The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (39 page)

At least half the players on Milford had the angle on Felix—he had no chance of reaching the end zone (or so it appeared). But the yard markers beneath his feet flew by: 40… 30… 20. The entire defense was in pursuit. He could hear their cleats striking the ground, churning up the soggy turf. He could hear their panting breath as they thundered down on him, diving at him in turns, swiping at his legs. The sounds triggered a primordial fear deep down in his consciousness—and a recent memory, a memory that couldn’t be suppressed no matter how focused he was on staying in the moment.
They’re back
, he thought, the panic surging inside him.
They’re trying to get me. Trying to kill me.

Felix barreled ahead, tearing past the ten-yard line, his legs a blur. The crowd roared in anticipation. The end zone was right in front of him (4… 3… 2…). He reached out for the goal line.

Something blindsided Felix, crashing into him, sending him flying through the air and out of bounds. He jumped to his feet—and for reasons unknown to him, raised his right arm up to his shoulder, fingers extended—prepared to protect himself against the dark-haired man and the woman with the scar. But the only people around him were wearing two-tone uniforms, helmets and shoulder pads. He wasn’t being attacked in no-man’s-land—or
dreaming
about being attacked in no-man’s-land. And he wasn’t being chased—or imagining being chased—across campus in the rain and mist. He was playing football.
Snap out of it
, he told himself.
Snap out of it!
He stared at the referee, waiting for him to hoist up his arms to signal a touchdown.

He didn’t. Instead, he looked Felix straight in the eye and said: “Out at the one. Out of bounds at the one. Game over.” Then he turned and ran off.

Felix stared at the man’s diminishing back in disbelief. He felt his jaw drop. His mouthpiece tumbled out of his mouth and landed on the grass between his feet. The ref was wrong—he had to be. He must have misheard him. It had to be a mistake. He looked up at the scoreboard. It read 00:00. He spun around and around trying to find someone to tell him that the game wasn’t really over. It couldn’t be over.

But it was. The Lava Bears were already celebrating on the field.

Felix collapsed on his butt, elbows on knees, head down. He sat there on the wet grass, alone, drained. The stadium was silent, the crowd stunned.

“Felix. Hey, buddy. Felix. C’mon, man. Get up.”

He recognized Larry’s voice. But he didn’t move. He didn’t have it in him.

“C’mon, August.” A different voice—Salty’s. “Keep your chin up. That was the most awesome play I’ve ever seen. C’mon.”

Felix looked up. Larry, Salty, Jonas and Brant were all there, helmets off. And behind them were the rest of his teammates. Larry and Salty reached down and hauled him up by his grass-stained jersey. Then they moved across the field toward the tunnel beneath the east side stands like a herd of depressed lumbering animals. Felix kept his head down, letting the fatassosaurs lead him away.

In the locker room, Felix sat on a bench to strip off his gear. He shrugged out of his shoulder pads and banged them against his locker in frustration. How could the season be over? So much for winning the Rain Cup this year. So much for making PC football history. With everything else going on in his life, he knew that a game shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care.
But he did.
He didn’t understand how it had ended so wrong. How did they knock him out of bounds inches—
inches
—away from scoring the winning touchdown? Why did he let that happen? Why didn’t he run faster? Why didn’t he score? He blew the game. He blew the whole season. He blew it for everyone—the whole team. It was all his—

His gut contracted so violently a seizing grunt burst through his teeth, causing all eyes in the room to turn to him. He ran to the bathroom, launched himself into a stall and threw up his pre-game breakfast of oatmeal, toast and apple juice in three shaking heaves. After his stomach had settled, he got up off his knees and wiped the tears from his eyes, then opened the door.

Jimmy Clay was blocking the doorway, feet planted wide, an expression of pure hatred on his scarlet face. Before Felix could react, Jimmy punched him in the stomach with every ounce of his steroid-enhanced strength, burying his fist up to his wrist. Felix’s feet lifted off the floor. The air escaped him all at once. Unable to catch his breath, his legs reduced to jelly, Felix felt himself falling backward. And then two iron hands, like vises, gripped his arms and pulled him forward. The pain was excruciating. He felt like he would never be able to breathe again. Like his lungs had been permanently deflated.

