Playing The Game

by Jeff Shelby

  I shrugged and turned back to Jake. “I don't care. Finish what you were saying about Tessa.”

  Jake moved his gaze back to me. “Right. The thing I heard was that she went to a party on that weekend after the last time she came to school. And that she hooked up with two guys. Reed Spelling and Ben Tollinger.” He paused. “They were the captains of last year's basketball team.”

  I set my fork down.

  “And this guy who was in my P.E. class last year tells me that she was part of this thing called captains choice,” Jake said. “Where the captains all hook up with the same chick.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. And here's the crazy part.” He leaned over the table. “Nearly everyone said she wanted to do it. That it was like a badge of honor or some shit like that. But her parents freaked out. They found out over the weekend and packed her shit up and sent her off to some other school. No clue where.”

  The little bit of mac and cheese I'd ingested was threatening to come back up. “You're saying this girl wanted to do that? With the captains?”

  Jake nodded. “Yeah and a couple people told me other girls were pissed that she got chosen and they didn't. And it's apparently been going on for a while. Not sure how long. It's like one of those underground clubs you hear about and think are totally fake until you see proof.” He paused. “So when you said that, about it being those three, it rang a bell. I remembered all that crap from last year. It was, like, proof.”

  I thought for a second. “But you're saying this Tessa girl and whoever else from before, they wanted to be picked.”

  “Yeah, like there was a sign-up sheet or something,” he said, shaking his head. “Crazy.”

  I stared down at the yellowish crap on my tray. Either I'd been living in some sort of bubble or I was the most naïve teenager walking the planet. Captains’ choice? Signing up to have group sex? What the hell?

  I looked over at Jake. “Here's what I don't get, though. Amy. She doesn't seem very happy with the...whatever you wanna call it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

  “I don't think she's acting like she signed up for it and is now just pissed off,” I said. “If what you're saying is true, girls would be flaunting that, as weird as that shit is.” I paused. “Amy seems really screwed up.”

  “The clothes, the not talking,” Jake said, still nodding. “Totally agree. It's not her. At all.”

  I twisted around. Derek was laughing with Ken about something. Ty and Blake were eating. Cam was looking at me, that confused expression still on her face. A momentary pang of guilt hit me but I wasn't going over to that table. I wanted to talk to her, but I wasn't going over there.

  I turned back around. “So maybe this year, the captains choice didn't want to be chosen.”

  Jake shook his head. “Jesus. Dude, that's fucked up.”

  I scanned the lunchroom. The tables were filled with different cliques and groups, some louder than others, some more engaged in lunch than others. I finally found Amy in the back corner, next to a bunch of kids dressed in black T-shirts. But she wasn't with them. She was alone, her elbow resting on the table. A tray of food sat untouched in front of her. It was like her entire body was filled with something that made it hard for her to move.

  You were the only reason I stayed.

  Her words echoed in my head. I'd just assumed she'd forgotten about me or, based on what Derek had told me, worse. Now I wasn't sure what had happened, but none of it seemed good.

  The loudspeaker crackled overhead, asking for our attention. About half of the room went silent; the other half went on talking and eating. An overly cheerful voice told us that it was time to announce the nominees for the Winter Ball.

  “What's the Winter Ball?” I asked Jake. I’d been too focused on basketball to pay attention to anything else.

  He rolled his eyes. “A dance. Like an early version of prom. And they do a whole court and all that stupid shit.”

  I nodded.

  And stared at him when Amy's name was announced as one of the nominees for the junior princess, followed by Cam's.

  “Whoa,” he whispered.

  And then he laughed when my name was announced as one of the nominees for the junior prince.

  I stared up at the loudspeaker like I hadn't heard it right. Then I heard Derek and Ty's names as king nominees in the senior class, along with a bunch of other names I didn't recognize.

  “I'm not referring to you as Your Highness if you win,” he said.

  “Shut up.”

  “You'll probably win,” he said, frowning at his tray. “Probably wear your crown around the rest of the year.”

  “I'm gonna kick your ass.”

  I looked back across the room at Amy. If she'd heard, she wasn't showing it. She sat motionless, like a statue.

  “Pretty sure you're legally mandated to attend,” Jake said. “Better make sure your girlfriend isn't too pissed off at you.”

  I'd never been to a formal dance. And the only other dances I'd gone to hadn't involved much more than me sitting on the bleachers and watching. With a bunch of other guys.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “Bet Amy's thrilled to be on the list,” Jake said in a disgusted voice.

  I glanced her way. “She didn't even react. I'm not sure she heard it.”

  “Would be just like some of these assholes to nominate her,” he muttered. “Just to embarrass her.”

  “You think that's why she's on there?”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn't surprise me. People suck.”

  I looked over at her again.

  Fuck. Why hadn't I just gone looking for her at Ty's rather than sitting there like a wuss and waiting for her? All I could think of was how everything might be different if I hadn't just sat and waited. It was like that one decision had set off a chain reaction. If I'd found her, maybe whatever had happened with Derek wouldn't have happened. And maybe I would've ended up with her instead of Cam.

  Both nights.

