Mercy Rule

by Tom Leveen

  Me and Donte grin. Our stuff didn’t last the ride. Coach laughs. Says, “All right, get dressed out, we got a short day.”

  We start to go. Coach says, “Brady.”

  I stop. Donte keeps walking. Coach has this voice that he can use. We all know what it means: sit down and shut up.

  I sit across from him.

  “You wanna tell me what you did to your hands, chief?”

  Shit. He didn’t say anything before we left to get the coffee. Thought he hadn’t noticed. Or didn’t worry about it.

  “Accident,” I say.

  “Oh,” Coach says. “All right. You know anything about what happened to the lockers? Looks like they’ve been beat to hell.”

  I stare at my bandages.

  “Look a man in the eye, son.”

  I lift my chin. Look him in the eye.

  “Anything I need to know?”

  “Naw,” I say. Then I say, “No, sir.”

  “We got a hard game coming up. Can I put you in?”

  I flex my hands. They ache, but not bad. I make tight fists.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. Get dressed out.”

  I stand up.

  “Hey, you got my card?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I reach for my back pocket and pull it out. The gold plastic shimmers under the fluorescents.

  Coach waves a hand. “Hang on to it for me.”

  I stand there.

  “It automatically reloads when there’s less than ten bucks on it,” Coach says. He shuffles through some papers on his desk. “You can just, you know … use it for whatever. Give it back to me at the end of the year. When you graduate.”

  I clench my teeth hard enough to bust a football between them.

  Charity. It’s charity. Coach knows it. I know it. I bet everyone knows it.

  No. Wait. Coach don’t go around talking about his players. Not to anyone. My secrets are still safe. Except for Donte. But Donte’s not talking. No way.

  Just take it, I tell myself. Don’t tie up your panties. Just take it.

  “Cool,” I say to Coach. Coach only nods. Guess we have an understanding.

  “One more thing,” Coach says when I reach the doorway. “I want you to come over for dinner next week. Week from Thursday. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “All right. We’ll see you then. Now get the hell out of here, we gotta practice.”

  I get the hell outta there. Stow the card in my locker for after practice. I’ll need it.

  CADENCE

  At the end of detention, which is in this glass-walled room inside of the library that everyone calls the Fishbowl, I say goodbye to the leather-jacketed guys and one tattooed girl who spent the hour with me. Fascinating people. I’d like to talk to them someday, because we couldn’t talk in detention, of course. I bet they have interesting life stories. The girl had the Serenity Prayer from AA tattooed on the back of her left calf. I recognized it because Dad still goes once a week.

  I walk into the hallway, and there’s Danny, sitting across the hall with his knees up and arms crossed. He reminds me of a little boy because of the expression on his face. Sort of pouty but stubborn.

  Seeing Danny makes me stop dead. I’m not sure I want to talk to him right now. But then someone bangs into me from behind.

  Whoever it is says, “Watch it!”

  “Sorry,” I say, automatically, and take a step to one side.

  That should be the end of it. It’s not. Sad face.

  THE Brianna Montaro is alone this time, so that’s something. At least she doesn’t have her pack of hyenas with her. But she cruises past me, looking at me over her shoulder like I just curb stomped a koala bear.

  “Look out, bitch,” she says as she goes.

  I don’t bother replying. I’m more interested in what Danny wants.

  Danny, on the other hand, watches Brianna for just a second, then leaps to his feet.

  “Hey, uh— Brianna. Right?”

  She stops. Studies him. “What.”

  Danny holds up his hands, as if to show he’s not carrying any weapons. He smiles. Smiles! It’s as I’m processing that fact that it dawns on me he’s not smiling for real. He’s disarming her, setting her up. Uh-oh.

  “Hi, sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, I just noticed you had something in your teeth, is all. I thought you should know.”

  Naturally, Brianna runs her tongue over her teeth in that way any person would when someone tells them they have something in their teeth.

  “Did I get it?” she asks after a second.

