Students of the Game

by Sarah Bumpus

I turn towards him, unlocking my eyes from Joy as she starts to resume her part of the conversation with her mom. “Sorry, about what Dev?”

  Devon looks at Joy, then back at me and rolls his eyes. “Forget it, lover-boy. I have homework to do.” He jumps up and puts his glass in the sink.

  Is it that obvious? I feel heat rise up the back of my neck and sneak a glance at Joy, but she’s so absorbed in conversation, that I don’t think she heard Devon’s remark.

  I make my way back outside to finish Joy’s brake pads, and a short time later she comes out to join me. I’m finishing up, and now with no reason to stay, I wish I had done the work a little slower.

  “Hey, you’re all done?” she asks, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

  “Yeah, sorry, it ended up being such a process.”

  “It’s OK, really. I appreciate it and I’m glad you’re here to celebrate. It was kind of like old times.”

  I smile at the thought. “Yeah, I guess.”

  She clears her throat and chews at her lower lip a moment before adding, “I’m glad you came over yesterday. We both know how stubborn I can be. I wouldn’t have taken the initiative to do it first, and I’m glad we’re friends again.”

  Joy reaches up and gently wipes a smear of grease off my forehead that I didn’t know was there. It’s a simple gesture, not meant to be anything more than helpful, but the delicate touch of her tiny fingers feels wrongly sensual to me. I mentally shake my head and acknowledge the truth.

  Friends. I should be happy to hear that word. I’ve been hoping to for so long, but all it does is make me feel like I have barbed wire mauling at my heart.

  That’s all we’ll ever be.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  JOY

  If there’s one thing I can’t lie to myself about anymore it’s Carver. Our relationship makes me think of throwing that damn spiral with Bryce’s foam football. It felt amazing at first and maybe it wasn’t perfect, but I gave it my all. Unfortunately, its downward decline was inevitable, and took a huge bounce in the wrong direction before coming to a final halt. I know I need to face him again. I can’t just ignore what happened and use my birthday, or friends, as an outlet. Whatever is inside Carver, I already tried to ignore once and look where it got me. Maybe I thought I could fix it, but I now know I can’t. He’s too broken to be put back together by me alone.

  The next day, Carver is back in school and somehow I manage to avoid him all day. I start to wonder if it’s his doing, more than mine. As if he knows by hiding, I’ll be so freaked out that he’ll have the upper hand. By the time the final bell rings I feel like Carver’s tactic may have indeed worked. I head quickly to my locker but even with my eyes and ears open, I still jump slightly and manage to drop my backpack, when he comes up behind me.

  “When were you going to tell me?” Carver demands.

  I slowly turn to face him. The yellow in Carver’s hazel eyes is glowing, ignited in fury. “Tell you what? I don’t have anything to say to you.” I respond with equal intensity. I feel my heart start to pound at the closeness of his proximity.

  “About Colton driving you to school,” he states angrily.

  What the hell? Did he somehow forget what happened Friday night? Does he really think this relationship is still exactly that?

  I decide to play it safe and humor him. “It was just one day. My brakes were bad,” I admit with a shrug. It’s technically not a lie.

  Carver presses me firmly against the lockers. “I don’t care. I don’t want you hanging around with him,” he whispers angrily.

  I push him off and slide away from the lockers so I’m no longer penned in. “Are you serious Carver? We…” I point to what little amount of space is between us. “…are not a ‘we’ anymore. So I don’t think you have a say.” I explain slowly, trying to remain calm.

  Carver grabs my wrist tightly and pulls me towards him, caressing my cheek. “Baby, look…I get that your mad about Friday night. I’m sorry. You looked so beautiful, I just got carried away. It won’t happen again,” he coos.

