“Quinn and North! Get started now, or take a zero for the day,” Coach Paul yells from his chair.
“I’m making an effort here, Sam. You’re the one who’s being a jerk,” Ace says, a smile dancing on his lips.
I look down. “She’s mine. Don’t forget that,” I say to the floor.
“Uh-huh,” he says, walking toward an empty bench in the corner. “You first. I’ll spot.”
“One-thirty,” I say to him as he heads to the wall to grab weights for the bench.
“I got your back, Sam,” he says.
I do a few push-ups on the wall to warm up my arms while Ace gets the weights ready.
“All set, champ. Let’s see what you got,” Ace calls when he’s ready.
I lie down on the bench and exhale a few times before pushing up on the bar. It feels much heavier than one-thirty, but I don’t question it. I haven’t exactly been putting in my best effort in the weight room this football season. I must be really out of shape.
My arms start to shake under the weight after just a few presses. I exhale in puffs. “That’s it. I’m done,” I say to Ace between puffs.
Ace looks down at me struggling. “You can keep going. I added tens instead of fives. You’re at one-forty here, rock star. You can keep going.”
“I told you I can only do one-thirty,” I manage to say.
“Keep going,” Ace growls.
I slowly push the bar away from my chest, knowing I’ve only got one or two more pushes in me before this bar collapses on my throat.
“Something interesting happened to me and my dad the other day,” Ace says, watching me struggle to push the bar up.
“Ace, I can’t. Can you please help me get the bar up?” I push with all I’ve got, but my arms just shake.
“We were in the garage, and there was this cockroach. Every time I tried to step on it, it ran into a dark corner. My dad said, ‘It thinks it’s stronger than you are. Smarter. You’ve got to show it who is boss.’”
“Ace, please,” I say, out of breath now.
“You’ve got to stomp on it and stomp on it and stomp on it until it knows who makes the rules,” Ace says, picking at his fingernails and leaning against the bench.
I can barely push the bar off my chest.
“See, cockroaches like to hide when there’s danger. They think they’ve outsmarted you. They think they have the upper hand. You’ve got to be tenacious. Consistent,” he says, leaning against the weight bench.
“Just help me,” I say, my face burning from the effort of lifting the bar away from my throat.
“There are some people that are like that too. Don’t you think, Samantha? Cockroaches who think they can invade your house and then hide when you try to step on them. Yet every time you turn around, there they are taunting you. Winning SAOTY. Fucking the girl you’ve liked for years. I’ve got news for that little cockroach. Next time he comes out of hiding to taunt me, I’ll be waiting. It’ll be the last time that roach hides in my garage,” he says.
The bar slips closer and closer to my neck. Sweat is pouring down my forehead.
Ace bends down close to my ear, putting his hand on the bar. “I could push this bar right down on your throat, dickless. Be a man. Lift the fucking weights. Do it for Marnie,” he whispers.
I push as hard as I can, but the bar barely moves. I close my eyes and try not to panic. I know if I’m not breathing right that I’ll never get the weights off my chest. I open my eyes and see Coach Paul approaching behind Ace. My eyes widen. “Coach…Coach Pa…” I croak.
Ace grabs the bar with one hand and pulls it up to the rack quickly. “Don’t say a word,” he growls at me.
He has that look in his eye. I’ve seen it at least once before. When he hit me in the face with a hockey stick in fourth grade.
His mom must have heard me scream and ran outside.
“Don’t say a word,” he growled at me then.
“It was an accident, Mom! I swear!” He ran toward his mother.
She ran straight for me and held my chin in her hands, looking at the goose egg forming above my eye.
“We were playing, and Sam ran in front of me as I was swinging at the puck. I swear!” He started crying, loudly, when his mother didn’t look away from me. He even produced tears. That’s when Mrs. Quinn let me go and turned to put an arm around Ace.
“You should watch where you’re going when Ace has a hockey stick in his hand,” Mrs. Quinn said, clucking her tongue. “You go home and let your mama check out that eye.”
