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Subject: {ASSM} -RP- Playing the Game II, Playing to Win, Ch. 16-20 by Rev. Cotton Mather
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Just a little something for those of you who are just catching up with the adventures of my good friend Sean Porter...
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 16 -
SUBTLETY AND DEVIOUSNESS
Molly was at school the next day, but she looked terrible. No
amount of makeup could cover up the big welt by her left temple. It
looked like somebody had popped her with something abrasive, and she
was walking around school slowly, as if her body hurt, too.
At lunchtime, I grabbed Austin, and the two of us went out in search
of Josh. We found him outside, sitting under a tree with Andrea and
a couple of other kids.
"Josh. I need to talk with you, man," I said.
He looked up, but made no move to stand. "Sure, Sean. What's up?"
"Alone," I said. I knew I was sounding like a bad spy movie, but I
didn't have much choice.
He made a big production out of packing up the remains of his lunch,
standing, and tossing the sack in the general direction of the trash
bin. "I'll be right back," he said to his girlfriend, and then he
stalked over toward the side of the building, obviously unhappy with
the interruption.
As we caught up with him, he stopped and turned toward Austin and
me. "Okay, we're alone. What's so freaking important?"
"Have you seen Molly today?" I asked.
His face fell. "Yeah," he admitted. "Looks like she took a hit
yesterday."
Austin and I told him about what had happened at the barn the
previous night. We held nothing back. We didn't want the blow
softened at all. In fact, I wanted him mad, as mad as he'd ever been.
"Goddamnit. Goddamnit. Goddamnit! Now what?" He started pacing
back and forth. He stopped and took two steps back to us. "What can
we do about it? Have you got a plan?"
"No, I don't," I admitted. "But we don't have much time. It looks
like she's the property of Del Toro now, but who knows what'll happen
if he gets tired of her, or she pisses him off somehow."
"Shit, I know what'll happen to her. The same thing that's
happening to Pammy right now," he said disgustedly.
"I don't know if we can do anything about Pammy, anyway, even if we
can remove Molly from the situation," Austin said. "From what I've
heard, she might be there willingly."
"Shit," I said. "What kind of a girl would want to get involved
with the Bulls willingly?"
"Don't go there," warned Josh. "It cuts a little close to home."
"Yeah, sorry," I apologized.
"I've gotta get her out of this," he said, almost to himself. "But
how?"
"I don't know, but we're going to need a plan," I said.
"And some help," added Austin.
"Yeah, you're right," agreed Josh. "You're both right. Man, I just
want to kidnap her right now, but I know that's no good," he added.
"I would bet she's about ready to try to get herself loose of the
Bulls," I said. "Molly's never been the kind of girl who would put
up with that kind of shit. They've just got her beaten down right
about now."
"Still, it's coming up on the weekend. What can we do quickly?" he
asked.
"I don't know. I've got a game tonight, and you've got a football
game tomorrow afternoon. The soonest we're going to be able to plan
anything out is probably either tomorrow morning, or Sunday morning."
I knew none of us wanted to wait that long, but it didn't look like
we had a choice.
"And what if Jilly gets tired of her after tonight?" asked Josh
sourly. "Does she become community property tomorrow? Fuck!"
"Josh, do you think you can talk to her, maybe find out what she's
thinking?" Austin was thinking out loud. "If she's a willing
conspirator, it might make it easier to get her out."
"I don't know. Wait a minute," he said. He looked over to where
his girlfriend was sitting. I had noticed that she was glancing over
toward us occasionally, and looking very concerned. "Andi, can you
come over here for a minute?" he called.
"This is about Molly, right?" she asked as she joined us.
"Yeah, how did you know?" I asked.
She gave me a look, as if I was the dumbest creature she had ever
had the misfortune to come across. It was a look I was getting used
to seeing, unfortunately.
She turned to Josh, holding onto his shirt front for emphasis. "I
didn't want to bring it up to you, not until you mentioned it first.
But you've got to help her, Josh. She's in bad trouble, hanging
around the Bulls, and the longer she stays with them, the worse it's
going to get."
"Well, it's already started to get worse, according to Sean and
Austin," Josh said.
We gave her the condensed version of the story. Andrea was a bright
girl, and I knew she would be able to fill in the blanks without
difficulty.
She listened without comment, until we finished. "So what are you
planning?" she asked.
"That's just it, we don't have a plan," complained Josh. "Sean's
got a game tonight, we're at an away game tomorrow. It looks like we
really can't get together and work anything out until Sunday."
"That's okay," said Andrea. "Let's plan on meeting on Sunday
afternoon. That'll give me time to find out what I can, and maybe
recruit some help."
"Don't be talking up this story," admonished Austin. "We don't want
too many people knowing about this. And we really don't want Del
Toro and his thugs to hear about it."
I was gratified to see that Andrea didn't reserve those 'you are an
idiot' looks for just me, as Austin was rewarded with one.
"Gee, you think?" she said sarcastically. "Believe it or not, boys,
I can be subtle and devious when I want to be."
"Of course you can, baby," soothed Josh. "You're a girl, after all."
The soccer team had to leave school about an hour early. Our game
was at Lincoln Valley High School, over an hour away by bus. We were
undefeated so far, and we were determined to stay that way, all the
way to the State Championships. About midway through the season,
Trent Abbott was the leading scorer in our conference, and Eric
Johnson had the most assists. Most of our opponents had opened their
offensive sets by testing our right side, mostly to see if it was as
strong as rumored. Between Kevin Soranno in the midfield, me as
defenseman, and Brett Oldman and Jorge Mendoza minding the net,
nobody had yet scored by attacking that side. Even after switching
to the left, they still had to contend with Brett and Jorge, along
with Mike Evanson plugging up the middle, and a very tenacious
Anthony Rogers roaming the defensive turf over there. In six games
played so far, we had only had 4 goals scored on us. By contrast, we
had never scored less than 5 goals, and our offensive production
totaled 38 goals. We were a scoring machine.
Even Coach Neville, a history teacher and a man prone to worry,
seemed relatively relaxed and confident.
According to the scouting reports, Lincoln Valley had a moderately
strong team. Study of the film at Thursday's practice had shown us
that they had some weakness in the middle, but their defenders seemed
capable, and they were especially strong at stopper and keeper, the
two key defensive positions. They were strong enough, it seemed, to
be able to cancel out the deficiencies of their center midfielders
and forwards, as they had only lost one game so far, to perennial
powerhouse Rockton Heights.
When we got to the field, there was a slight drizzle falling. On
the one hand, that would slow down the ball for our quick offense,
but on the other hand, we might be able to press their middle harder
in slower conditions.
We unloaded our gear and hauled it over to the playing field, and
got ready to warm up. Eric and I liked to take a couple of quick
laps around the perimeter of the playing field before we started,
just to limber up a little, and we took off while the rest of the
team stretched and finished putting on their shin guards and shoes.
On our first circuit, we were just passing the goal where some of
the Lincoln Valley players were warming up, taking practice shots on
an empty net. I heard one of them say to a teammate, "Look at that.
Chocolate and vanilla."
His friend answered, "Yeah, all they need now is a freakin' Indian,
and they could call themselves the Neapolitans."
This comment was apparently hilarious, as several of the players
began laughing uproariously. I could sense Eric stiffening beside
me, but we kept on jogging around, doing our best to distance
ourselves from the other team.
On our next time around their net, I noticed that several of their
players were clustered together. "I sure hope they don't try to play
us too close today," Eric said, just loudly enough to be overheard by
the group. "Just in case their stupidity is contagious."
"Hey!" I heard one of the guys yell out to us. I glanced back, and
a couple of the players were being held back by their teammates,
apparently taking Eric's remark a little too personally.
"Way to go, Eric. Get them riled up before we take the field. Good
plan," I said sourly.
He gave me a big, toothy grin. "You been gettin' it too easy
lately, Porter. I'm just tryin' to ratchet up the competition for
you, so the press will notice you again. You can thank me later."
"Did you notice," I pointed out, "that it wasn't me who was mouthing
off to them?"
"Mmm...hmmm," he replied.
"And don't you think they'll target the one with the big mouth?"
"Uh-uh," he said with a smile. "They're gonna think twice about
focusing on a poor token colored player like me. They hardly even
saw me when we were going past them. Besides, we all look alike to
crackers like those guys. But you..." He grinned, and nodded at me
with satisfaction. "You, they'll recognize. And focus."
"Focus," I repeated disgustedly. "What a pal. Just what I need, a
little focus."
"You're welcome," he said, even though I didn't remember thanking him.
They focused, all right. On their first offensive possession, they
attacked our right side, throwing every available player into my
sector. Kevin Soranno came back to try to help out when he saw them
cluster, and I moved up to meet the ball handler. Two other Lincoln
Valley players came up and sandwiched me, trying to take me out of
the play as I moved on the ball. Brett stayed home, guarding his
turf, but Mikey Evanson slid over to help out, trying to cut off a
passing lane. Robert Anderson, from his offensive midfield position,
dropped back to cover Mike's area, and Anthony, on the left, was all
alone. He slid up to help Brett and Jorge protect the net.
As the two forwards converged on me, I put on the brakes, digging my
heels in for traction. I stopped, but they didn't, and they ended up
colliding with each other, falling over each other to the ground. I
dropped and tackled the ball out from beneath the ball handler's
foot, right past Mikey, who had the good sense to let it go. The
ball scooted over to Robert, who deftly trapped it, and passed it up
to Eric. Eric one-touched it over to Javier, our forward in the
middle, and he juked the last remaining defender before tapping it
over to Trent, who shot a bullet into the back of the net.
As everybody was untangling themselves from my corner of the field,
I heard one of the Lincoln Valley players say to another, "We'll get
him next time."
"Yeah," came the reply, "we'll have to work him on an angle next
time, so he can't evade."
"Work it any way you want to, little boys," I said to them. "It'll
still result in a goal against."
They spun around to glare at me.
I just shrugged at them. "Didn't you see what just happened? Play
the ball, not the position. It's not that difficult a concept."
"Go fuck yourself, Mr. All-Stater," came the reply.
I sighed. "Or try it again, if you think it's such a good plan," I
said.
They worked hard at ignoring me.
At the kickoff, they worked the same play back over to my side. I
had seen how they operated, and I didn't have any worries that they
would be a threat on goal, so I backpedaled as the same two guys came
at me again, one down the sideline and the other from midfield. The
ball was in play up by Kevin, and Brett and Mikey covered the passing
lanes into the middle, so I kept moving back, until the two chasing
me were well beyond where they intended to be. I stopped and waited
for them to get closer, and then I sidestepped, quickly shuffling to
my left a half-dozen times. By the time the Lincoln Valley duo
realized that I wasn't there anymore, they were a little confused.
The ball handler, with Kevin harassing him, had two options. He
could either do the conservative, and correct, thing by passing back
so they could restart their offense, or he could do the foolhardy
play by passing forward to the two bozos up by me, getting in each
other's way. He chose to advance the ball, no doubt the echoes of
his poor coaching ringing in his ears about moving the ball forward
at every opportunity. He passed it to Bozo Number One, with Bozo
Number Two at his side, and nowhere to go. He was pinned in the
corner, with me, Brett and Jorge between him and the net, and nobody
from his team anywhere in his range, except, of course, for Bozo Two,
who was practically standing next to him.