  His touch is an infestation of maggots wriggling across my skin. I turn my face away in disgust and yank my hand free from his grasp. Looking around to see if anyone is a witness to this little altercation, the halls are mysteriously quiet, and I start to feel uneasy. “I’m not your baby, Carver.” I take a deep breath and pray my voice doesn’t give away my fear as I add, “This relationship…if you can even call it that…it over.” I quickly bend down, pick up my backpack and retrieve the wadded up scarf that I shoved inside this morning. Forcing it into his hands, I start to make my escape. I need to get out to the parking lot in the presence of others, fast.

  Carver starts to shake his head wildly and in the way only he is capable, his emotions change as quickly as the slam of a locker. “Joy, please don’t say that,” he begs. “I’m sorry. You know how jealous I can be. I just don’t like to share.” Carver throws in a lopsided smile as if this will still have some magical effect on me. He still thinks this is about Bryce.

  “Yeah, well…I’m not one of your possessions,” I say, glancing at the scarf. Then taking a wide route around, I leave him and don’t look back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The following Friday night, Farah picks me up and she looks amazing. Apparently the feeling isn’t mutual. “That’s what you’re wearing?” She gives me an appalled look, taking in my hoodie and jeans.

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I say defensively, as my phone buzzes and I find yet another harassing text from Carver. He’s been sending them all week. “I have enough guy drama in my life right now as it is.”

  What I don’t admit to her is that I didn’t tell my mom I was going to a party. I’m not 100% sure she’d say no, but I lied and just told her I’d be sleeping at Farah’s instead. Also, that the thought of wearing anything remotely revealing makes me nauseous when I picture Carver’s hand trailing up the hem of my dress. I’m seriously contemplating just wear baggy sweats for the rest of my life.

  Farah breaks my train of thought with a huff. “Fine, let’s go. I don’t want to be too late.”

  She seems fidgety and on edge, nervously tapping the steering wheel as we drive. The depressing drizzle of rain hitting the windshield doesn’t help the mood either. Even though I told her about breaking up with Carver, we don’t talk much about it, or anything for that matter. This in turn, makes me nervous and I just keep swigging from a water bottle to fill the silence. By the time we meet up with Charlotte, Farah is a totally different person.

  “I told Derek we’d be there by nine,” she snaps at her sister who’s putting the finishing touches on her make-up. Charlotte is two years older, with a quiet beauty about her, and hair as red as Farah’s. Though where her curls are tightly wound and full of bounce, Charlotte’s hang loose in long relaxed waves, I never realized how much someone’s hair could reflect their personality.

  “Chill, Farah. It won’t really get started until ten anyway.” She tosses a few necessities into her hobo and slings it over her shoulder indicating she’s ready to go.

  On the ride over to the party, Charlotte glances at me in the rear view as she drives. She comments that she’s glad I finally decided to ditch the boyfriend and join in the fun. I glance at the back of Farah’s head, wondering what exactly was said about me in my absence, and feel slightly uncomfortable. If Farah had wanted me to spend time with her, all she had to do was ask. She invited me out once, and then never mentioned it again, so I never pushed it. Has she really been jealous of Carver all this time, filling the void in our friendship by partying?

  I can already hear the bass pumping from inside the apartment, and as we take a freight elevator to the top floor, I pray that the cops don’t get called. The door rises and the three of us are instantly consumed by a rolling front of cigarette smoke, as thick as the fog outside. Taking a second whiff, I mentally throw pot in there, too. There are bodies everywhere, taking up the majority of the apart
ment’s floor plan. Which is actually an amazing feat since it’s a huge open studio space with barely any furniture. I can’t even imagine knowing this many people. The invite must have spread through word of mouth like an uncontainable wild fire.

  Charlotte almost instantly ditches us when she spies some of her friends from school. For a moment Farah and I stand huddled side by side, dodging people carrying more beers than they can handle, and drunk girls dancing to their own unsexy rhythm. I shudder. That looks horribly familiar.

  Farah doesn’t seem fazed by any of it and just stands there, scanning the crowd. Just as I’m about to tell her that I need to pee, Farah points and yells over the music, “There’s Derek!”

  I look to where she is indicating and see a small group sitting on an arrangement of Ikea couches around a glass coffee table, away from the crowd as if having a private party of their own.

