Honorable Disgrace

by Stephanie N. Pitman

  “Nothing to see here, everyone back to your lunch or you’ll be staying after school,” Coach Ellis hollered, shooing and clapping, reminding me of my grandma trying to get the chickens in for the night. I noticed a few students hovering on the fringes, trying to catch a snippet of the unfolding drama in spite of the Coach’s threat of detention.

  “What is going on?” She was so close, her oniony breath wafted over us. My stomach churned, my own lunch roiling.

  We both remained silent.

  Turning to Liz, Coach Ellis tried again. “Miss Samuels, maybe you’d care to explain?”

  “I … I don’t know what happened,” Liz said weakly in a stricken voice. My jaw ached from how tightly my teeth were clenched. “One moment I was just sitting there … eating and … and then she attacked me. I thought she was my friend.” She collapsed on Sue, sobs shaking her body, her wails sounding suspiciously like garbled laughter. Sue, dim-witted girl that she was, wrapped her arms protectively around her new friend and scowled in our direction as if this were all our fault and Liz was nothing but an innocent victim.

  “You are such a liar, Liz Samuels. You started this,” I spat.

  “I have no idea what she’s talking about.” Liz blinked, her mouth slightly open.

  “I don’t care who started this little tiff,” the coach gestured between us, “but both of you will be getting detention.”

  JJ jutted her chin out and stood stiffly.

  “But coach …” Liz huffed.

  A stern look from the coach silenced Liz’s protest. Then she turned to me. “And you’re lucky you’re not joining them, Angie.”

  I wanted to object, to say something about this morning; Hobbs and Cory hadn’t got detention. What was the difference between the two of them and us? But I remained silent.

  “Liz, you’d better get yourself cleaned up before class.” Without another glance, she stalked off.

  Liz scurried off with Sue. JJ strode off, too, in the opposite direction from Liz, her face as dark and clouded as a spring thunderstorm. What had Liz said to get JJ so incensed? She said it was something about me, but what?

  ><><><><

  I didn’t see JJ until after detention, and we didn’t get the chance to talk. Afterward, she zipped out to her car, and I had to chase after her into the parking lot. I planted myself onto her oversized hood. “You’re not going anywhere, not until you tell me what she said,” I insisted.

  “She makes me so angry I could just spit. She doesn’t even care she destroyed our friendship. It meant nothing to her.” JJ paced back and forth in front of her car.

  “So that’s why you hit her?” I sat up, crossing my legs under me.

  “No.” JJ laughed hollowly. “You can be so … adolescent sometimes.”

  “Umm, well, hate to break it to you, JJ, we are adolescents.” I laughed.

  “Ha, ha.” She rolled her eyes then leaned against her car with a sigh. “I hit her for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, didn’t you hear the disgusting things she was saying about you?”

  “No, I was trying not to. I knew she was only doing it to get a rise out of me. I’m surprised it worked on you.” Shifting my legs, I swung them over the edge and slid off the hood. Casting a glance toward the practice field, the distant thumps and grunts of the football players as they slammed into the practice dummies was barely discernible from this far away. My eyes searched for Cory of their own volition. Spying him running sprints, my heart did a flip. “What was so horrible you decided to throw your lunch at her?”

  “Yeah, that was a mistake. I’ve been hungry all afternoon,” JJ grumbled.

  I chuckled. “Don’t change the subject. What’d she say?”

  “She said you were working your way through the team, that you spread your legs so easily anyone could have a turn, and that she’d even seen you out on the corner turning tricks!” JJ exclaimed roughly, pushing off the car. “She knows you’ve never been with a guy that way. She was just flat out lying.”

  I blinked, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I lowered myself to Liz’s level when I’d made the comment about her smell, and then she’d gone even lower by trying to ruin my reputation. She knew I guarded my virginity, and I planned to save myself for marriage, for the right guy. We’d talked about it when I’d been dating Alan—how I didn’t want to end up hurt, or worse, and how much I knew it would disappoint my parents. I inhaled deeply and wiped my eyes.

  JJ stopped her pacing and hugged me. I sniffled and tried to hold back the tears, but a few more escaped. I squeezed JJ and stepped back. “Thanks, JJ. You’re a great friend. The best.”