I was crouched in front of him, knees bent and on my toes, ready for
him to move. "Take the shot," I said to him.
He was jigging the ball back and forth, trying to find an opening.
"What?" he said, unsure if he had heard me correctly.
"I said, take the shot," I repeated. "Shoot it now, or I'll come
over there and take the ball away from you." Bozo Two, in the
meantime, circled around me, no doubt thinking he would outsmart me
by getting between me and the goal, even though I had plenty of
goalside help. I moved to the side slightly, staying between the two
of them, even though I was pretty sure Bozo Two wouldn't know what to
do with the ball even if he was fortunate enough to be able to chase
down a pass from Bozo One.
Bozo One hesitated just long enough, so I took a step toward him.
He did the only thing he could do, which was to take a very weak shot
at the corner post. It dribbled right to Jorge, who scooped it up,
took four steps, and punted the ball to the midfield stripe, where,
to almost nobody's surprise, Robert just happened to be waiting. He
leapt up, and headed the ball over to Trent. Trent let the ball hit
his chest, and it dropped to his feet. He moved down the left
sideline another few meters, and crossed a pass across the face of
the goal, about 10 meters out, and Javier knocked it in for our
second goal in less than five minutes of play.
Bozo One turned to Bozo Two and said in amazement, "How did that
happen?"
I laughed out loud. They both looked at me as if I had lost my
mind, as they started jogging back to their side of the field.
"It must have been an accident," I said. "It just couldn't have
happened on purpose, could it?"
They both stopped and stared at me. "You can't tell us that was a
designed play," Bozo One said.
I just shook my head at their foolishness. "Are you two yutzes so
inept you can't recognize the consequences of your own bad judgment?"
I asked.
They both got stony looks on their faces. "Okay, Glory Boy," said
Bozo One. "We'll see who's laughing last, asshole."
"You guys will be so out of breath by the time you get done running
at me and getting beaten off the ball, you won't have the energy to
laugh," I said. "Now shoo. I've got a soccer game to play. Join
in, if you can figure out how to play the game."
I thought they might come after me at that, but the referee was
looking right at them, waiting for them to get back across the line,
and they had no choice but to fall back for the restart.
During the delay, their coaches must have sent out instructions for
the offense to try attacking our left side instead, for the ball
ended up over there on the next play. Bozos One and Two plunged
their way up and into the middle, effectively keeping the ball out of
harm's way for us. I watched them run around without purpose, and
had to wonder at the shallow pool of talent that their hapless coach
must have had available to him, to have to start those two. It
almost made me feel sorry for them.
Late in the first half, the ball got knocked over toward the right
side again, and somehow Bozo One managed to trap and hold it. Before
he could move, I closed on him and got enough toe on the ball to kick
it out of bounds. Bozo Two came up to throw in, and the Poor
Coaching Principle reared its ugly head for them once again. His
instructions, I was sure, were to throw the ball upfield, no matter
what, so that's what he set up to do. The only player upfield for
him to throw to was Bozo One, and I was all over him. He threw it
anyway, and I stepped in front of Bozo One, trapped the ball, juked
around the slow and stupid Bozo Two, and carried the ball all the way
up the field. Kevin dropped back to cover my assignments as I
dribbled up, and Jimmy Brooks, our right forward, moved over to take
the cross, pulling his defender with him. There was no one around
me, and nobody challenging me. They probably were so drilled about
staying in their positions or on their assignment, that they had no
idea about improvisation on the field, which certainly made it very
easy for me. A defenseman bringing the ball upfield was completely
foreign to them, apparently, and they had no contingency plan for it.
I knew my team was covering and supporting me as I took the ball in,
just as I could observe that our opponents were moving indecisively
in their positions. The defender stayed with Jimmy, and their
stopper was forced to come out and challenge me. I head-faked him,
moved around his flank, and challenged the keeper. He had to come
out of the net to me, so that he could cut down on my shooting
angles, but he was dead in the water, and he knew it. I passed the
ball off the outside of my left foot over to Trent. The keeper
scrambled over to cover Trent, giving him the opportunity to one-
touch the ball back to me, leaving the keeper slipping in the damp
grass, trying in vain to change direction. Trent put the ball right
on my foot, and it was too easy to hit the back of the net. The goal
put us up 5-0, and it wasn't even halftime yet.
By the end of the game, Coach Neville had pulled Anthony, Jimmy,
Mikey and me, preferring to save us for another time. Since Trent
was the conference-leading scorer, Coach left him in to score at
will, which he did. He also let Eric continue playing, since he was
very proficient at feeding Trent. At the final whistle, the score
was 11-0, and Lincoln Valley was demoralized.
After we had lined up to shake hands with our opponents, I heard
Bozo One and Bozo Two talking as they passed me, heading back toward
their bench.
"Could you believe that guy?" said One. "What did he score? Six
goals?"
"Un-fucking-believable," said Two. "Shit, I'm the second-leading
scorer on our team, and I've only gotten 6 goals all season."
I laughed, causing them to stop and turn to look at me. "Six goals
all season, and you're the second-leading scorer for your team?
Hell, I play defense, and I've scored four goals this season." I
pointed to Trent. "See that guy? He had 24 goals, coming into this
game. You want me to find you a calculator so you can figure out his
current total?"
"Ah, fuck you, and the monkey you rode in on," said Two, but there
really wasn't any heat in it. He was too tired and too dispirited to
work up any real anger.
As I was walking back to our bench with Mikey and Eric, I saw the
Lincoln Valley coaching staff trotting over toward us. Coach Neville
saw it, too, and came out to intercept, thinking that perhaps they
were upset over the trash talk during and after the game.
"Sean Porter?" inquired Lincoln Valley's head coach.
I nodded. He held out his hand. "My name is John Caruthers, Sean,
and I'm the interim head coach here."
Coach Neville came up. "May I help you, Coach?" he asked, trying to
head off any potential trouble.
"No, Coach," replied Mr. Caruthers. "I just wanted to bring my
staff over to meet your star player. Sean, I had heard about you, of
course, but your reputation has not been exaggerated. I just wanted
to tell you that I was very impressed with your play out there
against us."
"Well, thank you, Coach," I answered as I shook his hand.
"I gather you were doing a little teaching out there," he said with
a smile.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," I said uncertainly.
"My left offensive team," he said. "They're a little thick-headed
about taking instruction from me or my staff, I'm afraid. Think they
know it all, seen it all, you know the type. They've been
successful, in spite of themselves, so far this season. Anyway, I
wanted to thank you for helping me, by showing them the error of
their ways."
"I did that? What did I do?" I asked.
"Well," he said with a rueful chuckle, "aside from shutting down
their movement of the ball, providing secondary assists to the first
three goals your team scored, intercepting our throw-in and taking
the ball all the way down the field unimpeded to score another goal,
essentially plugging up your side of the field from the net to
practically the midfield stripe, plus actually telling Bruce and Jack
what to do to improve their play, you didn't do much." He paused,
turned to Coach Neville, and said, "I don't suppose you'd consider a
two-for-one trade, would you? My left mid and left forward for your
right defender?"
I assumed that Bruce and Jack were probably the Bozo Brothers, and I
was a little insulted that Coach Caruthers would think that I might
be worth those two.
However, both coaches burst out laughing. Personally, I thought
they were a little off their rockers, but maybe it was a coaching
thing. Or an adult thing, of which I was just as oblivious. Eric
and Mikey and I continued on toward the sidelines, leaving the
coaches to their odd sense of amusement.
On the bus ride back to school, we were all in high spirits from our
win. A bunch of us were in the back of the bus, laughing and
swapping tall tales about our heroics on the field.
As we pulled into the school parking lot, Eric said, "Hey, Sean, I
hate to bring up what might be a sore subject, but who you taking to
Homecoming next week?"
I sat back in my seat, a little shocked. Homecoming was already
only a week away? And me, with no girlfriend, no date, and no
prospects. Becky hated me, and Kristina's father hated me. Oh,
great.
"Thanks for reminding me that I'm going solo," I muttered. Eric was
just barely hiding his smirk, and Trent was elbowing him in amusement
over my predicament.
Practical jokers. You gotta love 'em, I thought to myself. If you
don't, you're liable to kill 'em.
(Continued in Chapter 17)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 17 -
A MALICIOUS PAIR OF EYES
A bunch of us got together over at Josh's house on Sunday afternoon.
Austin, Tessa, Josh, Andrea, Jake, and I were in the basement. The
television was on, tuned to a football game, but nobody, not even
Jake, was paying any attention to it.
"So," said Austin, "what did you girls find out?"
"Molly's scared practically out of her mind," said Tessa. "I was
able to talk to her for a few minutes yesterday, right after the
football game."
Andrea added, "From what I could find out, the Bulls have been
recruiting, both boys and girls, and Jilly's making them stronger
than they ever were when Richie was running things. They might not
be quite as visible, but they're a lot sneakier than they used to be."
"It's kind of odd, isn't it, that Jilly was able to take over the
gang?" asked Jake. "After all, isn't he the youngest?"
"He's not the youngest by much," replied Andrea. "He's carried on
the Del Toro family tradition of flunking a couple of grades. Even
though he's only in the ninth grade, he's 16 years old."
"And," added Tessa, "even though Harold, for instance, is a senior,
the first thing Jilly did when he got to high school and joined up
with his big brother's friends was to jump on Harold and beat the
crap out of him, for no real reason other than he wanted to. He kind
of asserted his dominance early, by pounding on the oldest guy. He
not only backed up his swagger, he also showed them that he might be
just a little crazy. It impressed them, and they all got in line
after that."
"A little crazy," I observed, "and also a little smart."
"Only within their circle," noted Andrea. "Basically, he's dumb as
a rock, kind of like his big brother Richie. But among the Bulls,
he's a rocket scientist. But, believe it, he's got mean covered,"
she added. "Whatever we decide to do concerning Molly, we're going
to have to go through Jilly first."
"That's not such a comforting thought," said Josh, "but I'll do what
I need to do to get my sister out of there."
"Josh," I said, "I know your parents have got to be concerned about
this. Have you talked to them about Molly?"
""They want to call the police," said Josh. "I keep on telling them
that the solution doesn't lie with the cops in this case." He
sighed. "They know we're trying to do something here, and they've
talked to Heather at school quite a bit about Molly, and Heather told
them to let us give it a try first, before they do anything further.
She said that she thought Molly would be more receptive to us than
she would to any authority figure, whether it's the cops, or a
counselor at school, or even Mom and Dad. So they're going to let us
do what we can. Reluctantly, but at least they're willing to give us
a chance."
"Well, we can always fall back on brute authority figures if we
fail," said Austin. For Molly's sake, I hoped it didn't come to that.
For all our good intentions, we didn't come up with a feasible plan
that afternoon. We ended up ordering pizza, cracking open a bunch of
sodas, and goofing off.
The next morning at school, just before the first bell rang, I saw
Josh at his locker. He looked like he had been up most of the night.