I ran home, blood dripping onto my T-shirt, and my mother took me to the emergency room. I got twelve stitches right below my eyebrow and had to wear a pirate patch on my left eye for almost three weeks.
“You boys okay?” Coach Paul asks. Ace gives me a look.
I stare back at him and then look down at the floor, rubbing the scar right below my eyebrow. “Just a little out of practice,” I say.
Coach Paul looks at me for a few more seconds, but walks back to his desk without saying anything.
“Two-ten,” Ace says. “Load ’em up.” He points his chin toward the weight wall and settles himself on the bench.
He easily lifts my weights in hurried presses while I gather two 35-pound weights from the wall.
“I’m just warming up,” he says slowly when I get back to the bench, a smirk curling his lip.
10
NOVEMBER
Six Months Before
“We say Broad, you say Meadow! Ready? BROAD—”
“MEADOW!” the crowd screams.
“I think this is my favorite thing about high school,” JC yells in my ear next to me.
“Pep rallies?” I laugh, clapping along with the cheerleaders.
“Second only to watching Jeannie in that skirt, which I actually get to do at pep rallies, so…” JC says, motioning to the cheerleaders in front of us.
I watch the cheerleaders for a minute. Actually, I watch Marnie. She’s right in the front, her curly ponytail high on her head. She turns her head like she can feel me watching her and catches my eye. A sly smile spreads across her face like she has a secret she only wants to share with me. She winks before turning back to the crowd, pom-poms flying. A few days after our fight about her doughnut date with Ace, she threw pebbles at my bedroom window again. We didn’t go out, but I snuck her into my room. She stayed until the sunrise.
“Come on, pep rallies?” I laugh again, not able to take my eyes off Marnie.
JC raises his eyebrows as the marching band comes into the gym in full uniform, playing the Broadmeadow fight song. The crowd stands and claps and sings along.
“…with three cheers for BROOOOOAAAAADMeadow! Fight! Fight! Fight!” we all sing.
The principal, Dr. Davis, approaches the microphone and the cheerleaders stand behind him, kicking their legs to the side and shaking their pompoms for all they’re worth.
“Are we ready to beat Plantation?” Dr. Davis yells into the microphone.
The crowd screams, and the football team stands up. We all pump our fists in unison like we practiced. Yes. We practiced for the pep rally. Grandpa made us.
“The school wants to see a united team, boys. When Dr. Davis asks if we are ready to beat Plantation, we are going to stand up and silently pump our fists in the air. It’ll be a great effect, boys. Let’s make the school proud,” he told us last night after practice.
I’m surprised none of us forgot to stand and pump our fists. As stupid as I feel standing here pumping my fist in the air silently, I have to admit that Grandpa was right. The crowd is almost silent, and I can feel a thousand eyes on us. One by one, the student body joins in, pumping their fists in time with ours. The cheerleaders pump their pom-poms. My heart starts to beat faster, and I smile in spite of myself. I catch sight of JC next to me, and a smile is spreading across his face too. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is just a little bit cool.
“Let’s all come out and support our Beavers at tonight’s parade,”
Dr. Davis says, and the crowd erupts again. The cheerleaders spread a wide paper banner across the gym exit. In red paint, it reads: “Let’s Go, BEAVERS! Beat those PANTHERS!” The team runs through the banner one at a time. JC and I are the last to go through, the crowd’s cheers ringing in our ears.
We meet the rest of the team in the locker room. “We’re meeting at Independence Park at five thirty, boys. The fire truck will be there. Remember, senior players on the fire truck only. The rest of you will walk behind the truck and throw candy. No funny business either. If I hear or see anything…you will not be playing in the game tomorrow morning. I don’t care who you are or what position you play. I’m not kidding. You all understand?” Grandpa asks, raising his eyebrows at us.
Most of us nod silently.
“Bring it in, Beavers,” he says quietly, putting his hand in the middle of the huddle. “Win on three. One, two, three.”
