My Best Friend's Brother (Hometown Heroes Book 3)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  The hallways were as barren as an Arizona desert and my steps echoed off the lockers as I made my way to the Principal, Mr. Turner’s office.

  Would the cops be there?

  I could see it now. Being led out of the school in cuffs, hands behind my back. Everybody standing there cheering and yelling junk. Screw it, things couldn’t get worse.

  I glanced into Mr. Turner’s office and realized how wrong I could be. Grandfather sat in one of the chairs. My stomach dropped to the floor and I had a hard time swallowing. Crap, this had gotten so much worse. The thought of disappointing him made me break out in hives.

  Old battle ax Betty, the principal’s secretary and the center around which the school revolved, nodded her head that I should go right in. Her eyes narrowed in scorn and I thought for sure I’d melt before I made it to the door. I gave a quick knock and entered.

  My grandfather raised an eyebrow as I entered, at least he didn’t look like he hated me. Not yet. They mustn’t have told him.

  “Scott, thank you for coming,” the principal said indicating I should take the remaining free chair.

  A cough behind me startled me for a moment. Coach Carlson followed me into the room, firmly closing the door.

  He wore his normal coach clothes, white polo shirt and red shorts with tube socks and tennis shoes. His friggin’ whistle hung around his neck. Did he ever take it off? The man probably wore it to bed and used it anytime Mrs. Carlson got out of bounds.

  I sat next to Grandfather. The chair felt hard and unforgiving. The room smelled like paper and maybe a faint hint of tobacco, Mr. Turner had been sneaking cigarettes, again.

  He looked at the coach and then at my grandfather. He seemed to be avoiding looking at me.

  “Mr. James, thank you for coming in so quickly,” he said.

  My grandfather, the official ‘Mr. James,’ nodded his head. He never did go in for the simple pleasantries of conversation.

  Taking a deep breath, Mr. Tuner brought his hands together. Interlocked his fingers and set them on the desk in front of him.

  “Yesterday, your grandson, beat a fellow student, Danny Carrs. He hurt him so bad that the boy had to be taken to the hospital. They operated on him this morning and he should be released later this afternoon.”

  “Two days before the playoffs,” Coach Carlson snapped from behind us.

  My grandfather didn’t say anything, just looked at the principal and waited for the rest. I could see his hands gripping his jeans. His knuckles were turning white. Boy was he pissed. To show that much emotion said a lot.

  “As you can imagine, we can’t have our students fighting. Especially young men who should be setting an example. I am afraid I am going to have to Expe…”

  “Hold it a second,” my grandfather said, shocking me with his gravelly voice. He didn’t normally interrupt people.

  “Yes, Mr. James?” the principal asked, his eyebrow rising.

  Grandfather stared at the principal for a moment his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Did this fight occur on school grounds?”

  “It wasn’t a fight, it was a beating. Our most important player no less. Scott’s supposed to be protecting him, not putting him in the hospital,” Coach Carlson said.

  My grandfather turned in his chair as his eyes narrowed and his brow creased. He shot the Coach a look that could freeze water on a warm day.

  “I remember you getting into a fight or two in your younger days, Jake. In fact, if I remember correctly, Scott’s dad kicked your butt in eighth grade after he caught you bullying some of the smaller boys.”

  Coach Carlson sputtered for a moment. I hadn’t known that about dad and Coach. That might explain a couple of things.

  “That was kid’s stuff, this is way more serious,” Coach said.

  “Why, because of who got hurt, or the fact it happened a couple of days before a football game?”

  Wow, I couldn’t believe this, the old man stuck up for me. Of course, that was all going to change when he found out why.

  Grandfather had always told me that a man who couldn’t control his emotions wasn’t much of a man. That I was responsible for what I did. No excuse.

  He’d also drilled into me the fact that a guy my size had a special responsibility of staying in control. People could get hurt otherwise. Danny most definitely proved that last point.