"Molly came home last night," he said quietly. "Her face was puffy,
and she had a black eye. My parents were really upset, and they
called the cops. They came over to interview her, but she wouldn't
say anything to them, or to Mom or Dad. Refused to press charges,
refused to even say what had happened. When she heard the cops at
the front door, she ran upstairs and locked herself in her room, so
they couldn't even see her."
"Yeah? Then what?" I knew there was more to the story.
"The cops finally left around midnight. They said they would have a
talk with Del Toro and his parents. Jilly's almost as well known to
them as Richie, apparently. Anyway, they told my folks that there
really wasn't much they could do without cooperation from Molly, even
though she's a minor." He looked around to see who else might be
hearing our conversation before he continued. "They said that, under
most circumstances, they could scare the suspect into stopping
whatever they were doing wrong. In this case, they were pretty sure
that wasn't going to work, but they promised to do what they could."
Josh slammed his locker door closed in frustration. "When I walked
by her room, after the cops left, I could hear her crying in there,
behind the closed door. I knocked, but she ignored me. I couldn't
go barging in, you know?" He looked at me, wanting confirmation that
he had done the right thing. Not sure if he had or not, I still
nodded encouragingly. "Maybe an hour later, after Mom and Dad had
gone to bed, I was still up. Couldn't sleep, you know? So I was
reading, or at least trying to. What I was really doing was worrying
about my sister." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, Molly came into
my room, Sean. She was still crying a little, and she was limping
pretty badly, kind of shuffling along."
"Yeah?" I wanted to offer encouragement for him to go on with his
story, because he needed to tell someone, even though I really didn't
want to be the one to hear it.
"And she started taking off her clothes. She was wearing, like, a
dirty t-shirt, and a scruffy pair of jeans, and she took off her t-
shirt, and then sat on the edge of my bed and took off her jeans."
Josh's voice was catching. If we had been alone, I knew he would
have been close to tears, telling me about this. "She just sat
there, without saying a word to me, Sean, in her underwear. And her
whole body was marked up. Bruises, some of them looking kind of old,
but definitely some fresh ones, too, all up and down her ribcage.
There were scrapes on her shoulders and back, and hickeys and bite
marks on her legs, her... her thighs, you know, up near... there."
Now he wouldn't even look at me, he was so uncomfortable. I put my
hand on his bicep, hoping the contact would give him a little
comfort. "She pulled the top of her... her bra down, just a little,
and her... her boobs... at least the tops of them... had a bunch of
hickeys on them, too..."
The bell rang, startling us both. He drew himself up to his full
height, and took another deep, cleansing breath. We started walking
down the hall to our first classes.
"So I helped her get cleaned up as best as I could, and put some
antiseptic on her cuts, and put her back to bed. I told her to just
stay in bed today, and I would get some help for her by this
afternoon. She never said a word, the whole time, Sean, but I could
see it in her eyes, that she wanted me to help her. She was sleeping
when I left this morning. Dad went to work, but Mom called in so she
could stay home with Molly, in case she wanted to talk. I don't
think she will, though."
We were outside Josh's classroom. "What do you want to do?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Can you get out of practice this
afternoon? I'm going to talk to the football coach, and let him know
I've got a family situation."
"Sure," I said. "You want me to meet you at your house?"
"I don't know yet," he said as he turned to go into the room. "Let
me think about it a little, and I'll talk to you at lunch."
The second bell rang. I was late for my class, but I didn't care.
"Okay," I said. "Lunchtime, then." I turned and sprinted down the
hall to my first period class.
As I settled into my desk, the intercom speaker in the corner of the
room crackled to life, and Dr. Osgood's voice came through, a tiny
whine of feedback screeching as he moved the microphone around.
"May I have everybody's attention, please. I have received reports
of an incident that occurred last Thursday. Apparently some vandals
broke into private property where one of the Homecoming floats was
being constructed. Anybody with information about this break-in is
strongly encouraged to report their awareness to me or to Mrs. Ford
in the front office. All information will be treated with the utmost
confidentiality."
He paused, as if waiting for confessions from the masses. When none
were received, he continued.
"In light of the damage done to the float and the personal property,
construction on all class floats is to be stopped."
There was a collective groan in the room, and, I imagined,
throughout the school. I knew that there were a lot of kids who had
put in a lot of hours on all the floats.
Dr. Osgood's voice cut across the complaints. "In the interest of
fairness, no class floats will be a part of this year's parade. Any
school clubs or organizations that have been planning on decorating
vehicles or trailers may continue. As far as class displays, I would
encourage the various class officers to meet and choose an alternate
project for the parade. Suggestions such as lawnmower drill teams,
mop and bucket brigades, and clowns and acrobats might be considered.
All projects must be approved by the front office, so get your ideas
together as soon as possible.
"Thank you for your attention."
Well, that freed up some evening time for me, I thought. But it
also took away another opportunity to spend a little time with
Kristina. I got the feeling that fate was working against us, and
the clock was ticking.
I met Josh, Andrea, and Jake after school in the parking lot. We
got into Jake's car and drove over to Josh's house. We still didn't
have a plan, other than to surround Molly with friends for support.
When we got there, Tessa's car was already in the driveway. We
walked in through the kitchen.
"Hi, boys," greeted Mrs. O'Toole. "Oops, I'm so sorry. And
Andrea," she added with a bright, artificial smile. Her good cheer
was forced, as she busied herself getting snacks ready.
"Hi, Mom," said Josh. "Where's Tessa?"
"Oh, she's upstairs with Molly," she said.
"I'll go up and join them," Andrea said softly. She headed for the
front stairs.
"I'll bet you boys are hungry," said Mrs. O'Toole, as she set out
some glasses and a gallon of milk and a bowl of apples. "Well, help
yourselves," she added. "I'll have some crackers and cheese ready
for you in just a minute."
"Has Molly been down?" asked Josh.
"No, not really," said his mother. "She came down for lunch, but
she just picked at her food, and went back upstairs to her room."
Her upper lip trembled, and her eyes got teary. "She said she wasn't
feeling very good, and she was going to take a nap."
"That's good," said Josh. He grabbed an apple, and we headed for
the family room to wait for the girls to come back down.
Josh, Jake and I were sitting on the floor, doing our homework, when
Andrea and Tessa finally came back down, a couple of hours later. We
huddled together, and they let us know about Molly in hushed tones.
"She's doing better," said Andrea.
"She wanted us to let you know how much she appreciated your help
last night, Josh," added Tessa.
"Tessa and I gave her a bath," Andrea continued. "She's really beat
up. And it's not just the bruises that are hurting her."
"She wouldn't hardly talk to us at first," continued Tessa.
"Answering our questions in monosyllables, if at all. But after she
soaked in the tub for awhile, she started telling us a little more
about what's been going on."
"Without going into detail," said Andrea, "let's just say that Jilly
isn't the most... considerate... of partners."
"You mean Del Toro did all that to her?" asked Josh, outraged.
"Well, not exactly," said Andrea. "I think that, um, Joey might
have helped."
Josh hopped up and started pacing the floor in agitation. "Shit!"
he exclaimed.
I stood up and walked over to stare out the front window. It was
getting dark out, and the street lights had come on, casting lonely
cones of illumination on the street corners. I had the bad feeling
that I might have contributed to Molly's problems. It was me, after
all, who had introduced Molly to the pleasures of the flesh. All
right, I could admit to myself that we had kind of mutually
discovered sex together, but still, I had the feeling that if it
hadn't been for me, and our breakup, that she probably wouldn't be in
the situation she was in now. It was very upsetting to think that I
might actually have been one of the bad guys here.
I was still standing there, thinking dark thoughts, when I heard the
growl of an engine from down the street. I watched as Joey Amonte's
car pulled up in front of the house. I couldn't tell if there was
anyone else in the car besides Joey, but I had the feeling there was
at least one other malicious pair of eyes, looking my way from the
back seat. The car stopped for a moment, and then, as if the
occupants knew they were being watched, it pulled back out and sped
down the street, tires squealing.
I turned to the others. "They know we're here," I said. It came
out sounding melodramatic, when, in reality, it should have come out
sounding just the way I felt, which was terrified. I, for one, was
scared shitless about what the Bulls might be planning.
(Continued in Chapter 18)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 18 -
MY HOMECOMING DATE
Mrs. O'Toole called in for Molly on Tuesday, too. Josh told me that
Molly was feeling better, but she didn't want to come to school
limping so badly, so she wanted to wait until Wednesday. I had the
feeling that she also didn't want to face Joey or Jilly, either, and
I couldn't blame her. All the Bulls were walking around the school
hallways like puffed-up peacocks, telling tall tales of glory and
conquest to any fool that would listen.
Josh also said that he wanted us to meet again at his house, after
dinner. He was hoping that Molly would talk to all of us about what
she wanted to do.
Jake and I got over to Josh's house around 7:00. Tessa and Austin
were already there, and Andrea pulled up and parked behind Jake's
car, just as we were knocking on the front door.
Josh and Molly were sitting in the family room together. They had a
fire going in the fireplace, and it warmed and cheered the room, a
nice change from the rainy, cold evening. Molly was wearing a heavy
sweatshirt and baggy cotton pants, almost like pajama bottoms. She
kept her arms crossed, hugging herself, as if she was cold. Fuzzy
slippers with bunny faces were on her feet.
Mrs. O'Toole came in and offered sodas and chips, and then
discreetly left us to work on how we were going to get Molly back to
school safely.
Andrea came in, after hanging up her jacket, and walked over to the
couch, where Molly was sitting, and put her arms around her, hugging
her. I could see Molly tense up a little at the touch, but then she
relaxed, and gave Andrea a weak hug in return.
"How are you feeling, Moll?" I asked. Her right eye was a rainbow
of colors, red and blue and black and purple, but there was not much
swelling. She gave me a small, sad smile, a smile that only barely
touched her eyes, but she only gave me a slight shrug in reply.
We all settled down on the floor, loosely surrounding Molly and Josh
on the couch.
Josh began the discussion. "We need to set up a schedule among us,
so that Molly will be accompanied by a friend all day at school, from
class to class." He glanced at a pad of paper in his hand. "Molly
and I have listed the classes that she has with all of you guys, and
I think this can work. I'll bring her to school with me, and I can
be with her to her first class. Tessa, if you could meet her after
her first period class, you can walk with her to second period, since
you're in the same class. Then, Sean can pick her up and take her to
math. Okay? After math, Tessa will meet her again, and I will take
over from her. Andrea and I will stay with her during lunch, and
then Andrea will walk her to the next class. Jake, can you meet them
then?"
And so it went, until we had Molly accompanied for the whole day.
All during the discussion, Molly just sat there, silent and looking
inward, paying us little mind.
"Okay," continued Josh, "that will work for the whole day. Andi and
Tessa will come home with her, and that will be that." He handed out
tentative schedules for each of us.
"This weekend will be harder, because of Homecoming, but if we need
to add people to help out, I'm sure we can find some."
"Molly?" Tessa touched her friend on the knee to get her attention.
"Are you going back to cheerleading practice at all this week?"
Molly shook her head slowly. "I... I don't know," she whispered.
