by Eden Beck
I glance over at Heath, who’s now pushing back his cuticles with his thumb and doing a terrible job because his hands are still shaking slightly.
“Now, it’s come to our attention that some of our students have contracted mononucleosis, as have a few of the students over at Headmistress Robin’s school.”
She’s not near the microphone, but I can see her stance stiffen and her mouth move. She’s trying to correct him, once again. The dean pays her no mind.
“Due to the highly contagious nature of the disease, we’ve decided to take the proactive step to test all students before the upcoming winter dance.” A slight rustle breaks out among the students, a sort of shuddering excitement. “So, if you have not already, all students need to submit a full medical record to the office promptly.”
My stomach drops. Shit. I can’t have them looking at my medical records for obvious reasons. And this mono thing is really going to put a damper on me trying to get a date.
No longer able to simply stand on the sidelines, Dean Robin takes a couple swift steps onto the stage where she’s reluctantly allowed to lean in close to the microphone. I know I must be imagining it, but I swear I catch her searching the crowd for something, for someone, until for just a second her gaze comes to rest on me.
“With everyone’s compliance, we’ll be able to stop this little outbreak in no time at all.”
Once again, I feel my stomach seize slightly.
Is this some sort of ploy for her to flush me out?
Of course not, I know that … but if she’s suspicious of me, why doesn’t she just come out and say it? She doesn’t strike me as the type to beat around the bush. If she has her suspicions and hasn’t acted on it yet, then there has to be a reason for it.
I just can’t imagine what that might be.
The dean talks a little more, telling us about the upcoming winter dance. Beside me, Heath isn’t paying attention. I decide I just won’t make any attempt to get ahold of my medical records. After all, if I don’t have them, they can’t get them, right?
I know it probably won’t be that simple, but I’ll just have to worry about that when it comes down to it.
Once the assembly ends, Heath bounds away, jittery and nervous, and I’m left wondering just what’s wrong with him.
Anything to keep myself from wondering what’s wrong with me, because despite everything else, I still get the smallest thrill each time he glares my way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Since I’m supposed to be concentrating on finding a date to the dance, naturally I spend the next couple weeks doing literally anything else.
In fact, it gets to the point that I actually start getting better at lacrosse. I’m not good, definitely not a star player by any means, but I’m starting to hold my own. I can catch the ball pretty reliably, I can sometimes aim accurately when I throw, and I’m starting to understand my position on the field a little better.
I’m still a bench warmer, though. I won’t be playing in any games. But who knew that having a healthy body that isn’t malnourished, bruised, or broken would help my performance in sports?
Well, I’m still bruised … just not as badly as I was before.
It isn’t long before I start to make out some actual muscle definition between the bruises. All this, and I still see no sign of growing the kind of honkers I won’t be able to hide under an oversized tee shirt.
If only I saw enough of Rafael these days to rub it in his face.
Between lacrosse and avoiding any attempts to get my medical records, the dance is soon looming closer and I haven’t gotten any closer to getting a date.
Today’s practice goes fine. I run drills, miss a few shots, throw a little too awkwardly. But the coach compliments me twice, and that’s something.
As practices have gone on, more and more girls from the other school have been attending. I keep trying to catch a couple of their eyes from beneath their bundled hats and coats, but any time I do they immediately look away. I know I need to get my nerves up to just ask one of them out already, but I keep losing the nerve.
Who would have known asking a girl out to a dance would be so nerve wracking?
We’re getting into December, so my time is running out.
“All right, off the field,” the coach shouts. “Go get changed. Good job today. Good hustle out there today,” he adds to me when I drift by him.
“Thanks, coach.” I smile. It’s actually nice to be doing something physical now that I’m used to it. I’ve grown fond of the contrasted heat from the field and the crisp—no, freezing—winter air.
On my way out, I take my customary walk past the bleachers.
A lot of the other guys on the team have already paired up with some of the girls there, and they flood the stands to start their very public declarations of affection. Making out in public isn’t my thing, but here they all are.
I catch sight of a girl I haven’t seen out here before, and something compels me to finally do it. I’m going to ask her out.
So, I steel myself up and head straight for her.
She sees me coming and sighs. Seems I’ve built something of a reputation. Despite the fact that I must look like a desperate idiot, I don’t let myself turn away this time.
“Hey,” I say to her as I approach. “I’m—”
But she doesn’t let me finish.
“Alex Trevellian,” she replies flatly. “I know. The boy with the tiny dick.”
Any displays of PDA stop abruptly as people break into laughter behind her. I force myself to laugh along even though I’d rather slink away to find a good place to die.
“Yeah, I guess Olive’s decided that’s me.”
The girl just fixes me with a disinterested look. “What? Do you not have a tiny dick?”
“No,” I reply truthfully. I don’t have a tiny dick, because I don’t have a dick at all. But rather than back down, she just glances once over her shoulder and egged on from the looks from the other couples on the bleachers, she turns back to me with a sneer.
“Really. Then how big is it?”
