by B. B. Hamel
“Sure am. These women are my role models.”
“Probably not the best role models in the world.”
“Why not? They’re rich, hot, and sassy. Who doesn’t want that?”
“That’s not how I’d describe them,” I answered, laughing.
“I don’t know, Avery. These women have reached the pinnacle of their lives. They married rich men and are now debutantes in the modern fashion. Look as they parade about on television, selling their privacy for a taste of stardom.”
I shook my head, grinning at her. “Nice lecture.”
“Thanks. I’m using that bit for my pop culture class.”
“Oh, so this is research?”
“Sure. Anything can be research if you think about it.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true.”
“Take your little project, for example. You get to spend time with a hot guy and feel his body as much as you want, all in the name of science.”
I laughed. “Science can be pretty great.”
“I know, right?”
“It’s a shame that I’m pregnant with his illegitimate child.”
“Yeah. That does put a damper on things. Still, I don’t see why that’s stopping you.”
“Things are complicated enough,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want to end up like those women.” I nodded at the TV, smiling.
“You wish you could be a Real Housewife,” Harper joked. “That would truly be the pinnacle of your career.”
“I really hope not.”
“What, you think Gibson is going to let you actually work? You’re going to pop that little athletic baby out and he’s going to put you right in the kitchen.”
I laughed. “I doubt that.”
“You just wait and see. Gibson is probably super regressive. Nothing feminist about him.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. And who knows? Maybe that’s hot.”
She laughed, grinning at me. “Damn, Avery, that’s pretty dirty.”
“What? So I like a man who can take control.”
“Okay, I don’t need to hear about your S&M fantasies.”
“Whatever.” I leaned back and sighed. “Speaking of me being preggers, I’m calling my parents and telling them soon.”
Harper looked surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I want to get ahead of this thing.”
“Good for you. I’m impressed.”
“Why?”
“If I were you, I’d be putting that bad news off as long as possible.”
“Yeah, probably. You’d admit it to them while you were giving birth.”
“Nah. Maybe after the baby was born. But I could always still deny it.”
“Seriously though, I have no idea what they’re going to say. I’m really nervous.”
She put her hand on my leg. “You’re going to be okay. I promise. No matter what they say, you have me.”
I smiled, and for a second I felt better. “Thanks, Harper.”
We sat back and watched the rest of the Real Housewives episode, cracking jokes about their gaudy outfits and their absurdly meaningless and fake fights. It was amazing and fun, and for a second I forgot about my problems.
But five thirty rolled around, and I knew it was time.
“Okay,” I said to her as the show ended, “I’m going to do it.”
“Want me to be here?”
“No. That’s okay. Would you mind letting me have the living room?”
“Not at all. Yell when you’re done.”
“Okay. You’re the best, Harper.”
She stood up. “Don’t I know it.” She gave me a little smile. “Good luck.”
I watched as she disappeared back into her bedroom.
I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and stared at it for a second.
A million things ran through my mind. A million different scenarios played out, from worst case to best case. I had no clue which of them was real or likely, but I couldn’t help but imagine them all.
I dialed my home phone number and let it ring.
My mom answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Avery, honey, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Actually, can you get Dad on the line too?”
“Uh, sure, honey. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s good. I just want to tell you guys something.” I had a hard knot in my stomach, but I was just powering through.
“Okay. Hold on a second.”
I heard her put the receiver down and some muffled talking in the background. Dad picked up the phone in the other room. “Hi, Avery,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m back,” Mom said.
“Everything is good. I just have some news.”
“You didn’t fail out of school, did you?” Dad asked, joking.
“No. Not that,” I said. “Please, try not to freak out.”
“Just tell us,” Mom said. “Now I’m worried.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Mom, Dad, I’m pregnant.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Are you joking?” Dad asked finally.
“No, I’m not joking. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but it happened.”
“You’re pregnant?” Mom asked softly.
“Who did this to you?” Dad asked, sounding angry. “Who is this asshole?”
“He’s not important,” I said. “It’s not his fault.”
“Of course it’s his fault,” Dad said. “That piece of shit got my baby girl pregnant.”
“I can’t believe this,” Mom said. “What the hell were you thinking, Avery?”
I frowned. I knew she would react this way, but I didn’t think she’d start out with blaming me so quickly.
“It just happened,” I said.
“Things don’t just happen,” Mom answered. “This is a sinful thing, Avery, a horrible, sinful thing. You’re not married! I can’t believe you’d be so stupid.”
“Maggie,” Dad said.
“No. Avery needs to hear this. God gave us rules, Avery, rules we have to follow. This is one big rule you just decided to break, all because, what? Some boy looked at you?”