  Grandfather turned back to Mr. Turner. He hadn’t asked what the fight was about. Hadn’t looked at me to see if I was all right. He’d just assumed what the principal said was true.

  “And why aren’t the police here?” Grandfather asked, pausing for a moment. “I assume Danny’s dad decided not to press charges. That must mean his old man’s embarrassed about something. Either the fact that his precious son got his ass kicked. Or, the reason behind the fight. Probably both.”

  Mr. Turner sighed. “We don’t know the reason. Maybe Scott would like to enlighten us?”

  They all looked at me as if I had the answer to the meaning of life and was holding out on them. I stared back but didn’t say a word. They would learn soon enough. It surprised me they hadn’t heard the story already.

  Turner’s eyes glinted and I realized the bastard had heard. He wanted me to say it out loud.

  My virgin girlfriend preferred to have sex with my best friend instead of me. I’d always thought he was a bit of an asshole. It wasn’t until that moment that I knew how much.

  I took a deep breath and got ready to let loose on them. To tell them what I thought about their friggin’ school and where they could put it. They didn’t care about Danny or me. It was the fact that we might have brought the school, and therefore the town, a trophy. Some brass statue to be put in the front case where Mr. Alverez, the janitor would dust it off twice a year. I could feel the rage rising like a coke bottle ready to explode.

  A bony hand grasped my arm. My grandfather's gnarled fingers held me back. It shocked me, how old they looked. Brown age spots had appeared on the back of his hand. When did that happen? I’d seen those hands twist barb wire into shape one day then sooth a struggling heifer as she gave birth the next.

  I looked into his eyes and saw a glint of something I didn’t understand.

  “Actually, Mr. Turner, I don’t believe you can punish Scott. It didn’t happen during school or on school grounds,” my grandfather said as he leaned back in his chair.

  Turner looked as if someone had let the air out of him and stared at his hands.

  “It might not have happened on school grounds. But I can sure do something about it.” Coach Carlson said from his perch behind us.

  “Scott signed a contract at the beginning of the season, all of the boys did, and promised not to do anything that hurt the team cohesion. I think this qualifies. Scott is off the team. Period.”

  My gut clenched into the tightest knot. I figured this would probably be the case. To actually hear the words felt like a helmet to the middle.

  I stared out the window like it didn’t mean a thing. Hell, I’d have taken an expulsion if it meant I could have stayed on the team. They couldn’t do anything worse.

  “What’s more,” Coach continued. “I plan on calling Coach Stevens at the university and letting him know what has happened. I’m pretty sure you can kiss that scholarship goodbye.”

  I swear to God he sounded like a little kid.

  Well, there it was. The final whistle. Game over. I’d been waiting for it ever since I threw that first punch the day before. My one way out. My one dream, gone. Just like that.

  I felt a new loss, one more thing piling onto all the losses. This was different. Losing that scholarship was letting my dead parents down. They’d met and gotten married while at the University of Nebraska.

  Both of them would light up like roman candles whenever they talked about their time there. They’d shoot each other a secret glance and smile at some shared memory.

  I wanted to go to Nebraska so bad it hurt. I wanted to start for their football team. I wanted
to be what Keith Jackson had famously dubbed, ’A Big Ugly up front.’ Hell, secretly I wanted to parlay that into a pro football career. I know I might be stretching it a little, a guy could dream, couldn’t he? Or at least I could until I threw that first punch.

  An empty, hollow, dullness descended over me. It felt like a hole had opened inside of me, sucking my soul into a giant chasm. My mind searched for an out, anything. But there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  My grandfather stood and threw Coach Carlson a nasty look. I thought he wanted to say something. He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “If that’s it, we’ll be going,” he said as he turned and walked out the door. I looked at Turner and Coach before I jumped up to follow the old man out.

  Battle Ax Betty looked like she was going to swallow her tongue. I’m sure Turner would fill her in later. I caught up with Grandfather at the front door and followed him out to his truck parked at the front of the building. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do now.

