Raiders Night (14 page)

Matt was a few minutes early, but she was already there, at the same booth in the rear they had sat in last time. He was happy to see her. Felt it in his chest.

“Hi.” Best he could do.

“You were so great with Junie.” Her big eyes were shiny.

“Happened before.”

“The way you went right to him. Other people would have looked around, yelled at your dad, said something, but you just did what you had to do.”

“Football.” It was the first time he had thought about the game that way. “You don't let anything distract you. Focus. You were pretty cool, calling me.”

“If it was my father I wouldn't have been cool, would have wanted to slug him.” Her anger surprised him.

“Wouldn't have helped Junie.” He felt his face relax
into a smile. “But it's a thought. What about your father? You see him much?”

She shook her head. “When he split, he made it seem like it was our fault, that Mom and I drove him out. He's a lawyer and he'd been planning it for a long time, even before his big birthday party.” She was crying. “He took everything, the bastard. I hate him.”

He squeezed her hand. He felt like slugging her dad. “It's okay to hate them,” he said.

Was he saying that for her or for himself? He thought of all the hours throwing a baseball or a football with Dad. Those were good times. He thought about Dad making him feel small, screaming from the stands. Bad times. Doing things he didn't want to do. He thought of the broken recorder. What was Chris's father like? What made him steal from his company? How'd Chris feel about that? Did he think his Dad did it for him? He thought about the shrink with the thick neck.

They were quiet until the waitress came over and took their orders. Burgers, fries, soda. Same as last time.

“Why is the Homecoming game so important to your dad?” said Sarah.

“There'll be major college scouts there. It's important I go Division One so I have a pro shot.”

“Important to him or you?”

That stopped him. He wanted to give her an honest answer. “I'm not sure anymore.” The answer rattled
something loose inside him, something scary. But good scary, like before a game.

Not sure? How could he not be sure if football was important to him, too?

“You still here?” She was smiling at him.

“Sorry.” He blurted what bubbled up into his mind. “Sometimes I feel like I'm trapped in football.” He stopped. “Let's talk about something else.”

She nodded. “How's Junie?”

“He's okay. He gets overstressed sometimes.”

“Daniel's getting him a new recorder.”

“Your chorus fag friend.” That came out before he could swallow it back.

“That's not like you.” Her eyes got hot.

“You told him, didn't you? About us. What happened. What didn't happen.” He was amazed to hear himself. It was that scary loose thing in his chest.

“I wanted to. I thought something was wrong with me.” The words rushed out of her. “I really felt like I failed, and you would compare me with Mandy and all your other girls and I'd never see you again. But I didn't tell him.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hands. He let her hold them down. “I—I really care about you, Matt.”

“You really cared about getting into the hot crowd, beating Mandy. That's why you came after me.” Where was this coming from? he wondered. Why am I testing her like this?

Her cheeks got red. “That's a lot of—” She took a breath. “In the beginning, yeah, I guess so. “

“Now?”

“Now it's about you.”

“What if I wasn't captain of the football team, what if I wasn't even on the team?”

“I hate football.” She made a face. “Loud, know-it-all bullies. Have to dominate everything. Raiders Rule. Rule what?”

He wondered if he had said too much to her, and he wondered how much more he could tell her.

He said, “Will you come with me right now?”

There was a police officer outside Chris's hospital door, but he recognized Matt and went inside to get Chris's mother. She came right out, a big, dark-haired woman who threw her arms around Matt. “Chris always talked about you. Thank you for saving his life.”

“How is he?”

“They've got him heavily sedated until the swelling goes down, but he'll be all right.” She looked over his shoulder.

“This is Sarah. My…friend.”

Mrs. Marin took Sarah's outstretched hand and pulled her close. “So nice you came. Nobody's been here except the police.”

“Chris talked to them?” Matt couldn't tell whether or not he wanted to hear that Chris had told them about Raider Pride Night.

“No. Be days before they bring him out of it.” She started to cry. “He's under arrest.”

Sarah put her arms around Mrs. Marin and held her until she stopped shaking.

“Can I see him?” said Matt.

Mrs. Marin nodded, but the cop at the door hesitated about letting him in. “I'm not supposed to, Matt, so be quick and don't tell anybody.”

The turban of bandages around Chris's head and the spaghetti of tubes and wires attached to his body didn't surprise Matt as much as the expression on his face. He looked relaxed, almost happy. Maybe that was it. Nothing to worry about. Other people were doing all the worrying for him now.

