Playing The Game

by Jeff Shelby

  When I was done, my dad's face was a grim mask of anger and concern. I just wasn't sure where it was all directed.

  “First things first,” he finally said. “I'm very angry that you are just now telling me this. You should've told me when all of this started.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “There's no excuse for not having told me,” he said to me. “This was too much for you to keep to yourself.”

  “I know.”

  “So why didn't you tell me?”

  I squirmed in my chair. “I don't know. I thought I could handle it.”

  He paused, studying me. “Was it because I haven't been around?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Because I haven't been around,” he said, more to himself than to me. “You've had a lot of time to yourself because I've been working and looking for more work. So I know there have been a lot of nights that—”

  “No,” I repeated. “It wasn't that. I just...I don't know. It took off and snowballed and I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't purposely keeping it from you. It all just happened really fast. I swear.”

  He watched me carefully, waiting for me to say something else or give something away. But I was telling him the truth.

  “I knew something was up,” he finally said. “The black eye, breaking up with your girlfriend, the game the other night where you barely saw the ball. But I was trying to give you space.”

  “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry. But I wasn't trying to lie to you or anything. It wasn't like that.”

  He nodded slowly. “And you're telling me no one else was suspended?”

  I shook my head. “Just me.”

  “So it's a direct retaliation,” he said.

  “Well, yeah, except Derek spun it so it looks like I'm just pissed about the girls,” I said. “Raymond totally believes him. He wouldn't listen to me.”

  “And the girl?” he asked. “Amy, I mean. Not Cameron. Where is she at?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how is she?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the table. “Is she doing alright? Has she changed her mind about the police?”

  “She's okay,” I said. “I mean, not really. But she's at school. She's super stubborn. She's put up with a ton of crap. I don't think she wants to let them win, if that makes sense.”

  “It does,” he said, nodding. “She is one tough kid, then. What about the police?”

  “She was super pissed at me for telling Coach,” I said. “Like, raging pissed. And I get why now, I guess. She said to me that it wasn't my decision. It was hers. And I screwed up and took that away from her.”

  He nodded again. “Yeah. But you weren't doing it to be antagonistic. You were trying to do what you thought was right.”

  “I know. But she said it wasn't my place to do it, and she's right. Seems like all I do is make her mad.”

  “That girl probably has a lot of anger toward everyone right now,” he said. “And she should. What happened to her shouldn't have happened to anyone.”

  “And that's why I told Coach,” I said. “I just didn't think they should get away with it.”

  “Sure,” he said. Then he shook his head. “And it’s inexcusable that your coach isn't taking it seriously.”

  “But he must've done something,” I pointed out. “Why else would that cop have shown up?”

  My dad shrugged. “I don't know. But it sounds like that ball is rolling now if the police are involved. And I'd think that video, if they can get their hands on it, would be pretty damning.” He paused. “You might want to let her know.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Probably so.”

  “And I'll see about finding an attorney to help us with basketball,” he said.

  “We can't afford that, Dad.”

  He held up a hand. “You let me worry about that.”

  “It's fine,” I said. “I don't even want to play with them anymore. Or for him.”

  “That's all well and good,” he said. “But your not playing needs to be on your terms. Your decision. Not because you got railroaded. We are gonna get that suspension lifted so that you don't have to deal with it and so that it doesn't follow you around. Then we can decide what you want to do. If you don't want to play, then you don't have to play. But the decision shouldn't be taken away from you.”

  I stared down at the table. “What did the Arizona guy say the other night?”

  “He said he felt like he didn't get to see the real you,” he said. “And he wondered why your coach was so terrible.”

  We both laughed in a way that wasn't very funny.

  “Don't worry, Brady,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “One game isn't going to end everything. And either will all of this crap.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I just wasn't sure about anything anymore.

  “And I'm sorry if I'm riding you about basketball too much,” he said. “I'll try to dial it back. It's your decision if you play or not. You don't want to, it's fine with me. And I mean that.”

  “How the hell would I ever get into college?” I asked, frowning. “We can't pay for it, Dad.”

  He started to say something, then caught himself. He looked down at the table for a minute before moving his eyes back to me. “You're right. We don't have a lot of money. And a basketball scholarship would be great. But not if it makes you miserable.” He paused. “There are other ways to pay for school, and if we need to explore those, we will. Would it be harder?” He nodded. “Sure. But that doesn't mean we can't do it. Basketball doesn't have to be the only way, and if that's the way I've made it seem, then I'm sorry.”

  His apologizing was making me feel guilty. “Basketball is fine, Dad. It's just everything that's going on has screwed me up. It's not basketball, though.”

  He nodded. “Okay. We can talk about that later. When the smoke clears.”

  I didn’t respond, because I was pretty sure I knew something he didn’t.

  The smoke wasn’t going to be clearing any time soon.

  SIXTY TWO

  A knock on the door caused us both to turn, like neither of us could believe that anyone would knock on our door. My dad got up and walked over to it.

