Quarterback's Virgin

by Ivy Jordan

  It was a joke. Most of the students stuck close to their bongs, and they rarely went to class. So long as they showed up the first day, the teachers passed them. They called it a no-fail policy. They weren’t the first school to institute it, but they were one of the worst I’d ever seen.

  All the best players went there so they didn’t have to focus on their grades. That’s how they got into the top 10. They put up a good fight. Most were so hopped up on coke and steroids that they looked more like animals than men.

  They had brute force, but they didn’t have the speed or the strategy. Steroids messed with their heads, inhibiting their ability to judge things properly. The added strength and the boost to their system made them cocky and sloppy.

  It was even worse when they lost. The coach was shrieking at them, and the players were all looking at us shaking their heads like they were going to kill us. This was it for them. They were out of the running for the rest of the year.

  That didn’t make it any easier when I got in the shower and the water went from boiling hot to ice cold, like needles shooting through my finger when I stuck my hand in.

  “Ah,” I pulled it back and stepped out naked while the water flowed out. I was hoping that it would go neutral after a moment so that I could at least scrub the sweat off my skin.

  “Hey, rising moon,” Sam walked past and into the shower. “Fuck!”

  “Hah!” Mike walked in.

  “Looks like the showers are fucked.” I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around me so I could go get dressed.

  Most everyone else did the same. When we got on the bus, it smelled like rotting sweat and hot jock. The stench was overwhelming, and the heat was pouring in, making my head swim with nausea. I laid back and closed my eyes, hoping that the ride would help me relax a bit.

  Something slapped against my head. “Hey,” I shot up.

  Mike was sitting in the seat across from me. He turned away like he hadn’t done anything.

  “What was that for?”

  “Dude, we’re in the top two, and you’re falling asleep. What is wrong with you? Look around.”

  Everyone was talking and laughing. When I peeked my head up, Sam gave me a head nod. “One more game!”

  Everyone erupted, whooping and hollering. This was an obligatory part of being on the team. We were about to rise to the top. Our dreams could come true. That meant that I would have to join in on the fun, no matter how badly I wanted to relax.

  “Fuck yeah,” I pumped my fist up in the air. Somebody snuck a bottle onto the bus, and they were passing it around. I took a quick drink and handed it to Mike, who chugged it and yelled out.

  The next guy was a little disappointed that it was gone, but there was no shortage of alcohol. People were already passing out beers, from the coach’s personal stash, apparently. He was joining in now, too. We were barely a quarter of the way through the trip, and already it’d become a drunken debacle.

  I wanted to leave. Normally, I would’ve been having the time of my life, but Ava wasn’t there. I felt guilty thinking that she was missing the moment. It could be one of the most important in my entire life, but I couldn’t give in to it the way I wanted.

  Mike noticed, but he didn’t say much. Instead, he talked with the other guys about how we were going to beat the Seahawks. The game would be on our turf, and that became a point of focus. They just liked saying, ‘on our turf.’ It was driving me up the wall.

  All the fields were the same. It didn’t matter where we played; Ava wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t see me throw the pass that made the winning goal or kiss me on the sidelines the way she was supposed to. She’d be back at the library or studying at home.

  Maybe that was where I belonged, with my nose in a book instead of drinking and screaming with the rest of the guys. I didn’t have anything in common with them anymore. They were loud and rambunctious. None of them would be there next year.

  If I stayed, I’d have to deal with another round of drunken idiots while I led their ignorant asses through to the playoffs. It would be hell. The library sounded like a better alternative, and there was so much more there.

  My eyes had opened, and I wasn’t sure I could go back to this world. I was too deep in Ava’s. Football wasn’t a challenge. School was, and it was a competition, too. There were dozens of others vying for the top position in my class. I wanted to be there, working on something enriching. Maybe Ava was right. Football didn’t matter.

  For the first time in my life, I was questioning the direction I had taken. It was supposed to be unsettling. Football was a part of who I was, but it felt enlightening, like I’d been blind and my eyes had opened. I wasn’t sure what to do with this, so I let it sit while the party went on around me.

  The bus moved slowly through the cornfields to the south of the city, until I saw the library peeking out. There was a rush of relief. I was shutting down, and the guys were just getting started. Mike noticed me slump back in my seat. He turned to me, and I smelled liquor on his breath. “Dude, what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

  “It’s your girl.” He sounded excited, overly so, but it was catching. “You’re falling for her, Channing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t give me that maybe crap. Don’t hold back. You really care about her.”

  “I do.”

  “Good, I’m glad, and I’m sorry for all the shit I gave you before.”

  “Thank you.” I laid my head back. We pulled into the dorms, and the men rolled out, roaring and cheering at the tops of their lungs. There was a group of girls waiting outside, groupies mostly. Half of them weren’t even with the team, but they would be by the end of the night.

  I slipped through the crowd, past the cheers and back slaps, through a group of scantily clad girls. Nobody seemed to notice me. They were too excited by now, and I was just getting in the way of their fun.