"Do you think I should?"
"Yes, I do," said Tessa emphatically. "I'll stay there with you,
and get you home afterwards."
"And I can be there, too," said Andrea. "I think you should, too,
Moll. The activity will do you some good."
"Okay," said Molly quietly. "If you think I should..."
"There will be a lot of kids and adults around for the parade and
the game on Saturday," said Josh, "but I'm kind of worried about
after the game. Jake and I are on the team, so we can't be with her."
"That's okay," said Andrea. "Tessa and I," and she looked over to
see Tessa's nod of confirmation, even before she finished her own
thought, "we'll be there, right by her side. Okay, Moll?"
Molly looked at her and nodded, even though she looked a little
scared, just thinking about it.
"And we'll bring you straight back home," finished Tessa.
"But right after that, we might have a problem," said Andrea.
"We've got appointments to get our hair done for the Homecoming
Dance. Josh, will your parents be home then?"
"Hey," I said, "why don't you see if you can get an appointment for
Molly at your salon?"
Molly glanced over at me, and then looked down again. "But I'm not
going..."
"You aren't going to want to spend Homecoming Saturday stuck at home
with your parents, Molly, are you?" I asked. "You'd probably feel
safer at the dance, with lots of kids around you, than you would by
yourself here. Besides, I don't have a date, either, so we can go
together."
That earned me another glance, this one with some pain in it.
"That's not a bad idea, Porter," said Josh. "What do you think,
Molly?"
She took a big breath, and, keeping her head down, said, "If you
think so, Josh, I guess it's okay with me."
And, just like that, I found myself with a last-minute date for
Homecoming.
On Wednesday, we carried out our plan. Josh walked Molly into
school, and right to her first class. The rest of us were there,
also, for moral support, and she looked like she needed it. She was
very nervous, and kept glancing around anxiously, perhaps checking
faces in the crowd for Jilly or Joey or any of the other Bulls. As
we got to the door of her first-period class, she turned, and with
tears glistening in her eyes, thanked us all.
"I don't deserve to have you guys as friends," she said, her soft
voice wavering. She turned to Josh. "And I don't deserve to have a
brother like you, Josh. I love you." She looked back at Tessa,
Austin, Andrea, Jake, and me. "I love you all so much." With that,
she turned and she walked to her desk in the classroom.
Tessa followed her into the room, knelt down next to Molly, and said
quietly, "After class, you can just wait right here. I'll come for
you as soon as I can. Okay?"
Molly nodded.
Surprisingly, the day progressed pretty much as Josh had planned. I
met Tessa and Molly after second period in the hall, and Molly and I
walked to our math class together. Looking at us, you would have
probably thought we were just another couple of high-school kids, but
a closer examination would have revealed two flawed, wounded people,
leaning on each other for support and comfort.
By the end of the day, everybody in school knew what we were doing,
and rumors of how Molly got her black eye were running rampant
through the hallways. Nobody confirmed or denied anything anybody
told us, or asked of us. Our story was that Molly needed a little
assistance, because she was recovering from an illness, and that was
all we had to say about it. Even though we heard some pretty
outlandish rumors that day, all the stories and all the attention
paid to Molly and her escorts kept Jilly and the rest of his gang
away from her, all day long.
The next afternoon after lunch, I was walking through the crowded
halls to a class, when I saw Joey Amonte, Vinnie Arilio, and Harold
Barnes swaggering toward me. Unfortunately, they saw me, too, and
Joey grabbed me and shoved me back against a bank of lockers. His
forearm was tight against my neck, lifting me up onto my toes. I
could feel a combination lock digging into my lower back.
"Hello, Porter," Joey said quietly. He was leaning close to me, and
his nauseating halitosis washed over me like a breaking wave of onion
and garlic water.
"Let me go, asshole," I gritted.
"Asshole?" He turned to Harold, leaning insolently against the
lockers to my right, blocking the view from casual eyes. Vinnie took
up a similar position on my left, effectively boxing me in. Joey
leaned his arm in a little harder, against my throat. "You ain't in
no position to be tossing out ugly names, Porter."
He had a point there, but I was having a little trouble breathing,
so I couldn't answer him.
"What are you and your pussy friends doing with my girlfriend,
Porter?" he asked. He loosened his grip just a little, enough for me
to take a ragged breath so I could explain our actions to him.
"What girlfriend?" I said, perhaps unwisely. "I thought Del Toro
took her away from you."
He popped me back up hard, against the lockers. His face turned a
mottled red. Through gritted teeth, he snarled, "You thought wrong,
pussy boy."
"Okay, okay," I croaked. The lock was starting to scrape the skin
away on my back.
He loosened up again. I thought maybe he liked having the
opportunity to jack me back up against the wall.
"So? What the fuck do you think you're doing? Protecting her?"
On either side of me, I heard both Harold and Vinnie chuckling.
Vinnie gave me a vicious poke in the ribs.
"No, man," I managed, "we're just friends, walking down the hall."
He threw me back up against the lockers, getting some lift with his
legs this time. I thought my feet were dangling off the floor, and I
knew I was having trouble breathing.
"Wrong answer, pussy boy," he growled. "Let's try again,
motherfucker." He let me down again, but kept too much pressure on
my throat. I couldn't talk.
A voice from behind Joey startled us all. "Mr. Amonte?"
Joey whirled around, careful to keep a firm hold on me, pressing me
back with his arm. Standing there was Coach Neville, his glasses
lowered until they were propped on the tip of his nose, and he was
staring at us over the frames. He wasn't a very big or imposing man,
being a little soft around the middle, but his arms were muscled.
This was particularly evident as he lightly tapped the baseball bat
he was holding in his hand.
"I would suggest that, perhaps, you would like to let Mr. Porter
go," he said, almost nonchalantly.
Reluctantly, Joey let his arm drop. I sagged back, grateful to be
free of his grasp. I rubbed my throat, trying to get some feeling
back into the area.
"Aren't you supposed to be going to class?" asked Mr. Neville,
looking at Vinnie and Harold in turn.
"Yes, sir," mumbled Harold, as he turned to walk down the hall.
"Yes, Mr. Neville," said Vinnie. With a sour look, he turned and
followed after Harold. Joey took a step toward his friends, but
Coach pointed the bat at him, just touching his chest with the end.
Joey acted as it he had been hit with it, falling back against the
lockers. Coach pushed against him with the bat a little harder, and
Joey's elbows hit the lockers, making them rattle and clang.
"Where are you going, Mr. Amonte?" he asked quietly.
"I... uh, I was just gonna go to class..." mumbled Joey.
"And what class is that?" asked Coach.
"Um, wood shop," replied Joey.
"Fine," said Mr. Neville, dropping the bat suddenly. Joey slid
sideways along the lockers, away from Coach and I, watching us
watching him. Just as he thought he would make it away clean, he
turned to walk away, adjusting his collar.
"Mr. Amonte," called out Coach. Joey stopped dead in his tracks.
He turned back around with a worried expression. "I expect to see
you in my office exactly two minutes after the final bell today,"
said Coach.
"Yes, sir," said Joey unhappily. He waited a moment, perhaps to see
if Mr. Neville had any more to add, and then he turned and stalked
away.
"Thanks, Coach," I said, once Joey had gone.
He just grunted, already thinking of something else. I headed down
the hall toward my class.
"Mr. Porter?" he called.
I turned. "Yes, Coach?"
He walked up to me, a concerned expression on his face. "For
whatever reason you have gotten involved with Mr. Amonte and his ilk,
I would strongly suggest that you sever those ties," he said.
"I wish I could," I said, "but I don't think it's quite that
simple." If he only knew how complicated it was, I thought to
myself. Maybe, if he knew, he would have just let Joey beat on me
for a little while. I wouldn't have blamed him if he had.
When I told Josh about Joey and his buddies bracing me, he was very
concerned.
"We're going to have to double-up on Molly's escorts," he said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe we should. But then again, they didn't
make a run at her."
"That's true, but I think it was just opportunity that made them box
you in. Now that they did it, even though they weren't real
successful, they might be thinking that they could do it better if
they planned it out."
"Those guys couldn't plan out a picnic in the park," I said.
Josh just looked at me for a moment. "Like they couldn't plan out
destroying the float last week?" he asked pointedly.
"Yeah, you're right," I agreed, abashed. "Let's recruit some help."
Between the six of us, we gathered up another eight kids to help.
Josh recruited a couple of friends from the football team, including
Tiny, and I got Eric and Trent to help us out. Molly always had two
friends escorting her, and everybody else tried to double-up and walk
the halls with friends, too. Tessa and Andrea, in particular, made
sure they were accompanied everywhere. The plan seemed to work, as
nobody else was confronted all week.
On Saturday, Josh, Jake, Tiny, and the others from the football team
had to leave early to get ready for the game, so the rest of us all
drove over together later. We walked into the stadium together, and
Tessa and Andrea walked with Molly onto the infield, so she could
join her fellow cheerleaders. I didn't see any sign of the Bulls
anywhere, but we kept a sharp lookout all through the game, anyway.
We won the game by a field goal, and everybody started streaming out
of the stands. Eric and Trent, along with Keisha and Danielle, took
the point for us, watching out for any sign of the Bulls. Austin,
Tessa and I waited for Molly, and we piled into Tessa's car for the
ride back to Molly's house. Austin had left his car there, and he
dropped me off at home. I had a few hours to kill before I was to
meet Josh and Molly, back at their house, for our double-date to the
dance, so I washed and waxed my mom's car, in exchange for being able
to drive it to the dance.
I took a shower, scraped off my peach fuzz, got dressed up in my
suit, and drove over to pick up Josh and Molly. We were going to
pick up Josh's girlfriend on the way to the dance. I hopped out of
my car, and ran up the front walk and rang the doorbell.
Mrs. O'Toole opened the door for me. "Come in, Sean," she said in
greeting. "Josh and Molly will be down in a moment." She gestured
me in, toward the family room. "Can I get you something to drink? A
soda, perhaps?"
"No, thanks," I replied. "How's Molly doing this afternoon, Mrs.
O'Toole?"
"She seems to be in a good mood," she said. I could hear a little
relief in her voice. "These past few days were hard on her, but I
hope the worst is behind her now."
"With any luck," I agreed.
Josh came trotting down the steps. "Hey, Seanster. What's going on?"
"Nada," I answered.
"I heard Moll fumbling around up there. She'll probably be ready in
another hour or two," he said with a smile.
"Oh, you boys," admonished Mrs. O'Toole.
"I'm just kidding, Mom," said Josh. He rolled his eyes at me. He
grabbed the television remote and started flipping through channels,
looking for a diversion while we waited. I settled back on the
couch, content to watch the images flick on and off.
After a few minutes, we heard Molly coming down the stairs. Josh
shut off the TV, and I got up to walk over to the bottom of the
staircase. She saw me, and stopped for a moment, five steps up.
