Playing The Game

by Jeff Shelby

  But I wasn't sure I was going to go find her. I knew that I'd gone with her mainly because I was pissed at Amy. If Cam had approached me and I knew Amy was coming back, I would've blown Cam off. I knew I would've. I'd wanted Amy. Cam had been a clear second choice and I felt a little guilty about that and I wasn't sure where she stood. Were we together? Was it just a one-night thing? I wasn't sure what it was and I wasn't sure what she wanted it to be, either. And I was sort of glad I didn't have a phone and had a good excuse for not talking to her over the weekend.

  “Don't worry, man,” Ken said, thwacking my knee with the back of his hand. “There'll be more parties. You'll get her soon.”

  “I'm thinking we go dry this season,” Derek said, circling the ball around his waist. “So maybe no parties.”

  “Oh, fuck that,” Ken said, making a face.

  “What's that mean?” I asked, leaning against the bleacher and stretching my back. “Dry?”

  “No alcohol,” Ty said, his long legs out in front of him in a V-shape, his hands on his knees. “Toe the line and behave ourselves for a change.”

  “Fuck that,” Ken said again.

  “I'm serious,” Derek said, hugging the ball to his stomach now. “We've got a chance to do it this year. I don't wanna fuck it up.” Then he smiled and looked at Ty. “And the important shit was taken care of after last night.”

  Ty chuckled, held his hand up, and Derek slapped it. Hard.

  “Captain's fucking choice,” Ty said, nodding. “Complete.”

  Ken shook his head and pushed himself off the floor.

  “The what?” I asked.

  Derek stared at me for a long moment, and then his smile grew. “You'll find out next year, dude, when you're a captain. Don't worry about it.”

  I didn't like the way he looked at me or the way he said what he said. But maybe I was still pissed off about the Amy thing. In fact, I knew I was. I needed to get over it and let it go.

  “I agree,” Ty said, standing up and stretching his arms out over his head. “No alcohol. Let's not fuck this up.”

  I grabbed a ball from the rack. “Fuck what up?”

  “League,” Ty said. “We can actually win league this year.” He made a face. “Because we haven't won league in six years. And now we have you.”

  I traced the seams of the ball with my fingertips. “What do I have to do with anything?”

  Ty looked at Derek.

  Derek spun the ball slowly in his hands, his eyes on me. “Because the four of us? Me, Ken, Ty and Blake? We're seniors, and we don't wanna go out of here without winning league one time. And you're the missing piece.” He halted the ball and pointed a finger at me. “You'll get another shot next year because you're a junior. But this is it for us.” He smiled. “So don't fuck it up.”

  I watched them all saunter out onto the floor but I hung back, realization sinking in.

  I wasn't their friend. I was their ticket. Or maybe I was sort of their friend. I didn't know. But I did know one thing. What they saw in me was a way to winning games and bigger parties and more girls and some huge-ass trophy to lock away in a case and who knew what else.

  They just needed me to deliver, in the same way my dad wanted me to deliver.

  No pressure.

  THIRTEEN

  “Cameron Whitfield?” Jake said when I sat down in history. He raised his eyebrows and they almost disappeared under the hood of his sweatshirt. “There's no way you won't become a dick now.”

  Either everyone saw Cameron and me together at Ty's party or someone had told everyone over the weekend because it was rippling through the halls like a virus. I hadn't seen her yet and I'd exhaled when she wasn't standing by my locker when I got to school.

  Which was kind of weird. I mean, I'd made out with a super hot girl. I should've been itching to see her again, to see if the spark was still there or to see if we needed alcohol to ignite. But I'd consciously not gone looking for her. Maybe I was afraid she wasn't gonna remember who I was. Or maybe I was still thinking about Amy and a little pissed at myself for having messed around with Cam when I’d really wanted to be with someone else.

  I dropped my backpack to the ground. “Gimme a break.”

  He looked around and lowered his voice. “I heard her tits are fake. Confirm or deny?”

  “Neither.”

  The eyebrows almost disappeared again. “She doesn't have tits? Those are what, rolled up socks under her shirts every day? Oranges stuffed into her bra? 'Cuz that would be super uncomfortable.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Leave it, dude.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “This is problematic for me.”

  “What is?”

  “You not talking about hooking up with one of the hottest chicks in school.”

  “Why is me not talking a problem for you?” I pulled my history book from my backpack. “You like her or something?”

  “No,” he said, his pencil skittering across his open notebook as he drew. “The problem is that if you were turning into a dick, you'd tell me exactly what happened. But you're being all chivalrous and shit and keeping the details to yourself. Which means I might be wrong about you. I'm so confused.”

  I ignored him and glanced at the desk behind his. It was empty. “Amy's not here?”

  He half-twisted in his seat, then shrugged. “Haven't seen her.”

  I was almost relieved that she wasn't there. I couldn't shake the fact that I felt like she'd played me. Used me, maybe. Or maybe she'd just been drunk and overly friendly with me. But it absolutely sucked that the first girl I'd really liked at this new school had kicked me squarely in the nuts and gone and hooked up with my teammate. Maybe there was some unfinished business between them, but it still bothered the crap out of me that it happened.