  She smiled sadly, and echoed me. “The best.”

  I folded myself into the rusted car, and waited for JJ to come around. She slid in and started the car. Without looking, she backed out. Thankfully, by this time, the parking lot was pretty much empty. We passed close to the practice field on our way out. The guys were running drills. Cory was close to the road, and he stopped to wave. I returned it. The dance couldn’t come soon enough. I just had to find something to wear. An urgent sense of longing pulled at my stomach.

  “JJ, will you help me find a Homecoming dress?”

  Chapter Seven

  My duffel bag slipped from my hand and landed with a loud thud on the purple, painted cement of the locker room floor. My breath hissed through my teeth as I bent to retrieve my purple uniform from my bag, my hand trembling slightly on the zipper.

  Before heading in to change, I’d poked my head into the weight room to check out my competition. I knew I would be going up against the only girl on the visiting team and I wanted to get a peek. Bad idea. The short blonde bulged with muscle. Compared to her, I was a stick figure. The only reason she was in my weight bracket was due to her height. She was super short.

  Slipping into my shorts, I tugged my purple tank over my head, slid it down over my sports bra and grimaced. Walking to the mirror, I reached over my shoulder and pulled on the neck of it until the white lettering of the label was visible in the mirror. I squinted and leaned forward, spying a small white S against the purple fabric. “No. I told them medium.”

  “Huh, what’d you say?” JJ was bent over, tying the laces of her size ten Nikes.

  “My shirt, it’s the wrong size.” I grabbed the material just below my chest, and yanked it out and down. “I don’t know if I can lift in this. It’s too tight, it makes me feel … too exposed.”

  JJ straightened, cocking her head to the side as she looked at me, her brows furrowed. “Looks okay to me.”

  “Does it really?” Pulling at the fabric over my chest, I frowned. “It’s really tight.”

  I sank onto the bench and put my head in my hands.

  “Whoa, Ang.” A warm hand pressed on my back as she sat down next me. “It’s just a shirt.”

  “It’s not the shirt.” I moaned into my hands. My elbow on my knee, I turned my head toward her and pressed my cheek into the palm of my hand. “Did you see that girl? How am I supposed to beat her? I’m going to look like a fool.”

  “What, mini Barbie on steroids?” She made a ‘phhh’ noise. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Maybe she can bench press more than you, but she’s got nothing on your legs. How much did you squat the other day?”

  “300 pounds,” I answered. The corner of my mouth lifted as I remembered the impressed hoots and hollers the boys had thrown my way. Cory’s eyes had sparkled as he gave me a chin nod. Even the coach had been surprised. It had been awesome. The surge of adrenaline, the power and strength I’d felt in my legs. In that moment I felt I could have lifted another hundred easy.

  “That’s two and half times what you weigh, easy.” JJ held the door open and gestured. “You have nothing to worry about. Just do your best and don’t sweat the rest, okay?”

  “Sure, and while I’m at it I’ll be voted athlete of the year,” I grumped, but followed her out.

  “Oh good, sarcasm.” She clapped me o
n the back as we crossed the hall into the weight room, green clad bodies loosely clustered around the door. Pushing through our team, the short ‘Barbie on steroids’ stepped into my path.

  “So, you’re the girl I have to beat.” She circled me, her chin thrust into the air. Her overly tan skin gave off an almost orange glow. Snorting, she added, “Should be easy.”

  My hands froze on the hem of my shirt, my fingers balled up in the material, clenched into tight fists. I bit down, my teeth grinding together, and used the advantage of my height to look beyond her. My shoulders pulled back, I gave a slight shake of my head, and stalked past her.

  “Yeah, keep walking.”

  I stopped at her taunt, but JJ put a warning hand on my arm. “Ang, take it to the match.”

  “Right.”

  I crossed the room with long strides. My earlier self-doubt and trepidation had fled. I was going to kick butt. I could do this. I’d pressed 300 pounds.

  I gripped my elbow and stretched my arm across my chest, and then repeated the motion with the other arm before rolling my shoulders several times. To further get warmed up, I swung my arms back and forth and bounced on the balls of my feet while scanning the room.

