Students of the Game

by Sarah Bumpus

  Arriving at her house, I pull up and park behind the decrepit green Jetta. I need to get my hands underneath that hood, if her brakes were that bad who knows what else needs replacing. She is obviously not one for keeping up with car maintenance. I shake my head and focus on the task at hand, waking her up.

  “Joy,” I say softly, though it’s pointless since the rain is now heavy, and loud enough to drown it out. “Joy? We’re here,” I say louder and she doesn’t even flinch.

  Screw it. I react quickly, undoing her seatbelt then hopping out of the car. I sprint around to the passenger side, and open her door, getting soaked in the process. Keys. Where are her damn keys? I fish through the pocket of her hoodie, and she starts to stir as I wrap my finger around the set in victory.

  “What are you doing?” she asks sleepily.

  I don’t answer, instead I fling her bag over my shoulder, then scoop her up like a baby and make a beeline for the house.

  “Bryce! I’m awake. I can walk.” She struggles to break free, but my grip is too strong.

  “Which one is it?” I ask at the door, trying to balance her weight, the bag, and fumble with the keyring in the darkness. I can feel a continuous stream of water dripping from my hair, down my forehead, and off my nose. She immediately selects the right one, and as I manage to get the lock open, we stumble across the threshold.

  “What the hell, Bryce!” she swears at me.

  “That’s what I should have done when I dropped you the night of the dance.” I say matter of factually. “I was too pissed at you then, so I thought I’d do it now, instead.”

  She looks adorably frustrated, especially in waterlogged clothes, like a little kitten that’s been locked out too long in the crazy rain. I feel bad for playing with her, especially after the crappy night she’s had. As if it all suddenly comes back to her, Joy frowns and asks if I want to stay for a little while to hang out. I suspect she is just prolonging the fact that once alone, it will have to be processed, but I oblige. Joy motions for me to be quiet and I follow her upstairs. You can tell her mother has had no design influence on her room, whatsoever. There are posters of bands hung up, clothes are scattered everywhere, and the bed is unmade. I look up and notice that she still has those silly glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling.

  “Wow, for someone so organized, your room is a disaster,” I joke.

  Joy’s in the process of grabbing some dry clothes and gives me that look of hers, and I know to shut up. “Take your shirt off,” she instructs me, rummaging through a drawer.

  “What?”

  “Give me your shirt. I’ll toss it in the dryer. My brother probably has one you can wear while it dries.”

  My conscience kicks me hard in the ass and tells me I should go. This could be dangerous. Usually he’s pretty on target, especially on the field. But, sorry, man…not tonight. I’m totally done with not being here for Joy any longer. I peel the wet t-shirt over my head and hand it to her. She stands there for a minute staring.

  “What?” I ask, feeling the familiarity of self-consciousness raise its evil head. I look down at my stomach. “It’s just muscle.”

  “No, it’s not just muscle, it’s a freaking six pack!” she says, shaking her head and heads quietly out of the room.

  When Joy returns, she’s changed into a tank and dry sweats, and washed her face, but that hair is still a rat’s nest. Moving to sit on the bed, she’s checking her cell phone, as she tosses me a towel and a black t-shirt with a slogan in white across the front.

  C:DOSRun?

  Um…OK. Whatever, dude. I shrug at it like it’s a foreign language and pull the shirt over my head.

  “I feel like I’m in a sausage casing,” I say looking into the mirror over her dresser. Devon’s t-shirt is ridiculously tight, and covers only three quarters of my abdomen.

  Joy looks up, and starts to laugh, literally busting a gut. I’ve never seen her laugh so hard and glad to be the cause of it, I start laughing too.

  Suddenly there’s a light knock on the door.

  “Joy? Is that you? Is everything alright?” Mrs. A. calls, with sleep in her throat.

  “Shit,” Joy whispers to me and walks over to the door. “Yeah, Mom, I’m home. Everything’s fine. I just didn’t feel like sleeping at Farah’s house,” she calls back through the door in response.

