Students of the Game (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-
THREE

JOY

“You never call me anymore! How was the game? Did you make out? Did you have sex!?”  Farah is following me up a stairwell, bombarding me with questions, and with each one she sounds more and more hysterical. And I don’t mean funny.

“Shhh!” I turn around, making sure there are no students within ear shot.

“Sorry.
I want details though,” she says, as if that justifies the outburst.

“Stop drilling me, and I’ll tell you,” I whisper, pulling her closer to the railing.

I relay the whole story to her and when finished add, “I didn’t want to say anything, because I wasn’t completely sure. It’s not like a guy shows signs of interest in me every day.”

“I could have saved you the worry! The poor guy got a library card from you, for Pete’s sake!” Farah laughs. “So, wait…What did he say after you kissed?”

“He said it was the only explanation he needed!” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Carver’s top lip, swollen from the kiss.

Farah squeals appropriately then I go on to ask her about her weekend. She blows it off as no big deal, but I can tell she had fun. “Oh my God, Joy! There were so many sensitive artsy guys there. They’re like teddy bears. You just want to hug them all.”

I laugh at the absurdity of her statement. “You look tired though.” I take in the dark circles under her eyes, and the lack luster of her usually bouncy curls.

“Oh, that’s just this stupid waterproof eyeliner I can’t get off,” she jokes, rubbing her eyes.

When we finally exit the stairwell, I see him approaching and with each step closer, my stomach lurches with dread. Carver slowly glides over to us and says hello. Farah give
s me a flirtatious wave, and excuses herself, heading off to class.

I turn to him, expecting the worst.

“We need to talk about what happened at the game,” Carver says, in a serious tone.

I swallow and look away, expecting the worse. “OK.”

He laughs and gives me that lopsided smile. “Go out with me this Friday.”

My head jerks quickly back, d
efinitely
not
what I was expecting. “OK,” I say again.

“Here’s my address. Be there for eight.”

I pull up a few minutes early to the address I’m holding in my hand. There are a few cars parked across a wide graveled driveway, one of them a police cruiser. I start to panic, then suddenly remember the fact that Carver’s dad is a cop. Not sure where to park, I just pull up onto the curb. The house itself is two-story Cape like mine, but with an attached garage. I press the doorbell and a few moments later I hear the hollow sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Carver opens the door and comes out, shutting it behind him. I step back, slightly surprised, because I had expected he would invite me in to meet his parents.

“Hey.” Carver gives me a once over. I pray to the wardrobe gods that my outfit looks hip enough for him. I have on a slouchy fitting blouse and the skinny jeans I wore to the football game, tucked into a (slightly too tight) pair of brown boots on loan from Farah. My hair is in a thick braid over my shoulder. It’s about as trendy as I can manage without feeling ridiculous.

“So there’s this band playing down in Providence, I thought we could check out.” He doesn’t really leave it open to discussion, but it’s not like I could have come up with anything better. “You look good,” he adds, as we walk towards the cars.

I thank him and repay the compliment. Of course he looks amazing, effortlessly hot in his signature basic white t-shirt and jeans. No jacket, which makes me think of Bryce. I shake my head, trying to erase that thought. I’m with the sexiest guy I have ever laid eyes on, and here I am thinking about Bryce.

I follow Carver over to his car, an older model blue BMW. It’s not perfect, but it’s still nicer than most of what our school’s student body drives, (including my clunky old Jetta). I don’t know why I’ve I never noticed what kind of car he has. Maybe it’s my love for Volkswagens; I guess I don’t really pay attention to anything else.

“Nice car,” I comment.
I bet Bryce would be so jealous of this car right now.

I want to slap myself across the face.

STOP THINKING ABOUT BRYCE COLTON! 

Carver unlocks the passenger door and holds it open for me chivalrously, then shuts it after I’m all bucked in.

After we pull out of the driveway, he puts on a band that I surprisingly don’t recognize and am too embarrassed to ask about. So I just nervously stare out the window.

Carver glances over at me. “Relax, Joy. I don’t bite…unless of course you want me too,” he says flirtatiously, then leans over and brushes a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. He skims my neck with his fingers and I feel like I’m going to physically combust. A warm flush starts in my face and channels its way down to the tips of my toes. You’ve heard of those strange cases where they find people randomly dead in big piles of ash on the floor…Cause of death,
spontaneous human combustion due to one, Carver Halsey.

Suddenly, I recognize the song that comes on the stereo. “I like this song,” I say, trying to change the subject, before I’m a pile of dusty black soot ruining his leather upholstery.

He laughs, obviously knowing my intention, and after that we don’t talk much while we drive. Traffic is heavy going into the city and Carver has to focus on not getting rear-ended. I don’t blame him. If this was my car, I wouldn’t want it to get rear-ended either.

We finally park and walk a few blocks to the club. At the door and there’s a large man with an even larger belly, checking Ids. Carver hands him his license, and the man nods, before giving it back. I reluctantly hand mine over.
Shit. Why didn’t I think to ask Carver if the show was all ages?

“Sorry,” the bouncer shakes his head, “it’s eighteen plus.”

Carver looks pissed.

Why am I so stupid? I should have told him I was still seventeen.

Someone in line behind us yells a joke about a daycare center up the street, causing a few people snicker. Carver’s face reddens with anger and he gets up close to the bouncer. “What the hell, man? You think those blonde bitches you just let in are eighteen?”

The bouncer gets inches from Carver’s face and aggressively remarks, “Yeah,
man…
I do. Their Ids said they were. I think you’d better leave before I have to make you.”

“Try it, asshol
e!” Carver sneers and he shoves the bouncer in the chest.