  “Heard she was pretty trashed at Ty's house on Saturday night,” Jake said, the pencil still moving in his notebook. “You see her?”

  “I saw her,” I said, slumping into my desk. “I don't know if she was or not.”

  She’d seemed friendly, animated. Not drunk. Yet.

  “You talk to her?”

  I hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “Gotta be honest, dude.” He chuckled. “I kinda thought you were into her.”

  I shifted in the desk. “Why?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Because I've seen you sneaking looks at her. Because even though she was kind of a bitch the other day, I thought you liked having her attention. Because you didn't care when I left and you two kept walking that same day. And because even though she can come off like a bitch, she's actually kinda cool.” He grinned at me. “That kinda stuff.”

  I tapped my fingers on the desktop, watching other students roll into the room. “What do you know about her and Derek?”

  “Her and King Dick?” He shrugged again. “I know they were together for a couple months last year. Apparently because she lost all common sense for a while or something. Because, man.” He shook his head. “She's not stupid. She's fucking smart. And obviously hot.” He grinned again. “Which, uh, were two more reasons I thought you were digging her.”

  I made a face.

  “But they were done by Christmas, I think,” Jake said. “Supposedly he bailed her, but I always thought that sounded like bullshit. She never said, but I got the feeling she ended it and didn't care that he took the low road, you know?”

  That didn't make me feel much better. “Right.”

  “Somebody said something this morning about them hooking up Friday night,” he said. “You see that?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “No.”

  His face screwed up like he tasted something rotten. “Hard to believe she'd go for a swim a second time in that cesspool. And I know you're playing ball with him now, but I don't care. That guy is just...” He shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong about her. Maybe she's just like everybody else and just wants to be queen around here.”

  The final bell rang and everyone s
ettled into their seats. Amy's desk was still empty.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  FOURTEEN

  “You nervous?” Cameron asked.

  We were sitting in the cafeteria at lunch. I got there before everyone else and sat down in my new normal spot. She joined me about thirty seconds later. Jake passed us with a tray, lifting his chin and not bothering to hide a smile.

  “I'm always nervous,” I said, pushing the lukewarm French fries around on my tray. The school lunches were still no better than the peanut butter sandwiches I'd been bringing.

  “Why?”

  “Just am.”

  “Hmm,” she said, sticking her fork into a salad she'd brought from home. “I wouldn't think you would be.”

  “You haven't seen me play.”

  “But I've heard about you,” she said, smiling. “How good you are.”

  I shrugged. “Anything can happen in a game.”

  “You'll be fine,” she said.

  It was the first time I'd seen her since Friday night. She still looked great. The blond hair pulled back perfectly, makeup expertly applied, a red sweater pulled over a gray T-shirt, snug in all the right places, tight jeans, sandals with perfectly painted toes.

  “You made it home okay Friday?” she asked. “On your bike?”

  “How'd you know I rode a bike?”

  She narrowed her eyes and smiled. “Nothing gets past me, Mr. Mickelson.”

  I laughed and grabbed a couple of fries. “Yeah, I made it home fine. You?”

  She stabbed a cherry tomato. “Yeah. Sorry I had to go. My curfew was one and my parents get crazy mad if I burn it. My parents are decently cool, but curfew is one of those things they make into a big deal.” She popped the tomato in her mouth and pointed the fork at me. “But I would've given you a ride home.”

  “I was fine,” I said. “I don't mind riding. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to be late.”

  “Why don't you have a car?”

  I bit off a piece of the burger. It tasted like anything but beef. “Because I don't have a car.”

  She laughed. “Good reason. And I didn't have your number so I couldn't text you over the weekend.” She smiled again. “I wanted to. I would have.”

  I grabbed my glass of water. “It would've been impossible to text me since I don't have a phone, either.”

  Her chin dropped and she studied me for a long second. “You don't have a phone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don't,” I said, not feeling the need to reveal the level of near-poverty my dad and I were living in.

  “That's just crazy,” she said, her eyes huge. “How do you...anything?”

  I laughed. “Can't miss what you haven't had, I guess.”

  She shook her head, still disbelieving. “Wow. I guess. I can't remember not having a phone.”

  I shrugged.

  “I guess we'll have to figure out some other way to communicate then,” she said. “Smoke signals, maybe.”

  “Some tin cans and string.”

  “Walkie-talkies,” she said. “Think my dad has some in the garage.”

  “Those might work.”

  She smiled. “So I can assume that maybe we'll continue communicating?”

  I hesitated for just a second. “For sure.”

  She smiled again. She was being pretty cool and guilt poked at my gut because I didn't feel as into her as she wanted me to be.

  “Uh-oh,” Ken Blanton said, crashing down onto the bench next to me. “Looks like we've got a new item on the menu.”

  I rolled my eyes, but Cameron laughed. Derek and Ty sat down next to Cameron. Blake slid in next to Ken.

  “We intruding?” Ty asked, grinning.

  “Yes,” Cameron said, but she didn't really sound like she minded.

