Juice (6 page)

“Leave 'em alone,” Tony said.

“What?”

“Leave 'em alone. Can't be a pussycat in the weight room and a tiger on the field.”

“But —”

“Don't worry. I won't let it get out of hand.”

The two guys kept pushing and yelling, and I was positive they were going to come to blows. Then they both turned and walked away.

“Not much of a fight,” Tony said.

“You sound disappointed,” Caleb said.

Tony shrugged and walked away.

“What was that all about?” Caleb asked.

“I don't know what they were fighting about.”

“I don't mean the fight. I mean Tony,” he said.

“He just wanted to let them work it out,” I said.

“Work it out or duke it out? If you ask me, he wanted them to come to blows.”

“He would have stopped them if that happened.”

“Before or after somebody got hurt?”

“Tony would have taken care of it,” I argued.

Caleb shook his head. “You got an awful lot of faith in that guy. Can we talk?”

“What do you think we're doing?”

“Not here.” Caleb turned and walked away. I followed him out of the weight room, down the hall and out into the courtyard. It was hot and the sun was shining brightly. I used my hand to shield my eyes.

“Look,” Caleb began, “I know something's going on here. I'm not stupid. Those special shakes that Tony makes—do you know what's in them?”

“Nobody knows that but Tony.”

“Well I think I know. I think there's something that's not legal. I think we're being fed steroids.”

A chill went up my spine.

“Tony told me that there's nothing illegal in those drinks,” I said.“Just stuff he gets at health food stores.”

“There's lots of stuff that's sold legally that is still illegal to take in sports. They test
for lots of stuff in the Olympics, on pro teams. Look, everybody's getting too strong too fast. Something's not right. Besides, haven't you seen how people are acting, like those two inside just now? Everybody seems to be on edge, picking fights with each other. I'm edgy. For the first time in my life I'm having trouble sleeping at night. It's like I can't turn off my head.”

I'd been having trouble sleeping too, but I wasn't going to admit it. Not now.

“Maybe there's just a lot on your mind,” I suggested.

“There is a lot on my mind. I'm wondering if we're being doped without knowing it.”

“It's not like that. If they wanted you to use steroids, Tony would ask you,” I said.

“How can you be so —?” Caleb stopped. He looked dead serious. “You know that because they asked you, didn't they? Moose, you gotta be honest with me. Are you using steroids?”

I didn't answer. I had been feeling guilty already for not talking to Caleb. I knew he wasn't going to be taking them—receivers didn't need to bulk up.

“Well?” he asked.

“I'm not doing anything wrong,” I finally said. “I'm just trying to do what's best for everybody. For the team, for my mother, for my future. That's all. You don't have to worry.”

“I don't have to worry, but I'm going to anyway,” Caleb said. “And you should be worried too.”

I slammed the door with such force that the glass rattled. For a split second I thought it was going to break.

“Michael?” my mother called out as she rushed into the hall. “What was that noise?”

“Nothing. I closed the door.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I live here!” I snapped.

“I mean what are you doing here now? Aren't you supposed to be working?”

“Supposed to be.”

“Then why aren't you?” she asked.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said as I brushed past her and headed for the kitchen.

“I need you to talk about it,” she said as she trailed in behind me. “Did something happen?”

I flung open the fridge door and grabbed a Coke. “I'm going to my room.”

She stood in the doorway, blocking my way. “You're not going anywhere until I get an answer.”

“Look, it's no big deal. It happens to people all the time,” I said. “I was suspended for the day.”

“Suspended! What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Something had to happen.”

I was angry and embarrassed. I really didn't want to talk about it.

“Please. Tell me,” she said.

“There was this woman…”

“What woman?”

“At the store. I don't know who she was. I was moving some empty boxes…”

“Yeah, go on.”

“And she cut me off with her grocery cart and the boxes tumbled over and one of them bounced against the side of her cart,” I said.

“Accidents happen,” my mother said.

“That's what I said. And it wasn't like anybody got hurt.”

“That's the important part.”

“You'd think that, wouldn't you!” I snapped. “But she just starts yelling at me, and screaming like I'd tried to kill her!”

“That's awful.”

“Everybody's staring at me, and she keeps on screaming, getting louder and louder…and then…I told her to shut up, and she wouldn't. So I started yelling at her, telling her what a stupid witch she was and—”

“Michael, you didn't,” my mother said.

“She deserved it, the stupid—the stupid—woman.” I felt my temper rising as I talked about her. “I had to fight the urge to reach out and give her a smack!”

“Michael, don't even joke about that.”

“Who's joking? I had to stop myself from giving her a backhand across the—”
I was stopped by the expression on my mother's face. She looked shocked. No, worse, disappointed.

“I didn't hit her,” I protested.

My mother looked like she was going to burst into tears. Suddenly she turned around and ran up the stairs. I started after her and then stopped. What had I done?

I spun around and, without realizing what I was doing, smashed my fist against the wall. The plaster exploded and my hand disappeared into the wall! I pulled my hand out and punched the wall again and again and again, until it was pocked with holes, the powder from the plaster floating through the air.

I slumped to the ground. My hand was sore and the knuckles were cut. I could see it starting to swell up.

What had I done? My stomach heaved violently and I thought I was going to throw up. I stumbled to my feet. My legs were all rubbery and I staggered toward the bathroom. I pushed open the door and dropped down to my knees in front of the toilet. I started to vomit long and hard.

As my stomach settled, my head began to spin. How could I have yelled at that woman like that? It was like I was insane—the look on my mother's face, the holes in the wall— holes like my father had made that last night before he left. This was all so unbelievable. How could I have done any of this? There was only one answer. It had to be the juice. I'd read about it. Mood swings and anger problems, like those guys fighting today. Roid rage.

