by Vox Day
He heard someone approaching behind him and spun around, holding his fists up. Rob, surprised, put his hands up.
“Relax, dude. Hey, what happened to your locker?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, yeah,” the large boy nodded sympathetically. “Peterson, I’ll bet.”
“And Shumacher,” Brien added. “What is with this place? I thought it was supposed to be the football players who were the assholes.”
“They’re all jocks. What’s the difference?” Rob peeled off one torn strip of paper still attached to the locker. “Too bad, this was looking pretty cool, you know? But I suppose you’ve still got the jpegs if you want to do it again.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if I’ll bother.”
“I can understand that.” Rob nodded. “Hey, Derek left a message on my cell phone. He had to go down to the police station at eight this morning, but he wanted you to meet him at Caribou at one o’clock. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” Brien shrugged. “I can skip gym, no problem. Is he in a lot of trouble?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t sound too worried.”
“All right. Do you want to drive? We can take my car if you don’t want to.”
Rob shook his head.
“That’s sixth-hour. I’ve got a test I can’t blow off. You’ll have to go by yourself. He said the North Oaks Caribou, by the way.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Brien said as he closed his locker. He rearranged his history books in his arms. “I hope he’s all right. It’s not really fair that he got stuck with the blame for everything.”
“He’ll be all right,” Rob nodded seriously, and patted Brien on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about Derek, Brien. He’s cool. He knows how to take care of himself.”
The Caribou was a little more crowded than Brien remembered it being the two or three times he’d been there before. It was pretty small for a coffee shop, but the managers had some kind of deal worked out with the bagel shop next door, and as he waited for Derek and sipped at the chocolate sprinkled whipped cream that topped his Turtle Mocha, he saw several people walking between the two shops, carrying bags of bagels in one direction, and paper cups of coffee the other way.
He gave a half-hearted thought to getting a turkey bagel sandwich, but the notion of food deserted his mind as two pretty girls walked in and sat down two tables away from him. He tried not to stare too much, but one of them, a petite Asian girl, was wearing a tight sweater and he found it almost impossible to look away from her.
“Close your mouth, Brien, I don’t think they like it when you drool.”
Embarrassed at being caught with his eyes locked on the girl’s chest, Brien nearly spilled his mocha all over the circular little table. He managed to steady it before it toppled over completely, but the sweetened coffee was hot, and burned his fingers as it ran down the sides of the tall paper cup.
“Ouch,” he cried, and he quickly put the cup down on the table amidst a small pool of light brown liquid. “Doggone it, Derek, don’t do that!”
He looked up and saw his friend was smirking apologetically to the two girls.
“It’s okay, folks, nothing to see here, everything is now under control.”
The Asian girl rolled her eyes, and whispered something behind her hand to her blonde friend, who giggled at them. Brien felt his cheeks burning and he stood up quickly.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Derek. “I’ve got to wash my hands off; the caramel makes it sticky.”
Three minutes later, he returned to the table and saw that the two girls were gone. He glanced over towards the bagel shop and saw that they had relocated there to join two boys wearing red-and-yellow Irondale jackets. He shook his head, still a little embarrassed, but even more irritated at the unfairness of it all. What did those two rockheads know about anything? Nothing, probably, except how to catch a football or something like that. I’m sure they made for really interesting conversations, he thought bitterly, not that pretty girls like that Asian probably cared.
Oh well, so life wasn’t fair, what else was new. He looked down at the table and saw that the mess he’d created was gone, but so was his mocha. He glared suspiciously at Derek.
“Did you drink that?”
“Yeah,” Derek answered, making a face and pretending to brush his tongue. “Those suckers are so sweet, I don’t know how you can even stand them.”
Brien looked up at the ceiling, trying not to lose his temper. This had not been an easy week, and Derek wasn’t on his short list of favorite people at the moment.