Shit.
The real ‘Bad Boy’ has decided to make himself known. I thought maybe it was just an image thing, but suddenly I know I was wrong. I quickly snatch my Id from the guy’s hand, and do my best to yank Carver off him. I somehow pry him away, and he turns to walk away, kicking over a chained partition in his wake. Carver heads down the street shaking his head, still heated about the whole thing, and I follow along.

When we’re two block away from the car, Carver comes to a stop. “Fuck!” he exclaims and throws his hands up. “Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t eighteen yet?”

Still stunned from the little altercation, I don’t respond. I just stand there feeling a mixture of guilt and shame, like an overexcited dog, being scolded at for peeing on the floor. Carver’s features suddenly soften. He takes my chin in hand and turns it up to his face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Look, it’s not your fault. That guy was an asshole. If I had a vagina he would have let us both in.” He smiles and then continues, “And, if I had known you were seventeen, we would have gotten you a fake Id first.”

“I’m sorry,” I start to apologize, but he places his fingers over my lips. I feel any unpleasantness dissolve with his touch.

“Forget about it, Joy. It’s no big deal,” Carver smiles. “C’mon, let’s just go back to my place.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in a playful headlock. I get a slight whiff of his cologne, the familiar scent that’s embedded into that hounds tooth scarf, and it makes my stomach do back flips.

Yeah, we should have just done that to begin with.

I feel a slow burn in my lower belly, and the image of the scene I’ve just witness is now completely gone.

          
When we arrive back at his house, I glance at the clock on the dashboard before exiting the car. I’m disappointed that we wasted so much time and aggravation, considering my curfew is 11:30.

I follow Carver in through a side door and up a flight of stairs to an in-law apartment, over the garage. He opens another door, and steps back, letting me in through the kitchen. “This was where my grandmother lived, but she died, so I moved in,” he tells me matter of factually, flicking the light switch overhead and I get a quick tour of the space. The apartment is small with a
single bedroom, but despite its size, it’s really quite cool. There’s a small eat in kitchen, bath, and living area. It’s pretty minimalistic, as there is no artwork or photographs hanging, but I get google eyed when I see a killer collection of vinyl records in the living room. And then I see it…

“You have a pet snake?” I exclaim, slightly repulsed.

He laughs, “You just noticed it, now? Usually that’s the first thing people see when they come in here.”

“Sorry, I was t
oo impressed by your records to notice,” I shiver.

Slowly making my way over to the illuminated glass tank, I peek inside to get a closer look at the snake, who’s basking in the glow of a heat lamp. It’s black with a splattering of bronze splotches and has a pretty small head compared to the size of its body.  I lean in for a close look, and find two bead-like eyes staring back at me. I scrunch my face up. “What do you feed it?” I ask then wonder if I really want to know.

“Usually mice…sometimes baby rabbits if he’s been good.” Carver looks at the horrified expression on my face and laughs. “I’m playing with you, Joy. It doesn’t eat fluffy little bunnies, though I’m sure he’d like to.” He looks at the snake with admiration.

“Yeah, well…I’ll stick to bags of kibble, and furry things that show affection.”

Sensing my discomfort, he changes the subject by offering me something to drink. We gravitate back to the kitchen, and I hoist myself up onto the counter, sitting where the two ends meet. I nervously swinging my brown cowboy boots back and forth as Carver rummages around in the fridge. He comes out with two bottles of beer and I hold my hand up, “Thanks, but I don’t drink alcohol.”

Carver silently puts one of the bottles back on the shelf, and grabs a half gallon of milk instead. He then comes over and reaches his left hand up to a cabinet directly behind me. I have to lean towards him so that the door can be pulled open, without hitting me in the head. Our faces are within inches of each other, and his eyes don’t leave mine as he removes a glass from the shelf.

He moves his gaze to my lips and it lingers there for a moment. I’m just about convinced that he’s going to kiss me, when Carver backs away and proceeds to calmly pour a glass of milk. He sets the half full glass down next to me and I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a joke or not. Thinking about that daycare comment at the club, I decide it is. I ignore it and don’t pick it up.

Carver walks back to the fridge and leans against it. Casually sipping at his beer, he looks at me for a few moments. “I know you like me, Joy,” he says bluntly. “I’m really good at sensing that sort of thing. Though with you, it’s beyond obvious.” He gives me a flirtatious smile.  

Carver slowly struts over and sets his beer down on the counter with a light thud. He stands directly in front of me, completely trapping me in my corner position. My heart rate speeds up and I attempt to regulate it without being obvious.

“Relax,” he says again, this time as a gravelly whisper in my left ear. I can feel little goose
bumps forming on my arms, beneath the sleeves of my shirt. “We’ve already kissed once, we’re practically engaged,” he jokes. Carver nods his head back towards the living room, “Follow me.”  

Screw spontaneous combustion, I think I’ll just melt right here and now. Then there won’t even be any evidence left to prove that, in fact, Carver Halsey
was
the death of me. I manage to regain some sort of composure and follow him into the living room. I sit down on the edge of the couch while he switches off the floor lamp. The room becomes dim, the only light provided from Mr. Snake’s artificial sunshine.

Carver kneels down a few feet away, selecting a record album to put on. As he looks
down to slide the vinyl from its sleeve, his hair falls from behind his ear and it makes me think of our encounter in the school library. If you had told me then that I’d be alone with him in this apartment, a few weeks later, I would have laughed you straight out of the country.

Why would he even be interested in me?

I still don’t even know if he
is
interested in me. He commented that he knows I like him, but he didn’t say the feeling was mutual. I know Farah said it was obvious, but I need to know…“Do you like me, Carver?” I ask bluntly, and then wince at how stupid it sounds after it’s come out of my mouth.