by Jeff Shelby
I stared at Derek back at the top of the key, his jaw set, looking like he wanted to take a swing at me. I licked my lips and shook my head. If they wanted to freeze me out, it was going to hurt them as much as me because they weren't as good without me.
“Well, what do you know?” Coach hollered. “We run a play for our best shooter and then actually get him the ball and it goes in. Who knew?” His face hardened. “Run it again the other way.”
The ball reached Derek at the top and he bounced it a couple of times, staring at me.
I stared back. He could stare at me all day for all I cared.
He took a couple of steps back, then called the play. I took off again, swinging my arm down to cut away the arms of my defender and got past him. I took a step over the block and as Ty came down to set the screen, I saw a small, ugly smile on his face.
But I was too late.
He hip-checked me as I brushed off his screen.
Hard.
I lost my footing and slammed into the padded wall behind the baseline, tumbling down to the hardwood floor.
“Jesus Christ!” Coach screamed. “Can we do anything right?”
I sat up.
Ty was laughing quietly, looking at me. I could see Derek smiling at the top of the key.
But, see, here's the thing.
There's always payback.
Always.
Because if there isn't, you're a huge pussy and you might as well just be prepared to take shit the rest of your life.
I wasn't gonna take shit the rest of my life.
“Again!” Coach screamed.
I got to my feet and jogged back to my spot on the wing. Ken was at the high post, shaking his head, pissed, clearly not having gotten the message about what was going on.
Derek called the play again and I shoved off my guy, faking high and cutting low. Ty slid into place for the screen. Or the hip-check.
My left hand balled into a fist, and as I cut next to him, I swung my fist right into his nuts.
Hard.
I heard him groan as I swept past him. I curled to my spot on the opposite wing and as I called for the ball, I saw him crumple in a heap to the floor, taking my defender with him.
Derek looked unsure what to do, then whipped the ball at me. I took the pass, squared, and buried the shot.
Ty rolled onto his back, cupping his nuts, scowling at me.
Derek looked again like he wanted to take a swing at me.
It was crystal clear. I could see the line being drawn. Me versus them. And as much as I wanted to act like I didn't know why, I did. I absolutely did.
“I give up,” Coach yelled. “I absolutely give up. Everyone on the damn baseline. We are gonna run for the last thirty minutes and we'll see if that clears your heads. I don't know what the hell is going on or where your heads are at, but you better get your act together before Friday. Line it up!”
I took a spot at the end of the baseline and put my hands on my hips. Derek helped Ty up. They both looked down the line at me.
There's always payback.
Always.
FORTY THREE
I was the first one in the locker room when we were done. We'd run suicides and down and backs for thirty minutes. Two guys puked in the trashcans. Coach had brought us together afterward and reiterated his mandate to get our acts together and get on the same page and about fourteen other clichés meant to bring us together.
Whatever.
I stripped off my jersey and tossed it into my locker and stood there, waiting for them.
Because I knew it was coming. It was liking watching a thunderstorm form on the horizon, waiting for it to blow in and just soak everything in its path.
Several of the other guys trudged into the room, red-faced, panting, drenched in sweat. They glanced at me and went to their lockers. Like they knew it was coming, too.
The door swung open and Ty marched through it, staring down at my locker.
“What the fuck, Mickelson?” he growled, stepping toward me, then firing his water bottle in my direction. It flew over my shoulder and smashed into the wall.
“Fuck you,” I said, wiping my hands on my shoulders.
Derek, Blake, and Ken came in behind him. Ken went to his locker. Blake hesitated, then did the same. Derek stood next to Ty.
Everyone was watching, quiet, waiting.
“Fuck me?” Ty said, taking a couple more steps toward me. “You faggot! Hitting me in the nuts like that. What the—”
“Fuck you,” I repeated.
His eyes got bigger, the rage filling his eyes. “You want your ass kicked, Mickelson? Because I don't give a shit how good—”
“Fuck. You.”
His teeth locked together, like a vampire baring his fangs.
“We ran because of you,” Derek said.
“We ran because you forgot how to run the play and Ty hip-checked me,” I said.
The silence was deafening. I was challenging the captains, and I doubted that they ever got challenged. By anyone on anything.
Fuck that.
“Looked to me like you made a bad cut,” Derek said.
I laughed. “Right.” I looked at Ty. “You better start wearing a cup, asshole.”
He charged me, and even though I was ready, he was bigger and stronger than I was and he took me off my feet. I landed on my back and he fell on top of me. I swung at him, but my fist glanced off his chin. He drilled me in the eye, then the mouth.
And it hurt.
I brought my knee up and kneed him in the nuts and his weight shifted on me.
Then I heard a bunch of yelling and guys were over us, pulling him off of me.
“You motherfucker!” Ty said, as Ken pulled him to his feet in a bear hug. “You faggot motherfucker!”
Seemed like a bad time to point out the impossibility of being a faggot motherfucker.