  “OK, honey. Is someone in there with you? It sounds like Bryce.” she asks with a slight note of disapproval in her voice.

  “Um, yeah…Bryce is here, Mom.” Joy glares at me, and I playfully cover my mouth with my hand.

  There’s a pause on the other side, then finally a response, “Fine, honey…you’re old enough. Just don’t do anything stupid, OK?”

  “Mom!” Joy exclaims, and I hold back a laugh, feeling bad for enjoying her discomfort.

  “Don’t wake your brother. I’m going to back to bed,” is the final response.

  “This is all your fault!” Joy flops back down on the bed and pouts.

  “My fault? You called me!” I tease. She knows it’s the truth, and this makes her pout even harder. This girl is so stubborn.

  Joy gets up and moves me out of the way so she can grab a hairbrush from her dresser. She plops back down on the edge of the bed and starts to brush through the tangles. I stand there for a moment watching her not only struggling with her hair, but with all the shitty things that have happened to her tonight. Suddenly, I find myself walking over to the bed and sort of half-kneel on it next to her. I gently take the hairbrush from her hand and select a matted lock. Surprisingly for once, Joy doesn’t protest. She adjusts her body so her back is now towards me.

  I start brushing mechanically, strand after strand, until her damp hair is completely combed through. Joy cocks her head to the left, and I push back the wispy pieces from the nape of her neck, collecting all her hair over her left shoulder, exposing a plane of soft skin on the opposite side. Her eyes are shut and I can sense that she’s finally relaxed.

  Not even an entire defensive line could stop me from doing what I do next, I want it so badly. I lean down kiss the velvet smooth skin of her outstretched neck. As I breathe her in, I become lost in the floral scent of her hair mixed with the hint of fresh rain off her skin. Joy opens her eyes and turns her head towards me in surprise. I cup her chin in my palm and wearing this tight ass t-shirt I don’t know the meaning of, I kiss her hard on the mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but returns the kiss in earnest. I guide her down onto the bed, beneath me. We kiss again, a long, delicate, perfect kiss. My body tingles all over from finally knowing what it’s like to feel the warmth of her breath on my lips. When we finally pull away, Joy looks over at the clock but my eyes don’t follow. I can’t tear them away from this beautiful girl before me, afraid that if I blink, she’ll be gone. I need to savor this moment. The moment I finally kissed the girl I have loved my entire life. Without looking, I know it’s at least after twelve because Joy looks up at me and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Bryce.”

  “Thanks.” I somehow manage to voice a reply and smile down at her. Despite Joy’s troubles, I think this is already the best birthday I’ve ever had.

  “You should probably go. It’s really late and your parents might get worried.”

  “Yeah.”

  I picture my party at Quincy’s most likely still in full force without me, and know that my parent’s expect me there for the night, anyway. I look at the clock and see it’s after one, and Joy must be exhausted with worry over Farah. It takes energy from every cell in my body to force myself away from her. Still reeling from what just took place, I stand up and awkwardly try to pull the t-shirt down over exposed skin.

  “Your shirt’s probably dry, I’ll go get it,” Joy tells me, but it kind of feels like more of an excuse to leave the room.

  When she returns, I strip again, happy to no longer be a human delicatessen. Joy doesn’t watch this time, however. She just sits back down on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you alright?” I ques
tion, finally back in my own shirt. I sit down next to her.

  “No.” Joy shakes her head and tears well up in her eyes. She laughs and swipes them with the back of her hand.

  “Are you sure you want me to go?”

  “Yeah.”

  I look at her face, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. I stand up and fish my own keys out of my pocket. Turning back to look at Joy, eyes linger on her lips. I long to kiss her again, or simply just hold her and take all her troubles away. Instead I just reach down and squeeze her hand. “Bye, Joy.”

  She looks up and smiles weakly. “Thanks for what you did tonight. You’re like my own personal Batman.”