  My thoughts were tumbling around like a clown in a barrel.

  “You don’t got to tell me, but, I’ve got to admit I am dying of curiosity,” Grandfather said. “I mean, it’s not like you and Danny to get into it like this.”

  He’d caught me flat-footed. I hadn’t thought this through, or at least not to a way that made any sense. How could I tell him that I had lost control? Especially about something like this. A chill traveled up and down my spine when I thought about saying the words.

  The birds were chirping and I could taste potential rain. I realized I was stalling. The old man stood there with his hands behind his back patiently waiting.

  I took a deep breath and told him everything. About how I found them. About how Gina had never wanted to do anything more than kiss, and how she hadn’t even seemed to like that.

  When I finished, I hung my head and stared at the ground. The deafening silence eating into my soul.

  We reached his truck and he suddenly halted before he glanced at the sky. He did that before he made any decisions. I used to think he searched for God’s guidance.

  It took me a few years to realize that he instinctively looked at the weather. No farmer ever made a decision without checking the weather. Our lives revolved around it.

  His gnarled hand came into my vision. He stood there waiting for me to shake it. I reached out and grasped it. My heart lodged in my throat when I realized that mine was as big as his. We squeezed and he stared into my eyes.

  “Your dad would have been proud,” was all he said. Not that he was proud, not that he felt my pain.

  Hey, I’ll take it. One of my most important rules wa – Any approval from Grandfather was the equivalent of winning the Heisman and an Oscar on the same day.

  Chapter Two

  Katie

  Whoever said, ‘high school wasn’t fair,’ didn’t know the half of it. High school ranks right up there with ‘life’ in its unfairness. It’s one of those rules that no one ever tells you about until it’s too late.

  The poor idiot. Scott I mean. Come on. Anyone could have told him what was going on.

  Even someone like me on the outside, the extreme outside, could see she was using him to get to heartthrob Danny. The way she’d light up, giggling at every lame joke, flirting whenever Scott wasn’t around.

  It was a farce until it became a tragedy. The Greeks would have been proud.

  It was ten minutes into first period before I knew what was happening. I sat immediately behind Jennifer Hobson and Marla Jackson. Two of my best sources of Intel. I used my tricks to remain invisible.

  Letting my hair fall across my face. My eyes focused on the front of the room. As far as they were concerned, I didn’t exist. Just the way I liked it.

  I sneaked a handy wipe packet and opened it under my desk before sanitizing my hands while I listened.

  “He caught her in bed with Danny,” Jennifer said.

  “No way, for reals? Wow, I thought she was the holy of holies,” Marla questioned.

  “Yeah, but it was Danny Carrs, who could blame her.” Both girls laughed. “Johnny told me. He visited Danny at the hospital.”

  “Marla, Jennifer, please pay attention,” Mr. Lavers said from the front of the room. I could have kicked him.

  Me? I observe. It’s safer out here on the fringes. ‘Don’t get involved’ is the rule I live by. It’s served me well so far. Better to watch other people crash and burn.

  I saw everything from the edge. I could usually tell who was going to break up with whom long before they knew it themselves. Who was on their way out of the in-group? I could tell you who cheated on their Spanish test this morning and who worried about taking a pregnancy test this afternoon. The one test you couldn’t cheat.

  I knew which kids were getting abused and which were higher than a kite. I knew who broke into the lockers during last week’s football game and who was going to be next year’s valedictorian. I mean, I saw it all and kept it to myself.

  Knowledge like that left me feeling a little guilty about not warning him.

  Scott had always been nice. I mean, it’s not like we talked or anything. It’s just that he’d never been mean, never gone out of his way to make fun of the strange new girl.

  I ran into him once in the hall. Literally ran into him. It was like walking into a brick wall at full speed. Totally my fault, I was looking at Jessie Taylor and her brother fight about something and didn’t see the mountain in front of me. My books went flying one way and my glasses the other.