Matt found a bare place on Chris's arm, between a tube in the crook of his elbow and a tube in his wrist. He gripped his arm there.

“Hey, Chris, it's Matt. Your captain.” He stared at Chris's pale face, willed him to give a sign that he heard. Just flutter your eyelids, man. Nothing. The monitors hummed. “Hang in there, buddy. When you get through this, I'll be there for you. Promise.”

Outside the room, Mrs. Marin hugged him again. He expected her to ask about training camp, but she didn't. He wondered what he would have told her. He said he'd come back soon.

In the hospital parking lot, Sarah said, “Nobody else
came to visit him? Coaches, players?”

“They want Chris to die.”

“Matt, that's terrible, people aren't—”

“I'm telling you.”

She winced at the harshness in his voice. “Why? He didn't end up hurting anybody except himself.”

“They hurt him first. We all did.” He felt nauseous. Wasn't the Vics, because he hadn't taken any since Dorman's class, six, seven hours ago. Wanted to be sharp. Maybe I need to cut back that shit.

“Raider Pride Night?” she said.

“You know?”

“There were rumors that something happened. There was something in the
Nearmont Eye
…”

“I let it happen.”

“But you didn't do anything bad, did you?”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn't. Not if you do something about it.”

“Like what?” He knew the answer. “It could wreck the program. People get arrested. No more games. No Division One scholarships.”

“What happened to Chris that night?”

“It was really bad.” He forced himself to delete the picture that popped up behind his eyes: Chris on his knees, shaking, the bat sticking out of him.

“Do the coaches know?”

“They want to believe he just couldn't cut it, be a Raider.”

“You should try to tell them the truth. Then it's their problem, not yours. You did something.”

He thought of Dorman. Be easier to talk to him than to Coach Mac. He was a guidance counselor. He looked at his watch. Almost nine o'clock. Probably still in the football office. Worth a shot.

Sarah refused to go home. She said she would trail him to school and wait in her car. He argued with her, but not too hard.

The back door of the field house was open. Corndog was in his office and never looked up as Matt tiptoed past. Dorman was alone in the meeting room, projecting Eastern Valley's offensive formations out of his laptop onto a wall screen.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Matt! Sure.” He pointed to a chair, but when Matt kept standing, he said, “What's up?”

“Went to the hospital. Chris is under arrest.”

“Attempted murder.”

“He had reasons.”

“Don't we all. Want an energy drink?” He reached into a cooler.

“Something bad happened to him on Raider Pride Night.”

“That's no excuse to—”

“Really bad. Like…getting a plastic bat shoved up his ass.”

Dorman didn't flinch. “Sounds like a ritual got out of hand.”

“More like a rape.” The word startled him. Of course, that's what it was.

Dorman took a deep breath, put down the bottle, and stood up. “Serious charge. Who else knows about it?”

“All the seniors. The freshmen were there, but they were blindfolded.”

“So they didn't see it?”

“They know something…got out of hand.”

Dorman didn't react to the edge in Matt's voice. “So that's why he came to kill you all.”

“I don't think he came to kill anybody. I think he just wanted to make Ramp crawl, beg for mercy in front of the team.”

“Not Ramp.” Dorman shook his head. In admiration, Matt thought. “You talk to anybody outside the team?”

Matt shook his head. A lie, but he didn't want to get Sarah involved.

“I'm glad you came to me, Matt. Now we have to figure out the next step.”

“The principal, the police?”

“Maybe. Although since no charges have been filed, except against Marin, it may not be necessary.” Dorman frowned. “It's like preparing for a busted play. You have to
think through the possible further damage. I'll try to get hold of Coach Mac tonight. We can all meet at school tomorrow morning, before we leave for the game. You talk to your dad about this?”

“No.”

“I know he'd want you to keep it a Raider thing. Stays in the locker room for now. Go get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” He put his hands on Matt's arms and steered him to the door. “You did the right thing, coming to me. Now get some rest and put everything out of your mind except the game.”

Sarah was standing by her car. The 80 was still on her door. “So?”

“He's going to tell Coach Mac. We'll meet at school tomorrow.”

“With the principal? The police?”

“That's what I asked. He said he wants to think through the possible further damage. Like a football game.”

“He said that? Did he seem surprised?”

“Not really.”

“So he knew.”

As soon as she said it, he knew she was right. Why hadn't I picked up on that? Didn't want to.

“He mention your father?”

“Yeah. Said he knew Dad would want me to keep it in the team.”