  “Farah, I really have to pee!” I exclaim, cursing all that water I consumed on the drive into the city. Farah gives me a look that could kill and I know she’s eager to greet her man. “Just go over there, and I’ll meet you after I’m done!” I yell to her.

  We separate and miraculously, I find the bathroom. Only having to wait behind two others to use it, by the time I head back to the location of the couches, maybe about ten minutes has passed. The party has gotten even more crowded, and I wade my way through the sea of party goers, pushing and shoving until I finally see Farah. When I do, I stop dead in my tracks as I watch the scene unfold before me.

  Farah is sitting on the lap of some guy, I assume to be Derek. He dips her down so she’s hovering over the coffee table. My mouth drops open in shock as she effortlessly takes in the full line of cocaine laid out before her. Farah sits up and laughs as he licks what’s left off her nostrils. My head starts to pound along to the beat of the music and someone slams into me. Pissed off and irritable, I slam them right back, not even realizing that the person is a girl, I cause her to fall to the ground.

  “You bitch!” She exclaims and quickly stands up, getting right in my face.

  “I’m sorry, I…” Fumbling for an apology with my thoughts on Farah, I don’t expect the shove back. I stumble, and catch myself from falling completely, but it’s enough to cause a slight scene. Not going unnoticed by Farah and her crew.

  Farah races over, curls trying to match her pace and grabs my arm. The pissed of girl calls me another name, but not wanting to get kicked out, lets the incident go. Then as quickly as it happened, she’s sucked up back into the sponge of the party.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” Farah laughs.

  “Me! What about you?” I glare at her. “What the fuck are you doing over there?” The adrenaline still pumping through me causes me not to care about swearing at my best friend.

  “Oh, oops,” she pouts. “You saw that? I thought you’d be in the bathroom longer.”

  “Are you serious, Farah?” I throw my arms up in disbelief. “This is why you’ve been hiding the guy from me, because he’s your personal drug dealer?”

  “Relax. It’s just a little blow.”

  Another body shoves into me and I’m about to lose it. “No, I won’t relax!” I grab Farah’s wrist. “We’re leaving now. Where’s your sister? Does she even know about this?”

  Farah rips her hand free from my grasp and crosses her arms, “So what? Big fucking deal! Now that you know, what’s the point in leaving?” She throws me a sly smile. “Let me have some fun.”

  I can’t believe the person in front of me is my best friend of six years. I look into her eyes and realize how much she’s changed over the course of the year, her thin frame, tired eyes, and lack of interest in her real friends. The signs were there, I just didn’t do anything about acknowledging them. Now I understand the secrets. She knew I wouldn’t approve and I don’t. “No. We’re going.”

  Farah gets in my face, apparently a really fun place to be tonight. “I’m not leaving,” she says angrily.

  I know I should stay and make sure she’ll be alright, but I can’t bring myself to sit back and just allow myself to watch her self-destruct. “Then I am.”

  I stare her down before she turns and heads back to the couches. Standing there, lost in a crowd of unfamiliar faces and thick smoke, I suddenly realize I have a whole new problem before me…how to get home. I can’t call Seth. Once he sees the caller ID, there’s no way he would even pick up the phone. And I can’t call my mom. She would kill me if she knew I went to a party without asking. This is why I hate lying. Seeing no alternative, I dig out my phone and find the number then press the call button. It rings twice before he answers.

  “Bryce…I need your help.”

  I tell him where I am and he says he’ll be here in thirty minutes.

  He makes it in twenty.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  BRYCE

  “I gotta go man,” I tell Quincy, as I hastily shove my phone in my pocket, fishing my car keys out from the other.

  “What? What do you mean you’ve got to go? This is your birthday party!”

  “I’m sorry. Something came up.”

  “What’s more important than chillin’ with your boys?” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, spilling his beer in the process.

  “I’ve got to pick someone up in the city.”

  “Oh, birthday booty call!” He raises his cup in the air, in approval.