Molly was wearing a long, light blue dress with a high empire waist,
a darker blue ribbon tied in a bow just below her breasts. The dress
had half-sleeves, coming to just below her elbows, ending in an
explosion of lace, matched by frilly lace on the hem around her
ankles. I knew she still had some faint bruises on her upper arms,
and I was sure she had deliberately chosen this style of dress, so
that she could hide them. It didn't matter at all. It was a
gorgeous dress, and she looked spectacular in it. It looked like she
had tried to get the yellow stripe out of her hair, and the
hairdresser had helped by streaking the rest of her hair with a pale
golden color that enhanced her strawberry-blonde natural color. Her
hair was tied up in an elaborate ponytail, and, despite her too-thin
face and arms, she looked beautiful.
She smiled hesitantly at me, and then continued down the stairs.
"Molly, you look absolutely fabulous," I said with a smile.
Her eyes got a little misty. "Thank you, Sean. For everything,"
she whispered.
In her high heels, she was almost my height. I held out my arm, and
she slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow, allowing me to guide
her into the family room, where her mother and father were waiting,
cameras in hand.
"Dad, please," she begged. "No pictures."
"Sorry, honey," he replied with a grin. "Parents' prerogative.
It's in the parent's handbook that we got when you were born,
sweetie. It allows us to reserve the right to embarrass our children
at any time." With that, he raised the camera, zoomed in on Molly
and me, and snapped the first of what turned out to be about 20
photographs of Molly, Josh, and me, collectively and individually.
We finally managed to escape, and Josh hopped in the back seat as I
opened the passenger door for my date.
"Thank you, Sean," she said quietly, as she slipped into the car.
We picked up Andrea, and Josh had to endure another photography
session with her parents before we could continue on to the school.
"Is there no cure for this?" Josh asked as we finally got on our
way. "Couldn't they stop making film, or something?"
"I think it's a lesson," said Andrea with a laugh. "They're passing
on some of their parenting skills to us. Those pictures will be in
the mail to grandparents all over the country by the end of next
week, I'll bet. And, in about 20 or 25 years, our parents will be
sitting by the mailbox, expecting pictures of their grandchildren.
We'll be the ones taking the pictures, and our kids will be the ones
complaining."
"And on it goes," grumbled Josh. "Future generations cannot escape."
"I guess not," I said. "After all, it's in the handbook." We all
laughed at that. Even Molly smiled a little. It was a good sign.
We pulled into the parking lot at school, and joined a big group of
kids heading for the gymnasium, where the dance was being held. As
soon as we entered the giant room, we circled the perimeter, looking
for our group. We found them on the far side, where they had taken
over about 20 folding chairs for us. Eric and Keisha, Trent and
Danielle, Jake and Jaimie, and Tiny and his date Erica Frost were
already there. Shortly after we joined them, Austin and Tessa came
in, followed by Jorge and Kristina, with their dates for the evening.
It hurt a little to watch Kristina walking across the dance floor
with another guy. On the other hand, she probably wasn't happy to
see me here with Molly, even knowing the circumstances. It was a
lose-lose situation for her and me, but we had no choice but to
accept it for the moment. I hoped she understood.
The music was already blasting across the room. I turned to Molly
and said, "Do you want to get out there and dance?"
She gave me a weak smile, and said, "I don't think so, Sean. I'm
not quite ready for that, yet."
"Okay," I said, and I ushered her into a chair, and sat down next to
her. Her hands were limp in her lap as she watched the few kids who
were brave enough to chance the dance floor as they hopped and
gyrated to the beat of the records.
"Why don't you go ahead and dance?" she asked, after a few moments.
"Nah," I said. "I'm content to sit here with you, and not embarrass
myself out there."
She favored me with a small smile. "I've seen you dance, Sean. You
don't embarrass yourself."
"Yes, I do," I insisted. "It's just not very obvious, I guess."
Slowly, little by little, more and more kids made their way out to
dance. Most of our group ended up dancing, though they mostly stayed
on our side of the gym, and, by some sort of psychic and unspoken
agreement, at least two couples stayed on the sidelines, with Molly
and I, at all times.
I was comfortable, sitting there with her, watching the dancers.
For one thing, it gave me a chance to see my fellow students all
dressed up, and doing something other than trudging down a school
hall. I saw Becky across the room, waving her head back and forth in
time to the music, and, through the crowd, I caught glimpses of Jen
Davies and Sam Loggins dancing together, Toby and Ashley were out on
the edge of the crowd and holding hands, and Anthony and Ayesha were
jumping and jiving to the music. Even through all the bodies on the
floor, though, there were two people that my eyes kept being drawn
toward. Close by, Kristina Mendoza, dressed in a very short, svelte
black dress, sinuously moved around her partner, a sophomore from the
Junior Varsity soccer team named Paco Ochoa, one of Jorge's friends.
Across the room, dancing in and out of my sight, was the pale-haired
Kayla Lehigh, slim and ethereal in a white dress and white stockings,
as she slipped almost magically through the other dancers, unaware
that she was drawing my vision in her direction.
With an effort, I tore my eyes away from the dance floor, and turned
to Molly, who was still passively sitting there, gazing at the
dancers.
"Would you like me to get you something to drink?" I asked. I
didn't know why, by my throat was dry.
She smiled at me and nodded. Since Eric and Tiny were sitting
nearby with their dates, I gestured to them to stay put until I
returned. Eric nodded once, and Tiny gave me a thumbs-up, so I
walked off, along the perimeter of the crowd, toward the refreshment
table. I decided that a stop in the men's room was in order, so I
pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Bent nearly double over the counter was a kid I barely recognized.
His hair was freshly trimmed, he was clean-shaven, his shoes were
shined, and he had on a cheap, new suit. He was holding a tiny straw
to his nose, snorting up a line of white powder laid out on the
countertop. I took a left turn and hustled into one of the stalls
and closed the door quickly, before Joey Amonte had a chance to look
up to see who had come in. My hands were shaking as I sat down,
nervous and scared as hell. What the fuck was he doing here? And
why was he all dressed up? It worried me, worried me a lot.
I heard him snuffle and snort, finishing up his intake of cocaine.
The sink started running, and I heard him ruffling some paper towels,
no doubt cleaning up the evidence of his habit. He started whistling
as he slammed the crumpled paper towel into the wastebasket, rattling
the swing top, and I heard the door open, and then close onto silence.
I stayed there for a few moments more, until I heard the door open,
and a rush of sound from the gymnasium came barreling in, to be cut
off as the door swung closed again. Two guys walked over to the
urinals, talking about where they were taking their dates when they
left the dance. I flushed the toilet, for effect, and opened the
stall door, stepping to the sink to wash my hands and splash some
cold water on my face. Think, Sean, I told my reflection in the
mirror. Think.
But nothing of any brilliance came to me. I opened the door and
peered out, hoping that Amonte had moved off, away from the
restrooms. I didn't see him, or anybody else I didn't really want to
see, so I walked over to the refreshment table, picked up two Cokes,
and threaded my way back to Molly.
I had to talk to Jake, and fast, without Molly's knowledge. This
was the last thing she needed right now.
(Continued in Chapter 19)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 19 -
FEAR
I handed one Coke to Molly. She smiled at me, and our hands touched
momentarily as I passed the paper cup to her. I sat down next to
her, and gestured for Eric to come over by me. He crouched down at
my side, up close so we could converse above the music.
"What's up, bro?" he asked quietly.
"I think we might have trouble," I murmured. I was turned away from
Molly, who had returned to watching the dancers. "Find Josh for me,
would you?"
"Sure thing," he said, and he stood up and held out his hand for
Keisha. Without a word, she took his hand, and they walked out to
the dance floor. I watched as they slipped through the crowd,
threading their way toward the middle. A few minutes later, Josh and
Andrea came out, holding hands. Josh was sweating, but Andi was
glowing. I still didn't know how girls did that, but now wasn't the
time to be considering it.
Josh flopped down in the chair next to me, and Andi gracefully
lowered herself into the chair next to Josh. Girls did that
mysteriously, too, I thought. I mentally shook myself. Concentrate,
fool, I chastised my inner imp.
"Eric said you needed me," he said, leaning in close to me.
"Yeah, there might be a problem," I said. I leaned across Josh.
"Andi, can you sit with Molly for a moment?"
"Of course," she said. "I think we need to powder our noses,
anyway. Let me just go find Tessa, okay?"
She glided back out into the crowd, and a few moments later, brought
Tessa and Austin back with her. She leaned over to speak into
Molly's ear, so she would be heard over the music. Molly nodded, and
stood up, smoothing her dress out by running her hands down her
thighs, and the three girls moved around the gymnasium toward the
restrooms.
Jake and Jaimie happened to walk up just then, and when he saw
Austin, Josh and I huddling, he waved Tiny over, and they joined up
with us.
"Okay, here's the deal," I said, looking around at all of them. "I
was in the can, and I saw Joey Amonte, all dressed up in a suit,
doing a line of coke."
Josh's face looked thunderous. "What the fuck is he doing here?" he
spat.
"I don't know, but I had to look twice to be sure it was him," I
said. "He was all cleaned up, dressed as sharp as trailer trash like
him could come up with. I think he's trying to work his way around
the dance, kind of incognito. You know, it's dark in here, with the
mirror ball lights and all, who's going to give another kid in a suit
a second look, if he's just wandering around? But anyway, he's here,
believe it."
Jake glanced around, as if expecting Joey to be leaning over,
listening to our conversation. I pulled him back around.
"Listen up, guys. I haven't seen any of the other Bulls here, but
that doesn't mean they're not trying the same scam, so keep your eyes
peeled. Okay?" I got affirmative nods from everyone.
"And make sure there is at least two couples sitting here with Molly
and Sean at all times," said Josh. "Don't get lulled into thinking
there's no threat here in this crowd, especially now that we know
Amonte's sneaking around somewhere. If you want to go out and dance,
or go to the shitter, or anything, make sure somebody else knows
about it. Got it?"
"And don't leave your dates alone," said Jake. "Make sure you've
got friends around."
"Good point," said Josh. "Is everybody okay with that?"
Everybody was okay with that. Austin and I sat down and waited for
the girls to come back, and Josh and Jake headed back out into the
dance crowd to let Eric, Trent, Jorge, and Paco know about the new
developments.
Time to circle the wagons, I thought to myself. I tried to put on a
game face, though, for Molly's sake.
There was a slow song just starting up as the girls were walking
back toward us, so I stood, and held out my hand to Molly. She
stopped, and just looked at my hand.
"May I have this dance?" I asked.
"Sean, I..." she began.
"Oh, go ahead, Molly," said Tessa brightly. "You'll enjoy it, I
know you will." She gently pushed Molly forward a step closer to me.
Molly acquiesced, and took my outstretched hand.
"Well... okay," she said, eyes downcast.
I led her out onto the dance floor, and stepped in to put my arm
around her. She flinched just a little at the touch, and then she
relaxed a bit, letting me hold her lightly and lead her around my
little box-step pattern. Tessa and Austin were dancing right beside
us, and I knew the others were very close by.
"Molly," I whispered, "you know I will always be your friend. If
you need me for anything, I'll be there. You know that, don't you?"
We were dancing cheek to cheek, so I was whispering right into her
ear. I couldn't look at her at the same time, but I heard her start
to sniffle just a little, and she held me a little tighter.
