Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game (2 page)

"Dude," he'd say, sloshing his beer out of the cheap
plastic cup that seemed permanently attached to his hand from
Friday night til Sunday morning.

"Jake…" I’d begin, my eyes pleading with him to drop
it and not go there for the hundredth time.

"Get this. I duct taped him to his chair when we were
five."

"Jake, shut the fuck up!"

Ignoring me, Jake would snicker. "He like,
practically pissed himself he was so scared when Mrs. Cook ripped
that shit off."

I rolled my eyes thinking about him. He was supposed
to get home from his grandparent’s farm late last night, but
instead, he’d sent me a text around ten saying he was blowing off
the first day back and would be home around three if I wanted to
hang out after school. It was ironic that Jake, the unofficial King
of Partying, spent his Spring Break off chillin’ in the mountains
among rolling pastures filled with steaming cow patties rather than
hitting the sandy white beaches and orgies of Panama City or
Daytona. Of course, he always managed to raise some hell while he
was away or take advantage of some hillbilly girl high off
moonshine.

The last time I’d heard from him was around eight
this morning when he’d sent me a cryptic text during first period
that read
I fucked up.
She’s gonna be pissed!
I took
it to mean he’d done something stupid to piss his mom off. But
after my last few
Dude, WTF?
texts had gone unanswered, I
was seriously beginning to think he was in major trouble—like blue
lights and handcuffs trouble.

Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom.

“Mr. Jones?”

“Yes,” Mr. Jones answered impatiently, clearly pissed
that the powers that be had dared to interrupt his literary
ramblings.

“We need Noah Sullivan to Administrative Services,
please.”

At the sound of my name, I shot upright in my chair,
straightening my slouching posture. Administrative Services? Once
again, SHIT! flashed in my mind as I frantically tried to figure
out what I’d done wrong.

“I’ll send him up,” Mr. Jones replied, giving me a
disapproving look.

Without a word, I gathered up my books and left the
room. Part of me was thrilled to be spared one more minute of
British Lit, but at the same time, I was a little concerned that
I’d been summoned to administration.

Out in the hallway, I ran into my cousin, Alex. He
raised his dark eyebrows at me. “You got called up too?”

I nodded. “What do you think is up?”

Alex shrugged while his dark eyes twinkled. “Beats
the shit outta me. I’m just stoked to be getting outta AP
Government right now!”

I laughed. “Tell me about it. Jones is on one of his
freakin’ tirades again.”

“Damn, I gotta sit through that shit next period,”
Alex moaned, and then he shuddered. “Having Brit Lit with Jones the
last period of the day blows.”

Before we could get to the administrators’ suite, Mr.
Elliot, one of the assistant principals, rerouted us to the
auditorium. When Alex and I strolled through the double doors,
there were twenty or so kids scattered throughout the first three
rows. I noticed immediately that they were some of Creekview’s
A-crowd of popularity—football and basketball players,
cheerleaders. It was most of the “crew”, so to speak, that Jake and
I hung out with on a daily basis.

Dr. Blake, the principal, and three counselors stood
solemnly at the edge of the stage.

“Damn. Must be something pretty serious,” Alex
murmured.

“I’m so whipping Jake’s ass if this has anything to
do with us skipping out on Friday,” I hissed.

Since most of the “the crew” had different plans for
our week off, Jake had thrown what he called a Pre-Break Binge on
the Friday we got out of school. When it was just us, he’d called
it his “Going Out of Partying Party” since he claimed to be turning
over a new leaf. I didn’t believe him for one minute, but I let him
think I did. Jake always had a way of coming up with these bat-shit
crazy ideas that seemed cool to him in the moment, but in the end,
he’d always abandon them. He struggled with the follow through.

So, we’d basically all skipped school right after
lunch and went over to his house. By three, the party was
completely out of hand with drunken beer pong, half-naked people,
and one fist fight. Luckily, everyone spilt before Jake’s parents
got home at six.

Alex and I slid into a seat on the front row. The
Homecoming Queen and reigning Ice Princess, Avery Moore, glanced up
at me and smiled. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi.”

“Where’s Jake?”

I shrugged. “On his way home from the mountains I
guess.”

