Raiders Night (6 page)

He didn't expect to fall asleep, even with an Ambien. He couldn't delete the image of Chris on his knees, shaking, his tied hands trying to reach down to the bat sticking out of him as blood trickled down his leg.

Okay, he thought, you can't change it, get past it.

You going to get all twisted up because you gave him the okay to go ahead? Who knew it would get out of hand, that Ramp really was going to tea bag him, then go nuts?

Should have known. Ramp's been an asshole and a bully since PeeWee, and if you hadn't stood up to him, then he'd be pushing you around now. For ten years, mostly playing on the same teams, you've stayed out of each other's faces. One more season and you'll never have to deal with him again.

But what about this season, what about what he did to Chris? In front of you? A captain.

C'mon, worse things happen in a game.

Like what?

Chris was waiting by the bus with his duffel bag when the team assembled for the ride home. He was pale, hunched over. He didn't talk to anybody or make eye contact. Matt thought about saying something to him, slapping his shoulder, but decided not to. He seemed to want to be left alone. He sat up front near the coaches, who avoided looking at him. What did they know?

The ride home was quiet. It was usually rowdy, guys ranking on each other, new friends after five days. This time, they all seemed lost in their music. The seniors and freshmen were particularly quiet, but even the sophomores and juniors knew something had happened. The coaches made more noise than the players, as if they were trying to make up for the silence. They must suspect something, thought Matt. But they didn't really want to know. Like steroids—don't ask, don't tell. There could be trouble over this. Hurt the team.

A few miles out of town, Pete climbed over Tyrell, who looked like he was pretending to sleep, and leaned over Brody, who was asleep. “What are we going to do?” said Pete.

Matt thought, We're going to shut the fuck up, but he said, “We'll see.”

Pete nodded. It seemed to satisfy him, and he climbed back over Tyrell, who opened one eye, stared
at Matt, and closed it slowly.

The head manager stood up to remind them to wear clean Raider T-shirts to the Welcome Home pep rally tonight. He didn't get the usual hoots, just low muttering. Nobody was in the mood to be welcomed home.

Car horns honked as the bus pulled into the school parking lot. Friends, brothers, girlfriends, a few moms and sisters of the freshmen and sophs were waiting. The black Lexus SUV was there, and Chris was in it before the Back Pack climbed down from the bus. Matt's Jeep was there, too. Good old Mom. He bumped fists with Pete and Tyrell, nodded as the coaches said, “Good camp, rally tonight, practice tomorrow morning,” and grabbed his bag. Brody caught up with him at the Jeep, but he didn't say anything until they were rolling.

“So whatcha gonna do?” said Brody.

“I don't know.”

“You better have a plan.”

“Why does it have to be me?” It came out angry.

“You leave it to them, Matt, they'll team up and barbecue your balls.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mandy and Sarah, man. You on another planet?”

Sometimes you'd think Brody was on another planet, Matt thought. “We got other problems.”

“Like?” Brody made a comic face.

Matt laughed. Brody was laughing, too. Maybe he
wasn't on another planet. Maybe there was nothing else to do right now.

Brody said, “Wanna come in, catch the Yankee game?” They were pulling into his big circular driveway.

“I'm whipped. Gonna rack. Need a ride to the rally?”

“Nah. See you there.” He dropped out of the Jeep.

Matt glimpsed Mrs. Brody coming out of the house in her bikini, and he pulled out fast. Didn't want to deal with anybody.

He was glad to find his own house empty. Mom had left a note on the refrigerator.

He chugged a protein shake while he whizzed in the downstairs bathroom, then wandered the house, enjoying the air-conditioning, the comfort of the rooms. The desk in Dad's den was stacked with college brochures, videos, CDs, letters, and e-mails from coaches and varsity alumni explaining why Matt and their school were a perfect fit. The shelves on the walls were filled with softball trophies. Rydek Catering isn't getting one this year, Matt thought. That's okay with me.

He went upstairs, dumped his bag on the bed, and
glanced at Jerry Rice. Wonder what he would have done on Pride Night.