"I know you've gone through some rough times," I continued, "and I
wish I could just wave my hand and you'd be free of them. But I know
it's not that easy. I'm not going to press you or anything, but if
you need to talk about it, I'll listen. I promise."
The wetness on her cheek from her tears was being transferred to
mine as we swayed to and fro with the music. Her breath was coming
in small hitches that shook her frame. I thought I might have gone
too far with my brave little speech.
"Thank you, Sean," she whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear.
"Thank you, but I'll be okay. I just need time."
The song ended, but we stayed that way, holding each other, until
the next fast song started up. She took a deep breath, wiped her
eyes, and held my hand lightly as we walked back to our chairs.
When we got to our spot, Josh stood. "Would you care to dance,
little sis?"
Molly smiled, the first real smile of amusement I had seen from her
in a very long time. "'Little sis'? You're about five minutes older
than me, big brother."
Josh beamed. He was the one to break through with her, and he knew
it. "So, that makes you the youngest in the family," he said. "Do
you want to dance?"
Molly's smile faltered just a little. "I don't think I'm ready for
a fast dance yet. At least, not in these shoes. Maybe the next slow
one, though, okay?"
"Okay, your loss," he replied. He grabbed Andi's hand, and they
boogied off to dance.
Josh did manage to cajole Molly into dancing after awhile, and she
got more animated as the evening progressed, until flashes of the old
Molly started coming through. Everybody was feeling terrific about
the progress she exhibited, especially considering it had been only
five days since we first mapped out a disaster plan. Finally,
though, about a half hour before the dance was to end, Molly hit a
wall. She slumped in her chair, exhausted from the activity around
her.
"Are you okay, Moll?" asked Josh worriedly.
"I'm okay," she said tiredly, "but I think I really need to get
home, Josh. I'm so sorry. I don't want to end your evening so soon."
"Don't be sorry," he said. "You've been through a lot. I didn't
think you would have the energy to last this long, to be honest." He
stood up. "Andi, we're going to have to take Molly home."
"Okay," she said. "Let me just say goodnight to Tessa and Austin."
She turned and went in search of our friends, to let them know we
were heading out.
I helped Molly to her feet, and started guiding her around the
crowded floor, toward the door. Josh and Andrea caught up with us
before we were even halfway there. Josh took up a position on
Molly's other arm, and together we supported her as we walked.
There were a few other kids walking toward the parking lot when we
got outside. It was a clear, cold night, with no moon. The stars
were brilliant diamonds splashed extravagantly across the night sky.
We crossed the shadowy parking lot, each of us holding an elbow. We
really needed to get her home quickly, it seemed, because she was
sagging more and more, relying on our strength to hold her up.
I fumbled for my car keys, and unlocked the door, opening it so that
Molly could collapse down. Josh opened the back door for Andi, and
then crawled in when she scooted over across the back seat. I closed
both doors, and jogged around to the driver's side. Just as I was
reaching for the handle, I had a premonition that we had made an
awful mistake.
"Hello, Porter," said Joey Amonte, standing in the shadows
practically beside me. "Fancy meeting you here."
He took two steps toward me, and slammed my car door closed, right
out of my hand. Harold Barnes appeared by his side, and leaned on
the rear door, and on the other side of the car, Vinnie Arilio
stepped up and leaned on Josh's door, preventing him from opening it,
and Jilly Del Toro stepped up to Molly's door and peered in at her,
staring at her frightened face. Josh's quick thinking saved her
bacon at that moment, when he shoved the lock down on Molly's door,
and quickly punched down the button on his own door. Andrea, seeing
his reaction, did the same with her door, keeping the three of them
temporarily safe. The only problem with this emergency plan was that
I was stuck outside the car, surrounded by the Bulls.
Jilly and Joey looked at each other. Joey shrugged, as if to say he
really didn't know what to do about the locked doors. It seemed to
catch them by surprise. Jilly improvised by sauntering around the
front of my car, and the two of them backed me up until I was leaning
against the fender.
"Get out of my face," I warned, but they knew as well as I did that
it was an empty threat.
Jilly stood about half an inch from me. "What are you doing with my
bitch?" he asked.
"Your bitch? You mean Joey, here?" I shot back, unwisely.
He rabbit-punched me in the gut, and I doubled over, gasping.
"Don't crack wise with me, pussy boy," he growled. "Answer me quick
when I ask you a question, pussy boy, or else."
I tried to straighten up. "Or else what? Or else you'll go back
and get more bad lines from old gangster movies?"
He slapped my right ear hard, and a ringing started out in a loud
mid-range, and climbed steadily into the ultrasonic, until I could
feel it in my teeth. Joey grabbed my arm and spun me around, holding
me from behind by my arms, and stretching me backwards, making my
midsection very vulnerable. I was still gasping, trying to catch my
breath, and this position wasn't helping.
Jilly said, "I will ask you very nicely, one last time, Porter. If
you smart off to me again, I will start asking you not so nicely.
Understand?"
When I didn't respond, he cracked me in the ear again.
"Understand?" he said, louder. I could barely understand what he
was saying, through the noise of the siren in my bruised ear, but I
nodded.
"Good," he said, sounding satisfied. "Now we're gettin'
somewheres." He turned and looked around at his friends, and got
some chortles in response, inconsequential sounds of approval from
his cohorts, who were still guarding the doors. Behind him, I could
see silhouettes of other kids walking toward their cars, too far
away, but I couldn't make out any details. It stood to reason that
they couldn't see what was going on over here any better than I could
see them, which was too bad for me. I could have used some help.
"Okay, pussy boy, let's start over, shall we? What are you doing
here with my cunt?" Jilly looked very relaxed as he settled in to
question me. He had all night, after all. No hurry here.
"Just taking her to the dance," I replied. He backhanded me across
my face. He had on a chunky metal ring, one with sharp edges, and my
lip split open, and blood started running down my chin and onto my
white shirt. A small spray of blood and tissue hit my tongue, and
the metallic taste as I reflexively swallowed was strong.
"Wrong answer, pussy boy," he said with a tight smile. "Didn't you
hear me say she was my cunt? Why were you here with my cunt?"
My lip was swelling, making coherent talking a little difficult.
"She's not yours, Del Toro. Slavery was abolished about a hundred
years ago."
He punched me in the stomach again, but I was prevented from
doubling up by Joey holding me tight. I groaned in pain, and Joey
tightened his grip.
"She's mine, asshole. Didn't she tell you? I marked her, pussy
boy, as my personal property. You can ask her, if you'd like." He
leaned in toward the car windshield, malevolently staring inside, and
raised his voice a little, so that Molly could hear, tapping on the
windshield for emphasis. "Didn't I, bitch? I marked you as mine,
didn't I? My teeth marks are on your tits and on your hairy cunt,
aren't they?" He pounded on the window. "Aren't they, bitch?" he
yelled.
I felt Joey loosen up just a fraction on my arms, and I figured that
was the only opportunity I was going to get. I dropped down as
suddenly as I could, letting my weight break Joey's grip. I was
hoping to slide my arms through Joey's hands, and escape his grasp
before he had time to react. My only hope was to try that same slide
tackle on Jilly that Jorge had used on his older brother Richie last
year at school, and maybe I could buy just enough time and freedom to
roll under the car to relative safety. I dropped down, out of Joey's
hold, hitting the gritty pavement on my elbow. I lashed out with my
leg as I hit the ground, but Jilly just hopped over my sweep. He
took a step toward me as I was on the ground, and drop-kicked me in
the ribs, driving the breath right out of me. I felt something
inside me give, and I rolled over into a fetal position to protect my
injured side, struggling to regain my breath, but Jilly was right
there on top of me. He planted a foot hard on my shoulder, and
turned me over onto my back. He moved his foot to step hard onto my
chest, and pressed me flat on the ground. I was having trouble
breathing, between my complaining ribcage and my swollen and bleeding
lip, and the pressure of Jilly's big foot on my chest wasn't helping.
I started thrashing around in panic.
"Nice try, pussy boy," he said, grinning. "My brother told me about
how he got his assbone broke. You pussy soccer players are all
alike." He casually reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a
switchblade. The snick of the blade was one of the loudest sounds I
had ever heard, slicing right through the ringing in my right ear.
"I oughta cut your heart out, right here, and make you eat it," he
snarled.
I heard one of the car's doors open. "Stop it, Jilly," said Molly's
voice. He looked up, startled, and I heard Molly walking around the
front of the car. "Let him up," she said.
"Why the fuck should I?" he asked angrily.
"Because he's not the one you want, anyway. Let him up, and don't
hurt him anymore," she insisted. "Do it, and I'll go with you." I
could see her now, as she stepped up closer to us, and tears were
streaming down her face, but she was staring right at Jilly. The
force of her look made him back off just a little, and I could
breathe again.
"No, Molly," I croaked, but she didn't even look at me.
"Shut up, Sean. He means it. He'll do it, I know he will. This is
the only way." The defeat was loud in her voice.
"Okay, doll. If that's the way you want to play it, it's okay with
me," he said. He closed the knife and slipped it back into his
jacket pocket. He completely forgot about me, as he grabbed Molly
around the waist and pressed his open mouth to hers, forcing his
tongue into her mouth, and grabbing roughly at her breasts, mauling
them through her dress. Even though he was forcing her to bend over
backwards as he assaulted her, I saw her hand reach up and slip into
his jacket pocket. Her hand came out with the knife, and she shook
her head to get him off of her. He wasn't going to be discouraged
quite that easily, and so she bit him on the lip, drawing blood, and
pushed him away from her as she stepped back, and pressed the button
that released the blade. She held it awkwardly in her hand,
brandishing it in front of her.
Jilly stumbled back a couple of steps, bringing his hand up to his
bleeding lip. He wiped off his mouth, and then looked at the blood
on his fingers. He looked up at Molly in amazement. "What the fuck
did you do that for?" he asked. He sounded honestly confused by it.
"You know I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson now. A painful
lesson."
"Get away from me," she snarled. "Back off, Jilly, I mean it. I'll
kill you if I have to." She held the knife out in front of her like
a shield.
He just laughed insolently, and, quick as a rattlesnake strike,
snatched her wrist, yanking the knife away from her easily.
He sneered, "You think I'm afraid to die? You cunt, I ain't afraid
of death. But I'll bet you are, aren't you, Princess?" He drew his
hand back, ready to strike out with the sharp blade. His face was a
mask of fury and betrayal. "Or are you afraid of getting that pretty
little prom queen face marked up?" He flicked the blade before her
eyes, just inches away, teasing her. I struggled to my feet,
suddenly fearful for Molly's life, and afraid for my own safety.
Joey and Harold and Vinnie were standing there, staring at the
tableau as if transfixed, unmoving as they watched their leader
continue on his path toward what was quickly deteriorating into a
potentially deadly course of action. Jilly flicked the blade toward
Molly's face again, and I stuck my arm out to ward off the attack. I
felt the blade cut, but there was no pain. I had the odd sensation
of feeling the sharp edge scrape against bone, a shuddering rasp that
transmitted all the way up to my shoulder, and blood coursed down my
arm, dripping from my elbow onto the pavement. I looked stupidly at
the slash through my suit coat and shirt, which were quickly getting
soaked with my blood. I had a moment to wonder at the sight before
the pain hit. My knees got weak, and I got a little light-headed
from shock. I saw Jilly pull back his arm for another thrust. With
a curled lip, he snarled, "I ain't afraid of dying," and his arm came
forward, the knife slashing toward Molly's terrified face.
