Sweet Sixteen

by Brenda Rothert

  We’re here, though. Still standing. Finding a way through this new normal at Roper High School.

  There have been parent-teacher meetings, teacher-student meetings, school administration-teacher meetings and parent-student-teacher-administration meetings since I was attacked. We’ve all talked openly about the Sweet Sixteen, and it’s been made clear that anyone who does anything like that again will be expelled.

  There was a lot of pressure on both sides. A regional women’s advocacy group wanted every football player investigated and charged with assault if they’d taken part. The football-program-loving good-old-boy network pushed for a clean slate, fresh start approach. No one gets charged for anything that happened in the past, but moving forward, they will be.

  Except for Jack. The prosecutor charged him with sexual assault, and no one objected to that.

  Eventually, we all accepted the second proposal. I didn’t want to see Chase’s future ruined over it, because he’s been beside me in every way since Jack attacked me. And I’m starting to realize the problems at our school didn’t come so much from individuals, but from a culture that worshiped football and thought that consent was a black-and-white, yes-or-no issue.

  Chase and I have been spending as much time together as we can. He helped me finish painting and building the play set, and he comes home with me for dinner most nights.

  On Saturdays, we binge-watch shows on Netflix and cook. Chase decided that should be my mom’s day off from cooking, so we come up with something each week to cook for her. Ever my mother, she asks me for a list midweek and has the groceries delivered for us.

  We’ve gotten comfortable with each other. Confessed truths. Listened. In a very short time, Chase has become my best friend.

  I’m moving Ellie’s bedroom wall into place for play rehearsal four days before opening night when suddenly, it gets lighter. I turn and see Chase grinning at me, now doing most of the work.

  “Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear as we set it down. “Don’t you have practice?”

  He grins. “I’m on my way.”

  The football team has won the past three games. The Mercer loss was part of the rock-bottom moment we all seemed to experience together.

  The ground was pulled out from under Roper after the attack. The football program this town takes so much pride in was exposed to be imperfect. The players, human. Some of them, flawed. Others, embarrassments.

  And the worst part, in the eyes of many proud former players for the team? The loss. They’re still breaking down the Mercer game in coffee shops all over town.

  There’s no hope for some of those guys, like Chase’s father. But I think we can help the younger guys learn a new way. Maybe not all of them, but some, at least.

  In a twist of irony, or more likely karma, Jack is now the one under attack at school. People call him “Jack the Raper.” It pisses me off that some people see everything as a game—every decision a weighing of two things to see which one is more popular. Before, the Sweet Sixteen was cool. But the tables have turned, so now lots of people say they never thought it was a good idea.

  “Where’s Madison?” Mr. Douglas calls out across the theater, his voice echoing through the space. “She was supposed to be on stage in her first costume almost fifteen minutes ago.”

  “You didn’t hear?” the lighting tech, Caroline, says. “She fell in gym class and messed up her ankle. She’s at the hospital.”

  Mr. Douglas puts his hands in his already-crazy hair and pulls. “What? The hospital? We open in four days!”

  Caroline shrugs. “Maybe she’s fine, I don’t know.”

  “Well, someone call her and find out.” He shakes his head and rubs his temple. “Okay, where’s Grace?”

  Madison’s understudy, a junior, looks up from the textbook she had her face buried in while sitting in front of the stage. “What? Me?”

  “Are you ready to take over for Madison if we need you? We’ll have to get all the costumes re-fitted.”

  Grace’s mouth drops open. “What? No! Like, the entire part? No, I just took the understudy thing so I’d have something for college applications.”

  Mr. Douglas grimaces. “Well, we’d better hope Madison’s okay, or else there’s no play.”

  Aiden, our Prince Charming, has a stunned expression that sums up everyone’s mood as the theater falls into silence. I’ve spent three hours a day building and painting this set since school started, and so have the other crew members.

  “She has a broken ankle,” Caroline announces.

