Students of the Game

by Sarah Bumpus

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRYCE (Freshman Year)

  I watch as the lunch lady slops what appears to be American Chop Suey onto my tray, and thank her with a grimace that she mistakes for a smile. If this is what I can expect for school lunches at North Tide for the next four years, it looks like I’ll have to start packing my own if I want to stay in shape.

  I scan the cafeteria full of obnoxiously loud students, I’m guessing made up of mostly juniors and seniors. Those that feel it’s their privilege to annoy everyone else now that they’re upperclassmen. I don’t see Quincy or any of my other friends from junior high, but my eyes land on this dude sitting alone at the back of the lunch room. He’s probably a little bit shorter than me, but super lean, and has an air of confidence about him. I recognize him from varsity try-outs last weekend, as someone who didn’t make the team, Carver Halsey. Pleased with myself for remembering, I head over in his direction.

  “Hey man, you expecting company?” I joke, motioning to all the empty seats. He laughs and motions for me to sit, seeming not even fazed by the fact he’s sitting alone on the first day of school. “You new?” I know this is a stupid question to ask but small talk obviously isn’t my sport.

  “Yeah, my parents were forced to move here because my grandmother’s dying,” he says flatly.

  “Oh, sorry to hear that, dude.”

  Carver just shrugs, “It happens.” Apparently death is another thing that doesn’t faze Carver Halsey.

  “Sorry you didn’t make varsity…you seem pretty fit. And fast, too.”

  Carver shrugs again, “Whatever, it’s cool. Coach Miller’s a dick anyway. Besides, I’ve already got my eyes set on something else.” He smiles and I follow his gaze over to a table full of freshmen girls or maybe just one in particular, Missy Flemings. I watch as she brings a hand up to her bow shaped mouth, stifling a laugh, her eyes wide with over exaggeration. It’s as if she’s consciously aware of every single motion she makes, like they’re almost rehearsed. I can tell she’ll have no trouble in the popularity department for the next four years. Missy flirted a bit with me in Junior High and she’s definitely cute, but I’ve always been too busy training and trying my hardest to keep my grades decent to have time for a girlfriend, as much as I’d like one.

  We discuss the table full of girls for a few minutes, and I won’t repeat some of the comments that are said. Hey, I am a guy after all. Though, I will admit the ones about tits were mostly from Carver’s mouth, not mine. Not soon after that, a dude comes up to our table with a blond chick hanging on his arm. I know him as a senior, one of the Sea Hound’s linebackers.

  “Hey, it’s Bryce…right?”

  I nod my chin out in recognition, “Yeah, what’s up…?”

  “Bobby,” he fills in the blank for me. “Look, I’m having a little get-together this weekend, if you want to come.” Bobby slides a slip of paper with an address on it across the table. The blond girl tugs on his sleeve and he bends down so she can whisper into his ear, her eyes never leaving Carver’s face.

  “Oh, your friend’s invited too.” He nods at Carver and the blond girl smiles at us both, as they turn to walk away.

  “Well, what do you say?” Carver leans back and rests his hands behind his head. “You game?”

  “Yeah,” I smile, “I’m totally game.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOY

  When I exit the school’s heavy double doors, I find that it’s really starting to feel like the last week of October. After a bought of surprisingly mild t-shirt weather, I wish I had brought a coat. The parking lot has mostly cleared and as I approach my elderly, green Jetta, I see Farah sitting on the hood. I frown, forgetting that I had promised to give her rides until her car is out of the shop. Guess now is a good time to do that explaining and it appears she’s thinking the same.

  Farah jumps down off the front of the car, springs of bright red hair bouncing behind her, and grabs the keys out of my hand. “I drive, you talk,” she says pointedly, and makes her way around to the driver’s side.