  He never commented about my beet red face. Not a word about my stammering apology. He acted like it was all his fault, apologizing as he helped me retrieve my stuff.

  Like I said, a nice guy. And you’ve got to admit that’s unusual for a jock.

  He sat at the front of the class in fourth period and stared at the front wall. His shoulders straight and head up like he didn’t have a care in the world. I could tell, though like I said, I observe. The tips of his ears were cherry red and his fist would clinch and his knuckles turned white every time somebody made a snide comment.

  I don’t know how he made it through the class without exploding.

  Instead, at the bell, he calmly stood up, gathered his books and slowly walked out the door. Everyone jumping to get out of his way.

  It was strange, as if I was proud of him. Not enough to get involved, though.

  .o0o.

  I’ve always thought of the library as mine. The one place that was free of the teenage angst and drama that permeated everything around here.

  There is this smell. It’s not strong enough to be called an aroma. It’s a simple smell. Paper, glue, and leather binding with a faint taste of copy toner. - Come on, you’ve smelled it. Is there anything calmer, less dramatic than a library? The room enfolds you like a warm blanket that promises to keep the world outside. God, I love that place.

  So imagine my surprise to find Scott James parked at a center table in my library. He hadn’t picked a table in the back. No not him. It has to be right there in the middle of the room. Was the guy a born masochist?

  My stomach fluttered a little. I didn’t need drama in my library. As the TA for the library during sixth period, my job was to eliminate drama. Helping Mrs. Johnson. Mostly returning books to the stacks and helping freshmen find their way around.

  It was my favorite part of school and Scott James was going to ruin it by sitting in the middle of my library.

  He’d hung his red and white letterman jacket over the back of his chair. He looked up when I came in and our eyes met for a brief second. Nothing. No reaction. Like I said, I’m very good at being invisible. Turning back to his book, he flipped a page and returned to his own world.

  I ducked behind the counter as I ripped a package open and pulled out a handy wipe for my hands before I started processing books, sorting them into categories. I let my hair fall in front of my face so I could peek through it at Scott. It was one of my many tricks at staying hidden.r />
  I’ll admit it, I was worried about him. How did someone fall from the top to the bottom without cracking up? You know that whole, “those the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad” thing.

  No one would ever call him drop dead gorgeous, but he was good-looking, in that rugged, manly sort of way,

  His thick black hair kissed the tops of his ears. He kept swiping at it like it tickled. He had an old scar below his right eye and a faint bruise on the left side of his face.

  It seemed that heartthrob Danny had gotten in at least one punch before his world became seriously disturbed.

  I found myself staring at Scott and forgetting about what I was supposed to be doing. I mean the guy was huge, with shoulders wider than the Grand Canyon, and hard tanned arms the size of small trees. They weren’t those sculpted weightlifter muscles. These could only be built with years of hard work outdoors.

  He had soft chocolate eyes that hid a deep intelligence. It always surprised me to see someone so big with an intelligent look. It wasn’t normal.

  His brow creased in confusion and he went back a few pages to reread something, found what he wanted, and nodded to himself.

  I wondered what he was reading. It didn’t appear to be a textbook. I had an almost overwhelming urge to go over and ask.

  Whoa Katie, what is going on? You do not get involved. Ever. And talking to Scott James was way too much involvement. Suppressing a shudder and fighting to get my rebellious stomach back under control I returned to what I was supposed to be doing.

  Mrs. Johnson had gone to a meeting and left me a note asking me to process some new books. I glanced at the two boxes on the floor and sighed in resignation.

  Why did they ship the books in such big containers? I could never get them up on the desk until I’d half emptied them. I didn’t even try to pick one up. Instead, I started pushing and dragging the first box to the front desk.

  “Do you need a hand with that Katie?”

  A deep voice from behind me made me jump.

  After I came down from the ceiling and got back into my own skin, I turned and saw Scott standing there with a questioning tilt of his brow.