Chapter 3

Carter

High School

- Good practice, guys, but it is too early to relax! The goal comes before everything! By the time we play Jefferson High, I want every one of you to know exactly why he stepped onto that field and be ready to tear the win from the Bulldogs with his teeth! Is that clear?

- Yes, sir!

- Lucas, you are still rocking your stick when the ball hits the pocket. How many times do I have to say it: use the momentum, don't kill it! Loosen your top hand. Got it?

- Yes, sir!

- Nicholas, pay attention to your release and your speed. Remember, as an attackman, you are responsible for fast breaks and moving the ball in the offensive half. Never mind scoring goals. Use your brain, not just your muscle! Work the attack zone with controlled aggression. You picked up two penalties again, kid! What the hell, Holt?! When we play the Bulldogs, I need you on the field, not in the penalty box!

- I'll fix it, sir!

- Carter Wright...

- Yes, sir.

The coach's voice drops, and the locker room gets quieter. I take off my helmet and pull my shirt over my head. Wipe my sweaty neck with it. A few of the guys let out sympathetic sighs. Coach Hurley is a hard man, and everyone knows it. Just as everyone knows I do not like obeying rules. But I am still here, on the Ellison High School Golden Eagles lacrosse team, and everyone is curious why. I think if they knew the reason, it would surprise them. A lot of guys here are only doing this to get into college.

It is still too early for me to think about that.

- Sometimes, Wright, - Coach Hurley says, clasping his hands behind his back and pressing his lips together after every word, - I think you are made of some fiber I don't know, with a different tensile strength. Excellent game, kid!

- Thank you, sir.

- If you keep playing like that, all of us may have a shot at kicking the Bulldogs' asses this year. I am keeping you at attacking midfielder, and I am counting on you. Simon Adams?

- Yes, sir!

- Kid, those long arms of yours belong on defense! You go into the game in Wright's spot! Everybody understand? In two practices we finalize the roster!

There are two dozen people in the locker room, but everyone answers in unison:

- Yes, sir!

I am one of the first into the showers. I rinse the adrenaline-soaked sweat from my skin, but when I step out of the stall, Simon Adams is waiting for me: black as night, and just as predictable. He is a grade ahead of me, bigger and taller than I am, and after what the coach said, he thinks he has the right to take his anger out on me.

I cannot say it comes as a surprise. After Hurley's last decision to switch our spots, I was sure we would clash. Simon's authority on the varsity team, which Nick, Lucas, and I had only just moved up to, was too high for him to ignore my four points. But since the coach has decided to let us settle it ourselves, I hit back.

We trade blows almost silently. Mine are faster and sharper, and soon they turn into a combination. In the roar of tight streams of water hitting tile, our breathing blurs and our ragged exhales die out. It is almost a shame he miscalculated. It ends too fast.

When I walk back into the locker room with a towel wrapped around my hips, Simon is still on all fours, spitting blood onto the floor and trying to get up. Surprised and disappointed by the strength that failed him.

Fine. Very soon he will want a rematch, and it will cost him even more.

The older guys glance sideways at me, and Nick laughs, leaning against a locker:

- So, guys? I warned Adams it was better not to ask for trouble. Bet he doesn't come out of the showers for at least three minutes... Hey, Adams! - Nick yells. - Want me to call your mommy? Or should I call your girl right away so she can lick your wounds?.. Who knows, maybe you'll get something extra out of pity? Oh, shit, guys, I would watch that!

- Shut up, Holt! - I go to my locker and put on my boxers. Then I pull on my jeans, sneakers, and finally my hoodie. The tension after the game and the fight keeps my body pleasantly tuned. I like moments like this. Running my mouth, not so much. But Nick enjoys it, and he keeps mocking Adams while Adams is out of the locker room.

To hell with him! I am not worried about Holt. After all, he is almost as unhinged an asshole as I am. If he wants to get punched in the face, that is his business.

The locker room reeks thickly of sweaty bodies. I shove my dirty clothes into my gym bag, zip it, and head for the exit. Pushing the door into the hallway, I warn my friends:

- I'll wait for you outside!

- Okay, Wright!

I pass the gym, continue down the hall, and step out into the schoolyard on the parking-lot side. October is warm this year, and students are still sitting on the wooden benches: some waiting for parents, others just hanging around and talking. This big school has enough sports teams and stupid activities like the ones my brother is into to keep everyone busy. So it is usually noisy here until evening.

When they notice me, a couple of little brats jerk up from the nearest bench and clear out toward the open stadium bleachers. Excellent.

I walk to the bench, toss my bag onto it, and sit down, dropping my shoulders heavily against the backrest. A familiar thought starts hammering in my head again: if only I could get my license already instead of sitting here like an idiot waiting for the school bus. But damn it, I can already feel this year turning into the longest one of my life, and the fight with Simon does not feel satisfying.

- Hey, Carter! Are you done already? I was afraid you would be late again. How did practice go?

I turn my head (though I do not need to; I know the guy's voice almost better than my own) and see Alex. He comes closer, slips his backpack off his shoulder, and sets it beside my bag. He claps me on the shoulder, sits on the bench, and stretches out his legs. With a tired sigh, he drags a hand over his face:

- What a day. Two articles, both urgent. Looks like you were right about our secretary, Miss Moran. She likes exploiting me. I can see it myself now.

- And what did the sly old toad need this time?

Alex frowns at my words, presses his lips together, but answers:

- Nonsense for the Sandfield Rock town news! The usual thank-you to the sponsors on behalf of the students and administration. A colorful report on what our school is doing in the new academic year and how we support our good mayor, Bolton. Nothing new, Carter, believe me. Kevin and I wrote about the exact same thing last year!

- Lame.

- Exactly. But that is not the main thing. She won't let me write what I want, do you understand? She calls my articles insufficiently tolerant and plans to discuss them at a school committee meeting!

Alex sighs, and now I clap him on the shoulder.

- Let it go, Al! Moran is an old, battle-hardened feminist who actually gives a damn about you. She doesn't want you to trip yourself up. You just do not get that yet.

- I am trying, Carter...

- But?