Sell Out (35 page)

I spotted movement in the doorway.

Matt was there. Arms folded, watching, waiting. His expression was blank, but seeing him made me feel safe. He represented all I had achieved over the past year and a half. He took a step forward and clicked off the screech of heavy-metal rock exploding through the speakers. “You ready to move on from this?”

His words knocked me back. “I thought I already had.” I dropped my gaze, studied the way my shoelaces looped though each hole of my sneakers.

He took another step in my direction. His movements were slow and careful, like a man two seconds from wrestling a bear. “You can slam that bag until every inch of skin is gone, but it’s not going to help you move forward.” He spoke with gentleness and understanding, like he’d been in my shoes before. Like he’d faced the same demons.

“Then how?” I begged more than I demanded.

“You’ve got to get control of your mind, Cody. Ignoring or blocking out the past may work in the short term, but eventually, the pain always surfaces. Trust me. I know this first hand.” He looked at my chest, his gaze following the line of my new definition until it settled on my face. “You’ve transformed your body. But that won’t make any difference until you’re ready to transform your mind and your emotions.”

I put my forehead to the bag, unwilling to look into eyes that could peel away every shield I’d learned to use. “When I think about it, I hurt. And when I hurt, it makes me angry and bitter.” Gruff and barely audible, my words hung in the air.

Matt’s hand was on my shoulder, offering me strength and comfort. “I know. And it may always hurt. You may always struggle. But until you let go, you will never struggle in a healthy way. You will never find healing. Or forgiveness.”

I hardened to a statue. “I’ll never forgive them.”

“Then you’ll never really be free.” Matt’s voice stung like acid dripping on my skin.

I gripped the bag tighter, hit my head against the slick leather twice before the first round of sobs descended on me. They sounded a lot like the sobs I’d released on the gym floor two years ago. But today they were different. Today they meant grief. Every tear for the boy who wouldn’t stop haunting me. “I’m so tired of being weak.”

Matt moved closer. “You have it backwards. Forgiveness is strength, not weakness. Letting go means giving up your rage. It means allowing yourself and the other person to have grace. It means giving up the hate and facing the pain of what you went through. Because only then, will you truly find peace.”

I stared at the man I considered my hero. Forgiveness. The word ricocheted within me like a bullet. “Where do I even start?”

“You start by telling the truth. To yourself. To the people you love. You stop thinking you can do this on your own and let others support you. And, most importantly, you rely on the author of strength to overcome your pain. God tells us that in the world, we will have tribulation, but in Him, there is peace, because He overcame the world.” Matt pulled me into an embrace that was as crushing as it was liberating.

I held on like a man drowning.

“You’re not alone, Cody. You’re never, ever alone.”

I
stopped by
Veteran’s Park on the way home from the hospital, no more eager to return to my empty house than I was to face the choices in front of me.

The swing moved and twisted as I kicked at the dirt. So many decisions to be made. So many that Aunt Josephine had two pages of legal-sized notebook paper attached to my fridge. But nothing on that list was as daunting as the thick envelope sitting on my kitchen table.

ESMOD. I’d been accepted. Early admission too, which had my father’s scent all over it. Even from the grave, he was telling me to live my dream. Somehow, though, over four short months, my dream had morphed and dissolved. And now I was floundering with no direction and no purpose.

My iPhone vibrated in my back pocket. It was a text from Henry asking me to meet him at his house. Strange. We hadn’t really talked much in the last few weeks. He called after the media broke the story and then when my father died, but that was it.

Henry waited on his porch while I pulled in the drive, his hands shoved into the pockets of his designer jeans. His short-sleeved Henley was tight, showing a splash of muscles that hadn’t existed before. He was still skinny and wiry, but long gone was the awkward nerd I met on the first day.

I locked my car and approached him. “Hey, what’s up?”

He wouldn’t make eye contact, and his foot tapped on the wood porch like he was listening to techno music in his head. “Have you heard about Lindsay?”

“Yes. I just came from the hospital.”

His head jerked up, fear flashing in his eyes. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s going to recover.” But it would probably take years and lots of counseling before she was truly okay.

He closed his eyes and nodded vigorously. “Good. That’s good.”

I took a step forward. “Henry, what’s going on?”

“I know things. Things I wish I didn’t. Things I shouldn’t know.” He sank into a white, wicker couch and stared at his feet. “It’s not Cody in the video.”

“I know that.” It surprised me how easily I believed Cody when he told me, but I did. We’d overcome the drama of secrets and miscommunication.

He was slow in meeting my eyes. “Did Cody tell you what I did?”

A chill raced down my arm. Maybe we hadn’t moved past the secrets. “No. What did you do?”

He fidgeted and tugged on his earlobe. “Nothing. Just…nothing.”

“Henry, you’re not making any sense, and you’re starting to freak me out. Just tell me what’s going on.” My tolerance level was miniscule. There’d been too much tragedy in a very short period of time.

“Wait here.” He sprung up and with two decisive strides disappeared behind the front door. Two minutes later, he emerged with a silver laptop in his hand. He sat. Motioned for me to sit next to him. “Do you remember my accident?”

I lowered myself slowly, taking the open space on the couch. “You mean when a bunch of guys at school jumped you?”

He sighed. “Yeah.” His computer showed several open windows with file icons everywhere. “I hacked a certain king’s computer that night for proof, but found something far worse. I downloaded the file from his hard drive thinking I could use it to protect myself, but then everything changed at school. Got better, you know. Blake invited me to lunch. I met Cynthia, and she liked my quirkiness.”

I patted his leg. At least one person this year had a happy ending. “I’m glad, Henry.”

