by Sara Farizan
“Wow!” Todd said. He grinned and shook his head. “Wow, wow, wow.”
Marcus slapped me on the back and laughed. “You’re a basketball nerd!” he said.
“Correction: basketball savant,” I protested.
“Nerd,” Marcus replied. “But it’s cool.”
The bus slowed down to exit the highway. The bright lights of the Holiday Inn parking lot cut through the darkness.
Coach stood to address us from the front of the bus. “All right, we’re going to check in, drop off our stuff, grab some dinner, and then go straight to bed. No funny business tonight. Got it?” He pointed to the back. I turned my head to see that Will had his hand raised.
“Yeah, Thompson. What?”
“What exactly do you mean by funny business, Coach?” Will asked, smirking.
“I mean I have no time for clowns. I see or hear about any of you drinking, doping, sneaking out to see a girlfriend, your ass is benched. We understand each other?”
Will didn’t have a comment for that.
“I have picked your roommates for you, so don’t worry your pretty little heads about making arrangements with your buddies.”
“Maybe we’ll get to room together,” I said to Marcus.
“Doubtful,” Marcus whispered. “The two of us walking around alone at night in New Hampshire . . . we might have problems.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I hadn’t spent much time in New Hampshire, but it didn’t strike me as a place that was ready to welcome me with open arms. I could be wrong, but that Live Free or Die motto has always struck me as too intense.
“B,” Coach said, and my head snapped up.
“Present!”
“You’re rooming with Young.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The hotel room was basic: two double beds separated by a wooden nightstand with a gray lamp on it, across from a chest of drawers that doubled as a stand for the TV and coffeemaker. A small desk and office chair by the window and stain-free beige carpet really brought the room together. While the decor was nothing to write home about, it was cool to be on the road for a game. I’m sure the Celtics stayed at the Ritz, but it made me feel like a big deal to have my room paid for.
Drew silently claimed the bed by the window by throwing his bag on top of it. As I dropped my duffel on the other bed and started to unpack, Drew grabbed the remote and flopped down to channel surf.
“Do you mind if I take the top drawer?” I asked.
He grunted.
“Sorry, is that a yes or a no?”
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.” He flipped through the stations so fast, I doubted he could actually see what was on.
I hadn’t packed much, but I placed my folded clothes in the small bureau drawer.
Drew finally settled on a horror movie.
“Zombie Killers Part Three. A modern classic,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed to watch. “Wasn’t the fifth one awful? McNair, the zombie hunter, comes back from the dead and becomes the very thing he’s hated for years. It had so much potential. I don’t get how they made such a boring movie out of that premise.”
“I haven’t seen any of them,” Drew said out of the corner of his mouth. Minimal effort, but it was better than grunting.
“Not one? That’s crazy!”
“I don’t have a lot of time for movies,” Drew said, still staring at the TV.
We watched McNair’s ex-wife rise from the grave to try to eat him. I mouthed the dialogue along with McNair: “‘You always were a man-eater.’” He then proceeded to fight off the surrounding zombies with his spear as Hall & Oates’s “Maneater” played in the background.
“Just like a woman to chew a man up and spit him out,” I said in unison with McNair, when he almost got bitten.
“I hear that,” Drew muttered.
“Yeah. Women. You can’t live with them, you can’t live with undead versions of them.” I held up my hand for a high five. Drew ignored me. I put my hand down and looked at the painting of a sailboat on the wall, wondering if anyone on that boat had to share quarters with someone they didn’t have much in common with. Maybe the painting would start coming to life like in 1408 and Drew and I could team up to face the haunted room.
The hotel phone rang. I answered, grateful for the distraction.
“That was Coach,” I told Drew after I’d hung up. “We’re supposed to meet in the lobby in ten minutes for team dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Coach said we have to be there.”
“Coach says I have to do a lot of things, but sometimes I’d like a break.”