“Those bastards! Always taking care of themselves. What are we going to do now?”

She was making it her problem, too. He felt good about that.

“Here's what
we
are going to do. You're going home. I'm going to lift.”

“What?”

“Work out, clear my head.”

“Don't you want to talk to somebody? What about Pastor Jim?”

“Yeah, right. He thinks Jesus would be a linebacker like Ramp.”

“How about a reporter?” said Sarah. “Get it out in the open—then they'd have to deal with it. Daniel has a friend on the
Nearmont Eye
, Paul Barry, he's a really good reporter and he could—”

“Later.”

“Call me when you get home? Promise?”

“Promise.” He wasn't sure who started the kiss.

“Poor baby. You had to hold it all in. It's not your fault.”

“Some of it is. And I'm going to do something about it.”

The hot young moms were long gone and the yuppies were on their way out. The ironheads were there, strutting and screaming, banging metal. When they saw Matt, they nodded at him, raised their thumbs. But they were too cool to come over and ask him about the shooting. They'd do that later, he figured, making it part of something else.

For the first time, he felt sorry for them, then for himself. He could end up one of them, no college scholarship, working for Rydek Catering, pumping and popping pills.

He lifted until he lost track of his reps. Squats, curls, presses, flys melting into a ton of metal tearing at his muscles, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“Easy, Matt.” It was Monty. He handed Matt a bottle of water. “On the house.”

“Thanks.” He sat up, chugged the water.

“You want to lift to get bigger,” said Monty, “not to destroy yourself. You don't want to get hurt, blow the season.” He sat down on a bench. “I talked to your dad. He did a helluva job pushing the school board to let the game go on. You boys have worked hard, made sacrifices.”

He thought of Chris, saw the bandage turban, the tubes. That's a sacrifice.

“Colleges getting real serious this time of year,” said Monty. “Heard a scouting combine's coming out from the city to shoot the game with three digital cameras, then burn CDs for any coach interested.”

Matt nodded. Why didn't he care?

Monty leaned closer. “Until this thing blows over, we're gonna keep the medicine cabinet shut.”

“No shots?” Another way to squeeze me, Matt thought. It would have panicked him once; now he just heard it as noise from a distance. Am I just getting more numb, or is something changing? Maybe I don't need so much juice.

“You never know—reporters start fishing for one thing, come up with another. You'll be okay for a couple weeks if you taper off on the weight a little. I'll make up a new schedule for you.” Monty stood up. “The heavy guys like Ramp, they've got the problem. They need a lot more gear than you do.”

“Side effects when you stop?”

“You might feel a little down; that's normal. Let me
know—we'll find something for that.” Monty slapped his arm. “You better go home, talk to your dad. He called about an hour ago to see if you were here. He's worried about you.”

“Thought I'd steam first.”

“If you're the last one out, just slip the lock on the front door. Leave the lights on. Cleaners come in tonight.” He patted Matt's shoulder. “You're a good kid. I know you'll do the right thing.”

“About what?”

Monty just winked.

On their way out, the ironheads drifted over, super casual. One of them said, “Wanna come have a drink with us? At Gus's, on 502?”

Would have been an honor once. “Thanks. I'll see you over there.” A lie, but it got rid of them without more talk.

He showered and stretched out on a wooden bench in the steam room. He rarely steamed—it was boring and it took too much out of him. But he wanted to drift into that wet, weightless place without deadening his mind with Vics and alcohol. I've been doing that for too long, deadening my mind. Got to be clear to figure out what I'm going to do.

What am I going to do? The right thing? What's that? Let Chris take the rap for all this? He might be brain damaged anyway, no matter what his mother says, so what would it matter? Besides, what can they do to him that he
hasn't done to himself already?

But why should Ramp get away with it? And make me part of it?

But if Ramp goes down, all the Raiders are screwed. No season. A trial, maybe jail. What college would touch us?

The steam room timer buzzed. He didn't remember setting it, but he'd been in long enough. He felt soft, loose.

The air outside the steam room hit his naked body with a cool slap.

“Cap'n Matt, in the flesh.”

Ramp stood in the middle of the narrow passageway that led to the locker room, arms folded across his chest. Boda and Hagen were behind him. Matt wrapped his towel around his waist.

“Come to lift?” Matt tried to sound casual.

“Come to talk. What are you going to do?”

“Get dressed. Go home.”

“You went to the hospital. You talked to Dorman. Something you want to tell me?”

“Yeah. You're in my way.”

Ramp didn't move. “We're all in this together.”

