Initiation

by Phil M. Williams

  The Warriors’ quarterback shouted, “Kill, kill!”

  The Warriors’ offense was already set as the referee spotted the ball. They snapped the football as soon as it was spotted. The quarterback spiked the ball in front of him, stopping the clock.

  Second down and ten.

  Ball on the Marauders’ eleven-yard line.

  Seven seconds on the clock.

  On second down, the Warrior’s quarterback lofted the football into the back corner of the end zone. Scooter had the corner beat by a step. Noah was out of position. The stands were silent as the perfect pass fell out of the sky into Scooter’s outstretched hands. The receiver dragged his foot but was a few inches beyond the end line, out of bounds. There was a collective gasp, followed by cheering from the fans, after the referee ruled the pass incomplete. Coach Cowan called his final timeout.

  Third down and ten.

  Ball on the Marauders’ eleven-yard line.

  Three seconds on the clock.

  Coach Cowan trotted onto the field. The defense huddled around him.

  “This is it, guys,” Coach Cowan said, his face red. “We gotta have this one.” He eyed each of his players. “They won’t have time to run another one, so they’ll try to get it to the end zone. I think they’ll come back to that fade route to number two. So we’re gonna go Nickel, Double two. Carter, I want you to go to whichever side number two’s on and double cover him. Noah, you go opposite.” Coach Cowan grabbed Carter by the facemask. “Son, you got one job. Do not let that kid score.”

  The Warriors were spread out with four receivers to the left and one to the right. Number two, Scooter Brooks, was all alone on the right side, near the sideline. The Marauders’ cornerback lined up directly in front of him, in press man-to-man coverage. Carter was eight yards behind on his inside shoulder. Look at his alignment. He’s too close to the sideline. He’s not running a fade. He’s gotta come inside. Slant maybe, skinny post.

  Carter moved to the inside a couple of yards. Coaches on both sidelines screamed last-second instructions, but they were drowned out by the crowd noise. Carter focused on the star receiver’s belt buckle. He backpedaled as Scooter sprinted forward, beating the press, leaving the cornerback in the dust. After five yards, the receiver cut inside at a sixty-degree angle. The quarterback fired a bullet. Carter planted and exploded forward. Scooter caught the ball at the two-yard line. As soon as the ball touched his hands, Carter leveled him, the ball squirting to the turf. Another Warriors’ receiver picked up the ball and dove into the end zone. Carter lay on the grass in a daze as the Warriors celebrated around him. A referee stepped into the melee waving his arms back and forth, signaling an incompletion, not a fumble. The clock said 0:00, the score still twenty to fourteen.

  The Marauder sideline charged the field, jumping up and down in a frenzy, followed by the students and parents. Number two held out his hand. Carter took it, and Scooter hoisted him to his feet.

  “Good game,” he said, his face rigid.

  “Thanks, you too.”

  * * *

  The locker room was raucous with talk of parties, recaps of the game, and going to state. Carter sat on the bench in front of his locker. He had his head in his hands, massaging his temples.

  “Hey, man, you all right?” Devin asked as he zipped up his Redskins starter jacket.

  Carter looked up. “I’m fine, I just have a headache.”

  Devin patted him on the shoulder, laughing. “You need to stop using your head as a battering ram.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’ll check you later.”

  “See ya, Devin.”

  Carter stood like an octogenarian. He grabbed the sweatshirt hanging in his locker and pulled it over his head. He picked up his duffel bag and staggered into the hall. Coach Cowan and Coach Ware laughed in Cowan’s office. Carter stood in the hall waiting. He caught Coach Ware’s eye.

  “Lynch, what are you doin’ out there?”

  “I just need to talk to Coach Cowan for a minute.”

  “I’ll see you in films tomorrow,” Coach Ware said to Cowan.

  “Bright and early,” Cowan said.

  “Don’t forget the donuts.”

  Coach Cowan laughed. “I won’t.”

  Coach Ware smacked Carter on the back as he walked by. “Nice game, two-zero.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  Coach Cowan invited Carter into his office and shut the door behind them. He stood in the middle of his office with his arms crossed. He did not offer Carter a seat.

  “What do you need?” Coach Cowan asked.

  “I just wanted to see what was happening with the Ben Wheeler situation,” Carter said.

  “And I told you before that I was handlin’ it.”

  “That was like three weeks ago, and I haven’t seen anything happen.”

  Coach Cowan exhaled and put his hands on his hips. “And you prob’ly won’t see anything happen. Son, this is a private matter. A delicate, private matter. And this is the last time I’m a tell you. It’s handled. Leave it alone.”

  “Did you talk to the Wheelers?”

  “Yes, I did, and the last thing they want is this bullshit tarnishin’ their good name.”

  “What about Zach and Justin? Are they gonna get in trouble for the hazing?”

  Coach Cowan’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed. “And what would you have me do to ’em? It seems to me that the whole team was there. Every single one of you was prob’ly drinkin’. Would you have me bring the cops in and arrest every last one of you? Boy, we just won a huge game. We’re one win away from back-to-back state championships and you wanna talk about some dumb shit that happened in August. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Carter stared at the floor.

