The Shade of the Moon (16 page)

“Why, Jon?” Sarah cried.

“I was angry at Mom,” he said. “For caring more about her students than she does about
me. But Sarah, if Tyler goes to the authorities, they’ll blame her.”

“You’re the one they’ll blame,” Sarah said.

“Yeah, but I deserve it,” Jon said. “Mom didn’t do anything wrong, but they’ll throw
her out of White Birch. They’ll punish Alex and Miranda, too. They’ll say I lied about
being with clavers, that it was my family’s idea.”

“You saw them a few days before,” Sarah said.

Jon nodded.

Sarah took a deep breath. “I’ll tell Tyler you said you were too drunk to remember
what happened. Jon, if you turn yourself in, will they do anything to your family?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said. “I don’t want to risk it. But if you want, I’ll leave Sexton.
I’ll go to my brother’s after Miranda’s baby is born. But I won’t come back. I won’t
be a claver.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Sarah said. “But I don’t know that I’ve ever had you.
How can I love you when I don’t think I like you?”

“You were lonely,” he said. “You’re making friends now. You’ll find someone else.
I’ll be gone. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want to be okay without you,” she said. “Jon, hold me.”

Jon didn’t move. “Go,” he said. “Catch the bus. I’ll walk to school.”

“You’ll be late,” she said.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

Sarah paused for a moment, but then she began running from him.

He’d had her and he lost her. He could blame whoever he wanted, whatever he wanted—Tyler,
his family, the moon itself—but none of that mattered.

He was alone. He would always be alone.

That was all he deserved.

Friday, July 3

Practices had been brutal all week. Coach drove them beyond their capabilities, calling
them every name in the book when they came short of his expectations.

Each practice ended with chants, louder and more crazed, about what the Sexton players
were going to do to the White Birch grubs. Nothing was too violent or obscene.

It was hard each day to go home and return to being Nice Jon, Friendly Jon, Big Brother
Jon. He tried his best, but mostly he thought about everything he’d done, everything
he’d lost.

Mom called that night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her sound so
happy, so relieved.

“Alex gave me the complete report yesterday,” she said. “He says he’s never seen Miranda
look so good. Miranda can’t get over how well they’re feeding her. Chicken and fish
every single day. She walks around the ward for exercise, but mostly she lies in bed
and gets pampered. The baby is thriving and everything’s going wonderfully. She’s
really looking forward to working for Lisa. She says she hadn’t realized how much
the greenhouse work was taking out of her until she fainted.”

Jon listened patiently, making the appropriate noises when Mom would expect to hear
them.

“Jeffrey doesn’t think he can get Alex in to see Miranda next week, but he’ll try
for the week after,” Mom continued. “And he’ll check in on Miranda after she’s had
the baby, and he’ll get Alex in then, also. I wish Alex could see her daily, but it’s
better than nothing. Jeffrey’s really being wonderful about it.”

“The soccer match is tomorrow,” Jon said. “Are you coming, Mom?”

“Oh, honey, I wish I could,” Mom replied. “I was given a ticket. But one of the boys
in my class is on the team. I gave him my ticket so his father can see him play. Lisa
will be there? And Gabe?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, knowing in Mom’s eyes they were all the family he needed.

“I’ll see you the next time,” Mom said. “After Miranda has the baby. We’ll all come,
cheer you on.”

“Okay,” he said. “Take care, Mom.”

Jon heard her say, “I love you,” as he hung up the phone.

When he was a kid, his father used to go to his ball games. Jon loved to play, knowing
his father was watching, cheering him on.

But after the divorce Dad lived too far away to get to the games. Jon used the anger
he felt, and the disappointment, to make him play harder.

That’s how he’d play on Saturday, he told himself. Harder than he’d ever played before.

Saturday, July 4

Until the White Birch forward died, it was the best day in Jon’s life.

After he died, it was the worst.

It had started better than Jon had imagined. Instead of a four- or five-hour drive
on winding, rutted roads, it was a familiar twenty minutes. The bus was full. All
the team members made the trip, plus Coach, the referee they always brought, and a
couple dozen guards, who were there to circle the playing field for their protection.

Everyone was in a great mood, with a lot of yelling about what they were going to
do to the White Birch grubs. The wilder and more disgusting the shouts, the more everyone
cheered.

Finally Coach raised his hands to quiet the team. “If you lose, you can take a bus
back after the game. Someone’ll find room for you losers.”

The catcalls were deafening.

“But if by some chance you manage a win, there’ll be a bus for you at four a.m.,”
Coach said. “To the victors belong the spoils.”

“What does that mean?” Zachary asked.

“It means do whatever you want to whoever you want,” Tyler said. “No questions asked.
Right, Coach?”

“I’m not asking,” Coach said. “Just don’t get killed.”

Luke glanced at Jon, but Jon ignored him. Luke could do whatever he wanted. Jon was
going to do whatever Tyler wanted.

The team got to the stadium a couple of hours before match time. They changed in the
locker room, then looked around.

The high school stadium grandstands sat two thousand, and Jon knew it would be full.
The lower half was reserved for clavers. Then there’d be a row of guards, and above
them were the seats for the people from White Birch. Twenty buses would shuttle back
and forth from Sexton, carrying the clavers and the guards. The grubs could walk.

Jon could see that playing so close to the burned-down high school bothered Luke.
He told himself not to think about it. The high school was a remnant of a different
time. The students still went to school, just in a different building. Back in Pennsylvania
after the bad times had begun, they’d closed schools and no one cared.

Even in the locker room, Jon could hear the clavers getting off the buses and being
seated. Close to a thousand of them coming to watch their team slaughter the grubs.
An equal number of grubs witnessing the slaughter.