  Despite my sour mood today, I find myself smiling. Farah has been one of my best friends and my savior since she moved here to Massachusetts in the seventh grade. Her dad didn’t want to live in the city, so her family bought a house in the suburbs just a few blocks from ours. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

  Farah is smart, and could be a really good student, but she chooses to channel her energy the artistic route. She’s a natural at all things painting, drawing, even photography. She spends a lot of time doing an independent study in the art wing of the school and tends to reflect her creative nature on the outside. Right now she’s doing the whole punk rock thing and as I look down at her fishnet tights tucked into knee high boots, I think about how much I prefer my beat-up Chuck-Taylor’s over something like that, any day.

  Farah pulls out of the lot then glances at me with her black rimmed eyes. “So, first I see Bryce Colton lounging against your locker, then you weren’t at lunch…and I know how much you love food,” she laughs. “What in God’s name is going on, Joy? You’d think we’re in a parallel universe or something.”

  “He wasn’t lounging, and it’s not my fault,” I protest. “I’m going to tutor him…and Carver Halsey.” I add this last bit hoping to deflect the subject away from Bryce and it works.

  “Carver? You’re kidding right?” she exclaims in disbelief. “You’ve been crushing on him forever!”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” I retort sourly.

  “So, what about Bryce? Why did you look so pissed off talking to him anyway? I mean…believe me, jockey football players shouting “Freaky Farah” at me on a daily basis aren’t my cup of tea either. But what’s the big deal if it’s only one semester? It’s not like you have to be best friends with the guy or anything.”

  “Yeah…funny you should say that,” I answer reluctantly, leaning my head against the glass of the passenger side window. “Farah, there’s something I’ve never told you…about my past.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Please don’t tell me you were Bryce Colton’s secret love slave!” Farah actually looks scared saying this. “Wait…Should I pull over?” She glances over at me and steps on the brake. “I can pull over.”

  “What? No…I know I’ve told you about my dad’s accident,” I begin tentatively, “but there’s actually more to the story than that.”

  I knew this conversation with Farah was inevitable as soon as I said ‘yes’ to Ms. Higgins, honestly there is no way around it. As we drive home, I tell her about how Bryce’s dad and mine were best friends growing up, and continued to stay close even after Mr. Colton became a college football star. They both got married and ended up back in North Tide, our mom’s just happened to get pregnant around the same time, and had Bryce and myself within days of each other. Needless to say, we were inseparable from birth. Bryce was my best friend. My only friend really, because…well, I didn’t need anyone else. We did everything together.

  I sneak a glance over to the driver’s side to see how Farah is absorbing this new information and tell her, “Bryce was over my house when my mom got the call about my dad’s accident. You already know that he was hit head on by a drunk driver and died on scene, but at the time, I guess I didn’t really understand. My mom just said ‘accident’ and I thought…OK, he fell and skinned his knee, it’ll be fine…I remember Bryce’s dad coming to pick him up, but my dad never came home.”

  I fiddle with a loose thread on the hem of my shirt as I tell Farah that soon after the accident Bryce started to change. He didn’t want to see me anymore and spent a lot of time involved with sports and other kids. I focused my energy on schoolwork because that was something that had been important to my dad. Bringing home A’s was the only thing that could get my mom to smile again. She would tell me that my father would be proud and maybe part of me thought that if I excelled in school it would bring him back. Obviously that was an impossible hope.

  “Fara
h, please don’t be mad I never told you,” I beg. “No one at school even knows. It’s just not something that needs to be remembered. Our parents grieved and moved on with their lives. Bryce obviously moved on, too.”

  “Wow, what a jerk Colton is.” Farah looks pensive as she rests her left arm on the driver’s side window, the other with a hard grip on the wheel. “It must have been hard to loose not only your dad but your best friend, as well.”

  The rest of the drive is quiet, save for the soft monotonous drone of indie music coming from my stereo. Farah pulls slowly into her driveway, as if thinking of something final to say, but the loud crunch of gravel almost purposely interrupts our thoughts. We both get out and as I make my way around to the driver’s side.

