“Thank you, Paige.” My emotions are on the rise again, which happens much too often since my night with the roaches, but she somehow thinks this is cute.
She giggles lightly, cups my face in her hands and kisses my mouth. “You’re absolutely perfect, Ryan.”
I know I’m not, but she makes it easy to believe her.
SEVENTEEN
Dad is all types of excited. He bar-b-q’s steaks, talks real loud, and bustles around the house. There’s a football game on tonight and he’s dying to see it.
Mom leaves with her girlfriends, and Dad hauls me downstairs to the family room and sits me on the couch in front of the big screen TV.
He hoots and hollers and jumps up and down. He yells at the refs, agrees with the coaches, compliments the players, and during the commercials he even lists meaningless facts about dozens of them. But the one thing he doesn’t do is relax. Never once does his back make contact with the couch.
Somewhere, around first half of the second quarter, my eyes catch hold of a reflection in the glass doors of a display case to the right of the TV. Luc is behind us. He’s leaned against the jamb of the door and I have a feeling he’s been there awhile.
I’m watching him through the glass so I don’t see what happens on the screen, but whatever it is, it nearly gives Dad a heart attack and it causes Lucas to double his fist, grit his teeth and silently exclaim, Yes!
“Nice!” Dad cries out. “Ryan! Ryan!” He’s rattling me and he’s so excited I don’t think he has a clue how rough he’s really being.
I smile politely. “I gotta pee.”
The replay is on, now, and he’s so engrossed in watching it, that he doesn’t even glance at me as I get up from the couch.
Luc watches me though, and when he knows I’m officially aware he’s there, a glitch of embarrassment, or maybe even shame, flashes in his eyes. Like he’s been caught at a party he wasn’t invited to. He doesn’t let me see that for long. He hardens his expression and lets me know he’s not going to let it slide if I mock him for being there, then he takes a step backward to leave.
I shake my head and confusion flashes for him. He stays put, though, and I stop just before I pass him. We’re facing opposite directions but I make sure our shoulders touch. I’m only an inch taller than him and I turn my face to look at him. “Go sit down, Luc,” I whisper.
He shakes his head quickly.
“Go sit with him.”
He shoots a glance at Dad, then back to me and shakes his head again.
“Go watch the game with him.”
He studies me. He wants to, I can tell. I nod toward the couch and give him a push start. He takes it and moves forward, but he hesitates at the last minute and his eyes flash with fear. He’s afraid of rejection.
I grin at him and it makes him just mad enough to get the job done. He rolls his eyes like he’s so much cooler than me, and then he rounds the couch and flops down on it.
“That was quick,” Dad says, thinking it’s me. “Did you see that play? Huh? Did you?”
“It kicked ass,” Luc says and my dad’s eyes dart immediately to him.
“Luc?” he’s confused but he gets over it quickly enough and trains his eyes back on the game.
I take my brother’s place at the back of the room and watch the two of them until the next great play comes along and causes Luc to shout, “Right on!” and Dad to spring from his seat with his fist pumping the air. Before he sits back down, he high fives Lucas, and through the glass I see Luc beam.
I smile, happy that he feels good, and then I go upstairs. I just take it one step at a time, resting between each one, and it takes me an extremely long while to climb them all, but finally I reach the top and, I’m outa there!
I know their team won, because they ascend from the basement, both recapping the events with thrill flooding their voices. They come into the kitchen where I’m sitting at the table.
“You should have seen it, Ry, you should have seen it!” Dad booms and then cuffs Luc on the back. “It was fantastic, wasn’t it?”
Luc doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “Best one I’ve seen for awhile.” He glances at the art paper I have hidden under my arms and then does a double take. He looks at me and without words, asks me to move. I lift my arms to let him see and he discreetly studies it before raising a brow with something that resembles respect.
I cover the paper back up, and he calls Dad’s attention to the freezer for ice cream, while I get my art the hell out of there.
_____
Over the weekend I spend as many waking hours as I can with Paige. She’s become a habit to me. I like how I feel when I’m with her. I like that she understands me – that I don’t have to be anyone other than who I currently am with her. I guess what I’m saying is, I really like her.
We can talk, and we do for hours and I enjoy every second of it.
On Sunday night, I sit in her living room with her and Cynthia and seemingly out of the blue I say, “Paige, I wasn’t going to ask you this, because I didn’t think I was going to go, but do you want to go to the homecoming dance with me on Saturday?”
Cynthia coos and Paige smiles.
“I know it’s stupid of me to ask, because there’s no way I can dance, but maybe we could just go hang out.”
“I’d love to.”
“Cool,” I grin.
On Monday morning we enter the school holding hands. I walk Paige to her locker, we kiss, and I move on to mine. I’ve gotten what I need out of it and am heading toward first hour when Tasha appears.
“Hi Ry,” she glances around to see who’s watching then pushes me through the door of a nearby girls restroom. I kinda have to just go with it because if I resist too much, I’ll end up on the floor. She presses me against the wall and looks me over.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You sure do ignore me for long periods of time,” she says with a hungry smile.
“Me? You sure you’re not talking about yourself?”
She giggles and runs her hands seductively up my chest.