I pushed myself up. Blood trickled into my mouth. My left eye pulsated with pain.
“I'll fucking kill you!” Ty said.
Derek stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest. “Chill.”
“You fucking chill,” he spat.
Ken kept his arms around him.
Derek looked down at me. Then he smiled. “You're gonna be ugly tomorrow.”
I thought of a bunch of comebacks about him being ugly all the time, but kept my mouth shut, mainly because I felt the bloody corner of my mouth swelling.
“Bad fall you took there,” he said. “Smacking your face on the bench and all.”
I looked at him.
He looked around the room. “Right? Everybody saw Mickelson trip on the bench, right?”
No one said anything.
He looked at me. “Unlucky.” He smiled. “But teammates are always there for one another, right, Mickelson? We got each other's backs.” He extended a hand to me. “Because if we didn't, things would just get worse. Right?”
I stared up at him for a moment, then stood.
Without taking his hand.
“Right,” I said, wiping at my mouth, my hand coming away red.
Ty was still breathing hard and snorting like a bull in Ken's bear hug.
“So let's get our fucking acts together,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes settling on me. “All of us. Let's get on the same page, like Coach said.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “About everything. So things don't get any worse.”
The entire room was quiet, waiting on me. I could hit him in the mouth or I could get in at least one shot on Ty before he'd be able to get loose from Ken. If I did either of those things, I knew all hell would break loose in about a million different ways. And I knew that the entire season would be fucked. It was a selfish thing to think about, the season. But if I wanted letters to keep coming in the mail and scouts to keep coming to the games, I needed to be selfish.
I looked around the room and wiped at my mouth again, the blood smearing across my palm. I wasn't sure if I could be selfish, though, because I was starting t
o hate my team. I couldn't stand to look at them, and I sure as hell couldn't stomach the idea of spending any more time with them then I had to.
“Because, really, Mickelson,” Derek said. “It can get a whole lot worse. I don't think you wanna go there.”
FORTY FOUR
“What the hell happened to you?” Jake asked when I sat down in history the next morning.
I'd left the locker room without showering after practice, looking over my shoulder the entire bike ride home. I was relieved to find that my dad was already gone when I got home. I'd held ice to my eye and my mouth, lying on the couch, flipping channels on the TV. When I'd gone into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed, it was clear that the ice hadn't done a damn thing. The corner of my mouth was swollen, a fat red cut leaking off the corner, making me look like The Joker. A thick swatch of black and purple colored the skin between my nose and eye. I'd gone to bed before my dad got home and left before he was awake so I wouldn't have to explain.
“I tripped,” I said, dropping my bag on the ground. I glanced at Amy but she was in her new normal pose – chin down, eyes fixed on the textbook on her desk.
“Isn't that what abused wives say?” Jake asked.
I shrugged.
“I heard a rumor,” Jake said.
“About?”
“The space program.”
“What?”
“About what happened to you, moron,” he said, frowning at me.
“Oh.”
“That Ty Hammerling did that to you,” he said. “During practice.”
Amy fidgeted in her desk and her eyes flashed to me, then back to the book.
I didn't say anything.
“After you supposedly kicked him in the nuts,” Jake said.
I unzipped my backpack and fished for my book. It was amazing how school rumors could be so accurate and inaccurate at the same time.
“So?” he said, widening his eyes.
I found the book, pulled it out and laid it on the desktop. “I tripped.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, dude. No one trips and busts up their mouth and eye like that. Come on.”
“Where'd you hear that rumor?” I asked.
“Cayla. In English.”
Cayla. Ty's now ex-girlfriend. Maybe she wasn’t as down with her boyfriend raping a classmate as everyone else appeared to be.
Amy fidgeted again. Her fingers picked at the corner of her book, tearing at a small rip in the book cover.
I laughed and shook my head. “Fantastic.”
“What the hell happened?” Jake said, leaning over and lowering his voice.
Ty must've forgotten about Derek's little speech. Or maybe he hadn't forgotten and had just told his ex, who apparently couldn't keep her mouth shut. Or maybe he was just going to tell everyone to make it looked like he'd kicked my ass. Which he'd pretty much done. Either way, the rumor was only out there because he'd wanted it out there, and he was just as big of a prick as I thought he was.
“I tripped,” I said. “Into his fist.”
“Seriously?” he asked. “Why?”
“Because his nuts tripped into my fist.”
Jake chuckled. “Brilliant.”
I glanced at Amy. She was staring at me this time and she didn't look away, like she was trying to figure something out.
I blinked and was the first one to break eye contact.
“Nobody stopped it?” Jake asked. “Everyone just let him take a shot at you? Man, that's fucked up.”
I glanced back at Amy. Her eyes were still on me, almost squinting, like she couldn't quite see me. Then something passed through her expression that I couldn't read and she went back to looking at the book.
I grabbed a pencil and flipped to the chapter we were studying. “Yeah. Fucked up.”