“WIN,” we all say, breaking the huddle.
“Come on, agree with me. Pep rallies are one of the best things about high school,” JC says as we walk out of the gym toward my truck in the senior lot.
“Yeah, alright. Maybe this year the pep rally wasn’t so bad,” I say.
We drive silently toward home, JC leaning back on the headrest, his eyes closed. I’m thinking about Marnie. That smile she gave me at the pep rally. That night I snuck her into my room. Those few days in school after that, when we found every opportunity to be alone. Under a staircase. In an empty classroom. Behind the field house.
“You’re grinding your teeth, man. What are you thinking about?” JC asks me.
“Nothing. What are you thinking about?”
“Next year,” he says, turning his head toward the window.
“What about it?”
“I don’t know. Do you ever think about what it will be like? We’ve been staring at these same people for our entire lives. Thirteen years we’ve been sitting next to each other in a cafeteria, going to the same parties, sharing the same space, basically. I know when I walk into a classroom, I’ll know most of the people in there,” he says. “College. It’s just going to be different.”
“That’s pretty deep for a Wednesday afternoon,” I say.
“Shut up, butt nugget. I’m serious. Aren’t you nervous?” he asks.
“About the game? It’s not like we’ll even get to play, JC—”
“No, not about the game!” He sighs loudly. “Just…Never mind.”
“I guess I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” I say. “Sure, we know that when we walk into Spanish class on Monday morning, the same cast of idiots will be sitting there. Whatever. Don’t you think college will be an adventure, though? See new people? Talk about new things? You can be whoever you want to be. No one will know anything about you. You could almost reinvent yourself,” I say, shrugging.
I pull the truck into JC’s driveway. “Maybe I don’t want to reinvent myself,” he says, getting out and slamming the door.
“I’ll see you in a few hours!” I yell out my open window.
JC just raises his right hand without turning around. He opens his front door and goes inside, his shoulders slumped forward.
I call Marnie as I back up out of JC’s driveway. “I just had the strangest thing happen with JC,” I say when she picks up.
“Tell me,” she says.
“He got all quiet and started talking about how he won’t know anyone in college. Then he didn’t even say good-bye. He just slammed the door and slumped inside,” I tell her.
“Maybe he’s just worried about—”
Boop boop.
“Hang on. I’ve got another call coming in,” she says.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s just worried about college or something. It seems weird. He’s always talking about how ready he is to get out of Easthaven. Maybe now that it’s getting closer, he’s having second thoughts.
“Hey, I’ve got to take this. It’s Ace,” she says.
“Ace?” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“Yeah, we’re riding to the parade together tonight. We need to work out the details,” she says.
“I can pick you up and bring you to the parade,” I say.
“No, it’s fine. Ace says he needs to talk to me about something anyway. I’ll see you there, okay?” She hangs up before I can say anything else.
* * *
I pick JC up about ten minutes before we’re supposed to be at the parade. He looks a little happier than he did a few hours ago. We’re both wearing our away jerseys with our names on the back. I’m glad tomorrow’s game is at Broadmeadow. We always do better at home.
“You boys be safe! Me and Dad will have our chairs set up outside the bakery!” JC’s mom waves to us from their front porch.
“You feeling better?” I ask JC soon after he shuts his door.
“Sorry about that earlier,” he says. “It just feels like every time there’s an event or something, it’s like a big reminder that this is the Last Time we’re going to be doing it. I felt the same way during the carnival. This is our last Thanksgiving game against Plantation,” he says, shrugging.
“It’s only November, man. We’ve got plenty of our senior year left,” I say.
JC just shrugs again. “I’m alright. I guess I just feel old,” he says.
We drive the rest of the way to the school in silence. JC perks up when we park the truck, though, and we see Jeannie’s parents dropping her off.
“James Christopher!” she squeals and then runs over to us.
“James Christopher?” I mumble, smirking.