  I didn’t want to go back to the dorm. Ava was waiting for me, but I didn’t get a chance to finish my shower, and I didn’t want to show up in my dirty sweats. I gave her a call when I got back into my room.

  “Did you win?” she answered.

  “Yes. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Yes, and I want you to know that I fully expected to get this call. I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

  “That means a lot.”

  “Not as much as what this means for you. You really are a star now, Channing.”

  “I guess I am. How’s dinner coming?”

  “It’s good. It’s almost done. Are you still getting out?”

  “No, I’m at the dorms. I’m gonna get ready. Then I’ll head over there.”

  “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

  I rushed up, turned the water on, and cleaned myself off as fast as I could. When I was done, I threw on the best clothes I could find and ran out. I didn’t want to take any more time than I already had. Ava was waiting, and I’d been away from her for far too long.

  She should’ve been with me. I still didn’t feel right. I wanted her to feel like the rest of the guys felt. But it was still exciting, knowing that my name would be on the tips of everyone’s tongue, up until the final moment.

  We would win. I didn’t have to worry about that. I was more worried about what the rest of my life would be like. I wanted her to be there at the games, but she had no interest in football. She didn’t want to see that. It wasn’t a part of her world. How could she take part in things if she couldn’t give in to that excitement?

  She’d be there. She’d come to the after-game parties, and if I got signed, she’d be standing next to me when I gave my acceptance speech. That was all wonderful, but she wouldn’t really be a part of things. She wouldn’t feel the same rush that I got when I won a game. It’d be like having a child come up to you to tell you that they won a game of dodgeball. She’d be happy for me, but she wouldn’t understand the magnitude of it.

  I was depresse
d when I should’ve been flying, and it didn’t get better when I saw her building, with the light on at the top. Her window was open, and I could see the curtains streaming out. At least she was there, but for how long? What if she lost interest in me because she couldn’t be a part of that life? She didn’t like football, and that was my world.

  I walked up to her apartment and knocked on the door. When she answered, she was wearing a short, tight dress with a spritz of lilac perfume. I smelled it when she pulled in to give me a hug. She pecked me on the lips. “Congratulations.”

  I could almost celebrate. “What is that smell?” It was savory, with a hint of roasting herbs.

  “Chicken.” She turned back and walked inside. The apartment was dark, with a white cloth on the table and a vase with a tealight sitting in the center. It was casting a glow that danced back and forth along the wall.

  Sitting behind the table was an antique china hutch made from pine. “What is this?”

  “Oh,” she laughed, “me and my friend went shopping, and we stopped at an antique store. What do you think?”

  “I love it.”

  “I still have to get some china, but I think it’ll look good.”

  “I think so too.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her in to taste her lips. She seemed to fall into it, so I pulled back, just to give her a tease. “I’m hungry.”

  “Good, because I made a lot. It’s not gourmet.”

  “You made it, so I’m sure it’s fantastic.”

  “I hope you really believe that, because I don’t know how to cook.” She walked behind me into the kitchen and opened the oven. A blast of steam flew out, and the smell of roasting chicken burst into the dining room.

  She began make us plates while I turned around watched intently. The counter was between us, so I couldn’t see what she was doing, which made it that much harder. I was in suspense. She kept me waiting while she ducked into the fridge and started working on the plates again.

  Finally, she brought my plate out and set it down. “Oh-hoh, you are a woman after my heart.” There were two big pieces of oven-fried chicken, a pile of mashed potatoes, and rice.

  “I hope you like it.” She walked back into the kitchen to grab her plate and set it down at the table before sitting down. “My mom showed me how to make it when I was younger.”

  “What is she like?” I asked.

  “Naïve, mostly. I love her a lot, but she made some bad decisions.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s her fault. She got with the wrong guy when she was a teenager. She had me when she was 16, and her mother couldn’t handle it, so she kicked her out of the house.”

  “How did she work?”

  “She danced.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing. I used to mind when I was younger, and I’d see her leaving for work, but over time I got used to it. She was just doing what she had to do to survive. We made pretty good money back then, but she gave it up when she got pregnant with my sister. They wouldn’t let her work, so she started waiting tables.”

  “That must not have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t. I was 14 at the time, and just starting to get angsty. I hated her. I thought she had ruined our life. We didn’t have any food, no money. I had to wear clothes from the thrift store and bargain bins. Then, when my sister was born, I started to understand. She wasn’t just doing it because she didn’t want to dance. She did it because she wanted to do the right thing by Chelsea. It was hard, but I accepted it over time.”

  “But what about money?”

  “Poverty became the norm. It was terrible, but when you wake up like that, day after day, it becomes mundane. We never lived well. Things just got a little bit worse is all.”

  “Isn’t there something she can do? Can’t she find a better job?”

  “There’s no time. She works all day, every day. She can’t apply during business hours.”