  My skin tingled when I realized Cory’s gaze was on me. He flashed me a grin. His well-formed shoulders were displayed nicely by the cut of his sleeveless purple jersey, the material molding to his defined chest. The muscle and sinew in his arms, back, and shoulders rippled and flexed as he stretched and moved, working to warm up his upper body, his moves similar to my own.

  I returned his grin.

  The black and white striped ref blew his whistle with a series of sharp blasts, and my pulse accelerated. Resuming my stretching, Cory gave me a thumbs-up and I suddenly found myself very eager, impatient even, to get the match started.

  The ref stood in the middle of the room, his legs spread in a wide stance. “Alright, let’s get started. Cougars, Vikings, on the mats. Spectators, take a chair.”

  The few parents and members of the student body present filled the vacant seats. Those unable to get one filed in behind the chairs and stood or leaned against the walls. The small weight room suddenly felt very claustrophobic. The racks of equipment were too cumbersome and heavy to move out to the gym so this was the only option, which was okay with me. Less people to make a fool of myself in front of.

  Please don’t let me make a fool of myself.

  We sat near the front of the mat. I stared straight ahead as Liz walked past, her hand clasped in Hobbs’. I guess she’d moved on from Alan. What do I care?

  Cory sat by me, barely a few inches between us. His friend James tossed me a meaningful, crooked grin as he lowered himself to the mat on the other side of Cory. I shifted slightly, Cory visible in my peripherals, and hooked my fingers together under my thighs, my knees against my chest.

  “Girls will compete first.” The ref indicated the two platforms, each set with a bench, barbell, and rack of weights, the girls equipment slightly different, the bar lighter than the boys. “Girls to my right, boys to my left. We’ll move up through the weight classes, starting with under 100 division first. Ladies, let’s have you come on up.” He made a sweeping motion toward the right platform.

  I got into position and Cory shouted, “Woot-woot, go, Angie.”

  In reply, I nodded and smiled, drawing my lip in to chew on it. I faced the assemblage, avoiding Cory’s gaze.

  “You will get three attempts for each lift. Any downward movement will constitute a failed attempt. No points will be awarded for unsuccessful lifts.” The energetic cadence of the ref’s voice bounced off the concrete walls, my anticipation building. “Go ahead and get set up.”

  I conferred briefly with my coach. After a slight pause, he gave his consent.

  I slid on enough plates to make the barbell 320 pounds. It was more than I’d ever done, but I felt confident. My nervous anger, coupled with Cory’s support, provided me with a surge of adrenaline. I adjusted the weight belt around my waist and patted my powdered hands over the bucket, a small poof of white dust pluming in the air. My hands wide on the bar, palms facing out, I folded my thumbs over my index and middle fingers, gripping the barbell on the knurled crosshatch pattern engraved into the metal.

  On my tiptoes, I removed the barbell from the rack. Balanced across my deltoids, one side dipped precariously and I sucked in, stiffening my shoulders and planting my feet, careful to place my left foot slightly behind my right. I slowly regained control of the massive load, locked my knees and waited for the referee’s signal, eyes trained forward.

  Raising his arm into the air, the ref lowered it, shouting, “Squat.”

  I descended, smoothly, slowly, my torso upright, my butt thrust out like I was about to sit in a chair. My muscles contracted, my quads burned, my hips and knees flexed, stopping my downward motion when my hips were lower than my knees.

  I hovered in the deep squat, my cheeks puffed out, and then sucked air through my teeth with a hiss before recovering the squat. But on the up, my legs trembled slightly, my upward motion almost stopping. I bellowed, shoving through the pain, and straightened my legs, locking my knees again, and held the position, my breathing labored.

  I looked to the head ref awaiting his okay to rack it. Feeling my legs begin to quiver again, I screwed up my face in concentration. Come on, ref. Call to rack.

  “Rack.”

  I took a backward step and the barbell began to slip from my grasp, still too far to make it. There were a few gasps from the crowd. I groaned and prepared for the inevitable, hoping I could get out from under it before it took me with it. As the bar slipped from my sweaty palms two sets of strong hands caught it from behind. Resuming my grip, I helped the two referees slip the barbell onto its bracket and sagged.