Eventually one of the guards knocked on their door and told them to come out for the
“Star-Spangled Banner.” Jon looked around as he walked onto the field. He was used
to playing games almost every week, but they usually played on an empty field somewhere,
and at most a hundred of the town’s grubs showed up to watch.

This was completely different. Even with the scores of guards, it was still overwhelming
to see hundreds of grubs waiting for the clavers to lose.

But then they started singing the national anthem, and everything felt right. Sure,
the clavers were clavers and the grubs were grubs, but it was the Fourth of July and
they were all Americans.

It was a hot seventy-five degrees, and if you squinted, you could see the sun. There
was soccer to be played, a game to be won.

What Jon hadn’t expected, what none of them had expected, was that the White Birch
players would be good. None of the grubber teams they’d played had known what they
were doing. The grubs only scored because the clavers let them. Jon and his teammates
could easily win 20–0.

But the White Birch grubs played hard, never quitting, never gasping for air. The
grubs had defenders. The clavers had never needed defenders, and all the players regarded
themselves as forwards. Now they had to block passes shot by players who understood
the game, and watch helplessly as their own passes were blocked. Jon had several of
his passes taken from him, and he was outrun more than once.

To make matters worse, the grubs had a goalie who knew how to field. Jon was accustomed
to scoring easily, the grubber goalies terrified at the speed and power of his kick.
But this goalie blocked the kicks and saw to it that his teammates got the ball back.

The grubs in the stands were going wild, screaming and pounding against the bleacher
floors. The clavers tried to show their enthusiasm, but they’d expected a rout, and
Jon could sense they were starting to worry.

Coach was screaming on the sidelines, and the referee gave as many calls as he could
to the clavers. Even so, at halftime, the score was 1–1.

The thing was, Jon loved it. Winning every week against a bunch of losers wasn’t fun.
It was a job, whether Sarah understood that or not.

But this was great. Win or lose, this was what sports were about. Soccer would never
replace baseball in Jon’s heart, but this time he understood what was fun about soccer,
why even in a world of fear, hunger, and loss, this game alone had survived.

He didn’t even mind listening to Coach in the locker room. He especially enjoyed hearing
Coach scream at Tyler.

None of the other guys were enjoying themselves. Maybe he could because he was a slip.
Sure he wanted to win. He’d come in determined to show the White Birch grubs what
pathetic losers they were. He understood that there was danger if the grubs stopped
fearing them. The clavers had to win, especially this game so close to home.

But this time they’d have to earn that win. The clavers had every advantage, but they
were being outplayed by a bunch of loser grubs. Only they weren’t losers. There was
nothing loser about them.

With two minutes left, Jon was starting to wish the grubs would remember what losers
they were. The score was tied 3–3, and both teams were exhausted. Even Coach had wearied
of screaming. The fans in the seats were quieter, waiting for the decisive goal to
be scored.

Luke kicked the ball to Jon. He could see a clear path to the goal. The White Birch
goalie, who’d played a heroic match, was weakening. This was the chance Jon had been
waiting for.

But before he had a chance to strike the ball, one of the grubber forwards collapsed
on the field. For a moment they all stood still. Then the grubs ran over to check
on their forward. No one thought to call a timeout.

“Kick the ball!” Coach yelled. “Score!”

Jon stood still. Tyler ran over and kicked the ball in for the score.

“He’s dead!” one of the grubs shouted.

The White Birch coach ran onto the Sexton side of the field and began pummeling Coach.
The next thing Jon knew, he was being attacked by two of the White Birch players.

Soon all the players were fighting. Jon felt sorry for the guy who’d died, but it
was exhilarating to be swinging, hitting, pounding his fists against flesh and bone.

The guards started swarming the field. Shots rang out. Jon thought the guards were
shooting in the air, to calm the crowd, until he saw one of the grub players fall
to the ground. Then the barrier between the field and the grandstands collapsed, and
clavers and grubs stampeded the playing field.

The screams grew louder and the gunshots more frequent. Jon tried to locate Lisa and
Gabe, only to feel a hard punch to his stomach. He collapsed onto the field, the air
knocked out of him, then heard a bullet and saw the grub who’d attacked him falling
down. Jon managed to squirm away just in time to keep the grub from dying on top of
him.

Guns were going off everywhere. Clavers who’d brought their guns with them for protection
were shooting wildly. Jon ran, searching for Lisa and Gabe. It was Gabe he saw first.
A man had hold of him and was lifting him up.

Jon couldn’t be certain if it was a grub who planned on harming Gabe or a claver trying
to protect him. At that moment it didn’t matter. He climbed over the fallen barricade,
pushing against crazed and frantic people, and reached the man.

He hadn’t played soccer for nothing. Jon placed a hard kick on the man’s shin, and
while the man was hopping from pain and surprise, he kneed him in the groin.

The man dropped Gabe. Jon grabbed the boy, placing him on his shoulders. Gabe was
screaming for his mother, and Jon managed to spot her.

“Follow me!” he yelled to Lisa. He held on to Gabe’s legs as tightly as he could and
shoved his way through the hysterical crowd. At first he stepped around bodies, in
case they were still alive, but after a couple of minutes he gave up caring. Gabe
was the important thing, not some dead grub. Or some dead claver.

He tripped once, but Gabe was holding on to his hair, and Jon was able to keep him
from falling off. It took a couple of terrifying minutes before Jon saw an exit sign,
and he walked as swiftly as he could, carrying Gabe outside to safety.

Jon watched as people ran from the stadium, but he wasn’t going anywhere until Lisa
joined them. Gabe hadn’t stopped crying, but he saw Lisa first, and began calling,
“Mommy, Mommy,” until Lisa found them.