Chubby Chaser

by Kahoko Yamada

  CHUBBY CHASER

  Po ~tsu chari cheisā

  KAHOKO YAMADA

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Kahoko Yamada

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER ONE

  A shrill, constant beeping woke Jason Pruitt. It was the alarm on his phone. The temptation to turn it off and go back to sleep was strong, but he had football practice in a couple of hours, and he could not miss it. It was hell week: the hardest week of training and the last before school started. As starting quarterback on the varsity team, Jason needed to be there to keep the team motivated. Plus it was mandatory. On the bright side, today was the last day, and afterward, his best friend, Eric Moxley, would be throwing his annual end-of-summer party.

  Jason tottered out of bed, wearing only a pair of blue boxers to cover his chiseled physique, and headed into his bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower. Half an hour later, he came back into his bedroom and dressed quickly, throwing on a wife beater and a pair of blue shorts, and sped down the stairs, into the kitchen.

  His mother, Janice, was already in there; much to his chagrin, his father, Arthur, was as well. Jason always did his best to avoid his father to prevent the inevitable arguing and fighting that always occurred whenever they were in the same room.

  “Good morning, honey,” his mom said.

  “Morning, Mom. Dad.”

  “I want you to get a job this year,” his father ordered.

  “A job? I can’t get a job this year, not with all the stuff I got going on with football.”

  “Football is not that important. You need to get yourself a little part-time job, so you can learn some responsibility and gain some work experience. You need to learn how to handle yourself now on a part-time job while your mother and me are still around to support you before you go out on your own and get a real job.”

  “I already learned all that stuff from football.”

  “From football?” His dad looked as though he was going to blow a gasket, and Jason braced himself, for he did not know whether his father was going to hit him or simply continue to scold him.

  “Arthur, we have to go. We have to be at work soon,” his mother said, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. They probably did have to be at work soon, but Jason knew the real reason his mother had spoken up was to protect him from his father, which he was grateful for. Jason wasn’t a pussy, but his father had several inches and thirty pounds on him, as well as combat training and experience from serving in the military, and he had easily dominated Jason in their previous fights.

  “All right, but this isn’t over, Jason,” his father warned him. “If you don’t get a job this year, I’m cutting off your allowance, and I’m not gonna pay for you to go SCU, either. We’ll talk more when I get home.” Arthur grabbed his and Janice’s briefcases off the kitchen island, and they went out the side door to get to the garage.

  Jason allowed himself to breathe and relax after they left. His dad was such a dick: always up his ass about something. Well, fuck him. He didn’t need his dad to pay for SCU. SCU—along with Notre Dame, UCLA, MSU, U of M, OSU, and PSU (where he definitely wasn’t going because of Sanduskygate)—had expressed a lot of interest in having him play for the school next year, and they’d likely award him a full-ride scholarship, too. He didn’t need his dad for allowance, either, because Jason was getting money—and tickets to Pittsburgh Steelers’, Philadelphia Eagles’, and Philadelphia Seventy-sixers’ games—from boosters of the universities trying to recruit him. He opened the refrigerator, got his protein shake, and then headed out the front door.

  Jason marched toward the blue Mustang convertible in the driveway. His parents had given it to him as a present for his seventeenth birthday, and it had been his pride and joy ever since. He slid inside and put his protein shake in the cup holder, put his phone in the dock and made it play Drake’s Nothing Was the Same, and put the keys in the ignition and sped off.

  School wouldn’t start until next week, but the football team had authorization to use the facilities for their practices. Feelings of pride always filled Jason whenever he came to school: his parents might not love or want him, but he was Tallis High’s crown jewel. It wasn’t because of his academic prowess, though he did possess a 3.8 GPA; it was because he had led the Tallis Eagles to its first state championship in over half a decade the previous year. Jason had been extremely popular before the win, but the victory had given him even more cachet, and he was planning on a repeat performance this year.

  Jason finished his protein shake on his way to the stadium behind the school. He spotted his best friend, Eric, and his good friend, Andy Abbott, warming up in their football pads when he arrived.

  “Last day, baby!” Jason exclaimed. He grabbed a pair of pads out of a box and started suiting up.

  “I know, man. I can’t wait until five o’clock gets here,” Eric complained. “The only thing that’s getting me through today is thinking about all the fine bitches I’m gonna fuck tonight at my party.”

  “That your own personal version of Jannah?” Andy said, smiling.

  Jason exchanged a look with Eric—what the fuck was he talking about?