  “That was some squat, 320 pounds from the itty bitty young lady. I believe it actually beats the state record made last year by Veronica Padilla at the state finals.” The head ref smiled at me. “Impressive.”

  Smiling broadly, I laughed first, and then whooped, thrusting my arm into the air as I moved off the platform.

  Bridget pushed off the wall, her back straight, and moved to the barbell, a gleam of telltale sweat glistening on her brow. Her hand hovered over the metal collar. After a moment of hesitation, she dropped it. She stood in front of the barbell, her earlier self-assured cockiness a bit wilted, and slipped the loaded bar off the rack.

  Sinking under the weight, it looked like she was going to drop it right there, but she held on, planting her feet shoulder distance apart, her knees locked. She nodded to the ref and waited. She began to lower at the hollered “squat.”

  I held my breath as she descended, my hands folded in front of my lips in a silent prayer. She couldn’t do better than me, she just couldn’t.

  Her face red with exertion, she tried to lower, but ended up tipping backward, the spotters catching the bar. Shaking her arms and legs out, she stretched her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were pinched as she watched her coach approach, a pink water bottle in hand.

  She snatched the bottle, downed half the liquid and nodded her head. She rolled her eyes skyward and then she shook her head vigorously, thrusting the bottle back toward her coach. His voice hushed, I could discern only a few words. “… never lifted this much … wait … get her on the next one …”

  “If I can’t do it this time, I’ll go down to my normal weight.”

  He threw his hands into the air. And then bowed his head. “Try not to kill yourself.”

  What? What coach in their right mind would allow one of their athletes to talk to them like that? Or take such a risk?

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She flung her arms around his neck.

  Now it made sense, especially her excessively muscled physique. Daddy hadn’t gotten a boy, so he’d made his spoiled little princess into the Hulk.

  Her second attempt was far worse than her first. She stumbled back almost instantly, the unbalanced bar too much. It slipped from her
grasp, and almost in slow motion the bar fell, the spotters unable to catch it in time. The release of the weight propelled her forward. Sprawled on the floor, relieved of the bar, she slapped the ground before rising to her feet, splotches of red on her cheeks.

  Her dad-slash-coach was instantly at her side, but she pushed him away.

  Divesting the bar of almost fifty pounds, her final attempt was successful. Flipping her hair, she withdrew to the wall, arms crossed.

  I’d taken the round. My exultant mood popped like a bubble when I turned to face the bench, the barbell stretched forebodingly across it. I was strong, but I quavered as I drew near the bench. My best attempt so far had been 120. Was that going to be enough? I added another five pounds and hesitated.

  I pushed the jumble of emotions from my mind, angling under the etched metal bar, sliding my thumbs back and forth along the rough gnarled pattern, the motion soothing my rush of nerves. I released the bar, lowered my arms, and shook them to try to relieve some of my nerves.

  Cory had moved up to spot me. He leaned down, whispering in my ear, “No sweat, Ang. You can lift this.”

  I inhaled his scent, and briefly shut my eyes, his encouragement pleasing. And then I pushed his presence from my mind, knowing if I paid too much attention to him I’d lose my tenuous focus. I gave a quick nod. “Ready.”

  Accepting the 125 pound barbell from Cory’s ready hands, my fingers curled around the bar, white tape marking the acceptable spacing. My arms held straight, I forced out, “Got it.”

  As soon as Cory released the bar he backed off the platform so the ref had a clear view of my press. Bringing the bar down to my chest, I held my breath, staying motionless until the okay was given to lift.

  “Press.” The head ref’s voice came from somewhere above my head.

  A deep, guttural grunt escaped from the back of my throat, the bar slowly creeping skyward. Nearing the top, I paused, panting. Frustrated by my weakening, trembling muscles, I clenched my teeth, digging into both my mental and physical reserves. With a cry, I pushed with everything I had, the welcome sound of metal on metal ringing sweetly in my ears. Relieved of the weight, my arms shook like the red gelatin squares from JJ’s lunch the other day.