Sara (5 page)

“That sucks,” I said before I realized what I was saying, and we both laughed.

“Well, it's not true.” He shook his head. “Not yet, anyway.”

Glenn didn't get out when we stopped at my house, and Mom was lying on the couch with a wet cloth folded on her forehead. It felt like an oven in my room, and I started sweating as I grabbed socks, underwear, and a clean shirt, shoving them into a duffel bag. I grabbed my toothbrush out of the bathroom and hesitated at the front door, wondering if she was okay.

“See you tomorrow,” I finally said, pushing open the screen door and walking back out to the car. I tossed the duffel bag into the backseat and buckled my seat belt. By the time we were back out on the Kahola Road road, the air-conditioning had dried my sweat and I was cooled off.

“Can you believe Laney's going out with Noah Greene now?” he said as we sped along the road. He shook his head. “It seems kind of shitty, seeing as how she was Laura's best friend.”

“Yeah, but Laura's gone and isn't coming back,” I replied. Laura Pryce's parents had been killed in a car accident right before the end of our junior year, and she'd gone to live with an aunt somewhere in California. “And it's not like you and Laney were going to get back together anyway.”

“That doesn't mean I don't care about her.” He didn't take his eyes off the road, but his face was grim.

“What have you got against Noah?” I asked. I thought they'd always gotten along. And Noah certainly wasn't one of the douchebags calling him names behind his back. “Besides, they probably hung out together because they both missed Laura, and it just kind of happened.”

He glanced over at me and changed the subject. “What was the deal with you and Candy this morning? Looked like she was flirting with you to me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe,” I said carefully. I'd replayed the whole conversation with her in my mind several times during the day. I'd seen her in the hall a few times between classes—she was in the college prep courses with Glenn—and she'd smiled at me every time our eyes met.

“Why don't you ask her out?” He turned the music down. “What have you got to lose?”

“Aw, man, I don't know.” I looked out the window, watching the cornfields speed past. “How can I ask her out? I don't have a car or nothing, and—”

“Dude, seriously.” He started laughing. He shook his head and looked over at me. “There's going to be a victory dance after the game on Friday night. Ask her to dance—slow dance, you know? See what happens. The worst she can do is say no.”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“All right then,” Glenn replied. “Ask her out at the victory dance Friday night.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“What about me?”

“Come on, dude, you know what I mean.” I wasn't sure how to say it, but I plunged ahead anyway. “Now that you and Clark are broken up, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I don't know.” He turned his head and smiled at me. “But I have a feeling something's going to happen soon. I don't know what or who—but something.”

I didn't get to ask Candy out at the victory dance because we didn't wind up having one.

After that first day, things seemed to have settled down around school and football practice. With the first game of the season on Friday, everyone's attention turned to that. All around town people were flying flags in school colors on their porches. Store windows had
Go Trojans
written on them in purple grease pencil. Every once in a while, I heard someone saying something shitty about Glenn—and once I sat at a desk with
Glenn Lockhart sucks dick
written on it. I licked my thumb and rubbed at the ink until it was gone.

I had slept in the guest room on Monday night, and Glenn had been a little distant toward me ever since then. I knew I was being a coward, but I hadn't stayed overnight there since Glenn had come out. I also knew he knew I wasn't gay, but I just couldn't bring myself to sleep in the same bed with him the way I had every other time I'd stayed over. That night, he'd acted like it wasn't a big deal. But the next morning over breakfast I sensed something had changed between us, which I thought was kind of unfair.

I mean, I was supposed to be open-minded and understanding of everything, but he didn't have to be?

Glenn seemed subdued the rest of the week, even during weightlifting. Instead of laughing and joking around the way he always did, he only spoke when I talked directly to him. I wasn't the only person who noticed, either—Mrs. Drury kept me after class one day to ask me if “something had happened that I hadn't shared with her.”

“No,” I replied with a shrug. “He hasn't said anything to me.”

Even at football practice, he kept to himself. He still picked me up every morning for school and dropped me off after practice, but there was nothing but silence in the car other than the stereo blaring.

I kept thinking I should say something, should ask and push the issue, but the truth was I didn't want to because I was afraid. I didn't want to have a conversation about the night I'd stayed over and slept in the guest room. I didn't want to have to tell him that he was still my best friend and I didn't mind changing in front of him or showering, but sleeping in the same bed made me uncomfortable.

I knew feeling that way made me an asshole but I couldn't help it.

And I didn't have anyone I could talk to about it. I'd always talked to Glenn before, or to Zach Zimmer. I could hardly talk to Zach now that he was firmly in the “Glenn is a fag and going to hell” camp.

Friday finally arrived, and it was a game day just like all the ones before. We got to wear our jerseys to school, the cheerleaders were in their uniforms, and the hallway rang with cheers between classes. We had a pep rally during the last period of class, where Coach Roberts got up and talked about the high hopes we had for the season, and how we were depending on everyone to show up and cheer us on. The band played the school fight song, the cheerleaders led some cheers, and then it was all over.

And then the unthinkable happened: we lost the game 21–16.

I don't know what happened to us. We were ahead 16–0 at halftime, and the Cottonwood Rapids Tigers hadn't even made a first down. We weren't playing our best—we fumbled a couple of times inside their twenty yard line, and Ray Jones threw another interception they almost ran back for a touchdown. But at halftime, the mood in the locker room was a lot more grim than it should have been.

