friend and played on the basketball team. Occasionally Matt and Jake joined them. The subject of Christine Whitford had not come up since the party.

Tim was the only person, as far as Alex knew, who was aware that Alex had enlisted Jonas and Stephen to talk to Steve Garland after the Cherry Hill game.

“I’ll be very curious to read what the guy writes tomorrow,” Jonas said quietly during lunch on Tuesday. Matt and Jake were not there, so it was okay to talk. “Based on what happened and what he asked, I don’t think Coach is going to be too happy when he reads it.”

Stephen laughed. “Ya think? If someone writes that the only coach on the planet who is better than Coach Gordon is Bill Belichick, Coach would be mad because he was ranked second. I promise you he’s gonna go nuts.”

“You think we might get in trouble?” Jonas asked.

“I don’t know how he’d know it was us—Garland promised he wouldn’t use my name.”

“Me too,” Jonas said. “But I’m still nervous.”

“You should be,” Tim said. “I think you’re both crazy to have talked to him.”

All eyes turned to Alex.

“Hey, I didn’t force you guys to do it,” he said defensively. “And anyway, nothing’s going to happen. Coach will be pissed but not at any of us. What’s he going to do, ban the guy again?”

“I hope you’re right,” Jonas said.

“Me too,” Stephen added.

“I’m right,” Alex said. “Don’t worry. I’m right.”

He was wrong.

Alex first suspected trouble when he picked up the
Weekly Roar
the next morning. He went through the same routine as the previous week—arriving early and taking the newspaper to the bathroom for privacy.

The headline on Steve Garland’s column was direct:
BANNED
.

The column explained how he had been told by his editor, who also happened to be an assistant football coach, that he would not be allowed to sit in the press box or to talk to any players because he had accused Coach Gordon of running up the score against Mercer.

Garland wrote:

Ouch, Alex thought—remembering the play and thinking how Coach Gordon would react to reading that sentence.

Then came the quotes. From one player: “We all knew we were running up the score, but we also know Coach has very high expectations for this team. We all do. The fact that we need to pay attention all the time should be obvious to all of us after the first quarter against Cherry Hill.”

That was clearly Jonas: honest, but careful. And, Alex thought, not too bad.

The next quote wasn’t as careful. “If I’d been from Mercer, I’d have been mad too. I think Coach knew he almost got Myers hurt by running up the score, and that’s why we backed off on Cherry Hill late in the game. I know I felt better about it.”

That
was Stephen. He had expressed similar sentiments to Alex. He had talked about how much he loved to watch college football and about seeing Notre Dame throw a late touchdown pass the year before against Navy to make the final score 50–6 and how much that bothered him. To him, this was even worse.

Garland closed his column with one final shot:

Whoo boy, Alex thought, he
might
be banned from the entire state of Pennsylvania.

By lunchtime, everyone had read the column.

“You still think no one’s going to get in trouble for this?” Stephen asked as he munched on a grilled-cheese sandwich.

“Steve Garland,” Alex said. “Who else is he going to get mad at? He didn’t use your names, just like he promised.”

Alex looked up to see Christine Whitford walking toward their table. She did not look happy.

“Did you guys hear what happened?” she asked.

Jonas’s head was on a swivel, clearly afraid someone would notice her talking to them.

“What?” Alex asked. “Did Garland get banned again?”

She was shaking her head even before he finished the question.

“No, that’s not it. I mean, probably he is. Coach Gordon fired Mr. Hillier as an assistant coach.”

“WHAT?” they all said at once.

Instinctively, they looked around—Christine included—to make sure no one was paying any attention to them. It was late in lunch hour and the room was half empty. Alex noted with some relief that the table where Matt Gordon and Jake
Bilney and most of the football team’s upperclassmen often sat was already empty.