  Danny frowns in a friendly way. “No, not quite … it looks like a …” He points, gingerly, toward her face. “Like a … little … sperm stuck in there. A little quarterback sperm, maybe.”

  It takes THE Brianna Montaro a second for Danny’s insult to sink in. I’d laugh myself except it really is pretty crude.

  “You’re an asshole!” she shouts.

  The game is on. Danny’s usual, narrow-eyed glare comes back full force.

  “Then you must want to lick me,” Danny says. “That’s what you ladies do to them, isn’t it? Lick their assholes?”

  Her jaw falls open with almost audible snap. “Oh my God!”

  “Ah,” Danny says. “A popular refrain of yours. Right up there with ‘don’t stop’ and ‘oh baby.’ Yes? No? Am I in the ballpark?”

  He is really enjoying himself, and part of me is sort of happy because he’s doing it to defend me, just like Johnny or Dad would. But another part of me feels like telling Danny to stop.

  Brianna’s face turns red. “Fuck you!”

  “That’s the other one I was thinking of,” Danny replies, snapping his fingers once. “Also? Fuck you? Not on a bet. I wouldn’t touch you, you giant walking herpie.”

  Danny wins. Brianna gasps, and her whole body stiffens up. She walks away like she’s on stilts. I wonder if she’ll cry, and if she did, if I should feel good or bad about it.

  But then Brianna stops and turns to face Danny again. I am entirely forgotten.

  “No wonder your family hates you,” she says.

  Danny’s tough-guy, smart-ass face drops, his eyes going to half-lid. Honestly, there’s a second there where I am positive he’s going to run over and clock her right in the face.

  Brianna sees she’s won, and spins around to make a quick exit before Danny can come up with anything else to say.

  When she’s turned a corner, I walk cautiously up to Danny. I approach from an angle in front of him so he won’t be startled, and I don’t stand too close, just close enough to make sure he knows I’m here. We stand there, facing the direction Brianna went.

  “That was kinda brutal of you,” I say.

  “Thanks.” He says it without opening his mouth, somehow.

  “It wasn’t a compliment. But still, thank you. She knows your family?”

  Danny doesn’t answer right away.

  “My sister goes here,” he says finally, his lips barely moving. “She has balls.”

  “Which kind? The sports kind or the boy kind?”

  Like a sheet being whipped off a new work of art, Danny’s face relaxes.

  “Both, most likely,” he says. “Nah, she’s a meathead Athleader, that’s all. Softball and volleyball. She’s kind of a C-word.”

  I don’t know whether to believe his sudden mood change. “What’s a C-word?”

  Danny eyes me. “Carnivore. She eats meat.”

  I can tell by his eyes that I’m missing something, but man, I am just not smart enough to figure out what it is. So I let it go.

  “What were you doing out here?” I ask him, readjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  “To … tell you … that …”

  I hold up a hand. “Wait. Don’t even say it. You were going to say ‘I’m sorry,’ right? For all that crap in Pete’s car about my unicorns and glitter?”

  “That had
been my plan.”

  “Well, don’t. I have a better idea. Stop needing to say it. Okay?”

  “… Okay.”

  “Cool.” Without thinking, I give him a quick hug. “Thank you for defending me.”

  I can feel him wanting to hold me closer, tighter, but resisting. Maybe I shouldn’t have hugged him. But he stood up for me. There’s a good guy in there, somewhere.

  VIVI

  I’ve lost track of time. All I know is I’m sweating and a little breathless, sitting behind the wheel of my new car with Sam all splotchy faced beside me.

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been kissed like that before. It started simply enough, just him moving in and me responding with a quick peck.

  But that quick one … I don’t know if I really felt a static shock, maybe from the new upholstery or something, but there was definitely something electrical. I don’t remember a lot after that. But my lips are tingling and parts of me are on fire.

  Sam at last clears this throat and adjusts his clothing, sitting up straight.

