All The Glory (7 page)

I lifted my hand and bapped him on the back of the head with it. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, butthead. And you can stop being ungrateful while you’re at it, too.”

I walked out of the totally quiet room leaving three stunned-into-silence men behind me.

Chapter Eleven

I LEFT THE COUNTY JAIL before Mr. Bradley came out. I was too embarrassed about losing my cool and assaulting his son to hang around and wait for him to appear. I chanted prayers all the way home that Mr. Bradley wouldn’t come by and tell my parents what I’d done.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening passed without incident. Mr. Bradley never showed up, and Bobby agreed to wait until tomorrow to grill me about my visit.

When I went to bed, I lay there staring at the ceiling, hugging my old teddy bear to my chest like I used to when I was tiny. I’d rescued him before bedtime from a bookshelf where he’d been banished a few years ago when I’d decided I was too old and sophisticated to sleep with baby toys.

Not normally a very religious person, I was moved to break my normal routine of falling asleep to visions of sheep jumping over a line of monster trucks and prayed for my friend instead.

Dear God. Can I call you God?
I was a little worried about being too casual since we really weren’t on speaking terms, but I figured he wouldn’t mind in the end and kept on going.
Anyway, I have this friend. You know him. He’s Jason. He broke probably your biggest rule or commandment or whatever you call it on Friday night. I’ve heard you’re a forgiving kind of deity, so I’m hoping that applies to him. I don’t think he meant to do it, or if he did, there’s a good reason for it. I know the rule is that there is no good reason to end someone, but I don’t really believe that rule. I mean, not that I’m in a position to judge, but I feel like I have heard of lots of monsters who don’t deserve to be here with people who, you know, don’t hurt other people or whatever. So if you could find it in your … heart or … whatever organ you use, if you even have organs, could you forgive him? Help him out? Let everyone see who he really is? Including me? That would be really cool. Okay … that’s all I have for tonight … high five … peace out. Oh, and thanks.

I fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep where Jason’s face kept coming back up, floating before me with the red jumpsuit below it, him saying,
I trusted him. I trusted the coach. I trusted him.

I went ahead and classified it as a nightmare when the next scene in my brain was Jason being buried alive, with me standing there holding one of the shovels of dirt.

Chapter Twelve

TUESDAY WAS A RAINY, CRAPPY day. The perfect weather for my terrible mood. Not only was I tired from a partially sleepless and partially nightmare-filled night, but my car decided it didn’t want to start when I tried to leave for school.

I called Bobby, irritated beyond reason. I couldn’t keep the snappishness out of my voice. “Can you borrow your mom’s car and come over here and get me?”

“Well, good morning, Miss Merry Sunshine. And how are you this lovely day?” His voice was way too chipper, grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“My life is poop on a stick, thanks for asking. Are you coming or not?”

“Let me see. Hold on.” I waited while he screeched down the stairs at his mother. He came back on the line a few seconds later. “She says yes, but we have to put some gas in it.”

“I have five bucks.”

“
Done!
said the king with a stroke. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Make it five. I can’t be late.”

“Bossy pants? Hello? Okay, fine. I’ll be there, but don’t expect me to be beautiful. You’re cutting into my regimen.”

By regimen he meant the fifteen minutes he spends putting lotion and crap on his face every morning. He constantly worried about wrinkles. He says his mother’s face is like the map of the highways and byways running through the northeast United States and he has to do whatever he can to avoid that same fate.

While I waited for Bobby to show up, I texted Mr. Bradley. It felt a little strange doing it, but I forged ahead anyway. He didn’t seem to mind me visiting his son. Hopefully the slap-on-the-head situation hadn’t changed his opinion of me too drastically.

When can I visit Jason again?

Just as Bobby was pulling up to the front of my house, the answer came back.

Next week. Monday again. 4:30. Meet you there?

I texted back an affirmative as I went out to the car, getting in beside Bobby and hitting
Send
. I was disappointed it wasn’t today or even tomorrow, but decided I should be grateful he was letting me see Jason at all.

“Who you texting, yo?” Bobby asked, using his best ghetto accent.