  “You’re like a god damn pit bull with a bone. Now get outta my office.”

  * * *

  Carter paced on the sidewalk in front of the Wheelers’ townhouse. The afternoon sun was waning in the sky. His hands were in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Their side door opened. Carter turned quickly and marched back toward his house.

  “Carter,” Mrs. Wheeler called out.

  He stopped and turned around. “Hi, Mrs. Wheeler.”

  She walked toward Carter. Her face was pale and haggard. Her brown hair was stringy. She had dark circles under her eyes.

  “You were out here for a long time,” she said. “Did you want to come up? You know you can still come and visit.”

  Carter pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I mean …”

  Mrs. Wheeler crossed her arms over her sweater. “Honey, it’s cold. Why don’t you come up? I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

  Carter slipped his running shoes off at the door and followed Mrs. Wheeler into the kitchen. She pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator, glancing at the date.

  She sighed. “It used to be I couldn’t keep milk in this house. Now I have to check dates.” She poured the milk into a Pyrex measuring cup and placed the cup in the microwave. “The key to good hot cocoa is to use milk instead of water.”

  Carter sat on a stool against the counter. “I’ve never had hot chocolate with milk.”

  She smiled, her eyes still. “You’re in for a treat then.”

  Carter glanced around the room. The shades were drawn. The couch in the family room looked rumpled as if someone had been sleeping there. Dishes filled the sink. She stood facing him on the other side of the counter, her hands hanging onto the edge. Her knuckles were white.

  “So, how’s everything going?” she asked.

  Carter shrugged. “I don’t know …”

  The microwave beeped. She grabbed the Pyrex cup from the microwave and set it on the counter.

  “I saw in the paper that you guys are going to the state championship thing.” She opened a cabinet and picked up a mug that read Supermom. She frowned. “I hope you don’t mind this old mug. I need to do the dishes.”

  Carter swallowed. “I
t’s fine.”

  Mrs. Wheeler poured the milk into the mug. She opened the drawer and pulled out a spoon. She emptied a packet of cocoa into the warm milk and stirred.

  “I’m sorry that I haven’t been by to see you and Mr. Wheeler,” Carter said.

  “Oh, honey, you are certainly welcome anytime, but it is not your responsibility.”

  Carter nodded, his eyes downcast.

  She set the spoon in the sink and pushed the hot cocoa across the counter to Carter. “The milk isn’t too hot. You should be able to drink it right away.”

  Carter took a sip from the mug and set it on the counter. “That’s really good.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I used to make this for Ben and Sarah all the time in the winter. You know it’s funny. The first time I made this for Sarah, she said the same thing as you, that she’d never had it with milk.”

  Carter sipped the hot cocoa.

  “How is Sarah doing these days?” Mrs. Wheeler asked.

  “I haven’t seen her much,” Carter replied.

  She frowned. “That’s too bad. I always thought you two got along so well.”

  “She’s mad at me.”

  “I can’t imagine what for. You know of all of Ben’s friends, you were always the most polite.”

  Carter gazed at the Supermom mug. His eyes filled with tears. He blinked, but a few tears made it out, leaking and sliding down his face.

  “Carter, honey, it’s okay.” She moved around the counter. She bent over and wrapped her arms around him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, his words barely audible.

  She rocked him back and forth like a child. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “There is,” he said, his voice clearer, his tears drying.

  Mrs. Wheeler let go and sat next to him on a stool. “Honey, no, you can’t do this to yourself. I’m no fool. I saw how Ben treated you. He was a good boy, but he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin yet. That made him jealous. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

  “Did Coach Cowan talk to you and Mr. Wheeler?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Should he have?”

  Carter went on to tell Mrs. Wheeler in detail what happened to her son at the initiation. After, she wiped the tears from her eyes with her thumb and index finger.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wheeler. I should have told you before. I was afraid to admit that I didn’t help Ben. I was there and I just let it happen.”

  She sniffled, took a deep breath, and sat up straight, her shoulders back. “Now, Carter, you listen to me, and you listen good.”

  Carter searched her face, waiting for his punishment.

  She said, “You will not put even one single ounce of this weight on your shoulders. Do you hear me?”

  Carter nodded, his eyes glassy. “Do you want me to go with you to the school?”

  She shook her head. “I do not want you getting embroiled in this. You have to promise me that you will not tell anyone that you told me.”

  “Okay.”

  “As a teacher in the district, I’ve been to the school board meetings, and I know what these people are like. I don’t want to scare you, honey, but they will hang you out to dry if that means saving the reputation of the football program.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t want this to happen again. The hazing has to stop.”

  – 14 –

  Going to State?