“Hey, relax,” Derek held up his hand, then pointed towards the counter. “Half of it was already on the table anyhow, and, besides, I ordered you another one. I had to get a real coffee for myself, straight-up, none of this girly-girl stuff.”
“You mean, chocolate? Or caramel?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Derek widened his eyes and pretended to look curious. “So, Derek, how did it go at the police station today?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dude,” Brien apologized. How self-centered could he be? He was worrying about girls and coffee spills, while his friend had actual problems. Especially considering that Derek had been cool enough to take the rap, letting both him and Rob off the hook. “What’d they do to you, how’d it go?”
To his surprise, Derek smiled broadly and bobbed his head with satisfaction.
“Excellent. The cops aren’t even pressing charges or anything. The sergeant chewed me out about the gun, but since there wasn’t any ammo in it, it really wasn’t that big a deal. They kept the pot, though, and I’ll bet you some of those cops are going to smoke it. You know that spot where they speed-trap by the hockey rink? There’s about five ditchweed plants totally growing right there, probably from a joint one of those cops tossed out the window!”
“Well, they do have to sit there for a long time,” Brien offered. “It’s not like they have anything better to do.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Anyhow, the sergeant told Dad that I should see a psychiatrist about my ‘potential drug abuse problem’, so Dad made me go talk to Mom’s shrink today.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, I already went.” Derek grinned. “I guess we get a family discount or something. So check this out!”
Brien watched as Derek reached into his black backpack and triumphantly pulled out a bottle. It was clear, and he could see there were pills inside it, but the label was on the other side.
“Dah duh dah!” Derek twisted the bottle around. “Listening to Prozac, baby!”
Brien raised his eyebrows. He didn’t understand why Derek was so cheerful.
“Isn’t that, like, an anti-depressant or something?”
“Yep, exactly,” Derek laughed gleefully. “Apparently there’s nothing wrong with me that a few pills won’t fix. The shrink was a complete moron, I mean, she kept asking me questions about whether I’d ever been abused or if Dad had ever hit me, you know, stuff like that. Anyhow, it took me about ten seconds to figure out how to play her, so I made up this story about how I’m really bummed because I don’t have a girlfriend and I’m no good at sports so I feel like a loser, you know, all that kind of crap.”
He indicated the bottle.
“So, half an hour later, she decides I’m officially depressed and sets me up with a prescription. The final score is, no fine, no jail, and legally prescribed mood-altering drugs. Derek one, society zero!”
“That’s awesome! I thought you’d at least have to go to court.”
“I would have if you hadn’t chucked those bullets so quick.” Derek slipped the bottle back into his backpack. “Dad was pretty pissed that I took his gun, but I told him I was just trying to impress you guys and he bought it. It was a good thing the cops gave it back to him, or I don’t know what he would have done. He was mad! I went back and looked for the magazine before coming here, but I couldn’t find it. But what does he care, I mean, he’s got plenty of extra ones and all.”
>
Brien stared at his friend, then laughed.
“That is awesome. But I thought the whole reason you had to see the shrink was because of the weed? Didn’t that come up at all before the shrink decided to put you on more drugs?”
“Brien, Brien, you really don’t get it, do you?” Derek leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I was self-medicating, see?”
“I cannot believe this shit! No wonder the whole world is so fucked up.”
“Yeah, they let people like us run around loose.” Derek looked past Brien and raised a finger. “That’s ours? Okay, thanks.”
Brien carefully took the hot drinks from the server boy as Derek stood up and dug in his pockets for change. He ran a hand through his black hair and grinned mischievously at Brien.
“Remember when we used to sell our Ritalin to Mike and that burnout kid, what was his name?”
“Alex. Yeah, I remember. What did we get for it, like, a quarter a pop?”
“Something like that. I wonder what the going rate is for this Xanax stuff?”