“Jason’s dad. Setting up our next visit.”

Bobby didn’t say anything for a while, which was a sure sign he had something to say. Otherwise, he would have been prattling on about nothing.

“Go ahead and just say it,” I sighed out. “Stop playing like you’re not about to get all up in my bidness.”

“I’m just worried is all.” He patted me on the leg. “You’re getting very involved, and right now the only ones who know that are Jason and his dad and me. But pretty soon people at school will know and then you’ll get labeled.” He looked over at me with concern in his eyes, the genuine kind, not the goofing around kind. It reminded me way too much of an expression I’ve seen on my mother’s face.

My temper started to rise over the fact that he felt the need to chastise me, as if I were just a stupid little kid who needed adult guidance.

“Labeled?” I did my best to keep my anger hidden. “Labeled as what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Groupie or something?” He glanced over at me to gauge my reaction.

I ignored his look, staring out the front window and trying not to get angry over the utter stupidity of high school people — a completely pointless exercise if there ever was one. It’s a fact; high schoolers be stupid.

“So?” I finally said. “Who cares?”

Yeah. That was my brilliant repartée. Now you know why I’m not involved in Debate Club activities.

“
You
will, eventually. Being invisible is not the same as being a pariah, you know.”

I didn’t respond because he was completely right, and obviously this was something that I’d already thought about. It kind of deflated my angry balloon a little. Being mad at Bobby made no sense, and being mad at the world made even less sense. I wasn’t going to change anyone else’s view of things, but I could control my own.

The fact that I was pretty much totally involved wouldn’t change, no matter what Bobby said, no matter how logical his arguments might be. It
couldn’t
change. I was fully committed to being Jason’s friend at this point, and there was no going back in my mind. No way could I not show up at Jason’s new home-away-from-home, especially now that I’d slapped him around. I had to see this thing through, for better or for worse.

I only gave a passing thought at that time to the fact that I was officially saying goodbye to my high-school life as I knew it. Looking back, I’ve wondered if I would have made a different decision, had I known what I was in for.

Chapter Thirteen

THE REST OF THE CAR ride to school passed with zero conversation and lots of loud music, mostly of the Katy Perry variety because Bobby is such a huge fan and my brain was too busy thinking about Jason’s fucked-up life to bitch about the lack of variety.

We parked in the farthest lot from the school, the place reserved for people who don’t have regular paid parking stickers. I was sweating and all the crankier for it, dripping wet by the time I reached the main sidewalk leading up to the closest building. I hate starting the day off with my shirt plastered to my body. Nothing good ever came of that in my experience.

It was terrible timing that we ended up walking just behind a group of football players talking in their normal, loud, nobody-matters-but-us kind of way.

“I’ll fucking kick his face in if I ever see it again,” said one of them, his swagger advertising to the world that he was just the man for the job.

“When’s the memorial for Coach?” another one asked. “This Wednesday, right?”

That’s when I knew they were talking about
The Incident
. The murder.
Jason
. My pulse quickened as did my pace.

“Yeah, it’s Wednesday,” said the future potential face-kicker.

“Did you guys hear that Jason might show up?” said a third guy. “That’s what Brittney said. She’s totally freaking out, poor girl.”

My jaw dropped open at that utter lie, and I was instantly fuming. Brittney seriously needed a boob punch in the worst way.

Bobby grabbed my arm when he noticed me speeding up even more. “Easy, sister. Just let it go,” he said in a quiet voice.

I yanked my arm away from him and ignored his advice completely. That was probably a stupid move, but I’d pretty much abandoned being circumspect at that point. I slap murderers around and then I stick up for them when they’re being maligned.
Boom
. That’s how I roll. Chaos? Yes, give me more of that, please.

“Hey, assholes!” I shouted, coming up behind the group of five football players. It was a little harder to breathe, the closer I got. I never talked to these types of guys if I could help it. Now I was calling a whole group of them out.

They kept going, in complete denial that I could be speaking to any of them.

Typical
.

I could have stopped there and walked on with my head down, pretending like nothing had ever happened, and no one would have been the wiser except maybe Bobby, — who, for the record, looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit — but instead I raised my voice and gave it another try.