FORTY FIVE
I was in line at lunch when I saw Jake come in, his eyes alert, searching. He made a beeline for me, stepping in front of a couple of freshmen, jostling them with his backpack as he made his way over. They made faces at him but didn't say anything.
“Have you seen it?” he whispered.
“Seen what?” I asked.
“The video,” he said.
I grabbed a sandwich from the rack. “What video?”
He glanced toward the lunchroom, then whirled back to me. “Of Amy.”
Shit. “No.”
His mouth twisted in a couple different directions. “People were talking about it last period.”
I took a bottle of water from the cooler and scanned my ID. “Did you see it?”
He threw some chips and a sandwich on his tray and grabbed a soda. “It's all dark. You can hear voices and stuff and you can see her. Like, all of her.”
“Where the hell did you see the video?”
“The Internet,” he said. “It's posted on a couple sites. Dude. It's not good.”
A hard, heavy rock formed in the pit of my stomach. The picture had been bad enough. But the video was going to be about a hundred times worse.
“You wanna see it?” he asked. “I don't mean because you wanna see it but because...”
“No,” I said. “I don't wanna see it.”
I took a deep breath, trying to get some air into my lungs, and turned toward the lunchroom. Amy was in the back again, at the table near the wall. I wondered if she already knew. She had a carrot stick in one hand and the same paperback from the day before in her other hand. If she knew, she wasn't showing it.
“Are we gonna, um, sit with her?” Jake asked.
“I am,” I said. “I don't care about the video.”
“Yeah, but your boys kicked the shit out of you yesterday for not sitting with them,” he said. “You don't care about them?”
“They aren't my boys,” I said, heading for Amy's table.
She looked up when we slid onto the bench across from her, smirked and shook her head, like we were both stupid.
“Are we interrupting?” I asked.
“Free country,” she said. “And your eye looks like shit.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” she said.
We ate in silence for a few minutes and she gnawed on her carrot stick, her eyes glued to the book. I wasn't sure if she was really interested in the book or if it was just a way to focus on something other than what was going on around her. She wasn't happy, but she also wasn't tense or upset and I took that to mean she hadn't yet heard about the video. Jake kept casting his eyes sideways at me, waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know how to bring it up.
Jake muttered something about getting more to drink and flipped his legs over the bench, heading back toward the lunch counters.
“Pretty sure he'd rather be anywhere than sitting here,” Amy said without looking up from the paperback. “Are you making him?”
“Nope.”
“So why is he doing it?”
“Ask him.”
She frowned and shook her head the same way she had when we'd first sat down.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said, picking up a chip on my plate.
She didn't say anything, so I took that for a yes.
“You said that not knowing you meant everything,” I said. “I don't get what that means.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Yesterday,” I said. “You said I didn't know you, and I said what did that have to do with anything and you said it had everything to do with anything. What does that mean?”
She sighed in an irritated way and set the book down. “Do you have, like, Asperger's or something? Or are you OCD?”
“Now I don't know what that means.”
“It means you sound like the guy in Rain Man.”
“Still don't know what that means.”
She shook her head and looked past me, chewing on her bottom lip, then let her eyes float back to me. “It just means you don't know me at all.”
I took a drink from the water. “So tell me something the
n. About you.”
She started to say something, then caught herself, looked away, then looked back to me. “R.E.M. might be my most favorite band in the whole stupid world.”
I smiled. “You listened to the CD. I was wondering.”
“How did you know? That I liked them?”
“I didn't,” I said. “I just put a bunch of stuff on there that I thought you might like. Of the songs I like, I mean.”
She stared at me for a long time. “Your eye is seriously fucked up.”
“I know. I'm bummed it’s not Halloween. It would make a good costume.”
“It's not funny, Brady,” she said.
I shrugged, unsure of what she wanted me to say.
“Your coach didn't do anything?” she asked.
“Was after practice,” I said, screwing the cap back on the water bottle. “So he wasn't there.”
“And no one told him?” she asked, then she rolled her eyes. “Of course they didn't. With all that leadership on your team.”
“You still haven't told me something about you,” I said, anxious to move off the subject of my eye.
“I told you I like R.E.M.”
“Tell me something else.”
She wadded up the napkin in her hand and dropped it on her tray. She pushed the tray to the side. She bit her bottom lip and the skin turned white, like she might bite right through it.
“Something else about me,” she finally said, leveling her eyes with mine. “I am afraid to be here. Because I don't know what's going to happen next.”
The lump in my gut starting punching my insides. I knew what was going to happen next, and I knew it was going to be awful. I didn't want her to be blindsided, but I didn't know how to deliver the news, either.
I turned in my seat to see where Jake was. He was over by the drink fridge, talking to two girls I didn't know. His jaw was set hard. He glanced in my direction, caught my eye, and shook his head. Whatever he was hearing wasn't good.
And I had a pretty good idea what he was hearing.
I turned back to Amy. “Do you trust me?'
She laughed. “I don't trust anyone.”
I hesitated. “Will you trust me?”