“You ain’t shit,” Shane said, as Jamar called out the cadence.
Jamar caught the snap and fired a rocket down the seam to the tight end. Shane was a split second late, touchdown.
On the next play, Shane taunted again. “Punk-ass bitch. You’re lucky I can’t hit you.”
Jamar smiled at Shane as he called out the cadence. He caught the snap, checked his read on the defensive end, handed the football to the running back, and ran around the end, carrying out his fake. Shane sprinted from his free safety spot, ignoring the running back, with a full head of steam toward Jamar. Shane dipped his shoulder and nudged Jamar as he sprinted past. Jamar was unfazed.
“I woulda killed you,” Shane said to Jamar as they passed each other on the way back to their huddles.
“You’re too damn slow,” Jamar replied with a crooked grin.
The next play was a sprint out pass, with Jamar rolling to his right and throwing a strike to Lance. This time, as soon as Jamar threw the ball, Shane slammed his shoulder into Jamar’s back, knocking him to the ground. A few of the offensive linemen took offense.
“What the hell are you doin’, Shane?” asked one of the linemen.
“Stay off the quarterback,” Rick said to Shane.
“Yeah, stay off the quarterback,” another lineman echoed.
Jamar popped up, turned to Shane, and glared. “It’s like that?”
Shane laughed. “You need to learn how to take a hit.”
Rick thought about pulling Shane, but Jamar seemed fine, and it was good for the team to see what Jamar was made of. It was good for the offensive linemen to protect and rally around their new sophomore quarterback. In retrospect, Rick was wrong.
On the following play, Coach Schneider called a quick toss. Rick was relieved when Jamar pitched the ball to the running back, knowing his quarterback was out of the play, but Jamar sprinted around the end. Shane loped toward the play, not interested in taking on their powerful running back and happy to let someone else make the play.
But Jamar had other ideas. Shane didn’t see Jamar before it was too late. Shane was upright, unprotected, not expecting any action, but Jamar was like a rocket, his shoulders low and square, as he blasted into Shane’s sternum. There was a crack of pads meeting, and Shane lay flat on his back, like he’d been run over by a freight train.
The team went crazy, laughing and jeering at the crushing block. Jamar stood over Shane, looking down on him. Shane staggered to his feet, face mask to face mask now.
“Maybe you need to learn how to take a hit,” Jamar said.
“Fuck you, faggot,” Shane replied, pushing Jamar.
Jamar tackled Shane to the ground. The boys wrestled on the ground, trading punches to the stomach. Rick and Coach Schneider pulled them apart.
“That’s enough. Break it up,” Rick said. “You two, twenty laps around the field.”
Jamar and Shane looked at Rick with wide eyes.
“Go on. Get your asses moving. You got so much damn energy for fighting, it should be easy.”
* * *
After practice, Rick walked across the parking lot to his truck. His mind inevitably focused on the meeting he’d had with Janet yesterday. He’d been on pins and needles, wondering what she had up her sleeve. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Inside his truck, he checked his phone. The text was from an unknown number.
717-555-9862: You belong in prison, you scumbag. LINK
His heart pounded, and his stomach twisted into knots as he clicked the link, leading him to the Facebook page, the West Lake Watchdog.
West Lake Watchdog
September 27 at 11:14 AM
I heard from people at the high school that Coach Barnett is having sex with a student. What a piece of shit! He was seen at his house butt naked kissing a female student. Rick is a perv. He should be in prison. #FireBarnett 11 Likes 4 Shares
Will Gilroy I’m not surprised. Bad coach. Worse person. #FireBarnett 5 Likes
Breanna Franks It’s like Jerry Sandusky all over again. 4 Likes
Roger Elkins Damn right, Will and Breanna. He needs to go. NOW. #FireBarnett 2 Likes
Rick was relieved not to see a picture with the post. He sent a DM to the West Lake Watchdog.
Rick Barnett: Heather, I know you’re running this page. What you posted is slander. I can sue you. If you don’t take it down, I will.
