Playing The Game

by Jeff Shelby

I looked at her but didn't say anything.

  Her grip tightened. “I wasn't gonna go. After all the shit with Derek last year, the last thing I wanted to do was go hang around him and his friends. I was gonna be lame and stay home and read or watch TV or whatever.” She paused. “And then I was a total bitch to you in class and you said you were gonna be there and...I wanted to go.”

  The parking lot was quiet. It was weird being there when we were supposed to be in class. The blue slip felt heavy in my hand.

  “So I went,” she said, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel. “And I saw you and we went outside and it was, like, stupidly perfect. You weren't a dick. You weren't an asshole. You were...you. And I was so stupid for leaving. All I wanted to do was sit there and talk to you.” She laughed softly. “And kiss you.”

  The blood rushed to my face. Because that's what I'd wanted, too, but I'd been too chicken to tell her that.

  She sat up and wiped hard at her eyes. “You should go. I'm gonna need a minute.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone.

  “Don't worry,” she said. “I'm going to class. I think everyone in school is waiting to hear that I hung myself in a bathroom or something.” She shook her head and tried to smile. “That is not happening. I may be a wreck right now, but there's no way I'm pulling that shit. Fuck them.”

  “Okay,” I said, clutching the blue slip.

  “And, thanks, Brady,” she said. “For telling me.”

  “You're welcome,” I said. “And Amy?”

  She wiped her eyes again and turned to me.

  “I wanted to kiss you, too,” I said quickly before shoving the door open and heading for school.

  FORTY SEVEN

  The blue slip worked just liked Amy said it would. I showed up in my physics class and handed it to my teacher, who barely acknowledged it before dropping it in the trashcan.

  I slid into my desk, my mind still on Amy. I didn't know what to do for her. I still thought she needed to go to the police, but I understood what she was saying. She was already the focus of everyone's attention and she didn't want anymore. If she went to the police and it blew up into an even bigger thing, the attention would just be magnified. And when people already didn't believe her, it would be like everyone had to pick a side. She was clearly afraid that no one would pick hers.

  I shifted in the desk. I felt guilty, like I somehow shouldn't have let her go find her friend at the party. It was stupid. There was no way I could have known what was going to happen but I still felt like I could've done something and didn't. It wasn't just because I liked her, either. It was because of what Derek and Ty and Blake had done to her. I didn't think they should be allowed to get away with whatever they did to her.

  Whatever they did to her.

  I hated how that sounded. I hated not knowing what exactly went down that night. Not because I was some pervert who wanted all the gory details. And not because I needed proof that Amy was telling the truth. I believed her. But I needed to know for me. I needed to see what those assholes had done so I could look people in the eye and tell them they were wrong, not only about the things they were saying about Amy but about my teammates who thought it was okay to treat a girl—to treat anyone—the way they'd treated her.

  When the bell rang, instead of heading for the gym, I went to find Jake. He was already at his locker when I got there and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Thought you left,” he said.

  “I'm back. I need a favor.”

  “Okay.”

  “I wanna see it.”

  “See what?”

  I just stared at him.

  “Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Oh.”

  “I don't have a phone or a computer,” I said. “And I'm pretty sure the library will block it.”

  He nodded, then lifted his chin in the direction of the parking lot. “Let's go out to my car.”

  I waited for him to close his locker and we headed toward the lot.

  “Don't you have practice?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you're just gonna be late?”

  “Most likely.”

  He shook his head as we crossed the street to the lot. “You must really like getting the shit kicked out of you.”

  “Yeah. It's one of my passions.”

  “Those assholes take their basketball seriously,” he said, digging in his pockets for his keys. “I think it's clear you've already pissed them off. Showing up late to hoops is really gonna set them off.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck them,” I said.

  He hit the clicker on the key ring and the doors to the old Honda Accord unlocked. I walked around to the passenger side and got in. He pulled his door closed and reached into his bag, pulling out an iPad.

  “Didn't think we needed to be watching this in the hallway,” he said.

  “And you watched it, right?”

  He sighed, then nodded. “Only the first few seconds. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  He tapped the screen. “I'm not using the school Wi-Fi. This is my dad's and it has the 3G connection.”

  “I literally have no idea what you're telling me.”

  He chuckled. “Right. All I'm saying is we can get Internet out here and school won't know we're on.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why do you wanna see it now? You said earlier you didn't.”

  I thought for a moment. “I wanna know what they did to her.”

  He tapped away at the screen, took a deep breath, then held the iPad out to me. “Well, here you go.”

  FORTY EIGHT

  A dark room. A wobbly camera.

  A naked ass moving up and down near the edge of a bed.

  “This phone sucks,” Ty says. “Why are you using it?”

  “Because he's busy and asked me to hold it,” Derek says.

  Laughter.

  The naked ass lunges, grunts, holds still.

  “Well, that was fucking fast,” Ty says.

  The naked ass stands up, pulls up his jeans.

  “Fuck you,” Blake says, breathing hard.

  “Get out of the way,” Ty says. “I'll show you how it's done.”

  Blake moves to the side and the camera transfers hands.