  Farah pulls me into a quick hug at the front bumper. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, so I can only imagine how you must have felt.” She takes my fingers and gives them a squeeze. “See how it goes, you can always tell Ms. Higgins to screw herself. It’s not like you need to do the tutoring to get into Brown, anyway.” Farah winks and breaks our hand connection, “Oh, and sorry about the love slave comment.”

  “Thanks.” I smile and watch my best friend skip up her front steps. Then I actually laugh for the first time today when Farah turns around and calls, “So…dare I even ask? Are you coming to year book committee tonight?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BRYCE

  “So, what’s the deal with that bitchy chick?” Quincy shouts, as we’re tossing a football back and forth, in effort to loosen up before practice. Quincy Webber, my best friend and not to mention best receiver on the Sea Hounds, he’s my usual go to guy. Shorter than me, but cut, and man this guy can run. We’ve always just clicked out there on the field, and Quincy can catch pretty much anything I throw his way.

  “Huh?” I yell back in confusion.

  “I saw you talking to that brunette before gym today, I thought you preferred blonds?” He’s implying my on-again, off-again girlfriend, Missy.

  We stop passing the ball and meet up to stretch before hitting the track. “Dude, just because I talk to a girl, doesn’t mean I want to get in her pants.” I shove him in the shoulder jokingly, but really it’s the truth. “She’s not a bitch. I just don’t think she’s happy about having to tutor me in history. I got a D right now.”

  “Shit, man,” Quincy says with concern.

  “I know. I’ve got to get the grade up before I sign with VT next semester, so she’s going to tutor me for the rest of the fall.”

  “Well, good luck with it. She looked like she wanted to whoop your ass anyway, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Quincy grins, as he takes off in full force down the track.

  Fine? Not quite. I probably deserve a good ass whooping from Joy. She has every right to hate my guts. I just hope that this tutoring thing will give me the opportunity to somehow make things right.

  Jogging after Quincy, I picture her from our conversation earlier today, if you could even call it that. A scowl set tightly upon her face as she looked up at me and those angry blue eyes, too far gone for any flicker of friendliness. I find myself smiling as I run, wiping fresh beads of sweat from my brow. She gave me her address…as if I could ever forget it. It’s ingrained deep into my brain just like every single one of Coach Miller’s football plays.

  I finish my laps and slowly come to a stop. With my hands on my hips, I try to regulate my breath. Still thinking of Joy, my eyes wander over to the football field. I’ve got to get my grade up or all of this will have been pointless. I look up towards the sky and make a silent plea. Please just let me be able to fix this.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JOY

  Pulling into our driveway, the squeal of my Jetta’s brakes announce my arrival, though I doubt anyone could hear me anyway, over the sounds coming through the front door as I enter. My brother’s practicing what I believe to be, Katy Perry’s Firework, on his trumpet.

  I stand in the living room doorway and pause a moment to watch him. Devon’s thin, wiry frame reflects that of his instrument. Like me, he has blue eyes and brown hair, but his is worn in a short buzz cut. He’s a caring and likable kid and I frown, thinking about how I snapped at him earlier today. Despite being a year younger than most of his classmates, he has a zealous nature. Having already made a bunch of friends in marching band, he’s also respected by both students and teachers alike, for his incredible understanding of computers.

  Devon finally notices me watching and stops. “Hey, this is a hard one!” he protests, mistaking my frown for one of disapproval. “I still have to learn all the steps by Friday night’s game.”

  “You sound like a hiccupping elephant,” I tease him. Heading through the living room, I yell over my shoulder, “Don’t worry Dev. It already sounds better than the real thing!”

  Devon must determine that he’s tortured his instrument (or my ears) enough, and puts the trumpet down, following me into the kitchen. I set my bag down on the breakfast bar which seems to get more use than the actual dining table. Grabbing two yogurts out of the fridge, I toss one to him, and we both take a seat to start on our snack. After a few bites Devon says, “So what did Ms. Higgins want to see you about today?” He licks a glob of strawberry yogurt from the corner of his mouth.