I listened silently, not sure what to say. What could I say? In my mom’s mind, what I did was a horrible sin. In her world view, getting pregnant before being married meant I was some kind of terrible sinner or whore. Maybe she wasn’t going to call me a whore, but I could hear it in her voice, in the anger.
“Maybe now isn’t the time to lecture her,” Dad said.
“Avery, dear, I am so deeply disappointed in you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“Of course you’re sorry. You’re a sinner now, Avery. You’ve sinned against God and you’ve disappointed your family. I hope He can forgive you, because I don’t know if I can.”
“Maggie,” Dad said more forcefully. “This isn’t the moment for this.”
“I can’t talk to you anymore, Avery.” I heard Mom’s line go dead.
There was silence between Dad and me for a second before he sighed. “I’m sorry about her, Avery,” he said. “This is just very difficult for us to swallow.”
“I know, Dad,” I said. “I know. I expected her to react that way.”
“It’s going to be hard for her. We’ll pray for you, Avery.”
“Okay,” I said, choking back tears. “Thanks.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up the phone.
I stared down at my hands before tossing my cell aside and leaning back into the couch.
I had expected something like that, but not so harsh. My mother was a religious woman and believed in all that stuff very seriously, but I was still her daughter. I’d never heard her sound so angry and disappointed before, and that hurt far more than I could have guessed.
I didn’t know how long I sat there for. I didn’t cry, but part of me felt like it had shattered. I had been hoping that my parents wo
uld be angry but at least supportive, and that they’d realize how difficult this was for me.
Instead, I felt so incredibly alone.
I heard a noise over toward the bedrooms. Harper was standing there, frowning at me.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
She walked into the room, sat down next to me, and wrapped her arms around me. She held me like that for a few minutes.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. “It was just a shock. They’ll come around.”
“Maybe,” I said.
She pulled back. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“Stay here.” She got up and walked into her bedroom. She came back a second later, holding something behind her back. “Ready?”
“Ready,” I said.
She pulled two tickets out. “Ta-da!”
“Wow. Tickets.”
She laughed. “Tickets to the game tomorrow.”
I perked up a little bit. “I thought those were sold out.”
“They were, but a girl in my short story class was selling them. And since I know you love sports now, I thought you’d want to go.”
I smiled at her and nodded. “Thanks, Harper. You’re amazing.”
“I know.”
She sat down next to me and I laughed. The pain of the phone call was still there, but the loneliness wasn’t. I had my friends, I had Harper, no matter what happened. My parents would have to come around one day.
At least I was going to get to see my baby’s daddy playing football tomorrow.
15
Gibson
The locker room was empty. Cups, clothes, and other crap littered the floor and the benches. People had come and gone, and the space felt all the emptier for it.
I sat there staring at my phone and finally worked up the courage to hit send on the text. I sighed and put my phone back in my bag.
My whole body was fucking sore. Playing a football game was like getting hit by a fucking truck. Every muscle ached, from my pinky finger down to my toes. I had taken a few heavy hits in that first half to top it all off, and I was pretty sure I had bruised ribs.
The taste of grass and dirt came back to me. The crowd’s roars had felt muted, dull, as Hynes pulled me up from the ground.
“You okay?” he called over the din.
“Fine,” I said. Coach was already signaling the next play.
The first half was a wreck. Mountain scored on their first possession, barely squeezing out a field goal after driving down the field. When it was my turn, I managed to get sacked once, hand the ball off for a loss once, and throw a pass that was short of the first down marker.
Coach’s yells at halftime rang in my ears. We were losing ten to seven, and he was pissed. We’d never gone into halftime down to Mountain State before, and coach was embarrassed for all of us.
Especially me. I was playing lousy, throwing weak passes, missing routes, basically looking like I didn’t know what I was doing. He chewed me out so hard that I was just as angry with myself as we left that locker room.
But that second half, well, I decided to actually play.
The mafia had been appeased. I had fucked around that first half, but I wasn’t about to lose the game.
The ball felt light in my hands play after play. I threw it hard and straight, finding my players all over the field. I picked apart their weak defense, finding the seams and holes that I had purposefully ignored in the first half.
And I felt fucking good. I felt free, like a weight had lifted from my shoulders. It was done, that first half was over, and now I could do what I was born to do.
And I was born to fucking win.
It was twenty-seven to seven by the end of the game. Every touchdown came from a pass I threw, and every field goal was set up by my feet. I was all over that field, running and passing and diving. I took hits, but I got back up because I wasn’t letting my team down.
We won that game, and the locker room was a circus. Everyone was jubilant, excited, beyond happy that we walked away from what had looked like a potential loss. I celebrated along with them, though in the back of my mind I knew that I had almost cost them the game, had almost let my team and my coach down. All because I needed some money.