And his arm suddenly stopped. Jilly's eyes bugged out in surprise
and rage, just as a deep voice said from behind him, "You aren't
afraid to die. But are you afraid of a little pain?"
Jilly turned around, his arm still held in a viselike grip, and
looked straight ahead to see who had interrupted him. His eyes ended
up level with a huge chest, and his head swiveled up to finally gaze
at Tiny Harrison, who was towering over Jilly, dwarfing him as he
held the hand with the knife up and away from them.
Tiny repeated, "Are you afraid of pain, Del Toro?" Jilly twisted,
fury suffusing him. Perhaps he thought he could wrench his hand
away, but Tiny was implacable as he held Jilly's arm perfectly still
in his meaty grip. Jilly yanked harder, and then screamed as his
shoulder separated, and his now useless hand dropped the knife. He
still had enough fire and insanity in him to think he might still be
able to fight his way out of it, though, so he stupidly stood
straight up, holding his ruined shoulder, and spit in Tiny's face.
Tiny's face got tight, and as he wiped the spittle from his cheek,
he took one step backwards, reared back, and kicked straight up, as
if he was kicking a field goal, catching Jilly square in the crotch.
Jilly's body was lifted up about two feet off the ground by the force
of the kick, and his eyes bugged out in shock. Jilly croaked, his
eyes wide and unseeing as he landed roughly, and he doubled over, his
one good arm moving to cradle his crushed testicles, and he dropped
to the ground in agony. He landed on his separated shoulder, making
the bones grind together, but I didn't think he even noticed, the
pain from his groin overriding all other receptors in his overloaded
brain.
Joey Amonte took one look at Tiny, standing there over Del Toro, and
he made an about-face to try to escape, but only was able to take one
step before Jake, coming out of the shadows, grabbed him by the
collar.
"Not so fast, motherfucker," Jake said threateningly. He grabbed
Joey's arm and twisted it viciously back behind him in a hammerlock.
Joey sucked in his breath in pain, and stopped moving, knowing that
Jake was only a few centimeters from breaking his arm. Meanwhile,
Eric, Austin, Jorge, Paco, and Trent appeared, circling the car,
surrounding Harold and Vinnie as they stood there, rooted by the
spectacle of their leader squirming on the ground, moaning in agony.
Molly cried out, "Does somebody know first-aid? Sean's bleeding!"
She grabbed my arm, and rockets of pain shot up me. I fell to my
knees, bleeding all over the parking lot, about to pass out.
"Somebody run back into the school, and call an ambulance," called
Jake.
"No, wait," cried Tessa. "We won't be able to explain all this to
anybody. Quick, get him in the car, and we'll drive him to the
emergency room." Jorge and Eric each took one side, and as gently as
they could, lifted me up and guided me to Eric's car, parked just a
few spaces down from mine, and they helped me to slump down in the
front seat.
As I was sitting there, holding my bleeding arm up to try to ease
the flow, a small hand thrust a belt in through the open window.
Eric, in the driver's seat, grabbed it and wound it around my arm
tightly to help slow the bleeding. It hurt a lot, but everything
hurt. I couldn't tell anymore what part of me hurt the worst.
"Thanks," he called out.
A pale, worried face, framed by white-blonde hair cascading down
over her shoulders, appeared by the window.
"You're welcome," Kayla said, tears glistening in her eyes. "It's
Jake's. I just took it from him."
I just had time to focus on her concerned look, trying to convey my
appreciation, before I zoned out.
(Continued in Chapter 20)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 20 -
MAD DREAMS AND VISIONS
We were at the hospital for a long time. Sometime after midnight,
my parents showed up, with both my brothers in tow. Eric had called
them from a pay phone in the vestibule, and a few minutes later, the
admitting staff also called them. My mother was hysterical, and my
dad was furious. By that point, I had been wheeled into surgery, but
I heard about it from my friends later. Almost everybody I knew
showed up in the waiting room that night, including Coach Neville and
Coach Simonson, all waiting to hear how my surgery went.
Shortly after Eric had brought me into the emergency room, Joey and
Vinnie brought Jilly Del Toro in. Coach Neville and Coach Simonson
had to walk next to them as they wheeled Del Toro through the double
doors in a wheelchair. If they hadn't, the three of them would have
been jumped and beaten on by the dozens of kids who had heard about
the fight, and had showed up at the hospital.
After the surgery, my parents and my brothers were allowed to come
in to the recovery room and see me. My arm was bandaged up until it
was twice its normal size, and I had a bandage on my mouth covering
the four stitches they put in my lip. Barely noticed among the cuts
and scrapes was the tight wrap around my chest, protecting my bruised
ribs. I was tired, uncomfortable, and in pain, and in no mood for
company. But, considering it was my family, I accepted it, and even
tried not to complain too much about it.
My mom was crying as she bent over me, examining my face closely,
trying to determine the extent of my injuries by looking into my
eyes. I was sure all she could see was the painkiller-induced
dilated pupils, but she was not to be deterred. Even through the
drugs, my eyes felt like they were dried out and resting somewhere on
my cheeks. My dad kept on asking me what happened, and I thought I
kept answering him, but maybe I only thought I did, because he would
come back a few minutes later, after pacing the length of the small
room, and repeat his questions. Michael looked bored, and Stephen
looked excited. He kept on asking me if I would end up with any neat
scars, a question that would invariably send my mother off into new
freshets of tears.
The doctors conferred with my parents about my injuries, my
prognosis, and my immediate care, and the police came in to interview
me. The hospital had called them to report a knife injury, and they
were investigating reports of a fight in the school parking lot.
They were able to fit the two events together, and, since nearly
everybody was at the hospital anyway, they sent over a detail to
conduct interviews. Finally, around three in the morning, I was
released, and I was helped into a wheelchair, and a nurse rolled me
out, through the swinging doors, and into the packed waiting room,
where I was nearly overrun by the crowds of kids. The only ones I
really wanted to see were the O'Toole twins, and Jake, and Kayla, and
Andrea, and Eric, and, most importantly, Tiny, the man-mountain who
saved my bacon. I was too groggy and doped up to pick them out of
the crowd of faces and voices, though, and my mother was not about to
let anything or anybody stop her from getting me home and into her
care, as she parted the sea of bodies so that the nurse could wheel
me out into the parking lot.
Michael and my dad carefully put me in the front seat and buckled me
in, taking care not to jostle my ribs and my arm as they wound the
seatbelt around me and snapped it in place. I laid my head back on
the headrest and closed my eyes, exhausted down to my toenails. I
wanted nothing more than to just crawl between the cool sheets of my
own comfy bed.
As tired as I was, and as drugged as I was, it was still
surprisingly difficult to fall asleep. Part of the problem was that
I kept on replaying the scene in the parking lot over and over, like
a video loop in my head, seeing again and again Jilly's open hand
whizzing toward me, making contact with my ear; feeling the creak of
my ribcage as his foot made contact with my side; watching the knife
blade flash as it streaked across space toward Molly's face and my
arm; and looking through a reddish haze of pain and shock as Jilly's
body was lifted up off the ground by the force of Tiny's kick. I
also couldn't get very comfortable, throwing around the extra weight
and bulk of the bandages all over my body. Finally, though, I fell
into a fitful, exhausted sleep, full of mad dreams and visions. I
didn't feel rested at all when I awoke at last on Sunday afternoon,
even though the clock indicated that I had been sleeping for over 10
hours.
I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and limped to the bathroom. The
reflection looking back at me out of the mirror, bleary-eyed and
sleep-swollen, was not a pretty sight. I ran my good hand through my
hair in a haphazard attempt at establishing order among the
follicles, and finally gave up, and proceeded to gingerly brush the
cobwebs off my teeth, moving the toothbrush carefully around the
bandage on my lower lip.
My mom heard me stumbling around upstairs, and came up from the
family room to offer some assistance. She insisted on helping me in
getting a flannel shirt on, the left sleeve unbuttoned to accommodate
the bandage, and she knelt down on the floor of my bedroom to help me
get a pair of sweatpants on my feet so I didn't have to struggle one-
handed.
As she was pulling the sweats on over my feet, she said, "The
telephone's been ringing off the hook, Sean. You have about a
hundred messages downstairs."
I just grunted. There wasn't anybody in this world that I wanted to
see, especially now, with my mother on her knees, helping me get
dressed. For a sixteen-year-old jock, I didn't think anything could
be more embarrassing.
I have since learned differently, of course.
A few minutes later, Michael came up to help get me down the stairs.
I gave my mother a baleful stare. "I can walk on my own, you know,"
I grumbled.
"Yes, I know, dear," she replied, unperturbed and relentless. "But
there's no sense in taking chances, now, are there?"
Mom logic. There was no argument, and no cure. I could rail and
protest, but it would be like complaining that the sun was making the
world too bright. I accepted, with very little good grace, and they
helped me slowly walk down the stairs.
Later that afternoon, I was sprawled in my dad's easy chair,
watching a boring football game on television with my family. Dad
had volunteered the chair, thinking that it would be more comfortable
for me than the couch. I didn't want to uproot him from his favorite
spot, but he insisted, so I lounged in it, squirming around until I
found the least irritating position.
The back doorbell rang, and before anybody could get up to see who
was there, the door opened, and we heard two sets of feet on the
linoleum in the kitchen.
"Hey, Porter, where are you?" I heard Jake yell.
"Hello, Jake, we're in the family room," called out my mother.
Jake and his sister Kayla appeared in the doorway. "How you
feeling, Seanster?" asked Jake.
"Like I've been run over by a tank," I grumpily replied.
"Yeah, well, just think how Jilly feels today," he said
unthinkingly. He suddenly looked abashed, glancing at my parents,
but they did their best to ignore his comment.
Me, I had to laugh, which hurt my swollen mouth and my battered
ribs, but it felt good, nonetheless. Yeah, I thought to myself, I'll
bet he's in some pain today, too.
"How does your arm feel, Sean?" asked Kayla softly.
"Not too bad," I said, "considering there's about 30 stitches
holding the whole thing together."
Kayla's blue eyes got big and round. "Thirty?" she said, a little
breathlessly.
"Something like that," I said, as if it was no big deal.
"Yeah," piped up my little brother Stephen, "he's gonna have an
awesome scar, I'll bet."
"Stephen!" cried my mother. "That's a terrible thing to say."
"Oh, that's just boys talking," admonished my dad. "He didn't mean
anything by it, I'm sure."
"What about your mouth?" asked Kayla, moving a little closer to look
at the various bandages. Her hand came out, as if she wanted to
touch the bandage on my mouth with her fingertips.
"Oh, I might be stuck with a permanent Elvis Presley sneer," I said
jokingly, "but I'll get used to it."
"Hey, I might like one of those, myself," said Jake. "Be a good
chick magnet. What do you say, Kayla? Would I look good with an
Elvis Presley sneer?"