  No one says a word. We all look at Mr. Douglas, who sighs heavily.

  “Guys, I’m so sorry, but I think we have to call it off.”

  “That’s not fair!” Evelyn, our fairy godmother, is on the verge of tears. “All because she flaked out?” She points at Grace.

  Mr. Douglas puts out his hands in a calming gesture. “Let’s not place blame. This is an unfortunate reality sometimes, because stuff happens. Maybe we can put on the play in the spring, but right now, we have no one who knows Ellie’s part and has two functioning legs.”

  “What about Gin?” Chase’s deep voice sounds across the theater.

  I turn to face him, shocked. “What?”

  “What?” Mr. Douglas echoes, his face scrunched in confusion.

  Everyone turns to Chase.

  “She knows all the lines,” he says. “She knows that part better than Madison. I hear her telling Madison the parts she misses all the time.”

  My face flushes at the suggestion.

  “Is that true, Gin? Do you know all the lines?”

  “I mean…I guess I do, but…you don’t want me. I’d be awful.”

  “Awful is better than no play,” Aiden says hopefully.

  “Better for you,” I say, laughing humorlessly. “I’m the one who’d be humiliated.” I shoot a death glare at Chase. “This is a terrible idea.”

  “You’d be great,” he says, still digging my hole.

  “Okay, no.” I put my hands up, shutting down the plan he’s hatching. “Ellie is a happy blonde, not a goth-looking, reclusive artist.”

  “But…can’t you lose the black hair color by Saturday night?” Mr. Douglas asks.

  “I don’t know the first thing about acting!”

  “I’ll run lines with you nonstop until we open,” Aiden offers. “Just do this, Gin. We’ve put so much work into this.”

  I scowl at Chase, who gives me an innocent look.

  “My mom’s a great seamstress,” he says. “If the costumes would need to be altered.”

  Mr. Douglas nods, looking at me. “We have every costume here except the one for the ball. Madison was planning to bring one of her prom dresses for that.”

  “Okay, then it’s not gonna work,” I say, starting to panic. “Because I don’t even have a prom dress, let alone multiple ones.”

  “I’ve got one you can borrow,” Grace offers.

  I turn to her and narrow my eyes; she gives me a sheepish smile.

  “It’s ultimately up to you, Gin,” Mr. Douglas says. “You’re our only hope at this point.”

  “Oh, great.” I roll my eyes and throw my hands in the air. “Put that under my name in the program. Gin Fielding—the only hope.”

  Aiden pumps his fist in the air. “She’s talking about the program, which means she’s saying yes!”

  The whole cast and crew cheer, and I cover my face, sneaking another glare at Chase, who’s cheering too, and also looking quite proud of himself.

  As if I haven’t been the talk of this school enough already this year, now I’m going to be known as the girl who fumbled her lines or tripped and fell off the stage with hundreds of people looking on.

  So much for my low-key senior year.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chase

  Anderson Clark looks like he might piss his pants before the game even starts. Our new starting wide receiver is a sophomore who didn’t expect to fill this role on the varsity te
am this season.

  “You good?” I ask him, patting his shoulder pad.

  He nods, but his eyes are wide with terror.

  “You got this,” I tell him. “Don’t let any one play reset your mood, okay? Good or bad. You catch the ball, you drop the ball, we score, we don’t—keep your head in the same place no matter what goes down.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “Yep. I don’t think about what I’ve done right or wrong till the game’s in the books. Keep your mind in the present at all times.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  There won’t be any more easy wins for our team this year, but I’ve never been prouder to be the captain. After an outcry from some parents, Jack was suspended from the team pending the outcome of his court case, and since the case won’t close out until the season is over, he’s done. When he was booted, Sam Stockwell quit in protest. He tried to come back to the team a few days later, but Coach Carter told him he couldn’t. The tide has turned on the Sweet Sixteen—no one wants to condone that shit anymore.