“Is it because of the whole Erin thing?”
He turned to glare at me.
“You don’t feel like being around the guys?”
We stared at each other until he mean-mugged me like John Wall glaring at a ref after a lousy call.
“Got it,” I said. “No bringing up She Who Must Not Be Named.”
I looked away from him and focused on the TV. McNair was sobbing over his decapitated ex-wife, her torso in his arms, her limbs strewn in front of him.
“There are five of these movies?”
“Yep! The sixth one comes out this summer. Sean and I already preordered tickets.”
“I bet you two did,” he said, but I noticed he didn’t change the channel.
***
Coach brought us to a no-frills pizza spot near the hotel and ordered seven large pies for the team. It seemed like a lot at first, but Todd put five slices away in as many minutes.
“Slow down, Todd,” Coach said. “We can always order more.”
“Or you can have some of Drew’s,” Will suggested from the other end of the table. A few bites were missing from Drew’s one slice, which lay limply on its grease-soaked paper plate.
“You must be sick of pizza, right, Drew?” Will went on, a gleam in his eye. “You eat it with the other busboys?”
Drew’s face reddened. He picked up his slice and took a giant bite of it, staring Will down as he chewed.
Coach didn’t defend Drew. No one did. What was wrong with having a job? Will Thompson got to act like a jerk because his family paid for the privilege? I’d had enough of Will, even if his comments were directed at my not-so-favorite roommate.
“Your face probably made him lose his appetite,” I said to Will. “It’s made me lose mine.”
“Young Majidi with a swift comeback, even if it is a little juvenile.”
“Kids today. They just don’t understand the finesse of trash talking, Kevin.”
Will leaned forward in his seat. I thought he was about to jump across the table to get to me, but he let his words do the job. “You’re still here? Homeland Security hasn’t picked you up yet?”
Coach slammed his fist on the table. “That’s enough!” he yelled. The guys working behind the pizza counter stopped what they were doing to stare at us. For a few moments the only sound in the whole place came from Fox News on TV. Coach Johnson wasn’t done. “You’re on the same team! Act like it!”
“Sorry, Coach,” Will said. He didn’t even look my way.
“Can we get through this weekend without you all tearing each other down? You think we can save some of that for the other teams?” Coach asked, his voice at a more tempered volume. The guys gave stiff nods as he looked around the table, pausing extra long on Drew, Will, and me. When he was done, he gave the waiter a small wave to let him know everything was fine.
“Now I’d like to talk to you about tomorrow’s game, if you don’t mind?” Coach asked.
“Sure, Coach,” Marcus said, his voice oozing disappointment. “The game. That’s what’s important.”
“That’s right, Marcus,” Coach said, not picking up on the sarcasm. I felt like a preschooler on a time-out. It wasn’t right that no
one was sticking up for Drew. “We’re playing Mercer Day tomorrow,” Coach went on. “Last time, we beat them by a hair, but they play dirty. We know it, they know it, but the refs up here don’t.”
I didn’t know much about Mercer Day aside from their reputation as a last-resort private school for rich kids with not-so-hot grades or who had been kicked out of other prep schools. Mercer Day had a good sports program, especially because it was padded with nineteen-year-old seniors who needed to repeat a year.
“If we’re going to beat them, we’re going to have to be smart, and we’re going to have to talk to each other on the court,” Coach said. “You have to communicate with each other on defense.” He went over some other strategy points. The whole time, Will sat there smirking at me. He looked like he had his own plans for Mercer Day.
***
We got back to the hotel around ten. Will walked ahead of the rest of us, including Coach, to greet some friends in the lobby.
“That’s Eric Pennington and Mike Danton from Mercer Day,” Marcus said to me as Will laughed and slapped hands with two beefy dudes who looked like they were both training to audition for WWE.
“They’re in high school?” I asked. Even Todd, who was taller than both of them, looked a little intimidated.