I crawled across the floor and opened the cupboard under the sink. I dug into the back. There in the far corner, hidden inside an old gym bag, was my stash. I pulled out the bottle. It contained the rest of the steroids for the next eight weeks. I opened the top. I had to get rid of them. I held the open bottle over the toilet. All I had to do was dump them and they'd be gone. That's all I had to do.

I sat there on the cold floor, the bottle balanced in my hand, thinking of what it would mean. Who would I disappoint if I flushed them away? Who would I disappoint if I didn't? I just sat there, thinking. I didn't have an answer.

I was startled out of my sleep by a ringing phone. I rolled off the sofa and onto my feet. I'd fallen asleep watching TV. The TV was off. That meant my mother had turned it off. She must have seen the holes in the wall. She knew what I'd done. I felt so ashamed. That was why I hadn't wanted to see her or talk to her. What was I going to say to her?

The phone kept ringing. I ran to pick it up.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hey, Moose, you just get up?” It was Caleb.

“Just this second.”

“That's what I figured because you didn't answer the first few times you were called.”

“You called me earlier?”

“Me and Mrs. Perkins. When she couldn't get you, she asked if I'd keep trying.”

“Mrs. Perkins called me?”

“She called everybody on the team.”

“Why would she be calling people? Isn't she off for the summer?” Mrs. Perkins was the school secretary.

“She was calling to set up a meeting. She said Coach wanted everybody to meet in the weight room at ten.”

“Why would there be a meeting?”

“She didn't tell and I didn't ask. You got just enough time to get yourself ready and get there.”

“What do you think it's about?” I asked.

“Probably wants to tell us some more little sayings and make us work harder. Maybe hand out some steroids.”

“Don't joke about that,” I said.

“Who's joking? You okay?”

“I'm fine!” I snapped and then instantly regretted my angry tone. He was just worried about me. Heck, I was worried about me. Maybe I should tell Caleb what was happening.

“So I'll see you there,” Caleb said.

“Sure. Thanks for calling.”

I put the phone down. I didn't know what this meeting was about, but I felt uneasy, more than uneasy. I looked at my hand. It was swollen and painful to the touch. What an idiot I was!

The pills were back in my gym bag. I hadn't dumped them, but I wasn't sure if I was going to take them anymore. Maybe I could just pretend to take them and not tell anybody. No, that wouldn't work. Tony would be able to tell by the results. No matter how hard I worked over the next eight weeks, I couldn't get the same results. There didn't seem to be an answer—at least no answer that didn't involve disappointing somebody, letting somebody down.

I walked down the hall. I tried to look away, but I couldn't avoid seeing the holes. I was going to go straight from the meeting to the hardware store. I was going to buy a piece of drywall and some plaster and paint. I couldn't change what I'd done, but I could have it all fixed before my mother got home from work that night. Then I'd apologize and promise not to ever let something like that happen again. Could I keep that promise?

I was going to ask Caleb to help me fix the wall. He was good with that sort of stuff. That was one of the decisions I'd made. The other was that I was going to talk to him. I'd make him promise not to tell anybody and to let me make my own decision, but to help me with that decision. I could trust him. Actually, there was nobody else I could trust with this.

I bumped into a couple of other guys on the way into the school. They were laughing and joking around. Nobody else seemed worried. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe being paranoid was just another symptom of steroid use.

I hadn't taken any this morning. Missing one part of the day wouldn't make any difference, but would it hurt me?

It was a few minutes before ten, and almost everybody was assembled in the weight room. Caleb came over and sat down beside me.

It was strange being here without loud music pumping through the room or anybody sweating away on the weights. Looking up, I noticed the Wall of Fame and all of the progress charts were gone. Why weren't they there?

All that was left were the inspirational quotes. I looked at them, from quote to quote. My eyes stopped on one:
Show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser
. That one was positioned on the wall so that I stared right at it when I was doing my squats. I still hated squats and I'd learned to hate that quote. What was wrong with being a good loser? Wasn't that better than being a bad winner?

“I wonder where Tony is,” Caleb said.

“Maybe he's in his office.”

Caleb shook his head. “His SUV isn't in the lot. I don't think he's here.”

“Probably coming with Coach Barnes.”

I looked over at the clock. It was exactly 10:00, and Coach Barnes was a stickler for being on time.

Almost on cue, the office door opened. It was Coach Reeves! What was he doing here? I jumped up from my chair, as did everybody else, and we rushed over to him.

“I'm thrilled to see you all again too!” Coach Reeves responded. “But I need you all to sit down. We have to talk.”

We settled back into our seats. If I was anxious before, I was really anxious now.

There was a rattling sound and I realized where it was coming from. Coach was shaking a can of spray paint. He walked over to the wall and started painting. He was spraying over all the sayings that lined the walls. Gone was
No Pain, No Gain
; gone was
Reach for the Stars
. He painted over the last half of
Show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser
, so that it only read
Show me a good loser
. He sprayed over the last part of
Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing!
Now it read
Winning isn't everything
. Finally
he sprayed over the word
Fame
and in its place crudely painted
Shame
, so it was now the Wall of Shame.

We all sat there in stunned silence, watching him work. This was crazy. Finished, he dropped the can to the floor with a metallic thud.

“Thank you all for coming to my meeting,” Coach Reeves said.

“We're glad to be here,” Caleb said, “but we didn't know it was your meeting. Mrs. Perkins just said we were to meet with our coach.”

“You are meeting with your coach. Your old, or, I guess, newest coach.”

“You're our coach again?” I gasped.