  Without two of our key players in place, we’ve had to buckle down hard to win the last three games. I respect my coach for not letting Sam back on even though he’s one of our best players and his coaching job is in jeopardy.

  It’s Roper, after all—the buzz about replacing him started after we lost one game.

  I’m not planning on losing any more, though. Tonight’s game will be extra sweet because my dad’s pissed as fuck right now in the stands.

  I left the locker room a few minutes ago to track him down and deliver some news right on the old Roper home field he won so many games on.

  “What’s up?” he asked as I approached.

  “Hey, just wanted to let you know I called the Penn State coach today and committed. He wants to have a photo op of me signing with them, and I told him it’ll be me, Mom, Cassie, and Alyssa.”

  He reared back as though I’d hit him. “You little shit. This is the thanks I get for all these years of busting my ass to make you into the player you are?”

  “I’m nothing like you. You’re a mean, washed-up drunk who beats on your wife ’cause you’re not man enough to take on someone who hits back.”

  I’d left him standing there in stunned silence, his surrounding buddies looking equally shocked.

  Fuck him. It was conversations with Gin that made me realize Penn State is right for me. I like the coach there best because he’s tough but respected. He was able to tell me exactly how he sees me fitting into his program. And I think, given the recent sexual abuse there, that I can offer insight into more than just football. Maybe help some guys learn from my mistakes.

  When I lead the team onto the field, I glance up into the stands and see my mom standing there in her well-worn “Roper Football Mom” sweatshirt, her expression bright and happy.

  I hope she’s proud of me for making my own choice about college, though I know she’ll be too scared to say so if she is.

  Right after kickoff, I’m totally engrossed in a play when I notice players looking over at the visiting team’s bleachers. I glance over and don’t see anything, but then I realize it’s not about what they’re doing, but what they’re saying.

  Roper Rapists. They’re chanting it.

  The sound of them making something so painful for our town, and especially for Gin, into a football game chant makes me see red. I suddenly don’t just want to win this game; I want to crush it.

  Anderson’s more ready than he thought. He catches every good pass I throw to him, and most of them are very good. My offensive line does its job, I do mine, and Anderson does his. We win the game 35-14.

  As soon as I walk out of the shower in the locker room, towel around my waist, Coach Carter approaches me.

  “Just heard the news. Penn State’s lucky to get you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Boys!” he calls out. “Everyone congratulate our quarterback, who’s gonna be signing with Penn State next week.”

  Most of the guys congratulate me. Clay Houser doesn’t say a damn word. He actually looks pissed, which is bullshit. We’ve been playing football together since we were little kids.

  “What, you don’t like Penn State?” I ask him as we’re both getting dressed.

  His jaw tenses. “I just don’t know how you managed to stay the golden boy. You were first with more of those girls than any of us. Always the MVP. And because you’ve got a hard-on for Gin Fielding, you’re out and you come out looking like a hero. The rest of us are the bad guys.”

  I shake my head and run a hand through my damp hair. “No one thinks I’m any different from the rest of you in what we did. And I do feel a lot of guilt for being the one to pass out those roses. For being the first one.”

  “Not too guilty to take a full ride and end up getting drafted.” He slams his locker door shut.

  “This isn’t about the Sweet Sixteen, man. You’re pissed Penn State still wants me, and no place wants you.”

  He turns and glares at me. “Watch it, Matthews.”

  “Quit being a dick, then.”

  He steps toward me, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’m pissed about it. You’ll move on and keep being the golden boy, while the rest of us stay here to be known as the Roper Fucking Rapists for the rest of our lives.”

  “No one’s making you stay,” I say with a shrug.

  “You ruined my senior year. You were supposed to be my brother, and you blew up this team.”

  Others are listening to us now, but I don’t care. I’ve thought about this a lot since Gin set things in motion, and I know he’s right. I’m more responsible than the rest of the guys. It’s more my fault than anyone’s that we dropped that game to Mercer. I owe apologies to a lot of people, but not the ones Clay thinks.