He put on running shoes, shorts, and a singlet, grabbed his iPod and car keys, and went out again. He could taste the end of summer in the afternoon air. The fading sweet smell of flowers and vines mixed with the distant silvery edge of fall. He'd always loved this time of year, just before the football season. All the good times lay ahead, excitement right around the corner, a fresh start, the possibility that this year would be different, better. He'd felt some of that expectation hooking up with new girls, even once or twice with new classes. But nothing like the thrilling expectation of a new season. Something in the pit of his stomach made him wonder about this new season.

He was driving before he realized he had left his cell phone home. On purpose? No one he wanted to talk to. He drove out of town and parked the Jeep in the public lot at the foot of the trail. Few other cars. He slipped on the headphones and found a pounding beat he thought would drive out everything else. He stretched before starting up the narrow dirt path.

He concentrated on the twists of the trail, the music, and his breathing, but the fingers kept plucking at the corners of his mind. Chris, Dad, Ramp, Mandy, Sarah, Junie. He couldn't quite run them off.

The house was still empty when he got back. Pete and
Brody had left messages on his cell phone. Just checking in. Four messages from Dad. He erased them without listening to them. A girl left her number. She said it was a new one. Could have been Sarah Ringe. He tried to remember what she looked like. There were three click offs from private numbers. He didn't want to think who that could be.

The Welcome Home rally seemed quieter than in past seasons, Matt thought, but maybe that was just in his mind. He stood with the Back Pack in the middle of the seniors on the platform in front of the grandstand. The rest of team was on the grass around them. Chris wasn't there. Be surprised if he was, Matt thought. Mandy was up front with the cheerleaders. She made a show of turning her back on Matt.

Brody caught the move. He elbowed Matt. “Jewelry. Worked for Kobe.”

“They were married.”

“You want to keep tapping that ass, right?”

There were at least two hundred people in the stands. He spotted Dad, Mom, and Junie in the front row. A Rydek Catering van was parked nearby. They'd be handing out lemonade and cookies afterward. Good
for business, Dad always said.

Coach Mac welcomed the crowd, then turned the cordless mike over to Pastor Jim, the team chaplain. He was the youth minister at the Rydeks' church. Matt had never liked him, another adult with all the answers. His lips brushing the mike, Pastor Jim asked God to give the Raiders the strength to get back up when they were knocked down, to forgive cheap shots, and to win clean. He closed his eyes and asked the crowd to beam special energy to the young warriors representing them.

When Pastor Jim opened his eyes, he turned to the seniors. “Your last season here, be proud of your team, make your team proud of you. Be bigger than the game. Brody, next time you pass that pigskin, put a little extra spiral on it for the kids who look up to you.” Brody waved to the crowd. “And Matt, you and Pete and Tyrell run just a little faster for them. You know, if Jesus came back, he'd be a Raider, hitting hard and hitting clean, linebackers like Ramp and Curt and Donny and José. He'd be kicking the money changers the way Jay kicks the ball. All of us, and that certainly means you, Ted and Kevin and Troy and Reggie and Tariz and Marquis and Michael, we have to turn it up a notch in our daily lives, crank the amps for ourselves and for those who need us.” He signaled someone to hand up his guitar. “I'm going to ask some members of the Nearmont High School Select Chorus to join me now in the song ‘Climb With Me.'”

Five kids came up on the platform behind Pastor Jim. Matt spotted Sarah Ringe immediately, as good-looking as he remembered. So I wasn't that wasted, he thought. Pastor Jim strummed a few bars and they began to sing, voices strong and clear even up against the noise of cars moving in and out of the lot. A tall, fat boy he had seen in the football marching band sang the first solo; then Sarah's high voice sent a shiver down his spine.

He sneaked a glance at the cheerleaders. Mandy was glaring at Sarah. Better do something before they team up. Barbecue my balls.

Coach Mac took back the mike and introduced all the seniors again. Matt could hear Junie shouting when his name was called. The mayor came up and said something, and a few other town big shots, but their voices faded. Matt thought he saw Chris standing alone behind the wire fence in a far corner. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and Chris was gone. Had he ever been there?

Pastor Jim ended the rally with a prayer for a successful, injury-free season. Matt felt numb. When it was over,
he followed Pete off the platform, staying in the middle of the Back Pack until they passed the cheerleaders.