  Amy is on the bed. Her shirt is pushed up to her neck. Her skirt and panties are gone. Her skin is pale in the dim light. Her eyes are closed.

  Ty steps in front of her. He squeezes her breast hard. She lifts an arm halfway, then drops it back to the bed.

  “Get some,” Derek says.

  Ty lowers himself to the bed and his ass pumps furiously. Amy's legs lie limply to either side of him.

  “Get off.” Amy's voice, barely audible.

  “Oh, he's going to,” Derek says.

  Laughter.

  Ty grunts hard. One long thrust. His body shakes.

  “No,” Amy mumbles.

  “Yes,” Blake says.

  Ty stands, pulls up his shorts.

  “Last but not least,” Ty says.

  The camera wobbles.

  “You got it all so far?” Ty asks.

  “Yup. All of it.”

  “Okay, don't fuck it up now, Blake,” Ty says.

  “I got her,” Blake says.

  Camera zooms in on Amy. Her eyes are barely open, her cheeks flushed, her mouth slack.

  “Stop,” she whispers.

  The camera pans down her body.

  Her breasts.

  Between her legs.

  She tries to move, but fails.

  Derek steps in front of her and drops his jeans. “We've done this before, haven't we, babe?”

  “No,” she says. She raises her arm again but Derek grabs it, pins it above her head.

  “Bad memory,” Derek says.

  Laughter.

  Derek lowers himself on top of Amy. He moves slowly. Her legs are still limp.

  “Just like old times,” Ty says.

&
nbsp; Derek grunts in agreement.

  The camera holds still as Derek goes faster.

  A small cry from Amy.

  “Sounds like she's digging it,” Blake says.

  “Fuckin' a,” Ty says.

  Derek rises up, grabs Amy by the hips and thrusts two more times, then groans. He thrusts again, then drops her back to the bed.

  Camera zooms in on Amy's face.

  Her eyes are half-open, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Looks like she came,” Ty says.

  “I sure fucking did,” Derek says.

  Laughter.

  “You got it all?” Derek asks.

  “All of it,” Blake says.

  Camera is still on Amy. She isn't moving.

  “Looks like she's gonna sleep it off,” Ty says.

  “Yeah,” Derek says. “Let's let her rest. She's gonna need it. Captain's choice always needs some rest after.” Pauses. “Thanks, Amy. You were awesome.”

  Laughter.

  Screen goes black.

  FORTY NINE

  I handed the iPad to Jake, opened the passenger door and vomited all over the parking lot.

  My stomach churned and I wretched several times.

  Then I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, sat back up and pulled the door closed.

  “Sorry,” I said, swallowing hard, fighting the urge to do it again.

  “It's okay,” Jake said. “Jesus fucking Christ. I can't believe that.”

  I couldn't, either.

  “That is fucked up,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Is she gonna do anything?” he asked. “I mean, shit. It's on video.”

  “I don't know,” I said. “Who posted that?”

  “Impossible to know who posted it first,” he said. “It was on a Twitter DM. It's everywhere now.”

  “So everyone's gonna be able to see it.”

  “If they haven't already, yeah.”

  I looked out the window. Kids were walking to their cars, laughing and talking.

  “How the fuck is everyone okay with this?” I asked.

  “Those dickheads have ruled our schools since we were kids,” Jake said. “I think people just accept it now.”

  I wondered if that was part of the reason Amy wasn't telling the police. Was she just accepting that they could do whatever they wanted now, too? Was she just willing to live with it? To let them get away with it? Because she'd just been around it for so many years that it was just a fact of life?

  “Isn't there some law that if a teacher sees something like that, they have to report it?” I asked.

  “No clue, dude.”

  “I swear I read that somewhere.”

  “Maybe. Makes sense. But it'll probably disappear before it gets that far.”

  I looked at him. “What do you mean disappear?”

  “It'll get deleted from Twitter and it disappears from Snapchat and all that shit,” he said. “People will save it and download it because they're seriously fucked up, but it won't be out there on the sites for long. Even those assholes will realize that's a bad idea. So it'll disappear.”

  I nodded slowly, digesting that.

  “Are you thinking of telling someone?” he asked.

  “I don't know,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “But I thought you said Amy didn't want to.”

  “She doesn't.”

  “So you'd do it, anyway?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “I'm just...I don't know.” I glanced at the clock on his radio. “I gotta go.”

  “They'll know it was you,” Jake said as I opened the door. “At this point, they'll know it was you if they get in trouble.”

  I stepped out of the car and peered down at him. “I want them to know it was me.”

  FIFTY

  I walked into the gym, still tying the drawstring on my practice shorts, huffing and puffing from having run from the parking lot. I knew I was late, I knew there'd be consequences, and I knew I was going to say something to Coach.

  “One V one at each basket,” Coach said, glancing in my direction. “And we'll rotate every two minutes. Nice of you to join us, Mickelson. I'm sure your teammates will appreciate the extra running for your being late.”

  Every pair of eyes in the gym rotated in my direction. I ignored them all and walked toward Coach.

  “Sorry I'm late,” I said.

  “What's the reason?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “What's the reason, Mickelson?”