  I return the smile, and nod. It’s been awhile since I’ve done it, but I put my mask on. And I don’t look back at her as I leave.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Bryce?” my mom calls up the stairs. It is Saturday morning…I think. I look at my clock. Oh, shit. It’s Saturday afternoon. I groan and stick a pillow over my head.

  “Bryce!” This time I hear her right outside my door. “Your father wants to know when you’re getting up. It’s after lunch already.” Trying to bribe me out of bed she adds, “We have presents for you.”

  Unitas starts barking somewhere downstairs and I know I won’t fall back to sleep.

  “OK, Ma,” I call, from under the momentarily lifted up pillow. Then reality of last night’s events hit me and I drop it back over my face. The fight with Missy is the least of my concern. I’m done with her for good, and can handle the rumors she’s sure to spread, but Joy? I don’t know. I need to call her, but it will have to wait until later. My mom doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially when presents are involved.

  I pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and head downstairs where my parents are waiting at the kitchen table with a few nicely wrapped packages. I stretch and stifle a yawn, then kiss my mom on the cheek after she gives me a birthday hug.

  My dad gives me a hug as well, though a much more fatherly one. Pulling away he says, “You look like crap. Must have been a good night, huh?”

  I instantly think of Joy…of the kiss. I picture her beneath me, big blue eyes looking up into mine. How badly I wanted to kiss more than her mouth, I wanted to explore every single inch of her body with my lips. If that is ever possible I will be able to die a happy man. Until then, I’ll more than settle for what I was able to have last night. “The best I’ve ever had,” I reply.

  “Why don’t you open your gifts?” My mom hands me a present that’s a little bit larger than the size of a shoebox. “Your dad has been driving me nuts about this one all morning, so open it first.”

  I grin like a little kid and tear open the paper. Inside the box, I dig through a mound of tissue paper to finally uncover a football. It’s worn and dirty from seeing some play time on the field and I know exactly what game it was used in. “Dad,” I say in a whisper, mixed with surprise and awe. “This is your championship ball!”

  “Happy Eighteenth, Son,” he says proudly.

  “I-I can’t take this…it’s too special to you.”

  “It is special.” My dad picks up the ball and starts to run his fingers over its skin, feeling memories along with the touch as well. “That’s why I want you to have it.” He clears his throat and glances at my mom who’s in the process of making a pot of coffee, but still listening in. She smiles at him before he continues. “Bryce, it represents much more to me than just football. It’s everything that my life has become. As you know, I met your mother while in Virginia, and well, this ball represents the life we made together. It represents you.”

  My dad hands me the ball and I look down at it, afraid that if I look up at either of my parents, I might actually shed a tear. And that would be all kinds of embarrassing.

  “Anyway, I just want you to understand that your mother and I have always been proud of you. Not just for what you’ve done athletically, but for all the decisions you’ve made so far.” Dad puts his hand on top of the ball, and I finally manage to look at him. “I just want you to remember that there’s so much more to the game than just football, and no matter what you do, we’ll continue to be proud of you.”

  I just nod and mumble a ‘thanks’, not used to this kind of sentimentality from my dad. Granted he’s never really tough on me, except when I need a good old verbal ass kicking during training, but he’s never forced me to do anything. Always encouraging me to make my own choices, he’s just never been sappy about it.

  I take a sip of the coffee my mom hands me before opening the rest of my gifts, though I doubt anything could top the elation of opening the first. Well, on second thought, last night’s kiss would be pretty hard to beat, too.

  Then, after spending some time talking with my parents and scarfing down some food, by the time I get to call Joy it’s already late afternoon. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, it’s Bryce.”

  “I know,” she says, and I can picture her blue eyes rolling like an ocean wave.

  “What’s going on? Have you talked to Farah?”

  “No. Not yet. She won’t answer or return my calls.” She quickly changes the subject. “How’s your Birthday?”

  “Good! My dad gave me his championship ball from college.”