"Not as good as Sean," she said. She started blushing, and turned
away, embarrassed. My mother gave her an appraising look, as if
suddenly seeing Kayla as something other than the little kid she had
known, practically since she was born.
"So, Porter, I suppose you're going to ditch school tomorrow, aren't
you?" asked Jake.
Mom jumped in, before I could answer. "Sean has a doctor's
appointment tomorrow morning," she said. "He has to have his
bandages changed, and the doctor wants another x-ray of his ribs."
"In other words," I said, "you're right. I'm ditching school
tomorrow."
"Ah, you're just a lazy slob," said Jake laughingly. "Just because
you got slapped upside the head, got your ribs stove in, and got your
arm skewered, you're going to take it easy for a couple of days?
You're a slacker, Porter."
"He is not!" Kayla turned on her brother and slapped his arm. She
turned back to me, stepping a little closer to my chair so she could
lightly touch my good arm. "You don't listen to this big dummy,
Sean. You should take the week off."
"Take the week off? I'd go stir-crazy, sitting around here by
myself," I said.
"I'll come over after school to keep you company," she said softly.
"In fact, if you want, I can go to each of your classes after school,
and pick up your homework assignments, if you'd like."
"No, Kay, you don't have to..."
"That's not a bad idea," interjected my mom. "You are going to have
to keep up with your schoolwork, Sean, even if you are only out of
school for a couple of days."
"Too bad, Sean," said Stephen scornfully. "For a minute there, I
was envying you, not being able to go to school. But it sounds like
school's going to come to you, instead." He laughed out loud at his
own jest.
"I'll call in to the school office in the morning," said Mom. "I'll
try to get them to collect Sean's work together. Then, if you could,
Kayla, perhaps you might stop by the office after school and bring
his work home with you."
"Of course," agreed Kayla.
"Either Michael or I will stop by your house to pick up Sean's
work," Mom continued.
"No, you don't need to do that," said Kayla. "I'll bring it over in
the afternoon."
"I'm not sure I..."
"No, really, Mrs. Porter, I don't mind," interrupted Kayla. "Jake
can drive us over, when he gets done with football practice."
Mom looked at her speculatively, but could find no objection to
Kayla's brother accompanying her over to our house. Besides, I knew
she was thinking that, with this arrangement, she wouldn't have to
take off the whole day from work, if she knew I was going to be
helped in the afternoon.
"Well," she said, a little reluctantly, "I suppose that would be all
right..."
"Okay, then, that's what we'll do," exclaimed Kayla. She suddenly
was very animated, now that she had a job to do to help me out.
Jake and Kayla left a few minutes later, with Kayla promising my
mother that she would stop at the school office as soon as school was
over the next day.
A little while later, the drone of the television, along with the
painkillers, made my eyelids droop, and I dozed in the easy chair,
warm and comfortable in my home.
I hadn't known it, but Mrs. O'Toole and my mother had been on the
telephone with each other a couple of times that morning, and around
6:00, there was a knock at the front door. My dad got up from the
couch, walked over, and opened the door to admit the O'Toole family.
Mr. and Mrs. O'Toole came in, each carrying a covered dish, followed
by Josh, Molly, and even their older sister Heather, apparently home
from college for the weekend. Mrs. O'Toole and my mom did that funny
kissing-the-air-near-the-cheek thing that had never made any sense to
me, and my dad and Mr. O'Toole shook hands warmly.
"Hello, Bill," said my dad in welcome.
"Jim," acknowledged Mr. O'Toole. "How's the patient?"
They both looked over in my direction. "He's pretty darn grumpy,"
admitted my father.
Mrs. O'Toole came bustling over, ready to fuss over me. "Well,
you'd be grumpy, too, if you had stitches in your lip like Sean," she
cooed. She gingerly touched the bandage on my lip, and I flinched
away. She "tsked" at me, reached over and firmly grasped my chin,
and turned my face back and forth, gently pressing the edges of the
bandage down. "Relax, dear, I'm just making sure the bandage is on
there well enough," she said.
Satisfied that the doctors and nurses probably did a decent enough
job, she stood, and headed into the kitchen to help my mother get
dinner ready. Meanwhile, Heather, Josh, and Molly came in and sat
down. Josh had a big smile on his face.
"What are you so happy about?" I complained.
"I'm glad to see that she doesn't just mother her own family," he
said with a grin.
Heather laughed out loud, and even Molly had to smile at my
discomfort.
"How come you're home from college?" I asked Heather.
She glanced over at Molly, and then looked at her brother fondly.
"Josh has been calling me almost every day, since last week, letting
me know what's been going on. He called me again last night, and I
knew I had to come home to see what I could do to help out my sister,
so I took the train home. It wasn't until I got home this morning
that I got the whole story about last night."
"I'm not sure I know the whole story about what happened last night,
either, and I was there," I said.
"Well, for one thing, Del Toro's going to be walking funny and
talking with a squeaky voice for a long time," said Josh.
It hurt my mouth and my ribs to laugh, but I couldn't help but join
in as Heather and Molly started laughing out loud, with Josh's guffaw
the loudest of all. The insanity of it all was just too much.
Both sets of parents were bustling around between the kitchen and
the dining room, leaving us to ourselves, until, finally, my mom
called out, "Dinner's ready!"
Josh hopped up and moved to help me up out of the chair, but I waved
him off, and slowly, painfully stood up. Josh and Heather walked
into the dining room, but Molly hung back and waited for me.
"Sean?" she said softly. She moved to my right side, taking my good
elbow to support me. "I wanted to thank you for what you did last
night," she continued.
"Molly, I..."
"No, Sean, let me finish. Please? You stood up for me, when almost
everybody else was writing me off. And I know that Jilly would have
cut my face up if you hadn't gotten in his way."
"Molly..."
"And you're hurt because you were protecting me."
"It wasn't just me, Moll..."
"I know, it was Josh, and Tessa, and Andrea, and that whole group,
and I owe them a lot, but it was really you who saved me, Sean, and I
love you for it."
"Molly, I can't..."
"I will always love you for what you've done, Sean. Promise me
you'll always be my friend?"
"I promise, Molly, but..."
"And I promise I'll always be your friend, Sean." She reached up
and kissed me on my cheek, a surprisingly sisterly kiss. "I'm
swearing off boys for awhile," she said quietly, as she began
steering me toward the dining room. I could hear the murmur of
voices through the doorway, but Molly was speaking too quietly for
them to hear her. "I don't think I could stand the tension of not
knowing... knowing if they're going to turn on me..." There was a
sadness in her voice, a note of disappointment that I was sorry to
hear.
"Listen, Molly, you know that not all boys are as intent on doing
damage as Jilly, or even Joey."
"I know, but even so, I've got some trust issues I need to work on,
so no dating for me for now. You, though, are another story. So,
pal, you want me to help you try to get Kristina Mendoza back?" she
asked.
I stopped and stared at her. The defeated look that she had had for
the past week or more was gone, and the old Molly was reasserting
herself. Her healing processes were well underway, and yet I was
thinking that my own healing had barely started. I had the feeling I
had a long, long road ahead of me.
She smiled sweetly at me. I thought she was secretly glad she could
still surprise me into speechlessness. She gently tugged at my arm
to get me moving again, her arm looped inside mine as we stepped into
the dining room and found our seats.
The dinner conversation stayed carefully away from the events of the
previous night, and nobody even mentioned what had precipitated it
all. Both the O'Tooles and the Porters were trying to recapture a
previous existence, one in which there was no hint of Jilly Del Toro,
no acknowledgement of Joey Amonte, no evidence of any troubles with
the Bulls, or Molly, at all. I wasn't sure that world had ever
really existed for us, but I left it to better imaginations than mine
to fabricate a happier time for all of us that evening. In fact, it
wasn't until Mrs. O'Toole produced a gigantic apple pie, and had cut
wedges of pie and topped each piece with a slice of fresh cheddar
cheese for us all, that any troubling subject at all was broached.
Molly's father stood up. "Sean," began Mr. O'Toole, "I just wanted
to personally thank you for all you did for us over this past week."
"Sir, I..." I wanted to relay to him my own feelings, including how
I had just played a very minor role in helping Molly. In fact, I
really wanted to let everyone know that it was my own stupidity that
got me beat up and put Molly directly in the path of Jilly's
psychotic rage, and that it was Tessa and Austin, Josh and Andrea who
did most of the work, and all of the planning. It was my own lack of
common sense that jeopardized everything. If anybody sitting at our
table that night should have been the recipient of his thanks, it
should have been Josh, for his hard work and planning and his
selfless dedication to his sister, and even Molly, for helping
herself to the best of her abilities. There was so much I needed to
say, to correct his erroneous information, before he embarrassed us
both by praising the wrong party, but before I could continue, and
even before I could collect my thoughts well enough to speak of where
thanks should be directed and where blame should rest, Mr. O'Toole
just steamrolled right over my objections.
"Let me finish, Sean, please," he continued. "I know that there
have been others who were involved in this whole mess. In fact, I
owe a big debt of gratitude to my own son, and I publicly acknowledge
it, right here and now." He gazed at Josh fondly, and patted him on
the back. "However, there was only one person who put himself
directly into harm's way for my daughter, and for that selfless act,
I can only begin to express the gratitude that both Rhonda and I
feel."
Mrs. O'Toole had tears in her eyes, and so did my mom.
"Uh, can I say something now?" I asked. I really felt like I had to
set the record straight.
"Not yet, son," said Mr. O'Toole. He turned to my father. "Jim, I
know you have been concerned about Sean and his injuries, as well as
his involvement in this... problem, and I suspect he has not been
very... forthcoming about how he got hurt. In fact, I don't know the
whole story, either, and I probably never will. Suffice it to say,
however, that your son has done something exceptional. You should be
proud. Both of you, Jim and Dolly, should know that you have raised
an extraordinary young man."
With that, he reached across the table, extending his hand. I
didn't want to cause him any further embarrassment, beyond his
ridiculous praise, so I pushed myself up so I could reach over and
shake his hand with my good hand. In the meantime, Rhonda O'Toole
came around the table and gently put her arm across my shoulders,
taking care not to bump my bandaged left arm.
"Thank you so much, Sean," she whispered tearfully.
This was all getting to be too much. As I sat back down again, I
began, "You know, everyone has gotten entirely the wrong impression
about what I did..."
"Sean?" interrupted Josh.
I looked over to him. "What?" I asked, unhappy with the way he
jumped in on what I needed to say. All these interruptions were
beginning to really piss me off.
"Just shut up," he said. He tried to give me a hard look to back it
up, but then he smiled at me, a toothy, goofy grin.
What could I do? I took his advice and just shut up. I made a
mental vow to myself, though, in that moment. I knew one of my many
great failings was my tendency to not follow through in sticky
situations. I could easily think of lots of times when I made things
worse by not acting. I should have called Kristina that long-ago
Sunday. I should have called Becky that Sunday not so long ago. I
was an idiot. Worse, I was an asshole, and I hurt myself and too
many others by not doing the right thing at the right time. I needed
to change, and that's what I vowed to do.
(Continued in Chapter 21)
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