Raj speaks up. “Well, uh, I am. If you need help, I mean.”
“Really?” Michelle smiles at him, and his blush is so deep it’s visible even with his dark skin.
“Yeah, anytime.” He clears his throat nervously.
My phone buzzes with another text. I glance at Lauren before taking it out to read it.
Chase: You’re probably wondering if I took off my shirt for you, but it was cuz I spilled water all over it.
I look over at his table, where’s he’s wearing not only his T-shirt, but also a huge grin.
Chase: Knew you’d look.
I shake my head, a warm flush creeping up my neck.
“You’re disgusting,” Lauren says, getting up from the table in a huff.
Michelle gives me a confused look.
“She’s just in a mood,” Raj says. “She’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I’m not so sure, though. Lauren’s never been one to forgive easily. And I can see why she’s upset with me. Chase is the captain of the football team—the leader of everything that disgusts us.
I see him changing, though. And I’m not turning my back on him. I hope my longtime crush on him isn’t clouding my vision. I believe Chase when he says he’s done with the Sweet Sixteen. That’s not for me to share with anyone, though. I just hope Lauren will get a chance to see for herself that things aren’t exactly as they seem.
Even when she’s grouchy and brutally honest, she’s my best friend. I don’t have enough friends to be trading a new one for an old one.
Chapter Eighteen
Chase
I’m trying to keep my head down, staying focused on my classes and football. I can’t help getting distracted by Gin too. She invites me home for dinner again, which serves two purposes—I get to spend more time with her, and I manage to avoid my dad, who will jump my ass about committing to a school.
By Thursday, I’ve only been at home to sleep, but I find out my system isn’t gonna save me forever when I see a note from my dad on the kitchen counter in the morning, next to the book from Gin’s mom that my mom’s nearly done with already.
You need to commit to Bama. Be home for dinner tonight.
Fuck. I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash, grabbing the toast my mom hands me on my way out the door.
“See you tonight?” she asks hopefully.
I hear the plea in her question—save me from feeling your father’s wrath if you’re not here.
“Yeah. I’ll come home after practice. I’m not ready to commit to a school yet, though.”
She sighs softly. “I just don’t want you to miss out, Chase. That’s where your dad’s coming from too, even though it doesn’t feel that way.”
“It feels like he wants to make the decisions and have me live with them. But it’s my decision, Mom.”
She nods, but her expression is skeptical. Like me, she’s always let Dad bully her into whatever he wants. I’m not letting him have his way this time, though.
Sam honks his horn from the driveway.
“I’ve gotta go, Mom. See you tonight.”
She smiles and waves me out the door. When I get into Sam’s passenger seat, he greets me with, “Hey, man. Got a favor to ask.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Can we pick Felicity White this week? It’s the only way I’m ever getting between her legs.”
I shake my head, disgust flooding through me. “Won’t be up to me, man. I’m done with all that.”
He laughs as he backs out of the driveway. “Whatever, asshole. Just do this for me, okay?”
“I’m serious. I’m done. No more choosing girls, no more roses, no more parties.”
Sam pulls up to the stop sign and steps on the brake, turning to me. “What the fuck are you talking about, Matthews?”
“I’m. Done.”
“But…how do you get to make a decision like that? That’s bullshit.”
“The rest of you can do what you want, but I’m out.” I point at the car on the other side of the intersection. “It’s your turn to go.”
“Why?” He turns to face the road and drives, his expression stunned.
“I don’t feel right about it.”
He scoffs. “Because of Gin Fielding?”
“Because of me. I mean, did you hear what you just said? Felicity wouldn’t sleep with you unless she was part of the Sweet Sixteen? You know how fucked up that is?”
His silence tells me he doesn’t.
“This just seems random,” he says. “Why all of a sudden? It’s senior year. How do you think the team’s gonna feel about this?”
“Like I said, the rest of you can do what you want. No one better get pissed at me over what I choose to do or not do.”
“So, what then? You want me to just tell them you’re not doing it?”
“You can, or I will.”
He shakes his head, his expression still etched with disbelief. “But…what about meeting after practice to choose someone today?”
“I won’t be there.”
“You’ll change your mind, though. I’m not saying anything to anyone.”
I won’t change my mind, but there’s no reason to argue with him about it. We ride in silence the rest of the way to school. When we get there, I walk in on my own, leaving Sam trailing behind.
Something tells me I’d better ask Gin for a ride to school tomorrow.
By lunch, everyone knows. I didn’t think Sam would stay quiet, and I was right. Guys are coming up to me asking me what’s going on, all of them looking dazed when I tell them I’m done with the Sweet Sixteen.
“It’s Gin, isn’t it?” Jack Pearson says bitterly. “You fucked her, and now she doesn’t want you fucking anyone else. I see the way you look at her.”
I shove him into a row of lockers, anger flowing hot and fast through my veins. “Say one more thing about her, and I’ll break your fucking hand,” I say, pointing a finger in his face.