  “For the record,” he says, and his usually lawyerlike voice cracks just a little. “Any time you want to do that, and I do mean any time, feel free.”

  “Sounds good,” I manage to say.

  We both blow out breaths at the same time, which makes us laugh again. Not quite as big as before, but it doesn’t matter. We’re feeling good.

  And now that we’re feeling good … I can tell him more. It’s as if our kissing opened a vault.

  “You asked about my mom.”

  Sam sits up even more. “I did.”

  “The answer is yes. I’m such a bitch, but yes, she embarrasses me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make a moral call on it. I was just curious.”

  “No, but it’s true with Dad, too. Differently. But still. He embarrasses the hell out of me.”

  I turn toward Sam, now that I’m mostly sure I won’t attack his face with mine again.

  “It’s like, he sold out and ran off from everything that defined us. Traditions. History. Made us come up here so we could be like …”

  Sam either grins or grimaces. “You can say it.”

  “No I can’t,” I say. “But you know what I mean.”

  “People like me?”

  “People like her.”

  “Brianna.”

  “Yeah. So that’s embarrassing.” I sigh. “But look at this car. It’s awesome. And I love it. I love that it’s quiet here. I love that I could sit outside at night without counting the cars across the street swinging by for drugs. Some traditions and histories should be left behind.”

  “Definitely.”

  “So knowing where Mom works now, and the fact that she left, which you’re just not supposed to do, ever … God, Sam, part of me wants to drive this car to her car wash and watch her detail it, and be like, ‘See what you missed?’ What kind of shitty person am I?”

  “You’re not. She bailed, you’re pissed. You should be. That’s normal.”

  “Then why do I feel so terrible?”

  “Because it’s a terrible situation. But I don’t see that you did anything wrong here. For what it’s worth.”

  It’s worth the world. I can’t quite make myself say it out loud, but I hope Sam understands.

  “And as far as Brianna goes,” Sam adds, “she’s just … well, she’s a lot of things. Driven is the biggest thing. Ambitious. That’s mostly her mom and dad, though. She’s got to be first at everything. The whole family’s like that. She pushes herself really hard. I kind of respect that part—”

  I glare.

  “— but only as far as it goes,” Sam says. “I’m driven, too. But I also understand the value of a good cup of coffee during sixth hour every once in a while.”

  I think I’m in love. But that’s something else I’m not about to say. “Do you still think about her?”

  “Not really. I feel bad for her sometimes, maybe. Her parents are kind of on the harsh side, to say the least. They made us break up.”

  “So you didn’t want to.”

  “Well, no. Not at the time. But, Viv, it was last year. And when she broke up with me, she didn’t just end it. She cranked the bitch up to eleven. I don’t miss her, and I don’t think about her. I think a whole lot about you, though.”

  That’ll do. “You want a ride home?”

  “Sure. Can we do that whole kissing thing again soon?”

  I don’t say anything. But I think the heat emanating from my face is all the answer he needs.

  DREA

  Kelly and I leave play rehearsal together and go to Kelly’s old pickup truck. She drives me home, which is sort of our tradition now.

  When Kelly pulls up in front of my house, she puts the truck in park and says, “Listen, do me a favor, huh?”

  This is new. “Um— okay.”

  “Don’t cut yourself today, all right?”

  My stomach shrivels up. She hasn’t brought it up recently.

  “I’m not trying to make a thing out of it,” Kelly says. “Just, you know. Give it a day. Don’t do it again today or tonight. Can you go that long?”

  “I guess,” I say. No one’s ever asked me to stop cutting. But then, no one knows I do it, either.

  “That would be cool,” Kelly says. “Thanks.”

  “Um … sure,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

  “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt,” Kelly says. It feels weird, so I open my door and hop out. I don’t want her to be my mom.

  “I get it,” I tell her. “I won’t. All right?”

  Kelly nods quickly, like she can tell I’m not super comfortable. I say goodbye and head for the front door as Kelly drives away.