Jimmy’s face—an acne-riddled mask of sheer fury—was pressed into his own. His foul breath was so rancid Felix could taste it. “You lost the game for me, you little bitch!” Jimmy whispered in a low menacing snarl. “There’s gonna be pro scouts at the Rain Cup. And now they won’t see me play. You fuck with my career again and I’ll cut off your balls!” Jimmy hacked up an enormous mouthful of phlegm and spat in his face. Felix felt the warm sticky mess dripping down his mouth and chin, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move his arms. He was helpless.

Jimmy released him and slammed a forearm into Felix’s chest. It was like getting hit with a sledgehammer. He tripped over the toilet and fell over backward, banging his head against the wall. He heard footsteps, Jimmy walking away. He lay there on the piss-spattered floor for a long while, wiping the putrid phlegm from his face, gasping for air.

When he finally felt like he wasn’t going to die, he struggled to his feet and opened the stall door a few inches, half-expecting Jimmy to be there waiting for him. He wasn’t. Felix limped over to the row of sinks and washed his face in scalding water, using up an entire dispenser of coarse pink soap. Then he showered, changed and left the building without saying a word to anyone.

“Tough break,” Bill said to Felix. “Good game though. Best game all year.” He sipped his tea and leaned back in his chair. He continued to watch him for a while, then finally placed his cup on the table and sighed. “So are you going to say something or should I grab a book to pass the time?”

Felix was seething. His blood boiled, infused with rage. He’d beelined it for Bill’s office right after he fled the stadium, prepared to assault him with a thousand questions. But each time he opened his mouth, the thought of Jimmy made his mind cloud over and his tongue clot. He stared out the window at a quartet of robins zipping over The Yard, landing on the roof of Rhodes Hall. He usually liked birds just fine (who didn’t?), but at the moment he felt nothing but hatred for the feathery devils that carpet bombed his Wrangler nearly every day.

“They say it’s a game of inches,” Bill offered.

“It’s not that,” Felix said, breaking his silence. “It’s just this guy on the team. He’s such an asshole. I’d like to rip his head off.”

“Hey!” Bill shouted with a jab of his finger. “Hey! Don’t even say that. Don’t even
think
it! You think little Nathan’s gall bladder exploded all on its own?”

Felix jerked back in his chair, his fingers curling around the armrests. The suddenness of Bill’s outburst was startling. Felix watched as Bill’s expression changed from pleasant to angry—the veins bulging in his neck were a dead giveaway—to neutral in a span of about three seconds.

“Fine,” Felix said. “I won’t rip his head off. But I’d like to take your bat to his ugly face.”

“That’s more like it.” Bill smiled approvingly. “As long as his organs remain intact and you don’t kill him you can borrow it. Just bring it back when you’re done. I use it once in a while on cheeky teenagers.” He looked down at his teacup. “I forgot to ask. Would you like some tea?”

“No thanks.”

“So now that you’re talking, what would you like to talk about? I’m sure you have a few things on your mind.”

Felix forced a smile, thinking that was a candidate for understatement of the year. He tried to gather his thoughts. He fixed his eyes on a pocket of sunlight falling across a bookshelf to Bill’s back as he argued with himself on where to begin. “So… um… last night… I uh… I melted my friend’s room.”

“You what?”

“Yeah. While I slept. I guess I kinda flew around and burned everything up.”

“Flew?”

“More like levitated. I guess I was way up above the bed. Kinda floating there.”

Bill sipped his tea calmly. “And there was a fire?”

“Sort of. I guess it was like a fire. But different. It’s hard to explain. When Allison woke me up, it was already out.”

“This was in Downey?” Bill’s face was a mask. From his reaction, Felix thought, levitating and fire starting must be everyday occurrences. This guy was unpredictable. He’d gone ballistic over a harmless off-the-cuff remark about killing Jimmy. Meanwhile, flying and spontaneous combustion only warranted a thoughtful frown and increased tea consumption.

“Yeah,” Felix answered.

“Allison Jasner?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t hear anything about a dorm going up in smoke. I assume she’s okay?”