Rick placed his phone in his cupholder, started his truck, and drove toward home. Are people really gonna believe some stupid Facebook page? He parked in his driveway and grabbed his phone from the cupholder. He made sure to lock his front door as he stepped inside. He showered and watched film of their upcoming opponent, but he was distracted, constantly glancing at his phone, waiting for a response from the West Lake Watchdog. Maybe I should go to Heather’s house. No. Ashlee might be there. It could go really bad. His phone buzzed. He swiped right and checked his messages.
West Lake Watchdog: My source told me u can’t sue if its true. They have a picture. As soon as I get the picture I’m gonna post it then ur life is over. Sucks to be u.
CHAPTER 52
Janet and Bending Wills
I bet he’s a bit more receptive now. Janet strutted down the empty hallway, smiling to herself, thinking of the Facebook post and the growing demand to fire Barnett. She entered his classroom without knocking. Rick sat behind his desk and his laptop, but otherwise his classroom was empty during his planning period. She figured she’d try the element of surprise by showing up unannounced.
Rick stood from his desk and pointed to the door. “Get out of my classroom.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” Janet replied as she sidled up to his desk. He looked tired. Bloodshot eyes with dark circles. I bet he didn’t sleep at all last night. “You ready to make this go away?”
He glowered at Janet. “The truth’ll come out. It always does.”
“You’re right about that, and I have the perfect picture of truth.”
“Nobody gives a shit about those idiots on Facebook.”
“We’ll see. I heard that Jamar attacked Shane at practice yesterday. Fighting is an automatic suspension, and that means Jamar can’t play this week.”
“Jamar didn’t start anything. They were both fighting.”
“That’s not what I heard from Coach Schneider and a number of players.”
“Kids get in scuffles at practice all the time. That’s football. It’s not a big deal. Nobody got hurt.”
“Sounds like you can’t control your team. If you won’t write up Jamar, I’ll do it myself. And then I’ll make sure that picture falls into the right hands.” Janet started to walk away.
“Wait.”
Janet turned back to Rick with one side of her mouth raised in contempt.
Rick took a cleansing breath. “If I start Shane, will you let this bullshit with Ashlee Miles go?”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“What about the Facebook post?”
“If Shane starts, I’m sure it would all go away.”
“Fine, but I want that shit off Facebook now.”
“You’ll have to deliver first.” She turned on her heels and sauntered back to her office, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
Janet shut her office door and sat behind her desk. She tapped the Cliff icon on her cell phone and leaned back, her phone to her ear.
“Janet. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Cliff said.
“Did you change your mind about helping me with Pastor Goode or Daub?”
“Did you change your mind about meeting me?”
Janet paused, the wheels turning in her mind. “How good is the information?”
Cliff chuckled. “Good enough to make a hooker blush.”
“Do you have information on both of them?”
“You only need one seat.”
“I’ll take that as a no. I bet Pastor Goode’s the one with the dirt.”
Cliff chuckled again. “You let me know if you wanna find out.
I have to go. I got business to attend—”
“I’ll meet you. When and where?”
“Well then. How about this Saturday night around nine? Days Inn in Hershey.”
“That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
“I can’t wait. It’ll be—”
Janet disconnected the call, not interested in being sold on the affair. She exhaled and closed her eyes, imagining what she’ll have to do.
CHAPTER 53
Gwen’s Divided Class
The desks were shoved against opposite walls, creating a dance-floor-size space in the middle of Gwen’s classroom.
“Everyone for Trump move to the right,” Gwen said. “Everyone for Hillary to the left, and everyone who’s undecided stand in the middle.”
Most of the boys along with half of the girls stood on the right. The other half of the girls and Jamar moved to the left. Caleb stood in the middle.
“Okay,” Gwen said. “This is definitely a pro-Trump class.” Gwen looked at the crowd of kids on the right. “Lance, can you tell us why you’re a Trump supporter?”