  “I’m still gonna win, bro,” Jason bragged to Eric. He, Eric, and Andy had a bet going to see who could sleep with the most girls during the summer. They would determine the winner after Eric’s end-of-summer party. Each guy had to provide proof of his conquest, either by taking the girl’s panties or by filming the encounter for them all to watch. The prize they were playing for was three hundred dollars, with each of the losers pay
ing half. Jason had slept with ten girls, and Eric had slept with seven, but poor Andy was stuck on two, though, to be fair, for a guy like Andy, that was as impressive as sleeping with twenty girls.

  Andy was a cool enough guy—once you got to know him—and he was great to have around if you ever needed help with homework, but he could be really uptight and weird. And he was always saying shit that didn’t make any sense and that nobody had ever heard of, like that Jannah comment.

  When Jason and Eric had first met Andy, freshman year, they hadn’t even liked him and had constantly made fun of him. Then one day during practice, Eric had made the mistake of saying that the only way Andy would ever have sex would be if he screwed his own mother. Eric was a big, strong guy—bigger and stronger than both Jason and Andy, in fact—but he had been powerless to stop the vicious beating Andy had put on him that autumn afternoon. It had taken all the coaches to pry Andy off Eric, and after they had, Eric had had a black eye and a busted lip while Andy hadn’t had a mark on him. Ever since then, Andy had gotten a shitload of respect from everyone and had become friends with Jason and Eric.

  But he was still awkward and weird, even more so with girls than with guys, and nothing screams loser to girls more than awkward weirdo.

  “C’mon, you knuckleheads! It’s time for drills!” shouted Coach Logan. Coach Logan was a middle-aged man with a gut that went well over his waistline, a few gray strands that were remnants of his hair, and a chunk of tobacco that never seemed to leave his mouth; and he swore like a sailor and thought diplomacy was something you received after you graduated from high school. He was also more of a father to Jason than Jason’s own father was, and Jason idolized him.

  That, of course, didn’t stop Jason from silently cursing his name as he made Jason, Trey Polanski (the varsity second-string quarterback), Riley Sims (the junior-varsity starting quarterback), and Carl Mulligan (the junior-varsity second-string quarterback) do every kind of drill, from two-knee drills (the varsity quarterbacks and the junior-varsity quarterbacks got down on their knees, ten yards apart from their respective partners, and each set threw the ball back and forth to the person they were teamed up with) to down-the-line drills (the two sets of quarterbacks ran the entire length of the football field as fast as they could, playing catch with their respective partners while staying ten yards away from them).

  Lunchtime came three hours later, and that was about an hour too late for Jason: the passing drills had caused his right arm to feel sore as hell, the running had caused his legs to feel as though they had turned into jelly, and the sweltering August heat had caused him to get as soaked as a heavy rainstorm. It would all be worth it, though, when he won his second state championship.

  After a few minutes of searching, Jason, Eric, and Andy were able to find a spot in the school cafeteria where they could sit together. For lunch they had a submarine sandwich, a banana, and a bottle of Gatorade. It wasn’t the best food ever, but Jason was so hungry at that point, he would’ve eaten a car tire.

  “Man, ya’ll should’ve seen my downhill-stun drills. I knocked Collin flat on his ass,” Eric gloated, his mouth full of food. He played varsity starting offensive left tackle, and he was damn good at it, too: big, strong, and fast, there were few guys better at blocking than Eric.

  “No, man, you should’ve seen my explode-and-cut drills,” countered Andy. “I was so fast, and I was the only one who didn’t drop the ball, not even once.” Andy was the varsity starting flanking wide receiver. He wasn’t as naturally talented at his position as Jason and Eric were at theirs (he was gangly as hell), but he had the speed wide receivers required, and he worked harder than anyone else to continually develop and improve his skills.

  “Guys, guys, as good as you are, everyone knows that a team is only as good as its quarterback. In other words, me.”

  “Man, fuck you,” Eric said, but he wasn’t any more serious than Jason was.

  Lunch lasted an hour, and then it was time for the second half of practice: a scrimmage between junior varsity and varsity—the only part of hell week that was fun and enjoyable.

  “Pruitt, Sims, get your asses over here!” Coach Logan barked from the center of the field. He was calling them over for the coin toss to start the scrimmage. During a real game, the visiting team’s captain would call the coin toss, but because this was only a scrimmage between varsity and junior varsity, the coach went with a first-come, first-served rule.

  “Call it!” the coach yelled as he flipped a quarter in the air.

  “Heads!” Jason said, beating Riley to the punch.

  The quarter landed in Coach Logan’s palm. “Heads it is.” The coach turned to Jason.

  “Varsity will take first choice. We’ll take the right side of the field, and we’ll kick off to start the game.”