  Which was a really shitty thing to think, given what was going on, but it was immediately where my head went.

  I started to say something to Jake but an eruption of laughter behind me made me turn and look. The guys at the basketball table were howling and passing a phone around. Ken was the only guy who wasn't laughing, just shaking his head and concentrating on his sandwich instead. Cam seemed uninterested, and had pulled out a nail file, probably so she could have something else to focus on.

  “What the hell was that about?” Jake asked.

  “I don't know.”

  I looked around the room and I realized more tables were laughing, leaning in closer. I saw phones out, eyes trained on the screens.

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  “What?” Jake asked. “What is it?”

  Then I saw Melissa Hess get up. She was a senior cheerleader who thought she was about nine times better looking than she was, the kind of chick who also thought she was more popular than she was and worked too hard to prove it. She had her phone in her hand and she was walking toward Amy.

  Jake's phone chimed in the pocket of his sweatshirt and he pulled it out. He tapped the screen. “Oh, shit.”

  I looked back toward Amy, but Melissa was blocking my view and I couldn't see her.

  “It's the picture, isn't it?” I said. “The one you heard about.”

  “Holy shit,” Jake whispered.

  Melissa Hess was walking back to her table, a smug look on her face, strutting like a peacock. Amy's expression was blank, staring off into space. Even from where I was, I could see the tears in her eyes. Then she stood and walked out of the lunchroom, hundreds of pairs of eyes following her. She left her food and her book on the table.

  The entire room was in chaos, nearly every table focused on at least one phone, if not ten.

  “Let me see it,” I said.

  He clutched the phone in his hand, his palm over the screen. “It's bad.”


  “Let me see it.”

  He hesitated, then handed it over.

  The picture took up the entire screen and it looked like one of those cat memes I'd seen on the Internet where someone takes a real photo and adds their own words to try and make it funny. At the top, in a funky red font, it read:

  VOTE AMY FOR JUNIOR PRINCESS!

  At the bottom, in the same red font, it read:

  I'LL DO ANYTHING TO BE ON THE COURT!

  And in between was a picture of Amy, in the clothes she'd been wearing the night of the party. She was on her back on a bed, her eyes closed. But her top and her bra were pushed up around her neck and her skirt and underwear were down around her ankles.

  Goose bumps popped on my arms. Nausea rolled over me. My legs felt heavy.

  There was nothing sexual or hot about the picture. It was just...awful.

  The bell rang and nearly everyone stood, still laughing, talking, shaking their heads.

  I turned to look for Cam, but she was already gone.

  I pushed myself up from the table, feeling tired and sore even though I hadn't done anything.

  “That's the most fucked up thing I've ever seen,” Jake said, grabbing his tray, then mine. “Are you all right?”

  I held out his phone. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  “Yeah,” I said, lying to him. “I'm okay.”

  TWENTY NINE

  I was not okay.

  I was not okay through my afternoon classes.

  I was not okay waiting at Cam's locker after school, trying to catch her before practice, because I still hadn't talked to her. She never showed, though, and I had to sprint to the gym to make sure I wasn't late to practice.

  I was not okay in practice, where I couldn't make a shot to save my life. I screwed up three simple drills I'd been doing since the fifth grade, and those errors forced the entire team to run an extra set of sprints.

  I was not okay getting dressed right after practice without showering and avoiding the dirty looks of my teammates, who were pissed that they’d had to run extras.

  I couldn't get the picture out of my mind. It wasn't like looking at naked pictures on the Internet or in a magazine. It felt raw and wrong and like I was violating Amy just by looking at it. And after what she'd said to me at her locker that morning, I felt like it was partly my fault. Like I'd let her down. And like I'd believed the wrong story.

  I still wasn't sure what the true story was, but I was positive that I hadn't heard it yet.

  I'd passed by the public library nearly every day since school had started, but hadn't gone inside once. I'd learned, though, that libraries were by far the best place to get on the Internet for free when you couldn't get on the Internet anywhere else. I pedaled into the lot on my way home and stuck my bike in the rack.

  After a few minutes of showing the lady at the desk my school I.D and filling out a form, she pointed me to a bank of computers at the far end of the library. She told me that I was limited to one hour at a time and that I could print up to ten pages free per visit.

  I sat down at one of the computers and entered in the information on the card she'd given me. After agreeing to not look at porn or send, like, bomb threats to the White House, the computer unlocked and I had access to the Internet.

  I shivered. The ride over had been cool after practice and my T-shirt was wet with sweat beneath my sweatshirt. I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. It took me longer than it should've to find what I was looking for, mainly because I wasn't totally competent with the Internet. I used Google, which took me to a couple of places that ended up being dead ends. After about twenty minutes, I finally found a nearby address that I hoped was Amy Mitchell's. Then I pulled up a map program and plugged in the address. I copied down the instructions on how to get there onto a piece of scratch paper, double-checked that I'd written them down correctly, then closed out the web browser, logged out of the computer, and went back out to my bike.