“Eric, the bulky kid with the red baseball cap and lazy eye, still plays for Mercer. Mike, the taller one with the stupid pop-star haircut, finally graduated last year. He goes to college around here.” From the scowl on Marcus’s face, I could tell he hadn’t enjoyed playing against them in the past.
“Looks like the away team really puts an emphasis on bulking up.”
“Sure. Like the way the East German Olympic teams used to ‘bulk up,’ Kevin.”
Coach noticed Will chatting it up with our archrivals.
“Thompson! Get over here,” he shouted, waving Will back to join the rest of the team. Will obliged, but not before he told Eric and Mike, loudly, that he’d see them later that night.
Eric sneered at me, and then he and Mike left the hotel. Either word of my incredible skills had gotten around the private school league, or Will had let them know that I was on his list and should be on theirs too.
“Okay, it’s time to hit the hay,” Coach said. “Go to your rooms, get a good night’s sleep, and be dressed and ready in the lobby at nine a.m. I trust I don’t have to babysit you fellas all night. Remember, school rules apply here. We may be off campus, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like there aren’t consequences for your actions. We understand each other?”
“Yes, Coach,” we mumbled. Will didn’t say anything, but he turned his head to see if his friends were still waiting for him.
“Okay, then. Let’s go.” Coach led the way to the elevators.
***
After a low-key night eating leftover pizza and watching The Late Show with Marcus and Todd on the sixth floor, I said good night and headed for my room at about one thirty. I took the stairs back to the fourth floor. Just as I walked through the fire doors into the hallway, the elevator bell dinged and a glassy-eyed Will and his Mercer Day buddy Eric came spilling out. I had to pass them in the hallway to get to my room, and I was considering heading back to the stairs and sleeping with Todd and Marcus.
“Hey! Look who id izzz!” Will shouted, slurring his words.
“Hey,” I said as they approached me. “I’m heading to bed.”
“But isso early,” Will said. “Why don’ you come hang with us?”
“Yeah, me and my guys are down the hall,” Eric said. “We’re going to relax, throw a few back, blow off some steam.” He wasn’t as drunk as Will, but he couldn’t be bothered to fake a smile around me.
“Sounds like a good time, but I better get some sleep,” I said. Did they think I was stupid enough to go hang out alone in a room with them? “Big game tomorrow and everything.” I tried to squeeze past them. Eric blocked my path.
“Why don’t you want to party with us?” he asked. “You think you’re better than us or something?”
Will snickered behind him.
“I’m tired. That’s all.” They inched closer.
“Is that right?” Eric asked, looking over his shoulder. “He says he’s tired.”
“Well, I’m tired of his people coming over here and ruining the country, Eric.” Will suddenly sounded a lot more sober. His smile turned into a sneer. “How about you?”
“Yeah, I am too,” Eric said before he turned back to me. He smelled like tobacco and whiskey, and his breath was warm against my face. “Real tired. Why don’t you go back to Mexico and take a siesta?”
“Wrong people, Eric,” Will said. “The other kind of brown. The banned ones.”
“Even better! Hell, we’d probably get a Medal of Honor if we rough him up. Who’d miss him?”
I tried to back away. If I made a run for it, could I get down the stairs without them catching up to me? Where was my key card? I wouldn’t have time to unlock the door if I didn’t know where my key card was. I could fight them, but Eric was a beefy dude. I wouldn’t last long.
Eric grabbed hold of my shoulder and pushed me backward with his forearm against my chest. I tried to get away, and I wanted to yell, but the fear wouldn’t let me. My limbs were frozen and my thoughts were on repeat: What are they going to do to me? Oh God, what are they going to do to me?
I heard a door click open.
Drew stood in the doorway of our room, looking out at us. “We get it, you guys are real tough. Now can you keep it down so we can all get some sleep?”
Eric took his forearm off my chest but kept hold of a shoulder, digging his fingers deep into the muscle while slapping my other shoulder like we were pals. I tried to jerk away, but he was too strong.