  Like soldiers going off to war, the North Potomac Marauders said their final goodbyes to family, friends, and girlfriends. The low afternoon sun was dropping behind the school. Carter stood in the shade, leaning against the brick school near the locker room door. His black knit cap was pulled low over his eyebrows. His gear was in an oversized mesh bag at his feet. Amber stood in his personal space, her hands warming in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Her lips were full and shiny with lip gloss. Her green eyes searched his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Carter exhaled. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve never seen a boy that wasn’t happy about playin’ for the state championship. You get to stay in a hotel tonight. You’re gonna be playin’ at UVA.”

  “I can’t seem to shake it. You know, what happened to Ben.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with this? I think what he did is just … creepy.”

  “I think the initiation killed Ben.”

  She frowned. “What are you talkin’ about? He was perfectly fine. Nobody hurt him.”

  “You don’t understand. Zach and Justin humiliated him in front of the whole team. And he wanted to be accepted more than anyone. It crushed him.”

  “Why would you bring this up now?”

  He rubbed his temples and looked at Amber. “Because nobody fucking cares. Coach Cowan told me he was gonna do something about it. He’s a liar.”

  Cowan stood in front of two idling school buses. The buses were half-full, with players immersed in their headphones or socializing with the kids around them. Players queued up at the doors, their equipment bags slung over their shoulders.

  “Let’s go everyone. Buses are leavin’,” Cowan called out.

  Amber took her hands out of Carter’s pocket, stepped back and crossed her arms. “And what’s he supposed to do? Ben’s dead. He’s not comin’ back.”

  “He could stop the initiation.”

  “This is stupid. It’s not like he was even there.”

  Carter shook his head. “If he told everyone that they would be kicked off the team if they participated in any hazing, it would stop. I guarantee it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand you. Ben didn’t even like you. You said so yourself.”

  “Carter, move it,” Coach Cowan called out.

  Carter glanced at the coach, then back to Amber. “That doesn’t matter. It could have just as easily been me in his shoes. Shit, Noah almost died from alcohol poisoning a couple years ago.”

  “You know what, Ben was a little bitch. It’s nobody’s fault but his own.”

  “I said move it, Carter,” Cowan called out.

  Carter pushed off the wall, grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He glared at Amber. “No. You’re a little bitch.”

  Amber’s eyes went wide. She slapped Carter across the face. Onlookers from the crowd and the bus snickered, laughed, and heckled. Carter held his glare for a moment. He turned and marched toward the bus.

  Justin hung out the bus window with a wide smile. “Damn, Carter, she hits harder than you.” The bus erupted in laughter.

  Cowan was beet red, his jaw tight, his fists clenched. Carter ignored his gaze as he moved to the bus door. “Don’t you step on my bus,” Coach said.

  Carter stopped and turned toward the coach. He was close enough that Carter could smell the coffee on his breath. Carter glanced at Cowan’s clenched fists at his side.

  “What the hell is your problem, boy?”

  Carter stared at the asphalt beneath his feet.

  “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you,” Coach Cowan said.

  Carter looked up.

  “You gotta be the most selfish god damn kid I know. We’re about to play for the state championship and you’re holdin’ up my buses. We got a hundred guys on this team, and they’re all waitin’ on you.” Cowan shook his head. “Then you’re gonna bring your god damn girlfriend problems too. This is football, son, not Days of Our Lives. I oughta send your ass home now. Is that what you want?”

  Carter stared at the coach’s clenched fists and white knuckles.

  “I said look at me!”

  Carter blinked and stared at the coach. He dropped his equipment bag on the asphalt.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’ boy?”

  Carter started to walk past. The coach grabbed him by the upper arm. Carter stopped and looked at the tight grip around his arm. He turned slowly, looking Coach Cowan in the eye.

  “Get your
fucking hands off of me,” Carter said.

  Coach Pitts appeared from the bus. “Coach, let me talk to him,” he said.

  Coach Cowan let go. “You’re done. You’re off this team!”

  Carter walked away.

  “You can forget about next year too,” Coach Cowan called out.

  “Do you really think this is necessary?” Coach Pitts asked. “Let me talk to him. I can work it out.”

  “He’s done,” Coach Cowan said. “Let’s go, we got a state championship to win.”

  Carter pulled his hood over his head, slid his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and walked past the assembled families and friends of his former teammates. The crowd was silent as he moved past.

  A young boy yelled out in a high pitched voice, “Quitter.”

  A few kids giggled. Their parents shushed them.

  Carter shuffled home, his eyes focused on the concrete sidewalk. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty parking spot in front of his parents’ townhouse. He pushed the garage door open and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He locked his bedroom door, stripped down to his boxer briefs and crawled into bed. He pulled the comforter tight over his body. He lay on his side, his knees pulled to his chest. He was silent as the tears ran across his face.

  * * *

  Carter’s stomach growled. His whole body was sore, as if he’d been fighting while he slept. Sunlight punctured his blinds. He smelled bacon and coffee. He glanced at his alarm clock: 10:11 a.m. He picked up his jeans and hooded sweatshirt from the floor and dressed. He used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Steeling himself, he trudged up the basement steps to the kitchen. His parents and younger sister sat on stools at the counter eating breakfast. They were still in their pajamas. They looked at him with wide eyes and arched eyebrows.