“Because he tells it like it is,” Lance replied. “Obama didn’t care about us. That’s why we don’t have any jobs. Trump’s gonna bring back jobs. He cares about people in towns like ours.”
One girl from the Hillary camp switched sides.
“Very persuasive,” Gwen said. “Does anybody else from the Trump side have anything to add?”
Aaron Fuller raised his hand.
“Go ahead, Aaron,” Gwen said.
“Lance is right. Trump cares about us. I know for sure that Hillary doesn’t. She called us deplorable and racist. That’s bullshit.”
“Language.”
“Sorry. … We’re not racist just because we’re white and Republican. Democrats act like we’re stupid rednecks who wanna bring back slavery. I never cared about political stuff before, but I do now after she said all that crap. She should be in prison.”
Two more girls moved from the left to the right, leaving only five girls and Jamar on the left, with Caleb still in the middle.
“Excellent, Aaron. That’s an example of an effective emotional appeal. Remember our lesson on propaganda and influence? Emotional appeals are far more effective than facts and figures.” Gwen walked from the right to the left. “Who wants to speak up for Hillary?”
A chubby blonde raised her hand.
“Jessica. Go ahead.”
“Trump doesn’t have any experience,” Jessica said. “He’s this idiot on television. He’s not qualified. But Hillary’s been the first lady, and she was a senator, and she’s the Secretary of State.”
One girl moved back to the left.
“Very persuasive, Jessica. Excellent.” Gwen addressed the class. “Jessica’s argument is an example of an appeal to authority. The bottom line is, people will support others simply based on their authority. In many cases, this makes sense. If your doctor tells you to do something for your health, you’ll be more likely to listen to them, versus a friend without medical training. One thing to always remember though. Just because someone has authority, doesn’t mean you should automatically listen to them.” Gwen turned back to the left. “Anybody else in the Hillary camp?”
Jamar raised his hand.
“Go ahead, Jamar.”
“Trump made fun of handicapped people. That’s messed up. And he was talking trash about John McCain. He’s a Republican too. McCain was a pilot in Vietnam, and he was shot down and captured and spent a long time in a terrible prison. And Trump made some dumb comment about how he likes soldiers who weren’t captured. Trump was never a soldier. He’s a disgrace to this country.”
Two girls moved from the right to the left.
Jamar continued. “And don’t get me started on the racism. Trump’s making it okay to be racist. You can’t tell me this town isn’t racist. I’ve seen it many times, and I think it’s getting worse with Trump running his big fat mouth.”
“Black people are always playin’ the victim,” Shane said from the right.
Jamar shook his head. “That, right there, is racist. What if I said, White people are always playing the victim?”
“I wouldn’t care because I know it’s not true.”
“I’ve heard you use the N-word.”
Shane shrugged. “So? It’s just a word. We have freedom of speech in this country. Again, playin’ the victim. I wouldn’t care if someone called me white trash.”
“You are white trash.”
Gwen shook her head. “No name-calling, Jamar. Let’s be respectful.”
“Sorry, Ms. Townsend,” Jamar replied.
“You should be sayin’ sorry to me,” Shane said.
Jamar glared across the room at Shane. “I’m sorry I’m so much better than you at football that I ruined your senior year.”
The class laughed and hooted and hollered.
“Quiet. That’s enough,” Gwen said.
Shane was unfazed as they quieted, a smirk on his face. “If you’re so much better than me, why am I startin’ this Friday?”
Jamar furrowed his brows. “That’s not true.”
“Why do you think we’ve been splittin’ first-string reps?”
“Let’s stay on topic,” Gwen interjected.
Gwen moved near Caleb in the middle of the room. “Caleb, can you tell us why you’re still undecided?”
Caleb flipped his hair from his eyes and shrugged.
Gwen smiled. “Come on, Caleb. You’re a free thinker. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here all by yourself. I think we’d all benefit from your wisdom.”
Shane laughed.
Gwen glared at Shane until he stopped laughing, then returned her attention to Caleb.