  “I was looking at something,” I said. “I need to tell you about it.”

  “Well, you can tell me after practice and after we're done running,” he said, irritated.

  “I'd like to do it now, Coach.”

  “Yeah, well, your teammates, who were all here on time, would like to practice,” he growled. “So get your ass on the floor and if you can still stand when we're done, then we can talk.”

  Part of me thought about walking out then. It probably would've been a better idea, leave then and just cut all the ties.

  But either I thought I was strong enough to deal with what was going to come my way or I was just flat-out stupid.

  So I stayed.

  “One v one,” Coach barked. “Let's go!”

  We would pair up at each of the six baskets and play one on one for two minutes. Whoever was ahead at the end of two minutes moved up the ladder to the next basket and if you lost you moved down. Simple drill, designed to let you work on breaking down a defender.

  Or kicking someone's ass.

  “You and me,” Derek said, pointing at me, walking to one of the side baskets.

  I followed him. I stood at the top of the arc and he bounced me the ball. “Where were you?”

  I spun the ball in my hands and didn't say anything.

  A small smile crept over his face. “You saw it, didn't you?”

  I dribbled out to my right and then hard at the basket. He tried to get in front of me, but bounced off my hip as I laid it in.

  Winner's ball, so I went back to the top of the arc.

  “Lemme guess,” he said, still smiling. “She was crying on your shoulder, telling you how we ruined her life and all, right?” He smirked. “Don't fall for her shit.”

  I spun the ball in my hands.

  “That chick is ruined,” he said. “Probably wanna stay away from her. And get your head back where it belongs, which is with this team.”

  I jab-stepped at him and he shuffled backward. I stepped back and buried the jumper.

  He fished the ball out of the net and walked it back to me. The stupid smile was gone. “Because I'm seriously tired of this shit, Brady. I've already warned you. I can make your life a whole fucking lot worse than a black eye. Don't fuck with me or anybody else on this team. Keep your fucking mouth shut and get on board.” He shoved the ball at me. “Right now.”

  I took the ball and stared at him. Then I jab-stepped again and he shuffled back again. I pulled back and he recovered quicker this time, coming at me. I took two dribbles, dropped my shoulder and plowed through him. He fell onto his back and I finished the lay-up, dropping the ball through the net.

  He sat on the floor for a second, wincing. My shoulder had caught him flush in the sternum. He got up slowly, no trace of that smile from before anywhere on his face.

  “You're supposed to stop him, Stoddard,” Ken yelled from across the gym. “Not fall down in front of him.”

  Derek made a face at him, then started to say something to me. But the buzzer cut him off, and Coach yelled for us to rotate. He gave me a look and moved down to the next basket. I moved up.

  Where Blake was waiting.

  “You kicked his ass,” Blake said. “Take it easy on me, all right?”

  And that right there just totally summed him up. Passive-aggressive. Just wanting to fit in, jumping at whatever Ty or Derek suggested. He'd supplied the camera. He'd gone first.

  Just a complete and total asshole.

 
; I handed him the ball and took the defensive spot.

  The horn blared again, signaling it was time to start.

  I closed in on him, crowding him. He tried to dribble around me and I put my forearm in his hip. Hard. He had to back away. He squared and shot from about sixteen feet. The ball caromed off, and I collected the rebound. I moved out to the arc as he came across the lane. I took a lazy jumper that hit the back of the rim but rolled out to the side. He chased it down, and I waited for him to get out to the other side of the arc.

  He saw me being slow on the other side, pivoted at the arc, and charged hard at the basket.

  Like I knew he would.

  I sprinted across the lane and right as he went up, I clotheslined him, my left forearm crashing hard across his throat. His feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his back, the sound echoing through the gym. His head bounced off the floor and he rolled onto his side.

  I heard the whistle and I heard yelling and I heard footsteps.

  But I didn't care.

  I bent down next to him. “It was from your phone, asshole.”

  His eyes were shut tight in pain and he was writhing around, his hands reaching for his back.

  “Your fucking phone,” I said.

  Then hands grabbed at me and voices yelled in my ear and I was pulled up and the horn was blaring.

  “What the hell, Mickelson?” Coach screamed in my face.

  “Just a hard foul,” I said. “My bad.”

  “Your bad?” he asked, incredulous. “Your bad?”

  I looked down at Blake, still writhing. It made me happy. “I was going for the ball. I missed.”

  “Jesus,” Coach said, frowning. “Son. We cannot beat the crap out of each other in practice like that. You hear me?”

  “Just going hard,” I said. “My bad.”

  He seemed perplexed as to what else to say to me, so he glanced down at Blake. Ty was helping him sit up, and he finally opened his eyes.

  I smiled at him.

  He didn't smile back.

  He actually looked afraid.

  Derek poked me in the chest. “Not cool.”

  I slapped his hand away, the skin on skin sound echoing in the gym. “Get off me.”

  “Chill out, gentlemen,” Coach said, stepping between us. “Let's run some of this aggression out of you all right now.” He glanced at me. “Then we'll run for Mr. Mickelson's tardiness at the end of practice. I'll make sure the trashcans are strategically placed for those of you with weak stomachs.”