Brien rolled his eyes and glanced out the window as Derek went to the counter for their coffees. The Asian girl was walking through the parking lot, hand-in-hand with one of the Irondale jocks. They were probably headed for Blockbuster, he guessed, to find a movie that would provide cover for their make-out session in her parent’s basement tonight. He sighed regretfully as he watched the traffic start up again on the busy street that lay beyond the lot filled with BMWs, Mercedes, and about a million different sports-utility vehicles.
What a waste. What a fucking waste!
Chapter 7
Gangbang Oft Agley
Not everyone who says to me,“Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my father in heaven.
—Matthew 7:21
Jami sat on the edge of her bed, flipping through the latest Soccer Express catalog and wondering if the new pair of kangaroo-skin Pumas that Dad promised to buy her next season would give her enough Express points to get the Arsenal replica jersey she’d been saving up for. It was going to be close, she thought, so maybe she should ask Dad for the red ones. They cost a little more, but the extra two points would definitely push her over the edge. No, she decided, wearing red boots was just asking for trouble, and unless you were, like, All-State or something, they weren’t worth the hassling you’d end up getting. If she made All-Conference next year, maybe she could wear them for her Junior season.
She lay back on her pillow, and stared up at her poster of Dennis Bergkamp. He was such a cutie, with that intense glare and the little blond curl in the front. A lot of the Dutch internationals were so good-looking, why was that? Internationals, she liked that word. The best of the best. It was her goal to someday hear people calling her Jami Lewis, the American international. A few of the English soccer clubs had just started paying their women’s teams, so maybe after playing for North Carolina in college she could move to England and play professionally for Arsenal herself. She’d wear number ten, just like Dennis. How cool would that be?
“Jami, Christopher, it’s time for dinner,” Mom called.
She rolled off the bed with a sigh. She’d seen when she came home from school that Mom was making spaghetti tonight, and she wasn’t much of a pasta fan. But Christopher loved it, so it was like they were eating it all the time. They didn’t really, but it seemed that way to her.
She was walking towards the stairs when Christopher opened his bedroom door. He had an excited look on his face, and he punched her arm as he joined her in the hallway.
“Spaghetti tonight, mmmm!”
“Great,” Jami faked a smile, but Christopher was too interested in the thought of dinner to notice her sarcasm. His appetite clearly hadn’t been affected by that knock on the head the night before. No surprise there, she’d always known he had a thick skull. She stepped out of the way and he practically ran down the rest of the stairs.
“Smells great, Mom,” he announced happily as she followed him into the kitchen to join the rest of the family already sitting at the table.
“Yes, it smells wonderful, honey,” Dad said, winking sympathetically at Jami. He knew she wasn’t crazy about Italian food.
“Jami, dear, there’s a plate for you on the counter. There’s no sauce on the noodles, only butter and a little oregano, okay?"
That wasn’t so bad, Jami decided. It wasn’t the noodles that she hated as much as the marinara sauce. It usually had chunks of tomatoes in it… yuck! Pizza sauce was all right, but spaghetti sauce just looked gross. The only thing that was worse was chili, with those huge gobs of smushed tomatoes.
She returned to the table, and grinned when she saw that Holli had served herself her usual bird’s portion, about one-tenth the size of the heaping mass piled up on Christopher’s plate.
“Hey, Jami, Eric called earlier and asked if you’d found anyone for tomorrow’s game,” Holli told her. “I said I didn’t think so, but guess what? He asked if Christopher wouldn’t mind playing because he couldn’t find anyone either.”
“Really?” Christopher’s voice was partially muffled by the forkful of pasta in his mouth. “Awesome!”
“Christopher, you can speak or you can eat, you can’t do both at the same time,” Mom waved her fork at him. “Mind your manners, please! And you can’t play after taking that fall you had last night.”
“Mom!” Christopher protested.
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Jami added. “It’s not like he’s going to head the ball!”
She smiled mischievously as her brother glanced back at her with uncertainty, not sure if she’d supported him or slammed him. The answer, of course, was both. Christopher wasn’t a bad player, but he’d been afraid of heading the ball since he broke a pair of glasses in junior high, and he was pretty much useless in the air despite his height.