His eyes narrow. “You’re gonna break your best wide receiver’s hand? Fuck no.”
“Say something about her and find out,” I challenge.
He keeps his eyes locked on mine in a few seconds of silent contemplation.
“I’m gonna be late for class,” he finally says, shoving off the locker and leaving.
I don’t want to deal with the bullshit in the cafeteria, so I take my lunch tray to Coach’s office and eat there, talking about this week’s game with him. It’s almost time to leave for class when my phone buzzes with a text.
Gin: Wow. Are you trying to be more hated than me? Because it’s working.
Me: They’ll get over it.
Gin: I hope so. Jack Pearson is looking at me like he wants to kill me with his bare hands.
Me: He won’t lay a hand on you.
Gin: Are you sure this is what you want?
Me: It’s not even like that anymore. This is what I have to do.
Gin: Be careful, okay?
Me: Don’t worry about me. See you at play practice.
Gin: Need a ride to school tomorrow?
Me: Yeah, thanks.
I put my phone in my bag and get up to go to class, but Coach Carter stops me.
“Sit back down, Chase. I’ll write you an excuse for being late.”
I reseat myself in the chair across from his desk, looking at him.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“Your dad came to see me the other day. He’s concerned about you not committing to a school yet, and frankly, I am too. Can we talk this through and figure it out?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My dad’s not letting up on this.
“He wants me to go to Bama.”
“And what do you want?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure yet. I like Penn State a lot, though.”
“They’re both great programs. I think you’d do well at either.”
“Thanks.”
“But the coaches aren’t gonna wait forever, Chase. It’s already
way past time.”
I nod but say nothing.
“I think your dad would be happier with you committing to Penn State than not committing anywhere at this point. Can you bring that up with him?”
“I can, but…”
I can’t tell him what comes after the but.
…but I’m not sure if he’ll punch my mom in a fit of anger over not getting his way.
…but I don’t know if my mom and sisters will be safe if I’m that far away.
…but I’m concerned that my decision is being influenced by a certain girl who’s going to NYU next year, whom I want to be as close to as possible.
“You’ve played for me for four years, Chase. I know you. Level with me.”
“My dad’s controlling,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
Coach smiles at that. “Yeah. Even more so on this because it’s one of the last things he can control in terms of your football.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he’s right.
“Do I choose for myself only, or do I…keep my family in mind?” I ask.
“You need to choose the coach and program that gets you the most excited. That’s very important. You’re gonna get drafted, Chase, and the decisions you make from here on out are crucial.”
I exhale heavily and stare at the swirling, faded gray pattern on the linoleum floor. “I’m usually okay under pressure,” I say softly.
Coach laughs at that. “Son, you’re great under pressure. But there are different kinds of pressure. My advice is to choose one and move forward. You’ve worked too hard to make a misstep now.”
I nod. “Thanks, Coach. I will.” I meet his eyes across the desk. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know about the Sweet Sixteen?”
He furrows his brow. “The first round of the NCAA tournament?”
“No, I mean…” I clear my throat and try again. “The parties at Skylar Adair’s place after games—do you know what goes on there?”
His lips thin into a serious expression. “I think it’s best I know as little as possible about that.”
He takes out a yellow notepad and starts scrawling me a note for class.
“Why is that?” I ask.
He looks up from the note. “What?”
“Why do you think it’s best that you know as little as possible about the parties?”
We stare at each other for a few seconds as he tries to come up with an answer.
“Why are you asking me this, Chase? You know why.”
“Yeah, I do. Because it’s wrong. And you know it’s wrong and don’t want to be responsible for not doing anything about it. So you just look the other way.”
He gives me a stern look. “Where’s this coming from? If I policed my players and cracked down on everything they did that’s against the rules, I wouldn’t have any damn players left.”
“You tell us to be gentlemen. We all go and rake yards for senior citizens and paint concession stands to give back, but…there is no giving back what we’ve taken.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Chase. I know there’s some drinking at those parties, but as long as no one’s driving after…”
“Not the drinking.”
He sighs heavily. “Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
I sit back, folding my hands in my lap. “I’ve decided I’m no longer going to be a part of a certain unnamed activity that happens at those parties, and most of the guys are pissed at me over it. I’m not backing down, though.”
He nods slightly. “Whatever it is, it’s your decision.”
“There’s gonna be blowback. Probably a call for a new team captain.”
“Won’t happen. You’re my captain, and you’re staying my captain. You’ve got a level head on your shoulders, and I trust that you’re following your gut on this.”
I stand up. “Thanks. And you may not want to hear this, but…there are guys on the team with shitty parents. If no one at home’s telling them how to be a gentleman, they need you to. And you need to do a better job with it.”
He narrows his eyes. “In what regard?”
“How to treat women. Girls, whatever.”
He grimaces, then nods.
“I’m one of the guys with a shitty example at home, but I still know right from wrong.” I shake my head sadly. “Took me a long time to get here, though. And if you don’t stand up and face what’s going on, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“I understand.” His expression is solemn as he passes me the note. “See you at practice.”