“Hey, assholes on the football team! Yeah, I’m talking to you!”

Several people walking nearby slowed down and moved to get in a better position for spectating. I’d thrown down the gauntlet, and I could tell it was finally sinking into the group’s collective football brain that I meant it for them, as they slowed and looked at each other in confusion.

The biggest one, the guy who issued the threat to kick Jason’s face in, turned around first.

“Say what?” he asked, and then he laughed. “Check this,” he said, hitting his buddy on the arm and then pointing at me.

They all stopped and turned around, facing Bobby and me.

I kept going until I was just feet away, shifting so that I was in front of Bobby. This wasn’t his fight; no need for him to get pummeled.

I had to look up to meet their eyes since none of them were less than a foot taller than me. The big one was probably six and a half feet, so a full foot plus a few bonus inches bigger. Talk about David and Goliath. All I could think when I stared up at his giant, square-shaped head was that he
had
to be sprinkling steroid powder on his Lucky Charms in the morning. His neck was as thick as my waist.

“Jesus, how many years can they hold you back before you can’t compete anymore?” I muttered, my head cranked way back so I could still see his face.

“What’d you say?” one of the other guys asked. He sounded confused.

I decided to stick to my first line of attack. “I said,
Hey assholes
, but that’s not all I have to say.” I gripped the strap of my backpack really hard with both hands.

Expressions darkened. A couple of the footballers dropped their backpacks to the ground. It crossed my mind that I was about thirty seconds away from being killed, and boy, wouldn’t they be hypocrites if they did that to me? That tiny measure of satisfaction did nothing to cure the almost-heart attack I was suffering as they all stared me down.

I did find some courage in the fact that they didn’t want to be in jail next to their former teammate any more than I wanted to be buried in the same cemetery as their former coach. I wasn’t seriously worried about a throw-down, at least not with all these witnesses standing around. No, here I had the freedom to tell them all about themselves without fear of a premature death anytime soon. I’d worry about later, later. It was time they got a little dose of reality, served up fresh and hot, courtesy of little old me.

“What’s your fucking problem?” one of them asked, rocking side to side like a drunk rooster and flopping his hands around a little near his crotch. “You on the rag or something? Lost your mind with temporary insanity?”

Ugh. Where are all the metal chairs when you need one?
I used to laugh at professional wrestling, but today would have been a good day for some chair-to-head bashing.

I smiled in a bitter, I-couldn’t-be-more-disappointed-in-the-male-gender way, shaking my head. “Typical. A girl tells you that you’re an asshole and it’s all on her. It couldn’t possibly be that you’re an
actual
, bona fide asshole, could it?”

“Get to the point,” the biggest one said. He was a lot less rooster-ish, but his steady calm made him more scary.

My heart was pounding so hard it was like it wanted to get out of my chest and run away on its own, abandon my stupid mouth to its fate. It was making my shirt quiver with every beat.

My voice came out high and reedy as my ears flamed hot red. “The point is that you guys are a bunch of disloyal, hypocritical assholes who aren’t fit to wipe Jason Bradley’s ass, let alone be on his team.” I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder because it was sliding down with the weight of my books. Taking a deep breath did nothing to calm my nerves.

They stared at me for a few seconds and then, frustratingly, started laughing.

“Check her out,” the smallest one said. “Shorty got her box all up on his kickstand, coming in here scolding us.”
 
He shook his head at me like I was the one to be pitied. “Guy’s a murderer, yo. Killed a good man. He better not ever show his face to any of us ever again or he’s gonna find hisself buried too.” He looked at all his friends, nodding and getting encouragement before turning back to face me. “Balee dat.”

That was his grand finish, and they all kept nodding like a bunch of stupid bobble heads right along with him.

“Hisself?
Hisself?
Seriously? Do you not even hear yourself? Is grammar optional now?” I was disgusted with them being turncoats and on top of that, barely educated. Football players at our school always got a free pass, in part because of that stupid coach who did something to Jason that was bad enough he got smacked down for it.