“Matt?” It was the
Nearmont Eye
reporter he had blown off at the softball game, still hopping up and down like a frog. “What do you think?”

“About what?” What did the frog know? Had he talked to Chris?

“What Pastor Jim said about Jesus. You think he'd be a Raider?”

“That's Pastor Jim. We just play our game.” It sounded dumb. What was this kid after?

He was glad when Junie yelled and waved him over to the Rydek van. Mom and Junie were handing out cookies and drinks. Romo was asleep under the truck, and Dad was working the crowd. It took Matt ten minutes to walk off the field. People kept stopping him. People always liked to tell him stuff so they could be seen talking to him, mostly compliments, good wishes for the season, sometimes jokes and gossip. He usually liked it, but tonight he felt tense, ready to break and run. Was he nervous that someone would ask about Chris? Ask what?

Someone asked him if he'd heard that the cops had found a marijuana stash in a gym locker and burned it. Rumor was the pot belonged to a football player. Matt shrugged and moved on.

Dad grabbed his arm. “Called you this afternoon, Matt.”

He shook free. “Long run.”

“Football season, not track.” He looked angry.

He felt like walking away. Dad wouldn't make a fuss here. Pay for it later, but that's later. Always got to pay the price, hoss. He was making his decision when Junie handed him a bottle of water. “Gotta stay hylated, right, Mattie?”

“Hydrated,” snapped Dad. “Long runs stretch the wrong muscles.”

“Coach says we need to build stamina for the fourth quarter.” It sounded like something Coach Mac would say.

“Pull a hammie and then what?” Dad raised his voice. “Scout from Penn State is coming to see you play.”

“Nittany Lions,” said Junie.

“Mr. Rydek? I'm Sarah Ringe.” Matt didn't see her until she was shaking Dad's hand and he was trying to look down her white chorus blouse. “You catered my father's fiftieth birthday party. It was fabulous.”

“Lovely affair.” Matt could tell Dad was trying to remember. “Do you know my son Matt?”

“We've met.” So cool the way she turned and smiled at him. “And I certainly know Junie.” She squeezed Junie's arm. “My parents thought you were the best server at the party.”

Junie beamed and hugged her hard.

“Easy there,” snapped Dad.

“We're friends,” said Junie, hugging harder. Matt
could see Sarah was trying to keep smiling as Junie squeezed the air out of her.

“You hear me?” shouted Dad.

“How about a group hug?” said Matt. He circled them both with his arms and pried Junie's arms loose. Junie grinned, and Sarah took a quick breath and gave him a grateful look.

Mom came over, checking Sarah out with narrowed eyes. “You have a lovely voice.”

Romo woke up and slouched over to press against Sarah's leg.

Brody marched up and slapped the ball into Matt's gut. “Let's roll. Monty's waiting.”

Dad said, “Tell him to call me.”

On the ride to the gym, Brody said, “Those chicks gonna fight it out for you.”

“Right.”

“Terri says Sarah's locking in on you.”

“How come you're suddenly talking to Terri so much?”

“You know, she's an interesting—”

“Talk about something else or just shut the fuck up.”

“Somebody sucked a sour dick. Okay, how about the big pot bust?”

“I thought they just found some in a locker.”

“A football player's locker,” said Brody. “You think it's Tyrell?”

“Why should I think that?”

“He goes back and forth to the city, he's a head, and he doesn't juice with us.”

“That's the same crap Ramp tried to lay on him last year, and we didn't buy it.”

“Whatever.”

At the gym, Ramp and the linemen were already at the racks by the time the Back Pack was dressed and out on the floor. They were barking and yelping, humping major weight in the last push before the season began. It would be harder to keep lifting heavy while trying to heal from the pounding of games.

“Yo, bro,” yelled Ramp at Tyrell. “Hope you got paid for that weed.”

“Burn, baby, burn,” yelled Hagen. “Cops said it was primo.”

“You start that again, better be ready to finish it,” said Tyrell, making fists.

Matt put a hand on Tyrell's shoulder. “Gotta work now.”

Matt kept the Back Pack on the machines until the linemen finished with the freeweights. He held them at the racks until Ramp and his elephants clumped out of Monty's office with their little postshot smirks. Nothing like feeling you were getting bigger and harder, thought Matt.