“Well, what did the doctor say when you saw him today?” Dad asked.
“He said I was fine, no concussion or anything,” Christopher assured him. “Come on, Mom, I never get to play with these guys. They’re varsity! This might help me make the team next year.”
Mom looked like she was almost ready to relent, but she was still frowning.
“I don’t know….”
“Honey, if the doctor says he’s okay, then I’m sure he’s okay. I don’t see what would be the point of forcing him to miss the game. It’s not like he’s playing hockey or football.”
Mom sighed and reluctantly nodded her head.
“I’m sure you’re right, Jim.” She pointed a finger at Christopher. “But you be careful. If you hit your head in any way, I want you to come out of the game, understand. And Jami, you’d better make sure he does.”
Jami nodded dutifully. She wasn’t all that keen on him playing anyhow, since he just wasn’t an adequate replacement for Jason Case, but he would do for one game.
“All right!” Christopher punched both fists in the air. “I’ll be careful, Mom, I promise.”
“Well,” Holli added casually. “Since it’s going to be a family affair, I might as well go too. Especially since I’ve got a date with Eric tomorrow night.”
Jami felt a sudden surge of jealousy despite herself. That was weird, she thought. It wasn’t like this was news to her. She’d never even been interested in Eric anyhow. If she was going to go out with anyone on the team, Jason Case would have been at the top of her list, not Eric Johnson.
All the same, she felt a little funny about the whole situation.
“And where are you going tomorrow night?” Dad was asking Holli.
“Is he a nice boy?” Mom added.
Holli rolled her eyes and pushed herself away from the table.
“We’re going to a party after the game tomorrow night at Jill Mondale’s. And Mom, you know who Eric is. He’s on Jami’s team, the tall guy with the light brown hair. He’s the captain.”
“Oh, well, all right, then,” Mom said. “You’r
e right, I have met him and he does seem to be nice. He never seems to get those yellow cards that the referees are always giving you, Jami, and I’ve even seen him shake the referee’s hand after the game.”
Mom was always going on about her cards. Jami groaned. But you had to be aggressive to play center-mid. And besides, she hadn’t gotten a red since the outdoor season last fall.
“Maybe that’s why he never gets a card,” Dad said dryly. “Butter up the ref, that’s what I always say.”
“You could try flirting with him.” Holli batted her long eyelashes and smiled a dreamy smile. “The guy who reffed your last game against Irondale was pretty hot.”
Christopher snorted.
“I remember that guy. He plays for Arden Hills, their D-one team. I think he’s, like, thirty, though.”
“Just because he’s old doesn’t mean he can’t be cute,” Holli said loftily.
Dad groaned theatrically.
“Thirty, and he’s old?” He laid his fork and knife across his empty plate. “Darling, what do you say that you and I totter off to the living room and leave the dishes to these heartless children?”
Jami laughed out loud as Dad got up slowly from the table and pretended to walk like a decrepit old man towards the couch in front of the TV. Dad was handsome in his own special way. His hair was receding and he’d developed a little bit of a tummy lately, but he was tall and dignified, and his sense of humor always reminded her of the cool kind of teacher who lets you have class outside when it’s nice and sunny in the spring.
“You don’t think I hurt Daddy’s feelings, do you?” Holli asked her, genuinely concerned, as Mom walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine in her hands and an amused half-smile on her face.
“No, of course not,” Christopher quickly assured her, and he was probably right, Jami thought.
Getting old wasn’t a big deal, she thought, unless you were a professional athlete and you couldn’t play anymore. But Dad was a professor, with full tenure at the U, so Jami figured he had nothing to worry about. Mom was still very pretty too, not just for-her-age pretty, but overall pretty. She watched her weight and played tennis three times a week, and men still whipped their heads around to look at her at the mall. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Holli was, like, the world expert on makeovers either. Jami was proud of both her parents, but it worried her that Dad, at least, wasn’t saved yet.