  Derek set his tray down. “Don't mind us. Just keep on...keeping on.”

  Cam laughed and I just shook my head, forcing myself to take another bite of my hamburger.

  “You coming tonight, Cam?” Ken asked, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

  “Of course,” she said. “I'd assume, like, everyone is.”

  “Hope so,” Ken said. “Need that place to be rockin.'”

  “Rest of your weekend was good, Mickelson?” Derek asked, lifting his chin. “I mean, I know Friday night was good because Cam's still talking to you.”

  They all laughed. I did, too, but I wasn't sure why.

  “Yeah, was fine,” I said, shrugging. “Low key after practice. Nothing special.”

  “You two hang out?” he asked, looking from me to Cam.

  “I wanted to, but it seems Brady doesn't own a phone,” Cam said, shaking her head again.

  Derek looked at me like I was crazy. “What?”

  I just nodded. I was a little irritated that she just blurted it out like that.

  “Dude, that blows,” Ty said, tearing into one of the hamburgers on his tray.

  “Why don't you have a phone?” Derek asked.

  “Just don't.”

  Ken snorted. “That does blow, dude. Because an awful lot of good shit can show up on your phone.”

  Ty covered the lower half of his face with his hand so the food wouldn't erupt from his mouth as he laughed. Blake frowned. Cam looked down at her salad.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like nothing,” Derek said, shooting a look at Ken, then cutting his eyes back to me. “You ready for tonight?”

  Ty was still laughing and Cameron was still studying her salad.

  “Yeah, I'm ready,” I said, still not understanding what I was missing.

  “Good,” Derek said, nodding. “Tonight sets the tone. Gotta be ready for anything and gotta handle whatever they throw at us.”

  We sat there for a while longer and I finished my lunch, listening to them chatter on about the game and their classes and other shit I didn't care about.

  I was still wondering what I was missing.

  FIFTEEN

  The locker room is a weird place.

  It's supposed to be a place to focus, to prepare, to think about how you're going to play. You isolate yourself from the world with the guys you're going to battle with in order to come out fighting, united as one. No one else is allowed in. It's sacred. You earn the right to get into the locker room.

  It's also the place where guys morph into Neanderthals.

  Ken was in nothing but a pair of compression shorts and he lifted his leg. “Hey, Trucott. Here you go.” He then managed to rip off one of the longest, loudest gas explosions I'd ever heard.

  Some of the guys whooped and hollered. Blake just shook his head at him.

  “You're such a dick,” he said.

  Ken leered at him. His forehead had exploded again, his skin mottled like cottage cheese. He grabbed his package. “I'll show you a dick.”

  “Knock it off,” Derek said, his voice sharp. “Let's get ready.”

  The chatter died down. I pulled open the metal door of my locker. The red and white uniform hung on the hook and I stared at it for a minute. The white was pristine, like a fresh blanket of snow on top of the Rockies, the red stark in contrast. I'd asked for and gotten number ten. I'd worn it since the fifth grade and, even though I would never admit it out loud, I was superstitious. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if I hadn't gotten it, but seeing it in the locker made it feel familiar, like I'd been here before and had stepped into this exact uniform and had played a league game in the gym at this school. And I needed that.

  I slipped the jersey on over my head, then pulled on the shorts. They smelled like dryer sheets, the kind my mom used to use, and I wondered who had taken the uniforms to be washed. We didn't have a manager and I couldn't see Coach Raymond bent over a washer or tossing a dryer sheet in with the clothes.

  I tucked the jersey into the waistband of the shorts and tied the drawstrings tight. I sat down on the wooden bench and put on the first pair of socks, then the second pair over the
first pair. I pulled them up so they stopped just below my calf. I slipped my feet into the new shoes, then laced them up. I stood and bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, my stomach knotting like the laces in my shoes.

  “Be right back,” I said to Derek.

  He was messing with the tape on his fingers and nodded.

  I found a stall outside of the locker room, kicked the door open with my foot, braced myself against the metal walls of the stall and vomited up everything I'd eaten that day. I heaved a couple more times, my retching echoing off the walls of the restroom, then stood up. I lifted up my knee and kicked the lever on the toilet, flushing away my nerves and the remains of my breakfast and lunch. I washed my face in the sink with ice-cold water, rinsed out my mouth and washed my hands, then went back to the locker room.

  Ty smiled at me as he lifted his knee and wrapped his arms around it. “We got a puker, fellas.”

  A few hoots and hollers followed, along with a few very accurate retching sounds. I tried to smile and just nodded my head.

  Derek stood, made a fist, and tapped me in the middle of the chest with it. “Long as you throw down out there, you can throw up all you want, dude.” He looked around the room. “We ready?”

  A raucous roar answered him.

  On cue, Coach Raymond walked into the locker room. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and a red tie. It was a far cry from the sweat suit I was used to seeing him in, and he almost looked like a coach.

  But then he opened his mouth and ruined the entire thing.

  “Men, it's a long season,” he said, looking around the room, giving each of us a serious stare. “We can't win a championship tonight. But we can get one step closer. It's on you. Each of you. Play your asses off.”