The fact was she wasn’t wrong. Alec made the mile trek from Ramona’s place to his with his head down, his bag thrown over his shoulder. The lights were on as he rounded the bend, and he could see both of his parent’s vehicles in the driveway. He felt more and more defeated with every step, dread lingering over him like a rain cloud. He practically had to force himself up the front steps and through the door, which had been left unlocked, pausing to listen once he was inside.
He heard a television in the living room, though the sound was down too low for him to make out what the program was. Down the hall he saw that the door to his father’s office was closed, which meant that Alec II would be working well into the night and wouldn’t have time to pay him any mind. Finally he ventured to the source of the only sound in the house, finding his mom asleep on the sofa with a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on a plate on the coffee table. He went back into the hall and opened up the linen closet, finding a sheet to cover her with. Once that was accomplished he headed upstairs, depositing his things on his bed.
After being with the Sanders family, seeing how they lived and how they worked around one another, his house suddenly felt even bigger and lonelier than before. He checked Bryson’s room but found his brother still out, and the loneliness grew even heavier. Everything was nearly silent and extremely still, and he longed for the chaos he had left behind. He knew that kids at school made fun of Ramona for her childhood stutter, for her family’s failing farm, and for a myriad other things that were petty and ridiculous, but he also knew that he would trade places with her in a heartbeat.
Having nice clothes, a fancy car, a cell phone, what did any of it mean if you were miserable inside? Alec had all of the tools that made him popular, had things that a lot of kids in Rust could only imagine, but it was all worthless. What he didn’t have was a good foundation, a strong structure in his life, or a place to truly call home in the proper sense of the word. He knew that to be happy he had to get out of Rust; he had to forge his own way without having to seek the approval of a man who was also guilty of valuing status above everything else.
Alec showered and then crawled into bed, reading a few more pages of Wuthering Heights so he could work more on explaining the imagery in the story when they got together to film again. He fell asleep with the book resting on his chest, thinking again about Ramona and her family. About her nose freckles, and the way her hair was the color of sandy wheat.
Chapter Fifteen: Tis the Season
People loved to joke that Rust didn’t just have four seasons, they had five. There was, of course, spring, summer, fall, and winter, but in this particular piece of small town America there was also basketball season. In some parts of the country high school basketball didn’t start until just before Thanksgiving and ran into February. In places like Rust, however, where the snow flew more often than not in the winter months and where road conditions were often questionable after Thanksgiving, they started a little earlier to try and get in as much as they could before bad weather dictated the schedule.
So they began the season a few days after Halloween, with more intense practices and a couple of scrimmage games against teams from the most local high schools (which were at least an hour away, give or take, depending on the back roads and if they were passable still). Normally the start of the season excited Alec, and this year had been poised to be the most exciting yet. There would be scouts out at some of the games to watch him and a couple of the other guys, and he knew that he had to play well because this was his last shot at securing a scholarship.
He just couldn’t bring himself to be excited though, not even about the scouts. He needed the scholarship, true, and it was definitely part of his plan to escape the oppressive little town in which he felt trapped, but it still didn’t help the cause. The idea of playing, of going through the same motions so many times, made him feel a little panicked. It was compounded by the fact that Bryson was still on the team, and that his skill level had still not improved. Alec knew, and he figured Bryson did too, that he would be spending his season riding the pine pony except for maybe a couple of pity minutes at the end of any games that had a nice, lengthy lead. Their father would not like that at all, and the thought of incurring his wrath after each and every game just made Alec feel sick to his stomach.
Lately everything his father did made him feel sick. Their arguments had become more frequent, but were less about Alec’s actual indiscretions and more about his father not feeling like he did enough. He didn’t practice enough, didn’t help Bryson enough, and didn’t throw himself into things enough. Alec got the distinct impression that he would never, in fact, be enough for the man.
His anxieties were also egged on by Cameron, who was likewise part of the team. Though they had been civil to one another, it was clear that neither boy knew exactly how to fix their broken friendship. It wasn’t necessarily from lack of wanting to, Alec very much wanted his best friend back, it was more that the hurt ran rather deep. He wanted badly for Cameron to just understand and accept that his life couldn’t continue on the way it had been going, that he needed change to try and save his own sanity. Cameron, however, wanted things to stay the same. He liked it best when they had ruled the school together, presiding over their friends like kings of the castle. Alec didn’t want to be a king though, he never really had, and he was content to just be a humble common person who was trying his best.
Maybe his best just wasn’t good enough for anybody.
Still he was the captain of the team, which meant he had both obligation and responsibility resting on his shoulders. He had to play, and he would. He’d do his best, and not punish the others for how he was feeling. It was one more season, and the best case scenario was that a free ride to college was waiting for him at the end of it. This was his ticket to ride, and he knew better than to try and let it go now.