  Ken Blanton was standing there, his massive shoulders slumped, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his hoodie.

  “Is, um, Brady home?” he asked. “I'm Ken.”

  “I know who you are, Ken,” my dad said. His voice was cold, even. “Come on in.”

  Ken squeezed his big frame through the door and lifted his chin in my direction. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I said, still sitting, unsure of why he was there. “Ken this is my dad.”

  They shook hands, my dad stiffly, like he was handling a dirty diaper, and Ken just stood there afterward, shuffled his feet. He looked nervous, like he didn't want to be there.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Ken asked. “I mean, if you can.”

  “I need to get ready for work,” my dad said, heading for his room. He disappeared down the hallway.

  “You can sit down, man,” I said, pointing at the couch.

  He stared at it, then ambled over to it and collapsed into it like he was exhausted. I got up from the table and sat down in my dad's chair.

  “Sorry,” Ken said, scratching at his head. “I didn't have a number for you so I couldn't call.”

  “It's okay,” I said. “What's up?”

  He jammed his hands back into the hoodie. “So, after you left, everyone stuck around to listen to Derek's bullshit about not saying anything. I think everyone bought it.”

  “Kinda figured.”

  “They're scared of him,” Ken said. “He's such a prick, and I think they all know what he's done to you and they're afraid he'll do the same to them if they turn on him or don't do what he says to do.”

  “He would,” I said. “No doubt he would.”

  Ken nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Then he looked at me. His complexion was worse than ever, a roadmap of red and
white welts. “I'm sorry.”

  “You're sorry? For what?”

  He looked down at his knees. “For not backing you up. For taking his shit for so long.”

  I wasn't sure what to say.

  “Last year, I was his bitch,” he said, wincing as he said it. “Just rode me like a horse. Every single day. He wasn't even a captain, but it was like he was prepping. And I just took it. All the time. Because I wanted to be on the team and I didn't wanna piss anyone off and it still felt like I was the new kid, so I just took it.” He shook his head. “And I thought it was gonna be different this year and it sorta has been because of you. Not because he was giving you shit. You're too good. But because of everything after the party. He's been focused on you and hasn't had time to get on me.”

  He shifted, like he was trying to get comfortable. His hands were churning inside of the sweatshirt pocket. I still wasn't sure why he was there.

  “So the guys cleared out of the locker room and it was just me and him and Ty and Blake,” he said. “They were doing their normal shit talking or whatever. Then Ty and Blake left and it was just me and him. And he kept telling me to make sure I keep my mouth shut, to make sure I stay on board, all that shit. And I finally just looked at him and told him no.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  “I told him I thought it was bullshit that you were getting kicked off the team and no one else was taking any heat,” he said, frowning. “Look, I don't know what went on upstairs. I mean, I saw the video like everyone else. So I think I know, but I wasn't there so I don't know why she was there or how she got there or whatever.” He paused. “But all of us were shit-faced that night. We were all drinking before you even got there. I know Derek went to Coach and said it was just you, but, man, come on. That's bullshit and everyone knows it. And, dude, I'm just being honest. If you aren't playing, we aren't gonna win shit.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “So I told him, no, I was not on board.”

  “What'd he say?” I asked.

  “He went off,” Ken said, shrugging. “Calling me every name he could think of, telling me he'd fuck me up, all the usual shit. But I just don't care anymore, dude. I'm tired of listening to it.” He paused, glancing at me. “And you came in here and have been cool to me since the first day you got here. You didn't tell me I sucked, you didn't look at me like I was costing us points, you didn't tell me I should be playing football. You just played, and I don't think it's cool that now he's trying to fuck you over.” He paused again. “And like I said, I don't know exactly what went on at that party upstairs. But you've been sticking up for Amy and Derek's been all over you for it, so that probably tells me all I need to know.”

  It was the first time in over a week that I felt like someone else was paying attention to what was going on. I didn't know that it was going to do any good, but I appreciated the fact that at least someone else was calling bullshit on Derek's act.

  “So I told him I'm telling Raymond that we were all drinking and whatever happens, happens,” he said. “I'm not taking his shit anymore. He was making all kinds of threats, but whatever. I don't think you should have to be the one that goes down alone.”

  “It's not about the drinking,” I said. “That's not why he went to Raymond.”

  “I know,” Ken said. “Derek's doing it to get back at you. Everybody knows that, I think. But Raymond suspended you for the drinking. That's the reason he's using. And if he's gonna suspend you, then he's gotta suspend all of us.” He paused. “Fuck Derek.”

  I wasn't sure it would make any difference. I wondered if Coach would just blow him off when he told him and how he'd react. In any case, if my dad and I did end up fighting the suspension, it looked like we had at least one person who might back us up.

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for telling me. And for telling Raymond.”

  He pulled his hands from the sweatshirt, leaned forward, and folded his hands together. He looked at me. “Don't thank me yet. Because Derek's pissed.”