Dr. Blake interrupted our conversation by clearing
her throat. She then took a tentative step forward. “I’ve just been
informed of some very distressing news,” she began.

I cringed. I didn’t know how in the hell she’d gotten
wind of the Pre Spring Break Binge, but by the look on her face,
she had the goods on all of us. Great, I was going to be in deep
shit at school but even worse at home when my mom found out.

Dr. Blake stared down at the auditorium tile for a
few minutes, trying to gain her composure. Finally, she glanced
back up at us. “In this age of technology, it’s hard to keep news
of this kind a secret for long. Since we were only notified thirty
minutes ago, the counselors and I have tried to find the easiest
and least detrimental way to tell you all. Sadly, there’s not a
strategic plan in place that we can follow when something like this
happens.” Dr. Blake drew in a ragged breath. “More than anything, I
wish that there was an easier way for you to find out—that there
had been time to call your parents and families to have them here
to temper the tragic news by comforting you all.”

Hmm, okay, maybe this wasn’t about the Spring Break
Binge. Furrowing my brows, I turned to Alex who shrugged his broad
shoulders.

“What happened Dr. Blake?” Avery demanded from my
other side.

Chewing her bottom lip, Dr. Blake’s gaze flickered to
one of the counselors who bobbed their head. “I regret to inform
you that Jake Nelson was killed this afternoon.”

A collective gasp of pure horror rang throughout the
auditorium. I jolted back in my seat like I’d been shot with a
taser gun. An icy feeling pricked and stung its way over my body
like I’d never experienced before in my life, causing me to
shudder. Jake was…dead. No, no, no! Someone had to be fucking with
us. Guys like Jake didn’t die.

Like in some freaky outta body experience, I heard my
voice croak, “What the fuck?”

Dr. Blake glanced over at me. Instead of riding my
ass for cussing, she just gave me a sad look. Slowly, I found my
voice again. “Are you positive it was Jake? I mean, he’s not even
in town, so it might not have been him. I mean, when did it happen?
Where
did it happen?” The questions seemed to continuously
fumble out, and I began to wonder if I should clap my hand over my
mouth to stop them.

“I’m so very sorry, Noah, but I was notified by
Jake’s father.” She drew in a deep breath before she continued. “It
seems that Jake and some of his friends were hanging out, shooting
at cans when a bullet ricocheted—”

“Jake was shot?” I demanded. In my mind, I pictured a
group of hillbilly vigilantes or the Dixie Mafia taking him
out.

Dr. Blake’s expression became pained. “No—it seems he
was sitting on his grandfather’s tractor when the bullet ricocheted
off a tree, hitting the fuel tank.”

At the realization of Jake’s fiery end, I fought the
bile rising in my throat. I pinched my eyes shut and willed myself
not to blow chunks on the auditorium floor. Jake had been blown up.
Jesus, that was too horrible to even imagine. A car accident was
one thing, but to be blown up…fuck, that was gruesome. The girls
around me gasped, and some began crying. Avery reached out and
grabbed my hand in hers. She started doing this horrible
hiccupping, hyperventilating cry. Her frantic eyes met mine.
Momentarily my own grief and potential freak-out were forgotten as
I focused on the fact Avery was seriously about to lose her
shit.

Without a word between us, I got up and led her out
of the auditorium. Alex followed close on my heels. We stood out
into the hallway. Mr. Elliot saw the state Avery was in. He
motioned us inside the counseling suite across the hall.

Presley Patterson was already inside with several of
her friends. Presley was Avery’s rival in everything from
popularity to, most importantly, Jake. But it wasn’t her
personality that necessarily made her popular or notorious at
Creekview. It was the fact she slept around.

Through her tears, Avery shot Presley one of her icy
stares. In retaliation, Presley jerked her chin up and wiped the
tears from her blue eyes.

I steered Avery over to one of the chairs. The minute
she sat down she buried her head on the table and began sobbing
uncontrollably. Her tiny frame shook so hard I was afraid she might
break under the strain. It wasn’t long before an eerie and
unnerving chorus of wailing echoed off the walls of the room. As
the lone guys in the room, Alex and I glanced at each other.
Neither one of us really knew what to do.