November 10th was a Friday, and it dawned clear and cold. Frost covered everything, and when Alec stepped outside to heat up the SUV he could see his breath coming out in little clouds every time he exhaled. He shivered inside his coat and got the engine running, turning the heat on high. By the time he and Bryson left for school the vehicle was toasty warm and the windows were nicely defrosted. They picked up Ramona, as was becoming routine on days they drove and sometimes when their mother drove them, parking in the very back of the lot. They wouldn’t be going home between school and the home season opener, staying there to have dinner with the team before hand and to do warm ups.
Alec felt completely subdued all day, running over all the scenarios in his head for the game that night. They were playing Thompson’s Spring, a school that lay a little under an hour to the east, and it always drew in a big crowd. They were as close to rivals as either school was likely to get, and the two times a year they played each other was usually a big draw. He had no doubt that the entire town would turn out for it, and that they would be expecting the Threshers to win. It was a tall order for the first game of the year, but he had to make sure they all tried their best. He also had to make sure that Bryson didn’t humiliate himself, especially not in front of their father who had plans to be there court side so he didn’t miss a thing.
By the time lunch rolled around he was a wreck, his palms sweaty and his stomach in knots. As soon as the bell rang he made a beeline for the cafeteria, waving at the team as he passed them by. Normally they all sat together on game days, even if they weren’t necessarily in similar social groups. It was a show of solidarity and he, the captain, was breaking it. Instead he headed for a table in the corner where Ramona already sat, nibbling on the edges of a leftover turkey salad sandwich and flipping through her chemistry book.
Alec sat down without an invitation, his hands splayed out on the table top. He leaned forward so the edge of the table pressed into his chest through his Rust High School sweatshirt, his eyes wide with worry. “Tell me that we aren’t going to lose tonight. Okay? Even if you aren’t sure you believe it, I need to hear it from someo
ne that I trust.”
“Um. You're serious right now?” Ramona asked him, blinking slowly as she tried to tear her mind away from chemical components and plunk it on the situation at hand. “Why are you asking me this? I don't know anything about sports! My dad listens to hockey games sometimes, but he's a Minnesota Wild fan so all he ever does is complain! I don't know ANYTHING about basketball!”
“Ramona, listen to me. I don't need you to understand the mechanics of the sport right now, alright? What I need is for you to talk to me. Tell me it's going to be fine, tell me that I'm ready to do this. It's not about basketball, it's about reassurance. You're the one person who won't totally bullshit me, even if I'm asking for it. My teammates will just agree because they're all psyched up, but it's not the same thing. It's not the same as someone I trust telling me, with actual conviction, that I got this,” Alec explained to her, trying to be as rational as possible. He felt very unstable here, in this moment, hovering between rising to the occasion and being just fine or plummeting straight to the bottom where he'd never be able to dig himself out. He was hoping that a good pep talk, without all the false pretenses, would at least help him hover on the up and up.
Ramona sat there for a very long moment just staring at him before she finally nodded her head. She closed her chem book and shoved her bagged lunch in his direction, offering him some of her chips. “You're going to be fine, Alec, you're just working yourself up. It's the first game of the year, that's a big deal, but you don't have to worry so much. You've been practicing really hard, remember? It's why we haven't been able to get together as much lately. You've been on the court most days of the week until pretty late, and fundamentally you're as prepared as anyone can possibly be. You just have to stop freaking yourself out, that's all. You've played this game for almost your entire life, right? You were pretty much born dribbling a ball. Just sit back, breathe deep, and then go do work. That's really all there is to it.”
“See,” Alec whispered softly, cracking a tiny smile. It wasn't a very big one, but it was sincere and she could tell. “I knew that you'd know what to say. I bet you always know what to say, huh? I just know that you’re the girl in a crisis who knows what to say to calm everyone down, and what to do to make everything feel alright again. Are you coming to the game tonight? Please say you're coming to the game tonight.”
The truth was that Ramona had had no intentions of doing any such thing until that morning, when her father had announced at breakfast that they would all be going. He was even going to treat them to a very rare dinner out at the diner beforehand, because he loved local high school sports as much as everyone else in town did. It was supposed to be a Sanders family night out, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and it would hopefully improve how he was feeling about the prospect of winning.
“Yeah, sure, of course I'll be there,” she promised him with a smile. “Though don't be offended if I sit very far away from the court, or that I'm probably bringing reading material. Sports are not my thing, as previously stated, so I have to do something to occupy myself or I get pretty bored. No offense.”
“None taken,” Alec assured her finishing off her baggy of chips as the bell rang. They threw away their trash and Ramona tucked the brown paper bag inside of her chemistry book, departing the lunch room at the tail end of the crowd. He gave her a wave as they parted ways near the stairs, since he had to head up for his next class and the chemistry lab, where Ramona was heading, was on the lower floor. He did feel a little better, which he knew was sort of silly. Reassurance mattered though, especially from someone who wouldn't mess him around. He spent the rest of the day in a somewhat better mood, though he began to drain again as they rushed toward game time at a breakneck speed.