  “Yeah, man…Whatever. Thanks for this.” I motion to the crowd hanging around Quincy’s parent’s living room, a lot of them, kids I don’t even know.

  I head for the door, thinking only of getting to Joy as soon as possible. I’m just about at the Jeep, thanking the heavens that no one parked me in, when someone calls to me. “Bryce! Where are you going?”

  It’s Missy. She’s walking across the lawn, dressed only in a sleeveless black dress, hugging herself from the chill of the night air. Damn. I was hoping leave without a scene, but a good quarterback can sense a blitz a mile away.

  I sigh. “Missy, look I don’t have time for this. I really have to go.”

  “Time for this? By that you mean me?” she says heatedly. “It’s her isn’t it?”

  I don’t say anything in response.

  She laughs. “Oh my God…it is! Wow….I never realized how lame you are. Together all that time and we never even fucked? How long have you been doing her? I bet she likes it rough…the quiet ones always do.”

  “Seriously, Missy?” I take in a breath and try to remain calm, slowly getting into the Jeep. “Is that all you care about? Maybe you should give Carver Halsey a call.” I know it’s a horrible thing to say, but I can’t stand to hear her talk that way about Joy.

  Just before slamming the door shut, I lean out and yell, “You think I’m the one that’s lame? Why do you think we never fucked?” I don’t give her a second glance as I floor the engine, off to rescue Joy.

  I drive into Rhode Island on autopilot. The highway’s not that congested, having already delivered everyone into the city, that has something to do there by now. Yet, I still find myself having to weave around the jerk-offs that like to coast at sixty in the fast lane, just to piss people off.

  While I drive I think about Missy, and I can’t believe how stupid I was to waste all that time on her, believing it was for a good reason. She never cared about me, just as I never cared for her. Though, while my reason was redemption, hers was seeking a social status. In a way we both used each other for our own personal goals and that’s really the only thing to feel bad about.

  When I get into Providence, I have to use my phone’s GPS to locate the address of the coffee shop, Joy gave me. I’m usually pretty good at finding my way without it, but I don’t want to take a chance and waste time by getting lost.

  I switch on my defroster and set the wipers on low to clear the steady mist of rain that’s collecting on the glass. Between the glare of headlights and horrible drivers, the weather only adds to the disorientation of the city.

  Finally
, I see the glow of green lettering through the foggy windshield and relax slightly when I pull up to an empty spot outside the coffee shop. I see Joy sitting on a stool facing the window, with her head in her hands. When she spots me, she grabs her bag and bolts for the door.

  “I’m so sorry, Bryce. I didn’t know who else to call,” she says frantically, when she opens the door. I can tell that she’s been crying. Make-up that at one point probably looked good, has raccooned both eyes, and her usual silken hair is flat and damp from walking in the rain.

  “It’s alright, Joy. Just get in.” I make a note not to mention the party or Missy. I don’t want her to feel any worse than I sense she already does.

  We drive in silence, except for the occasional shuddering arch of the windshield wipers. Joy has her head resting against the passenger window, and for some time I think she’s asleep. I motion to put the heat on for her, but she stops me, saying she’s fine.

  “Well, obviously you’re not, Joy.” I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at her. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  She runs through the events of the night and tears start to form in her eyes as she explains how she witnessed Farah McKinley doing drugs, and helplessly walked away. “I just left her there, Bryce!” she exclaims. “If something happens, it’s my fault.”

  I reach over and grab her hand. “It’s not your fault. She made the decision for herself.”

  Joy just nods loosely, as if in thought. When she starts to shiver, I turn on the heat without even waiting for her approval. The combination of the blasting warm air and her emotional night causes Joy to dose off the rest of the ride home. I glance over at her. Her head is back against the headrest, lips slightly parted. The tangled entrails of her wet hair remind me of when we were kids and how much she used to hate to have it brushed. It makes me think back to last semester when I first approached her in the hall, after years of silence between us. I realize just how much I’ve missed her and all the events of her life, big or small. I’ve missed out on sharing so much with her.