“We were going to show Beej a good time,” Will said. “Want to join us?”
Drew’s right eye twitched, but he played it cool.
“You heard what Coach said. School rules apply here. Besides, we need him for tomorrow’s game.” It was really comforting to watch two white guys debate why I should or shouldn’t get beat up based entirely on what I could do for them. “You remember what team you play for, Will?”
“The same team they let your white-trash ass play for,” Will said with a chuckle. “The real question is, what team does Erin play for?”
Drew’s bored expression didn’t change. Will shook his head. “Let Aladdin go,” he ordered Eric.
Eric’s grip on me loosened. I tore away and made a beeline for the room while Eric and Will laughed.
As soon as I was inside, Drew closed the door casually, as if there were nothing to be worried about. Once it was closed, though, he sprang into action, fastening the chain. He looked through the peephole to see if they had gone. “Bring me something to keep the door shut,” he said as he leaned against it.
I carried over the desk chair.
“That’s not going to keep anyone out!” he yelled.
“Help me move the desk, then!”
He grunted as we carried the small desk over to block the door.
“You need me for the game tomorrow, huh?” I said as I paced across the small room, adrenaline rushing through me. “That’s the only reason I shouldn’t get beaten to a pulp, or worse?”
“Look,” Drew said. “The two of us could take Will, but we couldn’t take Steroid McGillicuddy and however many of his friends decided to come out and join the fun.” He took a deep breath. “This wouldn’t happen if you didn’t mouth off so much.”
“Oh, really?” I yelled. “I should let people do whatever they want to me and just take it?”
Drew walked closer. The two of us stood in the center of the room, staring each other down.
“You think I don’t want to tell Will Thompson to shove his shit back up his ass every once in a while? You think Marcus doesn’t want to put his fist through Wi
ll’s perfect teeth on occasion?”
“You and Will were pretty chummy when you and I got into it. That’s around the time everyone had a photo of me looking like a terrorist. Did he send out that email, and did you know all about it?”
“If Will sent that email, he didn’t tell me,” Drew said, his face reddening. “Someone probably sent it because you annoyed them with your self-righteous petition. Elle and Stephanie can be involved in that kind of stuff because they’ve got the money to say what they like. You and I can’t afford to. Don’t you get that?”
I just stared at him.
“I don’t like being accused of doing things I haven’t done,” he continued. “You know I was called to Headmaster Clarkson’s office four times because of that stupid email? My mom even asked me if I sent it. My mom, who already has to deal with so much crap at her job to support us, now has to worry that I’m going to get kicked out of Granger.” Drew slammed his fist on the desk. I was surprised the wood didn’t splinter. “You’re messing up my life. You get that? I’m at that school to put the stupid orange ball in the hoop and that’s it. I haven’t heard a thank you yet for saving your butt just now either.”
Drew and I glared at each other, but it no longer felt uncomfortable. We were going to be real.
“It’s hard to thank you when I know you’d let Will and his Mercer buddies beat me up if I wasn’t going to help you win tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t. I have a conscience. Besides, if anything happened to you, I’d probably get blamed for it.”
“Yeah,” I shot back, my voice dripping with disdain. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be blamed for something people who look like you did.”
“That’s not the same. I know what you’re getting at. I don’t care if you’re Muslim.” He sat on his bed but looked at me. “You know what those guys out there think? They think people like you aren’t apologetic enough. With everything on the news, they’re not buying that ‘peaceful religion’ rhetoric. They don’t feel like they have to be politically correct when the facts are staring them in the face.”
“They think that way or you think that way?” I said, standing in front of him with my fists clenched. He didn’t answer. “I tell you what, Drew. I’ll apologize when you apologize for every guy who looks like you who shoots up a movie theater, a church, or a school or drives a car into a crowd of peaceful protestors. How’s that for a fair deal?”