“She’s fine.” Felix ran his hand up and down the back of his head. It took him a moment to realize that something was different: the bump was gone. He rechecked. Couldn’t find it. His fingers went to his forehead. No bump there either (and no pain). They were there this morning. Weren’t they? Could they have healed? That fast? No. He didn’t think so, anyway. So what did that mean? Did he imagine them? Were they even there in the first place?

“Where was her roommate?” Bill asked. “That’s Caitlin, isn’t it? Caitlin DuPont?”

It took Felix a moment to process the question because he was still trying to make sense of his unscathed skull. Then there was an abrupt shifting of gears as he tried to make sense of Bill’s unsettling level of knowledge. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Out with her parents doing something.” He didn’t know Bill. Before today, he’d met him exactly twice. He knew nothing about him. But Bill—
Complete Stranger Bill
—seemed to know everything about him. He felt like his life had been hacked.

“Okay.” Bill stroked his chin. “So Allison’s the only one who witnessed what happened?”

“Yeah.” Felix felt his shoulders tense up. Bill’s questions were making him anxious. It was like taking a pop quiz he hadn’t prepared for; being unconscious for the whole
event
put him at a slight disadvantage if Bill was hoping for a detailed account. And now that he couldn’t find the lump on the back of his head, he wasn’t so sure it had even really happened. He wondered if Allison had somehow imagined it. Or maybe she’d dreamed it. It was starting to feel a lot like no-man’s-land all over again. All this I’m-not-sure-what’s-real-and-what’s-not bullshit was going to send him over the edge.

“And what did you tell her?” Bill stared at him, his eyes narrowing.

Felix waited for a second before answering. “Everything.” He knew Bill wouldn’t like that.

“Why?”
Bill shouted. “You just jeopardized your life and put your friend in danger. This isn’t a children’s story! Just because we’re the good guys doesn’t mean we’re going to win! In the real world, the bad guys win all the time. You need to think through—”

“What was I supposed to do?” Felix interrupted, his own temper rising. “She
saw
me. How would you explain that?”

“Fair point.” Bill was already calm again. “You’re right. Do you trust her?”

Felix nodded. “You must’ve told someone about the journal before.”

“Never,” Bill replied without hesitation, shaking his head. “It’s not the kind of thing you can share unless you want to die unexpectedly. You look tired.”

“I could use some sleep. And some food. Nothing’s staying down lately.”

 “Tell me about it.” Bill lowered his gaze to the floor next to Felix’s chair. “Do you want me to order you something? A pizza? On me.”

“I’m good.” Felix picked at a callus on his palm, wondering if he should ask the question that had been gnawing at him. “So I was thinking about… what was she… like? My mom. You knew her, right?”

“I thought you might ask about her.” Bill studied his teacup for a moment, his expression softening. “She was… well, she made quite an impression on me. I’ll never forget her. She was beautiful. She was sad. And she was sick. Very sick. I didn’t get to know her very well, but I can tell you one thing for certain: She loved you very much. When we met, she had no business being alive. Yet she willed herself to live. She held on until she knew that one day you’d find out who you are. She made me promise that I would tell you. And then she… passed on.” He paused, and a shadow seemed to cross over his face as he looked toward the window. After a while, his attention returned to Felix but there was a troubled vagueness in his eyes. “And in case you’re wondering, I see a lot of her in you.”

Felix looked down at his lap. He felt something. But what? Sadness? Anger? Loss? He didn’t know. He couldn’t even think of her as his mom. It was just too weird. He already had a mom—and she was dead. And this new mom, she was dead too. Two moms. Both dead. Looking for a distraction, his eyes settled on a small army of kids out on the lawn fighting over a bright orange Frisbee in the warm afternoon sunshine.

“Fate was pretty shitty to her.” Bill’s voice was bitter. “She deserved better.”

Felix didn’t want to dwell on her. “Hey—so I was thinking: If I’m the only one who can defeat this Drestian guy, you gotta figure we’re not gonna be friends. He’ll wanna kill me, right? And I love how the journal describes him: ‘Nations will burn, armies will fall at his feet, and all who refuse to succumb to his rule will be slaughtered like sheep’. That’s pretty dramatic shit.” He laughed to himself, thinking the exhaustion must be making him high. Why else would he be joking about something that amounted to a death sentence?

“How did you do that?” Bill placed his elbows on the table, arching an eyebrow. “That was verbatim.”