  I groan internally. I’d been distracted enough by Devon’s musical performance to not think about the whole tutoring thing for a bit. I look down and dig at my yogurt container for a minute before responding. “I’m going to be a peer tutor, helping one of the senior football players and…Carver Halsey.” I’m not going to lie, I love the way his name sounds coming out of my mouth…

  “Which one?”

  “Huh?” I ask, in a daze. Which name? Hmm…first or last…

  “Which football player?”

  “Oh.” Naturally he would ask that. Devon’s familiar with the team from marching at the games. “Um…Bryce Colton?” I reply and wonder why everyone tends to say his name as a question.

  Devon starts laughing and practically blows yogurt out his nostrils. “I can’t believe it!” he exclaims. “No way, that guy is like an athletic god! I can’t even picture you guys in the same room together!”

  I smirk, remembering how earlier I had thought something quite similar, but if I recall correctly, mine involved a bit of nausea too. Devon is still laughing as my mom comes in through the back door. She’s toting a bulky paper bag with fresh produce sticking out the top that I’m assuming is for tonight’s dinner. She plunks it down on the kitchen counter and turns to face us.

  “What’s so funny you guys?” she asks with a puzzled smile. My mom, Pauline, still has a youthful appearance and demeanor to match. She has shoulder length dirty blond hair with bleached highlights. Her blue eyes radiate with a sense of compassion and her upturned lips give the impression that she is always smiling. My mom has a master’s degree in Interior Design, and works freelance from the house. She likes that she can set her own hours and tries to be here for us after school when she can, even though Devon and I being home together can be a rarity.

  “Mom, you will never guess who Joy is going to be tutoring!” Devon exclaims.

  “You’re probably right, so why don’t you just tell me, Joy?” She turns to me, looking for my approval to find out and it’s the little things like that, I love so much about my mom. I feel nervous to tell her and selfish for not thinking of how she might feel about the whole thing.

  “Um…Bryce,” my throat is thick from the yogurt and I have to clear my throat. “I’m going to tutor Bryce.”

  “Oh.” She turns her back to us and focuses her attention on the grocery bag.

  Oh?…That’s it? No tone of surprise, or even a puzzled expression? I look at Devon and it appears he’s no longer in his glory and seems just as confused as me.

  “Mom?” I ask cautiously. “That’s all you are going to say?”

  She puts down the pint of cherry tomatoes that she was holding. “Well, I’m not entirely surprised, Joy.
I was talking to his dad and-”

  I cut her off, “What?” I exclaim. “You talk to his dad? I didn’t know that, since like when?”

  “Since like ever, Joy. Your dad and Hank were best friends for a long time. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean I’m going to stop talking to him, honey.”

  “Why not, Bryce stopped talking me!” I retort and cross my arms in annoyance.

  Devon looks as if he’s watching a tennis match, his head jutting back and forth between the two of us. He was young when Bryce and I were best friends and has no idea of the history between our families.

  “Yes, I talk to Hank. I see him at the football games. He told me that Bryce has been falling below average in one of his classes.”

  Is it even possible for him to be below average at anything? Oh, yeah…friendship.

  “Yeah, well I’m the sucker that is going to help bail him out. You can tell Hank that the next time you talk to him.” I jump up, causing my stool to scrape loudly across the hardwood floor. Grabbing my backpack, I head upstairs to my room, and hear Devon mumble an excuse about getting back to trumpet practice. Poor kid thought he got the better of me. Little did he know, Bryce has been doing it all along.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BRYCE (Freshman Year)

  We’ve been walking for close to forty-five minutes and it makes me realize that I need to make friends with someone that is old enough to drive. It’s a muggy night, still early in September. I can feel my shirt sticking to my back and sweat dripping down from my temples. I wonder if I should have just caved in and asked my parents for a ride, the pro of arriving sweat free, suddenly outweighs the con of being dropped off to a party by your mom.