  Most people would say that it was stupid to choose first instead of deferring the choice to the second half, but Jason was confident and loved a challenge—the harder, the better, so that when he overcame it, people would see how great and amazing he was. And it was a great morale boost for his players to take the ball from the opposing team after handing it over to them.

  Daniel Swanson, the varsity kicker, kicked the ball thirty yards. A kick returner and wide receiver for junior varsity managed to catch the ball. He ran hard and fast, zigzagging down the field . . . until Ted Parker, a varsity second-string cornerback and gunner, sent him spiraling after gaining only one yard.

  The second and third downs didn’t go any better for the junior-varsity team (thanks to Cory Addlestein, a varsity starting cornerback), so they decided to punt the ball back to varsity to avoid a turnover on downs. Andy caught the ball after the punt and raced it toward junior varsity’s goal posts. Junior varsity did their best to stop him, but Andy had legs like a racehorse and the protection of Collin Holt, the varsity starting offensive right tackle, and Eric. Andy made it eight yards before someone tackled him.

  It was now the final quarter. Varsity had continued to dominate the game, but junior varsity had managed to catch up to varsity’s score: varsity had twenty points, and junior varsity was trailing by two. Two minutes were left, and varsity had control of the ball. Jason decided to call a flea-flicker trick play. Trick plays were a great way to catch the opposing team off guard, because other teams seldom used them, as they were high risk, but Jason liked risk: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained was his life’s motto.

  Jason lined up behind Aries Henderson, the varsity starting center. Aries hiked the ball to Jason. Jason threw the ball to Floyd Jackson, a varsity starting running back. Jackson hauled ass to the line of scrimmage, and before he could be tackled, he sent the ball back to Jason. Jason threw the ball to Andy. Andy ran all the way to junior varsity’s end zone, winning the game. Jason couldn’t help but smile when he saw Riley Sims kick the ground and swear.

  Taking a cold shower was the first thing Jason did after football practice. The second thing he did was go home and take a nap. Eric’s party didn’t start until nine, and Jason wanted to be wide awake and up for anything.

  He woke up a quarter past nine, which was perfect. He didn’t like arriving to a party too early. It wasn’t cool to be the first one there, nor was it cool to be the last. He put little effort in getting ready, because even if he came dressed as a clown, girls would still be all over him. All he did was throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and spray himself with a little cologne, and he was out the door.

  Eric lived in a large farmhouse on Bleeker Road. His father had to spend the summer in London for business, and his mother, who was a stay-at-home mom, decided to join him. Eric had an older brother named Scott, who attended Ohio State, but he was backpacking through Europe with his girlfriend. Having the house all to himself was a fact that wasn’t lost on Eric: he had been making the most of his temporary estrangement from his family by driving his dad’s black Jaguar convertible, which no one was to touch under any circumstances, under pain of death, and by turning the house into his own little bac
helor pad, frequently bringing girls over to spend the night with him. He invited Jason and Andy to do the same when they had nowhere else to have their sexual liaisons.

  Kanye West’s “Stronger” greeted Jason as he parked in the large circular driveway in front of Eric’s house. He checked the clock on his dashboard: it was ten thirty. He stepped out of his car, and he noticed there were a dozen other cars parked in front of him. Good. The place should be jumping with that many people.

  The smell of pot and cigarettes filled Jason’s nostrils as he made his way through the packed living room to get to the kitchen. Weed and cigarettes had never interested him: They stank, and they ruined your teeth and your lungs. What was the appeal? He was fine with just beer. He grabbed a can of Miller from the fridge.

  He went back into the living room and saw two guys wrestling on the front lawn through one of the windows. It didn’t look like a real fight, just two drunk douchebags acting stupid. In the living room itself, nothing all that interesting was transpiring—just people talking and couples grinding to the music.

  He was about to check out what was happening in the den when he saw Emily Bulstride on the other side of the room, talking to some other girl. Emily was by far the hottest girl in school, with her long legs, dirty-blond hair, baby-blue eyes, big tits, and big (in a good way) ass. Fucking her would be the cherry on top of winning the bet he had going with Eric and Andy. He had wanted to fuck her last year and had gotten the impression that she was into him, too, but she had been dating Brandon Sykes back then, a senior and a guy Jason liked and respected, so she had been off limits. But she was available now. Jason started to go over to her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “I’ve been striking out all night, bro. Can you believe that shit?” Eric finished the last sip of beer in his cup. “You fuck any girls yet?”

  “I just got here.”

  “Lucky you. I had to deal with nothing but freshmen for like twenty minutes. They were the first ones here.”