by S Doyle
Her pants down, her legs open, some faceless man pumping between her thighs.
I closed my eyes to force the image away and coughed when I found myself getting hard at my family dinner table.
“That’s it?” my father asked. His deep, rich, baritone voice always seemed to cut through the noise in my head. “Fine? What about practice? Coach finally going to acknowledge you should be QB One over that white boy, what’s his name?”
“Chas,” I said, which my father knew, because Chas and I had been friends for years. “And you shouldn’t call him that white boy.”
“Oh no, no, no. We don’t play that game in this house. There is racism in this country but the dark side of it goes all one way.”
Oh no. I’d inadvertently tripped my father’s switch. He was, no doubt, about to launch into the history of slavery, followed by failed reconstruction, Jim Crow laws, Civil Rights abuses with a healthy dose of redlining, voter suppression and ending in why black lives mattered.
I knew all this. My sister and I studied black history outside of school. We spoke about the challenges of racism. We were careful to always understand that, while we were biracial, we were not white. That white was its own special class. Which was pretty obvious to us in a high school that was nearly all white.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the cause, I just didn’t want to hear his lecture right now.
Not when I couldn’t shake the thought of Bennet with Javier.
That couldn’t be true. Could it?
“Dad, I know,” I said, cutting him off before he could get started. “Coach is going to play Chas because it’s his senior year. He’s sentimental like that.”
“Hmm, hmm. Sentimental,” he scoffed. “Sentimental doesn’t win games. Sentimental doesn’t allow someone to propel themselves to the next level. When I was playing hoops in East Baltimore, we didn’t have time for sentimental.”
Uh-oh. Another trip wire. We were about to get the story of how my dad had used basketball to make his way out of the ’hood.
Again, it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his journey. His struggles to get a scholarship to play for a Catholic high school where he got noticed by Division One scouts. Then on to a year at Duke, where, as a freshman, he led his team to an NCAA Championship title. Finally, to the 76’ers where he delivered three back-to-back-to-back titles for the city of Philadelphia.
My dad was a basketball legend. Beyond that, the thing only people who knew him really understood, he was way smarter than he was athletic. More brain than body. My dad used basketball as a means to the end. Now an activist for social justice, he and my mother were going change the world for the better.
It was a hell of a thing to live up to that, but it was my destiny to join them. I knew that. I knew what it was to not only push myself in every direction, but also always beyond what was comfortable. Athletically, academically, socially.
However, I also knew my dad would agree that sometimes you have to go along to get along. You just needed to know when to pick your moments. The battle for QB One this year was not one of those moments.
“Dad, please. I get you. I do. But this isn’t East Baltimore. It’s Haddonfield. There is a certain way of doing things here. If I go all out and show up Chas, people are going to think I’m an asshole. I lay low, bide my time, then next year I’m a hero. It’s a game, and part of the game is seniors get to play their senior year. I’ll be QB One next year.”
His lips firmed. He hated when I used logic against him.
“You have all of your mother’s rationalism and none of my passion,” he told me.
As criticisms went it wasn’t too harsh.
It also wasn’t true. I had a lot of his passion; I just did a better job keeping it to myself.
“Wait a minute. Are you saying I’m not passionate?” my mother chimed in with a displeased tone, although I could see the hint of mischief around her mouth.
My dad smiled back at her. “I don’t know, baby, are you? You might have to remind me tonight. I forget.”
Both Gi and I groaned.
“Please no sex innuendo at dinner,” Gi stated firmly. “It’s gross.”
“After twenty years of marriage your mother and I still love each other. We like to express that love physically. You should be proud of us, not grossed out,” my father said pointing a fork in Gigi’s direction.
“My parents like to bang,” Gi said. “Awesome. But can I be proud of you after dinner?”
My father chuckled. My mother gave Gi a dark scowl, but the topic was over for now so I could go back to focusing on my soup and trying not to think about Beth Bennet naked in a closet.
4
Friday Night
Beth
“Go! Run, run. No tackle. No tackle!” I shouted from my seat in the bleachers. While I had no plans to put on a short skirt and kick my legs in the air, that didn’t mean I wasn’t supportive of my high school football team. The Haddonfield Bulldogs.
Tonight was the first home game of the season and the bleachers were packed with students, family and just about everyone else from town.
“Do you have any idea what you’re shouting?” Janie asked me.
I looked at her shrugged. “No. Of course not. I’m not even sure if we’re doing well or not since there is no score yet. But it’s the thought that counts, and you said if you came, you would get into the spirit of it.”
“I’m here instead of making the world a better place. That should be enough for you.”
“Yes, why are you here, by the way? Shouldn’t you be knocking on doors.”
Janie sighed. “They canceled the event. Apparently there weren’t enough youth volunteers.”
“Because it’s Friday night. And football. And everyone from our school is here. I don’t know how they thought they would get any volunteers. How many were there besides you?”
Janie frowned, which made me laugh.