We stared helplessly at Mr. Santos, the head
counselor, but he was useless. He’d spent years immersed in the
business side of high school counseling. Where Little Johnny was
going to college and what Little Susie needed on her SAT to get
into Brown. I think the man was dried up of any shred of
psychobabble spin. He did manage to pat Avery on the back and say,
“There, there, honey.”

Geez, what an asshat!

At that moment, the most random memory I could fathom
wormed its way into my mind, cloaking me with its intensity. When I
was ten, I’d gone on a camping trip with Jake and his family. We’d
picnicked by some waterfalls, and after lunch, we started messing
around in the water. Somehow I managed to step in a mammoth hole in
the rocks. Within seconds, I got tangled up in some willowy weeds,
and I couldn’t break free of their viselike grip.

When I realized I was trapped and would likely drown,
panic crept from my chest up through my throat. I wanted to scream,
but I couldn’t. I could see sunlight breaking through the surface
of the water as I flailed and jerked around.

Suddenly, an arm grabbed hold of my t-shirt and
pulled me forward. Coughing and sputtering, I tried clearing my
eyes to see my savior while expecting nothing short of miraculous
like Jesus himself standing there with arms outstretched.

But it was just Jake.

He was ashen and trembling worse than me. As I
sputtered and vomited up water, he did something so unexpected I
almost fell back in the water.

He hugged me. Not just a quick, “Hey, man, you okay?”
kinda hug. It was a full on bear hug that took my breath. “Jake,”
I’d wheezed. “Can’t breathe!”

When he’d released me, there were tears in his eyes.
“I-I thought you were dead.” He shook his head wildly back and
forth. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again!”

I was so taken back by his emotion that I could only
nod my head. At the sound of voices behind us, he quickly wiped his
eyes with the backs of his hands. “If you tell anyone I was crying,
I’ll beat the shit outta you!” he’d warned.

Since I knew Jake would do it, I’d kept silent all
these years. I’d never told anyone.

But now closed in that tiny room with the girls all
sobbing around me, I felt the same panic of impending death. I was
under the surface of the water again, and I couldn’t breathe. Even
when I tried sucking in air, my chest constricted, and I felt like
I was slowly suffocating. My eyes honed in on the door—my one
escape from the churning sea of grief and loss enveloping me.

Without another thought, I bolted from my seat. I
ignored my name being called over and over as I sprinted out the
office and then burst through the double doors leading out of the
school. I didn’t stop until I ran around the side of the building.
I gulped in the air the same way as if I were breaking the surface
of water. I bent double, trying to calm myself of the emotions
coursing through me. My hands on my knees trembled against my
jeans, and I realized then my entire boy was jerking all over.
Jesus, Noah would you get a grip?
I could almost hear Jake’s
voice echoing through my head. “Dude, quit acting like a total
pussy!”

As I stood there trying desperately to steady myself,
a realization washed over me. This time I didn’t bother fighting
the bile rising in my throat. Instead, I heaved the entire contents
of the cafeteria’s shitty lunch onto the emerald grass. Over and
over again, I threw up as if I were trying to purge myself of the
dark feelings overtaking me.

Jake is dead.

My best friend is dead.

I was never going to drink beers with him around a
bonfire down by the lake or scope out chicks at the mall. We
weren’t going to share a dorm room together at Georgia Tech like
we’d planned or rush the fraternity that his brother and some of my
uncles had been in.

Not only was he dead, but he’d been blown up on his
grandfather’s tractor. I mean, what the hell? Car accidents,
accidental shootings, illness—I could get that, but to be blown up
on your grandfather’s tractor? My mind just couldn’t comprehend
that. I shook my head as I thought of what Jake would’ve said about
the situation. “Hey man, you know I always meant to go out in a
blaze of glory! And damn if I really didn’t!”

No, no, no. This couldn’t be real. It all had to be
just a bad dream. Pinching my arm, I willed myself to wake up and
to start the day all over again. But it didn’t work. In another act
of desperation, I grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket and began
furiously texting.

Jake?

Come on, Jake! Answer me you sorry fucker!

Tell me you being dead is just a joke you’re
pulling to keep from getting in trouble for skipping out
today.