I walk to class, and when I get there, my usual seat between Sam and Clay has been moved over to the side of the room, where it sits alone.
Fucking babies. I stride over to it and sit down, showing no reaction.
And I feel a fresh stab of guilt over what I did to Gin. Thanks to that rose, this is what her life’s been like lately too.
Sam and Clay are supposed to be more than friends to me. We’re supposed to be brothers. Seems I overestimated them by a lot. I can’t find it in me to even give a shit, though.
Chapter Nineteen
Gin
Friday is a total shitshow at school.
When I walk into the building after a nearly silent car ride with Chase and pull on the handle of my locker, I feel something thick and wet on my fingers. My stomach turns so hard and fast I fear I may puke right there on the floor. Instead, I race to the bathroom, my hand out in front of me like it’s carrying a plague, and when I make it, I crank up the hot water and coat my entire hand in gooey soap, rinsing it in the water before washing my hands together three more times.
I don’t even want to think about what it was. Is, actually. I still need to get into my locker. Fortunately, I was an office runner my freshman year, fetching coffee and doing errands for the administrative staff, so I go see the ladies there. They give me sanitizer, call the custodian, and ask him to remove the handle of my locker for me, and give me an excuse to be late for class.
When I get to third period, I’m horrified to see that someone painted “Gin is a cunt” on the teacher’s chalkboard. Fucking white paint. When the teacher walks in and sees it, her face pales and she immediately moves class to the library for the day.
I want to skip lunch, but I’m not giving anyone the satisfaction. When I sit down at the table, I give Lauren a glare that just dares her to fuck with me today.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, quickly adding, “About the chalkboard, I mean.”
A half smile pulls at my lips. “Uh-huh. Cause there’s nothing else you should be sorry for?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “All right, I’m sorry I was an asshole, okay? It’s just hard to watch all this. That fucker doesn’t deserve you.”
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“All this shit that’s happening to you is because of him, though.”
I glance around the cafeteria, looking for Chase. “I’m pretty sure he’s not having the best day either.”
Lauren grunts skeptically. “I didn’t hear about anyone writing ‘Chase is a cocksucking motherfucker’ on a chalkboard today.”
“Yeah, because too many syllables.” I meet her gaze across the table. “Roper kids, remember? They can’t spell those words.”
She breaks into a grin. Raj and Michelle sit down together on the other side of our table, him explaining something mathematic to her.
I pass Lauren a sandwich, leaving mine in the bag. Craning my neck, I look around the cafeteria for Chase.
Where is he? From what little I’ve overheard, he’s tied with me for first place on most everyone’s shit list.
Apparently, the football team still gathered and waited this morning, thinking Chase would be there to give out a rose. When he didn’t show, Sam Stockwell offered to take over and do it, but most of the guys didn’t want to go along with that.
So for the first time since I’ve been at Roper High
School, no one got a rose on a Friday morning before a football game. I can’t imagine Chase will just come take his seat at his usual table like nothing’s amiss.
Girls are stunned and upset over Chase’s change of heart, and the football players I’ve seen today either look despondent or furious. I find the whole thing ridiculous and sad.
Chase didn’t say where he was going when we got to school this morning, and I didn’t ask. He seemed sullen and withdrawn. I can’t help wondering if it’s because he was second-guessing his decision to give up the Sweet Sixteen.
He never shows up for lunch, and for whatever reason, it really pisses me off. I’ve shown up in the cafeteria every day for the past two weeks, and it hasn’t been easy. But I’m not running away from the decision I made. I’m not afraid of the consequences.
I use several tissues to open my locker in the afternoon, after the custodian sanitized and replaced my locker handle. Then I go from class to class, my anger building as the day goes on.
At the end of the day, I’m bent over loading books into my locker, passing people calling me everything from lesbian to bitch. To my back, of course. I don’t think they’d be brave enough to say it to my face. Cowards.
I keep my expression neutral, relieved there’s no play practice today and I can just go home and not venture out until Monday. As I stand up and turn around, though, something flies into my face. I gasp and step back, reaching for my eye to feel what it is.
Spit.
I caught a flash of Jack Pearson’s evil grin before I closed both eyes, and now I’m furious enough to take him on. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. They’re a bunch of emotionally stunted assholes, and I’m done taking their shit.
I dig through my bag and find some tissues, wiping off my face. Several girls are giggling nearby as they watch me, and I feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
Not because I’m about to crumble, but because I’m just that angry. I’m mad enough to punch someone. For two weeks, I’ve endured nonstop bullshit because I don’t want to be gangbanged.
I’ve had it.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I move down the hallway so fast my hair flies out behind me. I’m on a mission, and it’s an emotionally charged one. If I can’t find Chase in these hallways, I’ll go confront him at practice. I’d walk onto the field in the middle of a game if I had to. My tolerance had a good run, but it went up in a mushroom cloud of ruin when Jack spat in my face.
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