His eyes met mine, and that look was there again. Remorse, guilt, shame. “I should have turned it in. But I liked being at the head table. I liked having places to go on the weekends. I’ve been a narc before, and the backlash was insane. I knew if I told, it would be my final act of treason.”

He pulled up a video, and the arrow hovered over the play button. “Skylar. I won’t be the one to turn this in. Not only did I get to it illegally, but I just won’t go there again. If you want it, though, I’ll give it to you.”

My head was swimming. Henry’s words made no sense. “Why would I want it?”

He clicked play. “You’ll see.”

The video was black for few seconds, with only the audio booming snickers and muffled laughter. Then, out of nowhere, Blake’s face appeared on the screen.

“Fatty James, Take One.”
He pretended to be clapping a scene marker like in the movies.

“Hush. He’s in there. Jill just told me so.”

The camera did a three-sixty until it was facing forward, Blake’s repressed laugher still being the loudest audio indicating he was the videographer.

“Fatty James, We know you came in here.”

“Oh, my God.” My hands flew to my mouth as the camera zeroed in on a pair of sneakers peeking out between the lockers.

A dark-haired guy in a letterman jacket crouched down, rested his hands on his knees. The camera made a horrifying visual zoom in.

“Now, now, what do we have here? A whale stuck in a hole.”
He made a “tsk” sound and looked toward the camera.
“Boys, we need to help Fatty James.”

The screen jumped and jumbled, shadows moving in front of the camera. Blake must have backed away and come around from a different angle.

My heart stopped. They had Cody pinned to the ground. He looked so different, it was hard to believe it was the same person, but I knew. Because for the first time, I could see the image that still haunted him.

Cody struggled and kicked until the ringleader slammed a fist into his face.

I jumped up and ran to the rail, sure I was going to puke the contents of my churning stomach. The audio assaulted my ears.

“Wow, Fatty, you’re a whole lot of man, aren’t you? Let’s see what else you’re hiding under there.”

“Jiggle him around a little. We’ll call him White Jell-O Whale to match those tighty whities.”

“Dude, check out his hooters!”

“No worries, I got his training bra right here.”

Blake’s laughter became a howl.

“Turn it off!” I screamed, covering my ears. How could they be so evil?

The dry heaves hit twice, but nothing came with them. I heard the click of the laptop behind me and then Henry’s footsteps.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with the word “sorry.”

I pressed a hand against my stomach. “Blake was there. He filmed it.”

“Blake’s manipulative and cruel.”

Henry’s flat tone sent anger vibrating through my body. “You should have told me. I almost dated him, and you claimed to be my friend. You should have told me!”

“I’m so sorry.” Henry backed away. “I just wanted the hazing to stop.”

“Did it stop, Henry? Did your silence keep Lindsay from being next?”

“I didn’t know she’d try to kill herself. I didn’t know she was that depressed.”

“He sent two hundred people a clip of her having sex!” I flattened my palms to my thighs even though I wanted to throw a punch. For the first time, I understood Cody’s rage. “I want that video.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, dropped it in my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell that to Cody.” I spun around and ran to my car. Blake would pay. There had to be a way to make him pay.

I slammed my Mustang into drive and took off for the highway. It was Friday night, but I knew exactly where Aunt Josephine would be. The law offices of Robinson, Fink and Wyld.

*

“I won’t accept
that nothing can be done.” I sat with my arms folded, my shoulders solid with determination.

My aunt laced her fingers together. They rested on her oversized, mahogany desk, each leg of it intricately carved. The impressive furniture didn’t match her drab style or the sour expression that now hung on her face.

“I’m not saying that nothing can be done. Just that it’s tricky. That video is almost two years old and, even though it took place on campus, if no additional acts of violence have been reported since, I doubt the school will have any recourse.”

“This sucks,” I spit out, my aunt flinching at the distaste in my voice. I knew she hated my current tone. Probably because it was typically directed at her. But it was the truth in her words I hated, not her.

“Skylar, we do have some options, legally, but they’re long shots.” She restacked a bunch of papers that were already tidy.

My shoulders straightened. “What options?”

“We can file a civil suit against the six boys in this video. I might even be able to press charges on the one who actually punched him, but criminally, we are looking at probation at the most.”

“What about the one holding the camera?” I asked, thinking of Blake and how I’d like to do some punching myself.

“They were both minors. Harassment, maybe, but it’s not even worth the time to process the paperwork.” Aunt Josephine flattened her lips and smoothed her already pristine bun. I knew that look. It was her “be practical” look. The one she’d give me when I implied my father would survive the cancer. The one that reminded me how naïve I had been.

I dropped my head to my hands, the images on that video flashing through my mind again and again. “He can’t just get away with it.”

My aunt rose from her leather executive chair and walked around the desk. With my head lowered, I could see the shine of her shoes as she stepped in front of me and leaned back against her desk.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want to happen, and then I’ll do my best to come up with a plan.”

It wasn’t much, but at least it sounded a little like an olive branch. I looked up. Her fingers were laced again, tucked elegantly next to her pressed suit pants.

“I want Blake punished. I want him to lose everything that’s important to him. Wrestling, being king at Madison. I want him to suffer the way Cody did in that video. The way Lindsay is now.” Tears stung my eyes and I wondered if she noticed because the corner of her eyes turned down. “I just want something in my life to be fair.”

My aunt stood straight and unbuttoned her suit coat. It was a rare move on her part. Like removing the covering meant exposure. A silk blouse peeked out. It was pink and unexpectedly feminine. And for some reason, I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Even when she neatly folded her coat across the top of a chair and sat to face me.