“In what?” The softness and looseness were gone. He noticed Ramp was wearing his tan work boots with his shorts and Raider tank top. His queer-crusher boots. Who was he planning to crush tonight?

“We gotta stick together, Matt. Keep it a Raider thing.”

“Ramming a bat up a kid's ass is no Raider thing.”

“We'll all go down for that.”

“He might have died.”

“I didn't shoot him.” Ramp had no expression. Dead eyes. “You can't wreck the program over this little faggot.”

“You gonna fuck me up, too?”

“Only if I have to. If you say you can get past this, be part of the team again, I believe you.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Not good enough. Got to know now.”

He wondered how far Ramp would go to shut him down. He was scared, but he could manage his fear, use it for energy. “You sent those e-mail pictures.”

Ramp grinned. “Pasting those heads on was a bitch. Should have paid more attention in Comp. Sci.”

“The lies about Tyrell, about Pete.”

“Linebackers blitz. I play hard, pal. So how about it?” Ramp stuck out his hand.

“You scratch eighty on Sarah's car?”

“Nice touch, don't you think? So can we close the chapter, get past the past?”

“I don't think so,” said Matt. “You're in my way.”

Ramp closed his hand into a fist. “With or without you, Matt, we're going for Conference, going for State. Raiders Rule!”

“Raiders Rule,” said Tyrell from the darkness of the locker room.

Ramp whirled. Matt followed the angle of his head. Tyrell was gliding up behind Boda and Hagen.

“You don't want to be in this,” said Ramp.

“I do,” said Brody.

“Me, too,” said Pete.

There were figures coming up behind them. Heller, Conklin, Patel. Matt's knees quivered; he could hear his heart beat, feel it fill his chest. He wanted to reach out, hug them all.

“You guys crazy?” said Ramp. “He's going to put us all in the toilet.”

“Tyrell says we're already in the toilet. Tyrell just don't want to get flushed.”

“Matt shoots off his mouth, you're flushed,” said Ramp.

“Not how it works,” said Tyrell. “Back Pack sticks together, tells the truth, we're gonna pay some price but we're not going down with you.”

“Your people know about cutting deals,” sneered Ramp.

“Your people made sure of that.” Tyrell took a long step toward Ramp, who raised his fists.

“Hold it,” said Matt. “I'm gonna meet Dorman and Coach Mac in the morning. See what they say.”

“They'll say keep it in the family,” said Ramp. “Who
do you think called me tonight?”

“What about the school, the police?” said Pete.

“Be he said, she said,” said Ramp. “The principal and the chief don't want their town to look bad.”

“I got to get dressed,” said Matt. He took a step forward, but Ramp didn't move.

A football flew out of the darkness. Instinctively, Matt raised his hands and caught it.

“Get dressed, Matt,” said Brody. “We got your back.”

Ramp glanced over his shoulder. Patel, rapping a metal bar on the floor, was leading Heller and Conklin. They held bars, too.

“This ain't some sick-ass kid gonna eat a gun for you,” said Tyrell. “We're Raiders.”

“You're dead meat,” said Ramp. “This ain't over.” But he stepped aside to let Matt pass.

By the time Matt was dressed, the linemen were gone. Heller and Conklin were bumping chests, and Patel was toweling sweat off his face and grinning as if he had just kicked the winning extra point again.

Tyrell shook his head at them. “Potatohead's right. Ain't over.”

Outside, in the parking lot, Matt said, “How'd you know I was here?”

“Pete called us,” said Brody.

“Sarah called Lisa,” said Pete, grinning sheepishly.

“Now what?” said Brody.

“Coach Mac, Dr. Jaffe, the chief, one of them'll do something,” said Matt.

“Only if they got to,” said Tyrell. “Look how Dorman sent Ramp after you.”

“If the story's out, they're gonna have to deal with it,” said Matt.

“Fuck us up,” said Brody.

“Not as bad as this,” said Matt. “Ramp's got us all by the balls now—we're all covering his ass, we're all his bitches. Get the truth out, we can deal with it.”

“We're the Back Pack,” said Pete.

“Back Pack plus three,” said Brody, flipping the ball to Patel. “The Magnificent Seven.”

They fell into a huddle, hugging, banging fists and shoulders, bitch slapping until the tension drained away and they began to laugh and sniffle with relief.

“Thanks, guys,” said Matt. “I love you guys.”

“You got a plan, Cap'n Matt?” said Tyrell.

“I do,” said Matt.

I think I do, he thought.