I glance around too. “This isn’t really a conversation I’d like to have in public,” I mutter. Or at all. This is … this is about the worst-case scenario I could have imagined just for asking a girl to a stupid dance.
“Why?” she asks, just as loudly as before. She’s clearly not just going to let this go. “Because you’re lying, and you do have a tiny dick?”
“Just seems kind of personal,” I reply.
“Let’s see it,” she demands.
I scoff, but I’m actually quite taken aback. “Forget it.” I turn to head back down the bleachers.
“Oh? Too chicken to show a girl your dick?” she shouts. My cheeks burn as people continue to laugh. “Show me and I’ll go to the dance with you, no matter how tiny it is!”
I keep walking away. They all keep laughing.
“He’s definitely got a tiny dick,” Beck shouts from the bleachers with his arm still wrapped around his new girlfriend. I don’t know her name either; in my head, I’ve been calling her Becky.
I whirl. “She’s just worried about it being tiny,” I snap, not knowing what the hell I’m saying, “because her hole is so cavernous she wouldn’t be able to feel it if it’s smaller than a baseball bat!”
More laughter, but I don’t know if it’s for what I said, and I don’t plan on sticking around to find out. I turn back and actually walk away this time while the girl’s angry shrieks added to the cacophony of humiliation.
I still don’t get out of there in time. Her shrill voice echoes out from the bleachers just before the door to the locker room slams shut behind me.
“Don’t believe me? Ask that roommate of his. I’d be willing to bet money he’s seen it. Pervert.”
Just perfect.
Seems I don’t even need The Brotherhood to make a fool out of me anymore. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.
When I sit down next to Ra
fael at dinner, he glances sideways at me and I immediately know that he heard about the bleacher exchange.
“I don’t know if you should be near me,” he says calmly.
“Why? You got mono?” I ask, stabbing a potato with my fork to keep myself from having to look at him. My face has started to get tomato red, I can feel it. “I’d welcome that at this point if it meant I could hide away for a little while.”
“Hmm, that would be kind of ideal. Lie low for a while. Let the air clear,” Rafael says, absentmindedly. He sits and stares off towards the wall for a moment, as if he’s considering if there’s actually a way to get me mono just so neither of us has to deal with me right now.
He must decide it won’t work because he just suddenly lets out a loud sigh and shakes his head.
“No. You’re a pariah.” He picks up his water bottle. “It’d be bad if I’m seen with you. For me, I mean.”
I laugh, thinking Rafael must be joking, but he looks up at me without breaking a smile.
I set my fork down, still impaling a potato, and stare at him. “Are you fucking serious?”
He shrugs. “I hear your tiny dick can’t fill a girl’s cavernous hole.”
My mouth drops open. “And you don’t want to be near me because of that?”
“Look, it’s nothing personal …” he says, trailing off as he takes in my face. “But I can’t have people spreading rumors about the two of us.”
My heart sinks. My one friend in the whole damn school doesn’t want to be seen with me.
He sighs. “I know you miss me,” he says, and I hate that it’s true. I really do. He’s been so busy that we haven’t had any time together. “But being on the board for the dance is the only thing keeping my reputation propped up.”
I stand up and snatch up my plate. “All right. Cool.”
“Alex,” he says patiently, but I don’t let him finish.
I push my chair back. “No, it’s cool. It’s fine. I should’ve known your reputation would be more important to you than my feelings. That’s how it’s always been.”
“Alex,” he says again, more softly.
“It’s fine, Rafael,” I snap. “Maybe someday I’ll be cool enough to talk to you.” I head across the cafeteria to an empty table and plop down, savagely digging back into my food.
Part of me understands what he means. It’s not just his reputation he’s worried about—it’s his safety. I don’t know how he’s been able to stave off the bullying so far, but being associated with me—the “guy” marked by The Brotherhood—was already bad for him.
But just because I understand it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Over the months, I’ve been able to avoid the lacrosse games by being injured enough to not even be part of the team when it comes time for them, but there’s no backing out of this one.
Thankfully, it’s a home game so I don’t have to travel on a bus full of bored, sweaty guys who hate me. I arrive purposefully late to the locker room so most of the team will be out when I get dressed; just because I have the bandages wrapped around my chest for the game doesn’t mean I want anyone looking too closely.
Almost as soon as I’m done changing, I hear a noise near the showers. It’s a familiar voice, but it sounds strange the way he’s muttering to himself.
“Heath?” I ask, confused.
I round the corner, curious in spite of myself. Heath hasn’t changed into his gear. He’s sitting on a bench outside the showers, his head lolled back against the wall, muttering as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Heath?” I ask again, more urgently, and scurry over to him.
“What?” he snaps, but his speech is … not slurred, but definitely strange. He turns his head to look at me, then just stands up. Not only has he not changed into his gear—he’s naked aside from a towel wrapped around his waist.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking at him.
“Nothing,” he snaps again, but I realize he’s not snapping—he’s just talking so quickly everything comes out like a bark. “Why are you asking so many questions? What’s your problem, Alex?”