“Don’t, okay?” I grab at her hands. F– Almighty, she can make my heart pound in one point two seconds.
“You don’t want me to touch you?” She does anyway. She wiggles through the weak grip I have on her wrist and puts more passion into her touch. She makes it to a spot low on my abdomen before I can grab her again.
“No, Tasha, I don’t want you to touch me.”
She allows me to keep holding her hands and leans in so close that her lips graze mine, then she asks, “Why?”
“Because,” I say. “Just leave me alone, please.”
She laughs. “Haven’t you been alone long enough, Ryan? Don’t you miss me?”
“Look, I . . . I don’t really even know you. I mean . . .” She’s so incredibly close. Her hands have twisted in mine and she’s managed to intertwine our fingers. They are hanging low, and she presses them tightly between our bodies until I can feel the back of her hands touching me in a place she ought not to, and vice versa.
I might kind of like her touching me if there was no Paige. But there is. And she’s all there is in my head. She’s all there is – period! And for that reason, this feels so wrong.
“Tasha, please.” I’m extremely trapped and I don’t even know how to get out of this. I can’t step backwards because of the wall. I can’t move forward because of her body. I can’t take a right because of the sink and I can’t go left because that would mean I have to use my bad leg to drag myself out of this. It would be up to the task if she just let me go. But if she tries to stop me, like I’m sure she will, I won’t make it. “Please,” I say again and she smiles.
“I’m not like you, Ry; I won’t leave you hanging when you beg for it.” She’s on me. Her mouth covers mine – hot and wet. Her expert fingers release the button and zipper of my jeans and her hand drives in. She gropes me, and I do all I can to pull her out of there.
I’m not kissing her ba
ck. I have my lips sealed and I’m breathing heavily through my nose. And with every inhale, the scent of her goes straight to my brain like a line of coke.
I don’t dare tell her to stop. The second I open my mouth to let words out, she’s going in, and I know it.
I push at her and she pushes right back. I valiantly struggle to get her hand out of my pants, but she grips me tighter – almost digging in with her nails.
Fear is growing. Panic. Hurt. And shame, too. Gut wrenching shame. I hate that a girl is stronger than me. I hate that I feel so powerless. I hate that someone besides who I really like is doing this to me, be it my so called “girlfriend,” or not. I want it to stop!
I grab at Tasha’s wrists again, this time with all the emotion that has built inside of me. I squeeze them as tightly as I can and shove her backward a step.
“Ouch!” She cries out the word, jerks away from my grip, and slaps me across the face with horrific force.
It burns. My flesh, where she has made contact, actually feels like it’s on fire. But worse than that is that the front of the ring she is wearing had gotten twisted to the palm side of her hand, probably when she was down my pants, and it has cut my cheek.
I stare at her and she stares back. Not an ounce of remorse in her eyes.
“You hurt my wrists,” she says.
“Did I?”
I can’t remember 99.8% of my life, but I’m damn near positive I’ve never wanted to lay a girl out cold so badly in all my life. I’m so angry, I’m shaking.
I’ve got to get out of here. I step forward to leave, but she blocks my path. It infuriates me and I shove her again. It’s a wimpy shove and does little more than makes her step backward, but it’s enough space for me to get past her.
It has taken all my energy to hold her back, fight her off and get away from her, and I pull open the restroom door feeling like I’ve just climbed Everest again. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my head. It throbs with every beat. My leg hurts. My back hurts. My everything hurts. But it’s the ruthless adrenaline, still coursing through me, that is gonna be what officially takes me down. It’s darkening my vision and making my head feel strange.
I step out into the hall, hardly able to hold myself up, and my eyes land directly on Jake. I fall against the wall and between the circling stars I see him look from me to the gender label on the bathroom door. He’s wondering what the hell, until Tasha comes out and then he’s assuming he knows.
“Good Lord, Ry,” she says as she passes me, “You act like you just got raped. It wasn’t that bad.”
Jake’s eyes follow her as she falls into the flow of people, then they swing back to me. He stands there for a moment, before crossing the hall. He hesitates at the perimeter of my bubble, looks at me again, this time with concern, then takes his chances and enters. He positions himself directly in front of me, looks both directions then returns to me and in a loud whisper says, “Do up your pants, Man.”
I’m glad he’s giving direction, because I don’t have the head for this right now.
I do as I’m told.
“Do you know you’re bleeding?” he asks.
“Jake.” I can only manage to mumble his name, but the way I do makes him say, “You’d better come with me.”
He stays close, but only grabs on to me when he thinks I really need the help. He’s spot on every time, and he saves me from falling, at least twice, when my knees give.
In the least humiliating way possible, he leads me through the hall and out the door of the school. We cross the parking lot and he unlocks the passenger door of his car and helps me in.
Just to sit down feels much better and colors return to their normal brightness much quicker than I thought they would. I’m still shaking, throbbing, and sick to my stomach, though.
Jake rounds the car; stopping at the trunk for a first aid kit then unlocks the driver’s side and gets in. He reaches above me and pulls down the sun visor and opens the lid of the mirror.
“She messed you up,” he says, and gives me something to clean the blood off with.