“Hey, she can call me anything she wants as long as she keeps doing what she’s doing. Hey, baby!” he says, picking her up in a big bear hug. Her cheerleader skirt rides up, and he puts his palm on her ass and squeezes.
She squeals and playfully swats at his hand. “Later,” she says in his ear loudly enough for me to hear.
“Where’s Marnie?” Jeannie says when JC puts her down.
“She’s coming with Ace…” I say.
We all walk toward the football field, where a mass of students is putting the finishing touches on their parade floats. Every club in the school is represented, and all of the floats are football themed. The Foreign Language Club’s float has a giant papier-mâché Beaver in a Broadmeadow jersey devouring a football player in a blue and silver uniform, Plantation’s colors.
The Photography Club’s float shows the front page of the Easthaven Daily Chronicle. The headline reads: “Broadmeadow Shuts Down Plantation in Thanksgiving Day Football Blowout.” All of the members of the Photo Club are dressed like newsboys. They have tiny football-shaped candies in baskets to throw to the crowd during the parade.
At the end of the lineup of floats is the fire truck. I feel a rush of excitement seeing it. I’ve been waiting since my freshman year to be able to ride on the truck during the parade. The senior cheerleaders get to ride with us.
I look over at JC, and he’s not hiding his smile at all. “This is going to be so cool,” he says, picking up his pace and heading right for the fire truck. “See? Aren’t you going to miss this next year?”
I shrug. Yeah. I probably will.
Marnie and Ace are already at the truck when JC and I get there. Ace is leaning against the truck, talking softly to Marnie. She’s staring up at him, a wide smile on her face.
“Hey,” I say loudly as I walk over.
Marnie jumps a little, startled. “Hey…” she says slowly, her eyes drifting from Ace to me.
I put my arm around her waist and pull her close for a kiss. She pulls back a little bit and rolls her eyes. “Be careful of my hair,” she says. Her eyes blink over to Ace for less than a second, but I notice.
I let her go.
“Alright, Beavers!” Grandpa has a bullhorn. “Let’s get settled. Seniors on the truck. Everyone else, grab a candy basket from the boosters,” he says, motioning to the table of moms behind him.
Marnie is standing close
, her arms folded across her chest. I take a step closer so that my arm touches hers. She flinches just slightly, but enough for me to notice. She takes a half step away.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She turns to me with a big smile. “Of course!” she says. I’ve seen that smile before. It’s her cheerleader smile. It’s bright and lights up her eyes. Her cheeks turn pink, and she has two dimples. It’s completely fake. Her real smile is crooked and reveals only one dimple. Even when she’s laughing so hard that she’ll have a sore stomach the next day, her real smile only produces one dimple. I asked her once how that was possible.
“It’s a cheerleader smile,” she explained. “I can turn it on like a lamp. Years of practice. We have to smile through an entire game, even if we’re losing by a hundred points. It’s ridiculous, but we actually have to practice smiling.”
“Are you going to sit with me on the truck?” I ask her, trying again to get close. I shift my weight toward her, and my jersey just brushes against her arm.
She takes another half step away. “Cheerleaders are walking this year,” she says, looking at the ground. “I’ll catch up with you at the end of the parade.” She leans toward me and kisses my cheek. Well, almost. She missed.
And then she’s gone, leaving in her wake the memory of the two-dimpled cheerleader smile and the smell of spearmint gum.
The cheerleaders are right in front of the fire truck this year. I sit as close as I can to the front of the truck. JC settles in next to me, as wiggly as a kid who has eaten an entire birthday cake. “I’ve been waiting four years to ride in the parade like this. This is so cool,” he says.
“Did you notice Marnie and Ace when we got here?” I ask him.
“Nah,” he replies, still smiling from ear to ear. His eyes are shining in the dim light of the park.
“They looked awfully close,” I say.
“Are you ever going to let that go? It’s our senior year, man. Just get through it, and you’ll never have to see him again. Jeez, Sam. Are you capable of enjoying anything?” he asks.
Until I Break Page 7