“Nothing,” I reply cautiously, eyeing him. “I don’t have a problem. You okay?”
“Perfectly fine!” He grins at me and does a weird little jig.
Something is definitely up.
I glance over my shoulder at the door out onto the field. We should be out there already. I’ll barely be missed at my spot on the bench, but Heath … the game can’t even start without him.
When I look back at him, I nod over at the wall of lockers behind him.
“You getting into your gear anytime soon?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve got it, I’m doing it, I’ve got it.”
I blink as he bustles past me toward his locker. He’s shaking. He’s smiling too wide. He fumbles with the lock as he gets to his locker, yanks on it too hard; his gear and cleats come tumbling out in a jumbled pile, which makes him dissolve into laughter.
“Heath?” I ask uncertainly as a memory of something I’d forgotten resurfaces. “Are you high?”
The purchase I saw him make, and then his admission later … my silence swapped for his. I don’t know what an Adderall high looks like, but I know it’s a stimulant, and he’s definitely acting like he’s stimulated.
His laughter gets even louder, and he slumps down onto the nearest bench. He holds up his hand so his thumb and forefinger are a small bit apart. “Ein wenig,” he says.
A little. I know enough German to understand that.
“Fuck, Heath, you can’t play like this,” I say, grabbing some of his gear and shoving it into his arms.
“Can too!” He leaps up and sheds his towel. I quickly turn away, but not before getting an eyeful. And it is not tiny.
I hear the rustling of clothing behind me as the door to the locker room opens and the coach leans in. From here, I can see him, but Heath can’t and the coach can’t see Heath, either. That’s definitely a good thing.
“Hurry up!” the coach snaps.
“Coming, coach.” I don’t move. I don’t want to leave Heath alone.
“Now, Trevellian!” he yells.
I wince. The coach only uses last names when he’s pissed. “But Heath, sir.”
“Heath’s a big boy! He doesn’t need a chaperone!”
“I am a big boy,” Heath says behind me. I glance over my shoulder; he’s got his pants on and is now tugging on a shirt. That’s a start at least.
“TREVELLIAN!”
“Fine! Okay!” I walk over to the coach, reluctantly leaving Heath alone in the locker room, expecting him to follow.
But he doesn’t.
“Where the hell is Heath?” the coach growls several minutes later. He isn’t asking me directly, but I do catch him glancing my way more than once. I can tell what he’s thinking. What did Alex do?
We’re all assembled on the sidelines, all of us but Heath, of course. My stomach churns. The game has already started, and a second-string guy has already had to go in for Heath.
“Did he come out of the locker room?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“What do you think?” the coach growls. “We wouldn’t be in this position if he did.”
Of course. I fall silent.
I want to go look for him, but I can’t, not without it looking too obvious. On the field, Beck and Jasper are hard at work, running back and forth with their sticks held aloft. I’m only barely following the game. I sit on the bench in all my gear, wringing my hands.
I shouldn’t be worried about Heath after all he’s done to me, but I can’t help but keep glancing over at the door into the locker rooms.
It’s one of these times when I’m looking away that the crowd makes a collective hiss, followed by furious swearing from the coach. When I look back, the midfielder who’s taken Heath’s place is crumpled on the ground, hurt or injured or something.
Immediately, I start to panic.
The coach runs out onto the field as the rest of our team gathers around.
“Please be okay,” I whisper, more to save my own ass than out of concern for that guy. I don’t even know his name. I should know his name, but eventually all the elbows in my face just kind of make them all look the same.
After some minutes, the guy gets taken away on a gurney, and the coach comes back to the bench with a hard look on his face. I already know what he’s going to say, and it’s all I can do just to keep from vomiting at the thought.
“You’re up,” he says.
“But—”
“No buts. You’re the only person left.”
I stand up on shaky legs.
“You know I’m not good enough to play,” I say quietly. “And Heath is a midfielder. I can’t go in for midfield.”
“You’re going in as an attacker. I switched one of them to midfield.”
My head spins. “I’m not good enough.”
His lips purse into a thin line, and he sets a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t ask, Alex.”
Without any other option, I gather my shit. I tug my helmet down over my head. Legs and arms shaking, hands clutched around my stick, I trot stupidly out to the enemy team’s goal to take up my position as attacker.
Out on midfield, Jasper and Beck stare incredulously at me. I don’t know what to do. I’m rooted to the spot. I’ve practiced in this position before, but I’m not good at this. If the school was big enough for tryouts, I wouldn’t have made it on the team at all.
My mind goes blank as I try to push my way through the next bits of the game. I mostly stay out of the way of the other attackers as they do their work. They get in some goals. I catch a few balls and pass them to my teammates. I huff and puff as I run around in my assigned area, doing what I’ve learned to do at practice, wondering the entire time if I’m doing anything right and if Heath is okay.
Stupid Heath.
I wouldn’t be here right now if he hadn’t chosen today to go on some sort of manic stimulant binge.