I dab at it, then trade him the bloody cotton pad for a disinfectant wipe he’s unpackaged for me. I use it, then we trade again for a clean cotton pad and I hold it against my cut while he dumps his fountain drink out in the parking lot. He pours some of the ice from it into a medical glove, ties a knot in the top and hands it to me. “Might help the hand print she left.”
I place the makeshift ice pack on top of the gauze pad and it does help the burn. I recline the seat back and close my eyes. It takes several long minutes before my heart slows down and the pressure in my head subsides – before I can think clearly.
“I can’t lose Paige, Jake. She . . . she’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane.”
He’s quiet and it makes me look over at him. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“Keep my mouth shut?”
“Please.”
“Did you screw Tasha?”
“No.”
“Did she screw you?”
“No. She wanted to get to that, but I stopped her.”
“Hence the hand print,” he says almost under his breath. Then, returning his voice to a normal volume, he says, “What’s to tell Paige, then?”
“Thanks, Jake. I’m sure I’ve given you plenty of reason to tell her and cause trouble for me.”
He shrugs, “You have, but I’ve been practicing what you told me about not throwing the football too hard and it’s really helped, so consider this even.”
I hold up a limp fist and he bumps it with his.
“So,” I say looking at the first aid kit. “You’re just like a little boys scout, aren’t you? All prepared and shit.”
He grins. “How you gonna explain the gash on the face to her?”
“I don’t know. Paper cut?”
He laughs and so do I.
We hang out in his car until the bell rings to end first hour, then we go to class.
I just tell Paige I lost my balance and caught my face on a desk on the way down and she believes me. I feel like an ass lying to her, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want her to have to worry about Tasha, and I don’t want her thinking I had anything to do with what happened, either.
EIGHTEEN
Homecoming seems to be a big deal at school and in the community. The cheerleaders hang posters around town and banners in the school. The trophy case gets an update. The player’s lockers get decorated. Mine included.
Girls shop for their dresses. Guys start talking flowers. Businesses give out fliers and coupons to use their services. And Dad gets real excited and tells me all the stories of how I won this game or that for the team.
On Thursday there’s a big parade. And on Friday, which is also game night, there’s a pep assembly during the last forty-five minutes of school.
The entire student body and faculty floods into the boys’ gym for it, and we fill the bleachers on both sides of the court.
I sit on the bottom row so that I don’t have to climb anything, and Paige sits next to me.
Principal Winford stands out in the middle of the gym floor, and with a handheld microphone welcomes everyone. She talks football for a minute and her spiel makes me wonder if she’s ever even attended a game in her life.
The marching band plays the fight song and we all sing the words we can remember. Then they prove that they are multi-talented by playing a few more upbeat songs while dancing around the gym with their instruments.
The cheerleaders are next and they bounce up and down in their little skirts, shaking pom-poms and other things. They lead us all in a few go-fight-win chants and then they do a few routines which include some impressive throws and pyramids.
The drill team takes their turn, and, yes, Tasha is on it. Would you expect anything less? They do a number that won them the state title last year, and then a new one.
Then Coach Stone takes center court and the microphone. He starts talking ab
out a player with an amazing talent, who’s fought back from the brink, and then he says my name.
“Ryan, come on out here.” He beckons to me and I don’t wanna go.
Paige smiles and gives me a nudge so I get up off of the bleacher seat and limp my way out into the middle of more people than I can count. My heart is pounding, my knees feel weak, and I’m sure my face is beet red, but as I cross the court the shouts and hollers turn to a respectful clap and people start standing up. By the time I reach Coach and turn around, the whole place is on their feet. It feels damn good.
“We know you can’t play this year, Ryan,” Coach says into the mic, “But you’ll always be on the team.” He hands me a jersey with my name and number on it and tells me to put it on. I do and the crowd goes wild.
I want to head back to my seat now but Coach hands the microphone to me. I don’t know what to say so I just tell them all thanks for the love and support. That’s good enough for them and they all cheer me again.
I have to admit, I like the feeling and I find myself wondering if that was part of what appealed to me about playing ball in the past.
I hand the mic back to Coach and he whispers to me to stay put. I do and he announces the names of the players and they come jogging out onto the court.
The claps and shouts from the crowd never stop, but it gets louder when one of the favorites is called. Both Zane and Scott get a hardy cheer.
Then the games begin. Apparently, it’s some sort of school tradition for the top five players to compete in a variety of silly, but physical events. Physical. My cue to sit down, but again Coach tells me to stay.
“For three years in a row you’ve been one of the top five, Ryan,” he says through the mic. “And would have been again this year, but since you’re not able to participate personally, pick someone to represent you.”
I instantly know who I want. Lucas. I want him to be down here on the court, with the team, where he rightly belongs. There’s no doubt in my mind that, if I hadn’t gotten him cut, he’d be one of the five, anyway. He’s a sophomore, and should rightly only be JV, but he’s much better than that and I’m certain Coach would have had him playing varsity. And, now that I think about it, was probably why I did what I did in the first place. He was probably good enough to be varsity as a freshman. It has to be true; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been such a threat to me. I want to make things up to him and say sorry in a big way.
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