“Right. There were none besides you. Look, Janie I get it. You want to change the world, but please don’t forget to have fun along the way.”
“Fun is a luxury most foster kids don’t have.”
That was the thing about Janie. She said things like that which could sound totally depressing, but it wasn’t her intent. She was simply being practical and realistic. Adulthood couldn’t come fast enough for her, whereas I was suddenly wishing I could hold on to being a teenager a little longer.
“You know it’s not going to be all fun and games for me, either, this year,” I said cautiously. “I got a job.”
It took a second for Janie to acknowledge what I said. Her eyes were on the field where Chas had thrown a pass to Ed. She watched as Ed got tackled hard to the ground only to quickly bounce up and make some pointing motion with his hand indicating something good had happened. She sighed then turned her heard toward me.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I got a job,” I repeated with a shrug. Because it was not a big deal. Plenty of kids our age got after school jobs. Maybe not in Haddonfield, but I was sure it wasn’t as uncommon as our town made it out to be.
Her eyes narrowed for a second then she opened her mouth as if to ask one question, closed her mouth then quite clearly decided to ask something else.
“Where are you working?”
“At The Club. Bussing tables. Maybe if I get lucky, actually waiting on people.”
She nodded slowly. “Good for you. It’s important, I think, for people to step out of their station in life and see how others live. It gives you perspective, helps you become a more fully realized adult.”
Leave it to Janie to find philosophical meaning in me picking up people’s discarded napkins. Little did she know, I was only in it for the money.
We turned our attention back to the field. The Bulldogs were making progress moving down the field and I clapped and cheered to aid their progress. Then I watched as a particularly fast defensive player blew past our guy who was trying to block him and crashed into Chas j
ust as he was throwing the ball.
Both Janie and I groaned as Chas was flattened, his head slamming into the field. Immediately the coach called timeout and raced onto the field. I glanced over at Star, who was standing with the cheer squad, nervously biting her lips. The other girls with her all clasped hands then took a knee once the other Bulldogs on the field did the same.
Chas, fortunately, was now sitting up. Although it was clear he was still a little out of it as he struggled to get to his feet. With the support of the coaches and the school nurse, who was in attendance just for these types of incidents, they got him up and he managed to walk off the field.
Seconds later Fitz was jogging out, helmet in hand.
I could feel my heart racing in my chest, a delayed reaction, no doubt, to Chas’s injury. Fitz joined the huddle of his teammates and quickly started issuing directions. There was no point in not acknowledging his leadership skills. He stood taller, commanded everyone’s attention and when he clapped his hands once, the team scattered to their assigned roles.
This time that same defensive player again blew past our guy who was trying, and failing, to block him. Only Fitz was ready. He juked left, the defensive player missed him to the right and Fitz found Ed in the end zone for a touchdown.
“He really is so good at everything,” Janie shouted as the crowd took to their feet in excitement.
“So good at everything,” I muttered.
The game was over, and Janie and I made our way down to the field to meet up with Reen. Star had already taken off to find Chas and see about his condition. The most likely conclusion: he’d suffered a concussion. Given that his parents were both physicians, he’d probably be treated at home.
“Hey, girls, exciting game no?” Reen asked, bouncing over to us. It took her time to transition from cheerleader back to normal person. Usually an hour or so.
Janie shook her head. “Chas most likely sustained a brain injury, which could have permanent repercussions in his life going forward, most concerning would be early onset dementia. Scientific studies have shown even a single concussion can have lasting effects.”
“But we won!” Reen proclaimed, intentionally blowing off Janie’s dire predictions.
You needed to do that with Janie sometimes.
“Right,” Janie smirked. “So it was all worth it.”
“Exactly,” Reen said. “Are we going to The Woods? Locke texted me, so that’s a good sign this evening might be super interesting.”
The Woods were a cluster of tightly packed trees about a thousand square feet in size, adjacent to Pennypacker Park. There would be a small fire, a keg, Red Solo cups and all the weed a person could smoke.
For the more adventurous there would be Ecstasy. And for the truly reckless some coke.
I stayed away from all of it. I didn’t particularly like the taste of beer and I figured it was important one of us maintained a clear head at all times. Reen would not be that person.
She couldn’t afford the E or the coke, which was probably the only thing that kept her from trying them. As she often stated, life was about experiences and the more she had, the more she knew she was living.
But she would drink whatever anyone handed her and take a hit off any joint that was being passed around. Because of her blatant sexuality, that made her a target among the guys looking to take advantage of her inebriated state.
Reen would never be a victim. She was too cunning for that. Just in case, I felt obligated to have her back.
“I suppose,” I agreed. After all, there wasn’t much else to do.
“Janie, come with,” Reen said, tugging on her hand. “You never come.”
“Because I don’t fit in there,” Janie argued. “You know it. I find the whole idea stunningly nonsensical.”