  “I’m home,” I say, standing just inside the doorway.

  Silence.

  Without consciously deciding to do it, I scream into the depths of the house.

  “I’m home!”

  The word “home” ricochets through halls and rooms like a rifle shot, you know? Pinging off doors and ceilings. The effort forces my eyes closed, and the clenching of my stomach half bends me over.

  Silence.

  I rub my neck. My vocal cords must be hanging like raw strips of meat at the back of my throat.

  I go to my room, turn on some music, find a paperclip, and hold it in both hands for a very long time. Wondering: If I do it, will Kelly find out?

  Before I can, I hear someone coming through the front door. It is either an ax murderer or Dad, because Mom always shouts “Hello” — though not quite as loud as I just did. My throat still hurts.

  I get up and go to the kitchen, where Dad is getting himself a Coke. His short brown hair shows natural highlights in the fridge light.

  “Hey, Sweet,” he says, not looking at me.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Do you care?”

  Dad pauses, sips, and— still not looking— says, “Dunno that either. Why?”

  “No reason. Just have some— choices to make.”

  Finally he looks at me, and smiles a little. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  I tug the cuffs of my sleeves down past my wrists.

  “Nothing.”

  CADENCE

  I meet the boys Friday night at Fifty-Third and Third. We get coffee to go from Jamaican Blue, then Pete drives us to a middle school he used to go to. We sit in the dark in the middle of the soccer field, because in the city this is one of the only places where you can hide in plain sight, as long as the sun is not up.

  “Definition of a stoner,” Pete says, carefully packing his bowl. “One who or that which stones.”

  “Sure you don’t want to try it?” Danny asks me.

  “I’m sure. You both look ridiculous.”

  Pete glares at me. “You can totally not be here if you want.”

  “I know.”

  “If you’re staying here, can you at least not talk shit about us?” Pete says.


  “I’m not. I’m being honest. Your clothes are going to reek, you’ll laugh for a little while, like no one on earth has ever laughed before without having drugs in their body, and then you’ll be hungry. Then there’s those bong zits you get on your cheeks. Where’s the fun part?”

  “You just described it,” Pete says, and laughs.

  “I can laugh and munch out without getting high first,” I say. “Zits, too. Those just show up regardless.”

  “That,” Pete says, “is your loss.” He lights the bowl and inhales deeply. He immediately coughs like his lungs are going to burst.

  “Yep,” I say. “That sure does look like fun. Boy, howdy.”

  Pete tries mightily to say something, and I can tell he’s pissed, but he can’t stop coughing. That makes me laugh.

  “Are you all right?” I say after a full minute of this. “Can you breathe?”

  Pete keeps gagging, but he nods. He passes the bong, which is made out of a Mrs. Butterworth’s bottle, over to Danny. Danny glances at me with narrow eyes while Pete starts clearing his throat and gesturing like he wants to say something but can’t. “Go ahead,” he finally rasps.

  Danny keeps his eyes on me for a second longer, and I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “You heard him,” I say. “Have ‘fun.’”

  Danny inhales from the bottle. He doesn’t fare much better than Pete. But then Pete takes the bottle back and smokes again. And coughs again.

  Boys are hopeless. I suppose I could have stayed home and read, but it’s Friday. All of my girls are incommunicado still, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe we’ve just been apart too long now. Maybe Danny and Pete are my new best friends. It sort of feels that way.

  Ten minutes later, the boys are on their backs in the grass, and Pete is giggling stupidly. If I wasn’t worried about them getting home safe, I would have taken Pete’s suggestion and just left, I swear. They are plotting ways to humiliate the many people they don’t like at school.

  “What’s that— what’s that one kid’s name?” Pete says, still giggling.

  “Oh yeah, that one,” Danny says. This reply is, apparently, comedic gold. It sets them both off laughing. This kind of smiling doesn’t count, I decide.

  “The— the football player, what’s his name?”

  “There’s eight hundred of them,” I say. “Which one?”