  “That’s awesome,” she says enthusiastically, then there’s a pause and I hear her breathe into the receiver. “Listen, Bryce…about last night…” By her tone, I suspect that we won’t have to worry about any school rumors. “I get what you were trying to do,” she continues. “I was upset and feeling really down about a lot of things. When you started brushing my hair, I just…I don’t know. It made me feel kind of pretty and…cared for. It was a nice thing to do for me.” She pauses again before adding, “So thanks for the…you know…pity kiss, but it won’t have to happen again.”

  I feel like I’m in a nightmare where I’ve been sacked repeatedly during a game, drained of all feeling mentally and physically, and I can no longer get back up on my feet. She thinks I kissed her out of pity. I sigh, “Joy, you are pretty.” And she is. She’s beautiful. Even with ratty hair and makeup halfway down her face. “You don’t need a dumb jock like me to tell you that. And kiss or no kiss, I told you I do care about you.”

  A whole lot more than you realize, I think to myself, but I have to let it go. If she felt the same way, this conversation would be going totally different. Joy tells me that she knows, and makes some comment about how I’m a good friend, which I don’t really pay attention to. After we hang up, I go back to bed, beaten up and broken from Joy’s words kicking me in the face. I stay there for the rest of what’s no longer the best birthday ever.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  JOY

  How can I be mad at Farah for lying, when I can’t even be honest with myself?

  A pity kiss?

  C’mon, Joy. You’re smarter than that.

  No boy would ever kiss a girl like that out of pity. Nor would the girl kiss him back the same way if it was. Friends don’t kiss each other like that, either. When our lips met, it felt like they were never meant to be apart. The way Bryce looked at me that night was a silent confession of a beautiful truth, and I chose not to listen. I wish more than anything I could completely believe it, but I can’t. What if he breaks my heart all over again and leaves me feeling more alone than before? I’m not so sure I’d be strong enough to make it through that again. Besides, there’s a big difference between the type of heartache the seven year old me dealt with, and what this eighteen year old would have to deal with now.

  Speaking of dealing, I think I’ve been handed enough to fill my plate in that department for a long time. After I get off the phone with Bryce, I try calling Farah for what feels like the hundredth time today. This time her cell is shut off and at least that’s some indication that she’s aware of my calling. When it goes to voicemail, I hang up and try her house. Her mom tells me that Farah isn’t feeling well and can’t come to the phone. Anger starts to bubble in my chest
. My best friend for years and she won’t even give me the chance to make things right? And even more so, help her see just how dangerous of a road she’s heading down.

  I wonder if Seth knows about it?

  No. There’s no way he would stay quiet about something as serious as this. I think long and hard about calling him but when I feel my phone vibrate in my hand and find yet another text from Carver, I temporarily forget everything else round me.

  Stop fucking ignoring me! You think this is a game? I’ll show you just how much I hate being played.

  My heart pounds as if I’m already on foot trying to flee to safety, as my trembling thumb hovers over the delete button. His texts have been threatening, but mostly cryptic, like him. Not this blatantly obvious. I debate confessing everything to my mom and showing her the text, but she’d just want to call the cops. And what good would that do? Carver’s father is one. I’ve seen enough movies to know how things like that turn out. The innocent victim loses everything to the psycho with a knife. Who miraculously gets off scot-free because somehow the evidence just doesn’t stack up, or mysteriously goes missing. Maybe Carver will just give up if I he sees that I won’t give in. Determining that’s my only option right now, I hit delete and throw my phone onto my desk, a little two forcefully, and make a mental note to get my number changed right after school on Monday.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  BRYCE

  I’m at work waiting on Mrs. Getty, a little gray haired lady who’s a pretty frequent customer, today in need of an air filter replacement.

  “Will a strong young man like yourself, help install it for an old lady like me?” she asks sweetly, while checking out my biceps that the polo shirt of my uniform is unable to hide. I find it hilarious that older women flirt with me here, more than girls my own age do.