“Eddie’s going to be there. All jacked up probably from his big game. Probably needs an outlet for all that male testosterone given that Bee, sadly, is still recovering from her self-inflicted injuries at home.”
“Will you get off this idea that I have any interest in Ed Rochester!” Jane burst out.
A little too passionately, I thought.
Reen was still bouncing all the balls of her feet. “No. I think you like him and just won’t admit it.”
“I think you’re crazy and I’m leaving. Have fun standing in the middle of the woods with a bunch of teenagers getting inebriated and talking about absolutely nothing useful.”
With that Janie turned and walked away. I considered the idea that we should walk her home first before heading to the park, but I knew there would be enough of a crowd leaving the game, heading to the West End of town that she’d fall in with them and be safe.
Janie, too, knew how to protect herself.
“Then it’s just us. And Locke, once he shows up,” Reen said.
“Are you really interested in him? I mean, like that.”
Physically, he really wasn’t much to look at. Pale face, a lanky build that hadn’t quite filled out yet. Hair that basically fell about his head without any real style. Reen usually preferred a more sophisticated look with the guys she was interested in. Also, she liked them older.
And of course, she liked them filthy rich.
“He intrigues me,” she admitted. “I feel like he’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”
“Then to The Woods we shall go,” I said and locked my arms with hers.
One of the nice things about Haddonfield, geographically, it was a small town No bigger than three square miles. Which meant everything was in walking distance.
There were no school busses because everyone could walk or bike to all the schools.
Also to the main street where all the shops and restaurants were located, the parks on either side of town. And of course, The Woods. Because of that, it was probably the only thing that prevented a significant number of drunk driving accidents every year. Everybody could get trashed and just stumble home.
By the time we made it to The Woods, the party was in full force. There was no one central area. Just a place to put the keg, another place for the can fire to provide some light. Beyond that there was enough phones out to give the woods a surreal glow. But it was also easy to leave the groups, find a space far enough away from the crowd for couples to have some privacy. Although that usually came later in the night.
Right now, it was mostly groups of classmates huddled together in bunches. Some celebrating our great victory, others wondering if Chas would be able to play next week.
I grabbed a Red Solo cup and filled it halfway with beer. It was easier to blend this way, than to have no cup at all. Reen, however, had chugged her first cup and was on her second. Her head on a constant swivel looking for Locke.
“Ugh,” she groaned at one point. “Am I really sitting here anxiously waiting for some guy to show up?”
“You are and it’s not like you. Guys come to you, you don’t wait for them. You’re freaking me out a little.”
“I know! The little shit. If he blows me off…oh wait! There he is. Stay here, I’m going to go get him and bring him over.”
Still obviously in cheerleader mode, Reen practically skipped over to where Locke was hovering at the outer edges of the gathering. While I was left standing alone with a beer I didn’t want and no one to talk to.
“All alone, Bennet?”
This was said into my right ear, close enough that I nearly toppled the contents of my Solo cup.
I turned and scowled at Fitz.
“Creeper, much?”
“I’m the tallest person here, I can hardly be accused of creeping up on anyone. Were you at the game tonight? Did you watch me play?”
I smirked. “Do you mean did I see you throw three touchdowns and run for a fourth. Leading the team to a decisive victory. Yes, I did. It was perfectly nauseating.”
Even in the dark I could see his smile. “You’re supposed to root for your home team.”
“I do. I just don’t like that it means
I also have to root for you.”
He took a step toward me. “You know, Bennet, I was thinking maybe we could try something new this year.”
“Like what?” I asked suspiciously refusing to back up.
“I don’t know,” he said, holding up his hands. “Like maybe we could not be enemies. I mean, don’t you find it tiring? Always competing against me…and losing.”
“Can you actually hear the narcissism when you speak? Or is narcissism one of those mental health conditions where the person who has it doesn’t realize it? I should really read up on it. It would help me understand you better.”
“So you admit you want to understand me better. I think that means we’re making progress.”
“Progress toward what?” I asked.
He leaned down until he was a little closer than I was comfortable with. He was the tallest person here, but I was not, which meant he had to bend a considerable way to get close. Close enough I could smell him. The lingering scent of some harsh soap he must of have used after showering off the game sweat.
“I’m not the bad guy you make me out to be. I think, deep down, you know that.”
It was too dark to see his eyes, but I could feel them on me. Almost like I was made immobile by his piercing blue stare. I felt him. Throughout my body and it made me tremble with what I was sure was unadulterated hate.
“You may not be a bad guy, but you’re my bad guy. Which means I have to fight you at every turn.”
“Maybe you need to ask yourself if you’re fighting me or yourself.”
I laughed harshly. “You really think you’re all that?”
“I know I’m all that,” he said confidently. “I just want to hear you to say it.”
“Never.”
He tipped my chin up and for some unfathomable reason I didn’t slap his hand away, slap his face, or scream at him. All of those would have been much preferable outcomes than just standing there, letting him tower over me.