The coach’s wife had cooked them their customary first game dinner, designed to help them load up on carbs and keep up their energy. Alec's nerves didn't allow him to eat much, but everyone else was so busy talking strategy and game plan that they didn't notice. He spent half of his time listening to coach discuss plays, and the other half watching Bryson who had eaten even less than Alec had. His little brother was very, very nervous and it showed in the way his entire body tensed up.
As they headed for the locker room Alec tried to talk to Bryson, to convince him that all he had to do was move around a lot on the court if he was put in, and not to worry about who was in the crowd. All of that could come after, but he had to keep his head in the game. Players who were distracted or in left field tended to get hurt and an injury wouldn't improve anything, least of all at home.
By the time they took the court for pre-game warm ups, the gymnasium was packed. The red and gold of the Rust High School Threshers was predominating, though he spotted some silver and white out there in the crowd too. It didn't surprise him that people had traveled the hour out from Thompson's Spring for this, everyone wanting to get in on the action. Not to mention there wasn't much else going on in very rural Montana, especially not since high school football season was now over. They were it, the main event, and his heart picked up a bit again. The routine of tossing the ball around though settled him a little, and he was able to regain his focus.
The Sanders clan arrived in the gym just a couple of minutes before tipoff, finding seats near the very top of the stands. The little kids were dizzy with excitement, especially when they saw Alec. Seeing someone on the court who had been to their house was almost as good as seeing Santa Claus and they made sure to cheer and yell until he turned to wave at them. He caught Ramona's eye and flashed a smile of relief, glad she had kept her word.
“So your girlfriend showed up,” Cameron sneered, sliding into the seat beside of Alec's on the bench. “Aw, that’s just so sweet. She brought the whole damn family with even! At least admission is free, right?”
Alec knew that was a dig at the fact that the Sanders had a lot of kids, and not a lot of money. He didn't rise to the bait though, just gave Cameron a nasty look as Bryson came and forced Cam down a chair so he could sit beside his brother. They listened as the coach gave them last minute pointers, trying to cover as much ground as he could before the clock ticked over and it was finally time to take the court. Everything went quiet as the commentator, a local radio DJ, announced the starting line ups for both teams. It was cheesy, and not fully necessary in high school ball, but Alec had long ago accepted the fact that things were taken very seriously in Rust. He stood up when his name was called and jogged to center court, where he would take the opening tip for the home team.
He won the jump ball, and the game was underway. They pushed, shoved, and sweated their way through the first quarter, and Alec already felt exhausted by the time he sat down on the bench. Thompson's was a rough, physical team and it was showing in the way they were determined to wear them all down. They got another pep talk and plenty of water, and he patted Bryson on the shoulder before returning to the court.
That was when he made his first fatal mistake. He had been attempting a pass to Javier, when the ball was stolen by an opposing player. The crowd groaned in frustration, and Cameron shot him a nasty look that could have taken him down right there on the spot. They raced down the court, where he immediately tripped up and ended up on the floor with a stunned look on his face. The coach blew his whistled and waved frantically toward the bench where he sat Alec down, and then put Bryson in.
Bryson looked terrified, peeling off his jacket and taking the court in his brother’s place. The crowd cheered for him, chanting his name loudly. Turning in his seat Alec saw their father right behind the bench and just a few seats up, watching with a proud look on his face. Alec whipped back around quickly then, just in time to see a huge Thompson's player collide with Bryson, who was much smaller and not nearly as quick. The crowd was on its feet in an uproar and so was Alec, heart pounding as the pair of them tumbled to the ground with their legs tangled up.
The ref blew the whistle and jogged out onto the court, followed by Rust’s athletic trainer and the coach. The
y bent over both players, the Thompson’s kid sprawled on his back and Bryson curled up clutching his leg. Finally Alec couldn’t stand it anymore and he jogged out to his brother, kneeling beside of him with a look of concern on his face.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” He questioned, looking between his brother and the trainer. The pair of them had collided hard, and Bryson had twisted his ankle on the way down. It could be just a sprain, or it could be a break; they wouldn’t know for sure until they got him to the hospital to do x-ray’s on the injured leg.
The coach left the floor to talk with Alec and Bryson’s parents, but he stayed right there with his brother until someone appeared with a stretcher so they could move him off the court. The game had to go on, with or without Bryson in it. Alec saw his mother put on her coat to leave with him, but their father stayed. He sat back down in his seat, his face blood red with sweat gathered at his temples. Anytime he was angry like this something bad generally happened, and a loss now would only compound that. So as the game started back up the coach returned Alec to his position and he threw himself into things harder than ever.
Somehow, some way, they won. They squeaked out a meager five point lead by the final buzzer, but it didn’t matter. Winning was all that mattered, and the lead was merely secondary. They had work to do, and a lot of it, but they would find their groove with time. The season was young, but so were they, and they would only get better with each game under their belts.
A Crooked Mile (Rust Book 1) Page 12