  “What else is new?”

  “I'm just saying,” he said, standing up. “And I wanted to let you know. Because as mad as he was at me, he's still blaming you for all of it.”

  “Again. What else is new?”

  He shrugged. “I know. But I didn't want you walking into anything tomorrow at school that you weren't ready for. I wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We were quiet for a minute.

  “I should probably go,” he finally said.

  I stood. “Was that cop gone when you left?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Everyone was.”

  “What are you gonna tell him if he calls you?” I asked.

  Ken shoved his hands back into the sweatshirt pocket and blinked a couple of times. “I guess I'll tell him I was at the party, but I wasn't upstairs.”

  I nodded.

  “But I'll tell him that Derek's an asshole,” he said. “And I'll tell him he should talk to you.”

  SIXTY THREE

  “You mind if I go over to Amy's house?” I asked. “To tell her about the cop showing up at practice? I don't want her going to school tomorrow and not knowing.”

  Ken left and my dad was tying his tie for work. I'd explained why Ken came over, what he'd told me, and my dad thought the same thing I had—that if we needed backup to get the suspension lifted, Ken's voice might be a valuable one.

  He tugged at the knot near his throat. “You don't wanna just call her?”

  I shook my head. “No. I wanna tell her face-to-face. She doesn't live far from here. I know where it is.”

  He thought for a moment. “We need to get you a phone, don't we?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It means I've gotta take off for the restaurant, and I'd like for you to be able to call me so I know you made it,” he said.

  “Dad, it's fine. I can call you as soon as I get back here. But don't start worrying about every little thing.”

  “I am going to worry about every little thing,” he said, raising the knot to the collar of his shirt, then running his hand down the length of the royal blue tie. “It's my right as a father.”

  “I don't need a phone.”

  “I'm not talking about an iPhone,” he said, fiddling with his belt. “But some sort of phone that you can have with you so you can call me if you need to.”

  I sighed. “All of this would've still happened even if I'd had the most expensive phone known to man.”

  “I know,” he said. “But that doesn't mean you don't need one with all the time I'm gone from here.”

  I knew he was worried, but I hated that I was the source of that. “Okay. Whatever. Can I go to Amy's?”

  He hesitated. “Call me as soon as you get back?”

  “Promise.”

  He nodded. “Okay, then.”

  I took our dinner plates to the sink and then pulled on my shoes and a hooded sweatshirt.

  “Hey Brady?” my dad said, sitting down to tie his shoes.

  “Yeah?”

  He knotted the one shoe and looked up at me. “I'm proud of you. Everything got bad and you didn't cave. That's a hard thing to do.” He nodded again. “Proud of you.”

  I just nodded and swallowed down the guilt I felt.

  I didn't feel very pride worthy.

  Not even a little bit.

  SIXTY FOUR

  The sun was gone and the streets were smothered in darkness, dotted with the occasional streetlights. A cool wind blew in my face and through my sweatshirt, and even after I pulled the hood over my head, goose bumps rode with me on my neck and arms.

  I was trying to pull the drawstrings tighter to protect my face when I heard the engine behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder and moved over to the side. The headlights were bright and I squinted into them. The car was about fifty feet behind me. The engine surged, like the driver was stepping on it, then slowed.

  I kept pedaling, waiting for it to go b
y.

  It didn't.

  I turned the corner onto Amy's street and looked back over my shoulder, trying to get a better look at the car this time without looking right into the headlights, to see if it was a bigger truck or something that couldn't get around me. But the headlights were dialed up all the way and I had to squint just to see the shadow of the car, a sedan of some kind.

  I turned back to the road and my stomach knotted.

  The car didn't want to get around me. It wanted to stay right where it was. There were no cars coming at us from the opposite direction, so there was no reason the car couldn't pass me if it wanted to.

  The engine revved loudly, like a racecar ready to tear away from the starting line.

  My heart hammered and I stood up on the pedals.

  The engine surged and the tires screeched as the car picked up speed coming around the corner.

  I was still a block away from Amy's and I was pedaling as hard as I could.

  The engine roared again behind me.

  I was riding as fast as I could.

  It wasn't fast enough.

  The car closed in behind me, the engine screaming.

  I could see Amy's house up on my left. Maybe seven houses away.

  The car rushed in closer, nearly brushing the curb, the heat from the engine tickling the back of my legs.

  I turned the bike and cut hard across the street, ready to vault the curb and crash into a yard just up the street from Amy's.

  But the car's engine roared again, louder and harder.

  The front end clipped the back end of my tire and I tried cutting across the street. My bike lifted up in the air, the frame crunching against the metal of the car's front end. I went up with the bike, trying to separate myself from it and failing. My leg smashed into the windshield of the car, pain searing into my calf. The bike tumbled away from me and I was tumbling through the air, over the roof of the car. Then the pavement was rushing to meet me and my shoulder and face crashed into it.