And rather than staying calm the way he had always been at halftime the year before, no matter how badly we'd played, Coach Roberts went on a rampage. He screamed and yelled at us. He was furious about the fumbles, he was furious about the interceptions.

Maybe it was supposed to motivate us. But it didn't—it had the exact opposite effect on us. I know I was shocked and confused, didn't get it. Sure, we hadn't played great, but we were ahead and we'd moved the ball pretty easily. The defense had kept them from getting a first down. And they'd had the ball on our fifteen yard line after that interception. Three plays later they had fourth and 25 and had to try a field goal—which they missed. What was wrong with Coach Roberts? What was he so pissed off about? It didn't make any sense.

And whatever the Tigers' coach said to them during halftime sure worked a lot better. They came out fired up and ready to go—and they ran all over us. They scored the go-ahead touchdown with only three minutes left in the game, and when we got the ball back we couldn't score.

Time ran out, and their side of the field erupted in joy.

Our side was silent in shock.

All I could think about as I jogged back to the locker room, with my helmet in my hand, was
there goes any shot at going to the play-offs, let alone being state champions.
I could tell the fans were stunned, didn't know what to think, what to say to any of us as we headed off the field.

The locker room was depressing. Nobody was talking. The only sounds were lockers slamming or opening, helmets being tossed on the floor, and the steady running of the showers. Coach Roberts didn't even bother to talk to us after the game. He just walked through the locker room on the way to his office with his head down. When we'd lost the two games the previous season, he'd stayed upbeat, telling us we had nothing to be ashamed of because we'd played our best. He'd been encouraging, telling us not to get down and to think ahead to busting ass the next week. I guess maybe he was in shock, too. I guess it made sense that he didn't know what to say to us. We didn't know what to say to each other. What do you say when you suddenly realize that you aren't going to win the state championship after all? And it's the first game of the season?

I don't really remember much of what I was thinking. It seemed like I was sleepwalking through a really bad dream. The only thing I really remember clearly was how quiet and still the locker room was—no one was talking or would even look at each other. Somehow I managed to get my pads and uniform off. I showered and washed my hair and put my street clothes back on. I picked up my gym bag to walk out of the locker room and Glenn fell into step beside me.

“You want to head into town and get a burger or something?” His voice was quiet and subdued. “You can just sleep over at my place, if you want to.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That sounds good to me.” I was too down to even think about it, really. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and as far away from that silent locker room as I could.

We pushed open the locker room doors and emerged into a silent crowd of waiting girlfriends, friends, and family. They were all quiet, too. I hadn't realized how used I had gotten to winning. After we won, the after-game crowd was usually laughing, joking, slapping the players on the backs, talking about this play or that play. It was a lot of fun coming out of the locker room on those nights. This quiet crowd with their stricken, sad faces was even worse than the locker room somehow. They didn't know what to say either, or how to act. We walked over to where Glenn's dad was standing.

I really envied Glenn his father. Mr. Lockhart was just about the coolest dad I'd ever met. Mr. Lockhart wasn't very old—he was in his mid-thirties—and when he first started coming to our football games a lot of people thought he was Glenn's older brother. They looked a lot alike. They had the same brown eyes, the same hair, the same-shaped face, the same dimples in their cheeks. He treated Glenn like an adult, but wasn't afraid to lay down the law when he needed to. He'd played football in high school, too—and Glenn told me they spent every Saturday parked in front of the television watching college games all day on cable. It was always a lot of fun to spend the night after a game at Glenn's. When Glenn and I got there after the victory dance or driving into Kahola for something to eat, we'd sit at the kitchen table and talk over the game with Mr. Lockhart. Mr. Lockhart never let Glenn off the hook if he screwed up on a play, but he did it in such a way that it didn't hurt his feelings or make him mad. Mr. Lockhart welcomed me into their tight-knit little family, and there were times when I felt more at home at their house than I did in my own.

“You boys played a hell of a game,” Mr. Lockhart said. Glenn had told me his parents both had been from Alabama originally, but Mr. Lockhart spoke without any kind of drawl. Every once in a while he'd say something and the accent would come out. Glenn didn't have an accent at all—they'd left Alabama before he learned how to talk.

“No, we didn't,” Glenn snapped. “If we had, we would have won.”

Mr. Lockhart put his arm around Glenn's shoulders, and said, “Losing is no disgrace. I'm proud of you both—you played your hearts out, and that's all anyone can ask.”

I almost started crying, and Glenn looked like he was ready to, but instead he said, “Tony's going to sleep over, and we're going to go into Kahola for a burger, is that okay?”

“Of course,” Mr. Lockhart replied, pulling out his wallet and slipping Glenn a twenty, which he shoved into the pocket of his jeans. “Now, you boys don't get into trouble, and be home by midnight, all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Glenn replied rudely, looking at me. “Come on, Tony, let's get out of here.”

I followed him out to the parking lot where he'd parked his car. I looked around, wondering where Candy was, but didn't see her anywhere.

“You need to stop and get some clothes?” Glenn asked as he unlocked the doors. “Or you want to just borrow something?”

“Well…” I didn't really want to stop by my house and talk to my mother. She was probably asleep already on the couch, and I knew she had to get up early to go into the motel. “I'll just call her and let her know I'm not coming home.” I got into the car and dialed her cell number. It didn't ring—just went straight into voice mail. She always shut it off when she was going to sleep. I left her a brief message that I was staying at the Lockharts' and would be home in the morning before closing my phone and tossing it back into my bag.

“Can we go now?” Glenn asked as he turned the ignition key and started the car.