  “That’s terrible. It’s like she’s a slave.”

  “A wage slave,” she said. “That’s why they have the term.”

  “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, honestly. I am so sorry.”

  “Thank you, Channing.” Her voice was low and somber.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, I mean it. You saved them both.” Her head was low.

  I reached out and moved my finger down her jawline, then caught her chin up and lifted her head. A tear fell down from her eye, and I wiped it away. Then I leaned in and kissed her, grazing my lips over hers. It was meant to be comforting, but she erupted in a burst of fiery passion. She wrapped her arm around my neck and dove her tongue through. I caught it up, pulled past her lips, and let my tongue dive in. Then we met and danced around one another while our breath stormed through.

  I let my finger pass down her arm, and she shivered. “You are a sex god, you know that?” she laughed. “The second I see you, I just can’t help it.”

  “Eat your food.” I smiled and looked back down at my plate. “You’re distracting me from this wonderful chicken.”

  “You think it’s wonderful?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what you did to it.”

  “I found a bottle of this stuff called yellow seasoning. I’m sure it’s mostly MSG.”

  “That’s what makes it so good.” I went back to my chicken.

  “Oh, I got these from the thrift shop, too.” She got up, pulled something out from under the sink, and brought it to me. It was a painting in a gilded frame, forged with impressions of roses and a butterfly sitting on top. Inside it was a picture of a house sitting on the edge of a forest with lights on in the windows, and pink and purple flowers flowing down the hill below.

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Look in the window, here.” She pointed at the window on the right. There was a candle sitting on a table inside. Beside it was a china hutch behind the table, just like the one she had.

  “It’s home.”

  She reached down and pecked me on the lips. Then she placed it under the sink and went back to her food. “Home could be simple, you know. It doesn’t have to be a place that you slave away to keep or decorate to impress other people. It’s just a shell.”

  “The people inside it are what matters.” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back, sending a shiver down my spine. At that moment, I knew what I wanted. I had a clear picture, and a goal in mind, but that goal wasn’t as important as the hours we’d spend together trying to get there.

  “How are you, Channing? You’re quiet tonight.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot. It’s nothing important. I’m more concerned with now. I’m glad to be here with you.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She took my hand.

  “What are you going to do when the semester is over?” I asked.

  “I’ll probably get a full-time job. I want to keep sending money home, and I think it’s time to upgrade a little bit. I feel like I’m camping here. I want to make it a home.”

  “I think it’s nice either way.”

  “You’re biased.”

  “I am. This is my favorite place in the entire world.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It just feels like you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What are you going to do? You’re not going home, are you?”

  “No,” I shook my head, “God, no. I’m thinking of getting a place nearby. Maybe we can live next to each other.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “I don’t want to rely on my parents anymore, honestly. I’m tired of them leading me around like a dog on a leash. Every time I do something they don’t like, they threaten to cut me off. I’d rather not take any of their money at all than have to deal with them.”

  “I think you’d regret that.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not pulling away altogether. I’ll ease into it, ask them for a place. Then I’ll get my own job and start easing my
way out.”

  “Neither of us know what we’re going to do for a living.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll figure it out. I just want to be free. I feel like I’ve been caged up for so long, in school, at my parents’ house. There’s always been somebody looking over my shoulder telling me what to do. I’ve never been free; not like you.”

  “Me? No, I’m chained up.”

  “Not like I am. You can leave, go where you want, work where you want. You’re not going to get called back home so your parents can scream at you if you screw up.”

  “I see your point,” she said. “But it’s not freedom. It’s a different kind of slavery.”

  “I won’t mind it. I can get up on time in the morning. I don’t need anyone shooting me down to do it. I won’t be cutting out the work, just the taskmaster.”

  “I like the way you say that.”

  “You know what’s going to happen after this game, don’t you?”

  “No; I’ve been wondering, though.”

  “It’s not going to be pretty. I really should be preparing you for this,” I sighed.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a circus. So, first the NFL sends out scouts to watch the game. They’ll be plainclothes and business-like, watching every little thing that we do. Every pass is another tally mark, every foul. They have a whole checklist they go through.”

  “What happens if you win?”

  “When I win. I can promise you. This next team is absolute crap. Their wide receiver had to quit the team because he failed, and he was the only reason they’re winning. That means that the scouts will be watching me.”

  “Are you going to get signed?”

  “I don’t know. I could, but the circus beforehand is going to be horrific.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ll be on the national news, and the paparazzi will start swarming. You’ll be a part of that, of course. Expect cameras waiting for you outside of class, in the library, maybe even the hall outside your apartment. I don’t know.”

  “Dear God.”

  “That’s when they start to look for dirt. The NFL has a strict drafting process. There will be drug screens, psych analysis, and people will be asking about my personal life. The entire time the media will be digging, trying to urge things on. They want the scoop on the new star, and part of me thinks that the NFL is paying them to get it.”