I was angry with myself, but I didn’t regret it. I did what I had to do.
Slowly, the locker room emptied out. Guy after guy left, most of them heading home to rest before going out to the celebratory parties tonight. Eventually I was alone with just my phone as company.
This was my post-game ritual. I sat in the locker room and went over the game mentally. Normally I didn’t text anyone, but for some reason I needed to see her.
She was the reason I was doing everything. She was the reason for that first half, but I couldn’t be angry with her. If anything, it only made me want to see her that much more.
I sat there and the minutes ticked by. She didn’t respond to my text, and I had no clue if she was even at the game. We hadn’t really spoken since Wednesday night at the gym.
As I leaned back, I heard the door open. Someone stepped inside and came around the corner.
She smiled at me. “Hi, Gibson.”
I frowned. “What are you doing here?”
She came closer, still wearing her cheerleader outfit. “I wanted to say congratulations,” Cathy said. “You looked amazing out there.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I was hoping I could be alone.”
She pouted and came over to me. “Why are you so serious all the time, Gibson?”
“Not serious,” I grunted. “Just trying to have a second to myself.”
She smiled, trying to be sexy. She dropped down to her knees in front of me.
“I just wanted to come in here and congratulate you,” she said. “I wanted to give you something since you played so well.”
She reached out toward me.
“Fuck off, Cathy,” I said, knocking her hands away. “I’m not interested.”
She laughed. “Oh please, Gibson. You used to love it when I sucked your dick. We’re alone in here. Nobody will see.”
“I said no, Cathy. Fuck off.”
She gave me that stupid pouty look she did when she wasn’t getting her way but thought she still might. I shook my head and moved back.
And as I moved, I looked up. Avery was standing in the doorway, staring.
“Fuck,” I said, standing up. “Avery.”
“You texted,” she said. “I was just coming to say hey.”
Cathy looked back at her. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?”
“Get the fuck out of here, Cathy.”
“Fuck you, Gibson,” she said, looking back at me.
“I should go.” Avery turned and quickly left.
I stared at Cathy. “Go throw yourself at someone who fucking wants you.”
“Grow some balls, Gibson.”
I quickly walked away from her and didn’t look back. The only thing on my mind was explaining to Avery what the hell that was.
“Avery,” I called out. She was halfway down the hallway, her bag over her shoulder. “Hold on.” I jogged to catch up with her.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I saw that you were busy.”
“No. It’s not like that. Cathy is just a psycho. You heard me turning her down.”
She nodded but looked away. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Come on, I wanted to see you, not Cathy.”
“You wanted me to get my data,” she said.
“That was just an excuse,” I admitted, staring at her.
She looked back at me, and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head. “Come by my apartment later. We’ll do it then.”
“All right,” I said.
“See you.” She turned and quickly walked away.
I cursed and headed back into the locker room. Cathy was gone, thankfully, probably off to throw herself at one of the other players.
<
br /> Cathy didn’t give a fuck about me. There were a lot of girls like Cathy out there in the world. All they cared about was fame and fortune.
Avery was different. She wasn’t throwing herself at me just because I was some football player. Honestly, she seemed like she couldn’t care less about that, and I had to admit that I found it incredibly refreshing.
But this wasn’t good. I could tell she was upset about it, even if she wasn’t coming out and admitting that. I didn’t blame her. From her perspective, it probably looked like I was into it or some shit.
I gathered my stuff up and headed out. I’d hit up my apartment, shower off, and go over to Avery’s.
Maybe then she’d realize that I wasn’t interested in anything but her.
16
Avery
The game had been one wild ride of elation, confusion, anger, and finally more confusion.
The first half was horrible. Gibson didn’t look like himself. It was almost as if he couldn’t find the other players, even when they sometimes looked wide open. He overthrew people, got sacked when he should have run away, and basically did everything wrong.
But the second half was glorious. He looked like himself, throwing the ball hard and accurately, scrambling around the field, making men miss who shouldn’t have missed. He looked beautiful on the field, like he belonged there, like he was at home. Gibson on the field was a shark swimming through water. It was the most natural thing in the world for him.
And I felt good cheering in the crowd with Harper. The anger and rejection I felt from my parents the day before hadn’t gone away, but it had lessened, weakened, like my mother’s words didn’t have as much power over me as they did only a few hours before. Standing in that crowd rejuvenated me, made me feel strong again.
Once the game was over, we filtered out with the rest of the crowd. I figured I’d see Gibson the next day or something. When we got back to the apartment not long later, I got a nice surprise text: Gibson wanted to see me.
So I gathered my equipment, jumped on my bike, and rode out there. It didn’t take long before I was walking through the mostly deserted back hallways of the stadium until I finally found the locker room.
And Cathy, kneeling in front of Gibson.