  According to the directions, Amy Mitchell's house was about a mile from the library. The street names on the scratch paper were familiar enough and I only made one wrong turn before I found her street. I coasted to a stop at the corner and rested my foot on the sidewalk. According to the info I had, her house was the fifth one down on the right. From where I'd stopped, it looked like a one-story house, painted a faded yellow, with a small square lawn and an empty driveway. A massive tree sprouted up from the middle of the yard and its branches canopied all the way out over the street.

  I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't even know if I had the right house. I didn't think I was going to knock on her door and ask her how she was. I had no idea what I was going to say to her.

  Fucking high school.

  Maybe I'd pedal by, just to see if anyone was home, make sure she wasn't lying unconscious in her front yard or something.

  Because that seemed totally possible.

  I pushed off the curb and pedaled slowly down the street, staying on the opposite side, away from her house. As I got closer, I could see that front door was closed and the curtains in the front window were pulled tight.

  I'd just ride by.

  I cruised slowly past, looking at her house out of the corner of my eye. I didn't see her. I didn't hear anything. The curtain in the window was white, sheer, so you could almost see through it, but there was nothing behind it. I didn't even see any lights on. The breeze picked up and I ducked my chin, pulled my hood over my head as I rode by.

  My stomach immediately twisted as I passed the house. So I'd taken all that time to find her address, find directions to her house, and now I was just going to ride on by like I was taking a detour on the way home?

  That made exactly zero sense.

  What the hell was I doing?

  But I knew. I wanted to make sure she was alright. I was just too goddamn chicken to knock on her door and ask.

  I reached the end of the block, rode through the intersection, then made a U-turn on the bike.

  I'd ride by one more time, make sure there was nothing to see, then go home. I knew I didn't have the guts to go knock on her door. I didn't know what I was doing there, other than to somehow make my own conscience feel better because I'd taken the time to ride my bike by her house.

  Great plan, dude.

  I pedaled back on the same side, as far away from the house as I could get. As I got to her house, the curtain in the window fluttered and my stomach clenched. It pulled away and Amy's face replaced it, staring at me, her head tilted to the side, an expression that said, “What the fuck is Brady Mickelson doing riding a bike by my house?” on her face.

  I froze, unsure what to do. My legs wouldn't pedal, and I bumped into the curb. I stuck my leg out to steady myself and came to a stop. I swallowed hard and looked back at the window.

  The curtain was back in place. But the front door was opening and Amy was standing behind the screen door in jeans and a purple T-shirt. Her face was free of make-up and she looked younger, more vulnerable without the dark eyeliner she usually wore. Or maybe I just thought she looked more vulnerable because I knew what had happened to her. But did I?

  I didn't know what else to do, so I held up my hand, waving to her.

  She stood there, the same expression on her face, not waving back. My heart raced and I flashed on seeing the picture of her, which felt horrible because I wasn't trying to imagine her without any clothes on.

  She pushed open the door and walked out onto her front steps. “What are you doing?” she asked, her arms across her chest, hugging herself tightly.

  “Riding home,” I said, then pointed down the street. “I live that way.”

  She looked down the street, then back at me. “Then go.”

  My face flushed and I set my foot on the pedal, so I could push away from the curb. “I just...I don't know. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “Yeah, I'm fucking great,” she deadpanned. “Thanks for asking.”

  My throat tightened and
my tongue felt fat in my mouth.

  “Are you here to yell at me some more?” she asked, squinting at me. “Was your reputation somehow dragged through the mud again when the entire school saw me passed out naked today? Do you need me to do something about that?”

  “No,” I said. “No. That's not why I came by. I just wanted to see how you were.”

  She leaned toward me. “The entire school saw my tits and vagina today. Your asshole friends raped me over the weekend. How the fuck do you think I am, Brady?”

  “They aren't my friends,” was the only thing I could manage.

  “Really?” she asked, looking surprised. “Could've fooled me.”

  “Who told you I was looking for you?” I asked. “At the party? I was right where I said I'd be. I never left until I realized you weren't coming back. I sat on that same stupid bench for at least an hour, trying to think of funny things to say to you when you came back.”

  She looked down the street for a second, tucking the hair in behind her left ear. It wasn't that cold, but she looked like she was freezing.

  “I don't remember most of it,” she said, looking back at me. “I was so fucked up. I'd been drinking before you got there, then I drank with you because I was nervous and then I was drinking when I went to help Elise with her stupid boy troubles.” She paused. “So my memory isn't that good. But tell me one thing.”

  She wasn't answering my question, and I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

  Tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes. “Were you up there, too, Brady? Did you come up there with them? I remember Derek and I know Blake was there and I saw Ty right before I passed out. But did you come up? Did you take the picture?” She paused. “Did you fuck me like they did?”

  My stomach rolled and I felt like I was gonna cry. “Jesus. No. No. I wouldn't do that. Ever. Shit. Amy, I'm so sorry. I just...no. I didn't. I wouldn't. I waited for you. I swear to God. I didn't know it was happening. I would've...I would've done something.”

  She stared at me for a long time. I wasn't sure if she was trying to decide if she believed me or punch me or what. But I squirmed on the bike seat and I just wanted her to say something.