“Nothing ever changes,” Caleb said, barely above a whisper.
“Could you repeat that, a little louder?” Gwen asked.
Caleb cleared his throat. “Nothing ever changes. Republicans think things’ll get better if they get their guy elected, and Democrats think the same thing, but nothing ever changes. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Democrat or a Republican president. You can bet nothing’s gonna change. It’s like they make us mad at each other so we won’t be mad at them. Maybe we’d be better off not supporting anyone.”
Three boys and three girls moved to the middle.
“Fantastic, Caleb. Very persuasive.”
“What about you, Ms. Townsend?” Lance asked. “Who are you gonna vote for?”
“I don’t like politics,” Gwen replied.
“You’re not gonna vote?”
“Probably not.”
“But, if you were, who would you vote for?”
Gwen was saved by the bell. “Put all the desks back please.” The kids arranged their desks into place, grabbed their bags, and headed for the exit. Gwen approached Jamar. “I need to speak with you for a minute.” They stood in front of Gwen’s desk as the other students filed out. As soon as they were alone, Gwen asked Jamar, “How’s Caleb doing?”
Jamar looked away for a moment. “He’s fine.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much.” He looked away again.
Gwen nodded. “Did something happen?”
“I tried to be his friend, Ms. Townsend. I really did, but I don’t think it’s gonna work.”
“Why not?”
Jamar shrugged. “He’s just different. We don’t have anything in common.”
Gwen furrowed her brows. “How is he different?”
“I don’t know.” Jamar pursed his lips. “Can I go now?”
“Of course. Thank you for trying.”
CHAPTER 54
Caleb’s Got a Gun
Caleb paced in his bedroom, his cell phone in hand. He tapped his Madison contact. It rang once, then went straight to voice mail. He’d already sent five unrequited texts. She was screening him out.
“Hi, this is Madison. I’m not available. Leave a m
essage, and I’ll call you back … maybe.” Beep.
“Hey, Madison,” Caleb said. “I’m, uh, really sorry about all the shit I said. I know I need to be happy for you, and I’ll try. I promise. Just, um, please call me back.” Caleb disconnected the call and set his phone on his dresser.
His thoughts drifted to his big problem. How do I end this thing quickly and with as little pain as possible? Overdosing on meth hadn’t worked. He got so fucked-up from just smoking a little, and it kind of made him feel better, at least while he was high. He was afraid to smoke too much. I’d probably just get really sick. Who knows? Maybe I’d get brain damage and have to live the rest of my life as a retard. It has to be a gun.
Caleb opened his closet and removed his gun case. Pellet gun case. He opened the case and removed the pellet gun that looked exactly like a Berretta 9 mm. It didn’t even have one of those orange tips. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted a real gun, like a rifle to go shooting and hunting, like everyone else did. At least everyone with a fucking father.
His mother had finally acquiesced last year, but the gun had come with a ton of strings. First, she wouldn’t buy him a real gun. Second, if he broke anything with it, she’d take it away. Third, it had to count for his birthday and Christmas. And she’d been serious. He hadn’t gotten a thing last Christmas. He had had a sour face as Ashlee enjoyed her loot, and Heather had let him have it.
“You fuckin’ ungrateful little bastard. Just like your fuckin’ father.” Usually, when she mentioned his father, she said about how tragic it was, how they’d been in love, how he was handsome and smart and going places. She never disparaged him. Her obvious hatred had made Caleb think that his father was still alive. Maybe he hadn’t died in a motorcycle accident. Maybe he was just a white-trash loser piece of shit. Like father, like son.
Caleb put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened of course. It wasn’t even loaded with pellets. He wondered if it was better to shoot yourself in the temple or in the mouth or in the chest. Caleb set his gun on his dresser and went to his phone. He typed, What’s the best way to shoot yourself, into the Google search bar. Caleb read an article that recommended not shooting yourself in the chest because you might flinch, and the bullet could ricochet off your ribs. Under the chin was also bad because of flinching.
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