  “It needed blowing up, man,” I say, ending the conversation.

  There’s a party after the game at a freshman’s house, with music, bowls of snacks, and rows of canned soda. Kid’s trying too hard, but the effort’s nice.

  Coach was adamant with us that we’ll be kicked off the team for even being at a party with booze or sex, whether we’re taking part or not. Our team has a shattered reputation to rebuild.

  Ben Hart, the junior in a boot due to his foot injury, walks up to me as soon as I come into the kitchen to get a drink.

  “Hey, man, congrats on Penn State,” he says with a nervous smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “Someday I’ll be able to watch you playing on TV and say I knew you when.”

  I scoff at that. “I’ve got a long way to go.”

  “You’re gonna make it. I know you will.”

  “Thanks, man, I appreciate that. And if you want to come hang out with me next year, catch a game, you’re always welcome.”

  He grins. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  “Cool.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Cool, thanks.”

  “When you getting that boot off?”

  He looks down at it. “Hopefully in three weeks.”

  “So you won’t miss the whole season?”

  “No, I’ll be back to warming the bench soon.” He laughs awkwardly.

  “Never know when you’ll get your shot,” I tell him. “Someone else could get injured and open up a starting spot for you.”

  I think of Gin, who went to New York with her mom today to get her hair done and get a dress for the play. Her mom was so happy about her starring role that she insisted on a day off school to go to New York, make a quick stop by her publishing house, and get Gin ready for tomorrow.

  A girl comes up to us, and I duck out, giving Ben an opening. There’s only one girl I want to talk to anyway. I find a quiet spot in the backyard and text her.

  Me: Are you back? We won. This gorgeous girl once suggested I celebrate winning with pizza, want to meet me somewhere?

  Gin: We just got in half an hour ago. I’d love to, but I’ve been up since 4 am and I’m exhausted.

  Gin:
And gorgeous, you say? Will you still think she’s gorgeous if her hair is the color of an orange tabby cat?

  Me: I will. Seriously, you changed your hair color?

  Gin: Mr. Douglas wanted me to have my natural color.

  Me: Send me a pic.

  Gin: Ugh, not yet. I need more time to accept how closely I resemble The Little Mermaid now.

  Me: You want to watch our show and cook tomorrow?

  Gin: I do, but I’m running lines with the rest of the cast all day to help me get ready.

  Me: Are you still as nervous as you were yesterday?

  Gin: Worse. I threw up on the plane ride home.

  Me: You’ll be great.

  Gin: You’re still coming, right?

  Me: Are you kidding? I’ll be in the front row.

  Gin: Congrats on winning tonight. I’m still mad at you, though.

  Me: That’s okay, you’re cute when you’re mad.

  Gin: Goodnight, Chase.

  Me: Night. See you tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gin

  “What’s with the bucket?” Mr. Douglas asks me with a frown.

  “Oh.” I glance down at the blue plastic two-gallon pail I’m clutching the handle of, and then give him a sheepish smile. “You know, in case of vomiting.”

  “Vomiting? Are you that nervous?”

  I nod. “I’m beyond nervous. If you happen to have a sedative in your pocket, this would be a great time to give it to me.”

  “Gin. Listen to me. I’ve been watching you run these lines all day, and you’re…you’ve got this part locked up.” He looks from side to side. “If you’d auditioned for this part, I would have cast you.”

  “Really?” I pretty much squeak.

  “Absolutely. Just stay focused on your lines and pretend we’re rehearsing one more time in an empty theater. Forget about the audience.”

  Just the word “audience” makes my stomach roll with nausea. It would be one thing if I had to do this in front of a bunch of strangers, but my mom and Michael are out there watching. Chase. Raj and Lauren. If I humiliate myself, I’ll be doing it in front of everyone I know.