Chase

Coach Carter cocks his head and gives me a confused look.

“You want to what, Chase?”

I shrug. “The other guys all do time, so I should too. And the drama department seems like a pretty painless place to volunteer.”

“You’re my captain, though. You have to put in more work than most of the other players. I don’t expect you to sweat your balls off at practice, then dress people up in their…costumes or whatever those drama kids do, and then watch film and get your homework in.”

“Just a couple of practices. I’ve got time. I don’t want the other guys to think I’m getting special treatment.”

“You sure you want drama? You don’t want to make posters with the cheerleaders or something?”

I shake my head. “Drama’s good. Tell ’em I’ll be there tomorrow.”

He gives me one more confused look before agreeing. “Okay, but if your game or grades are sliding, you’re out.”

“I understand.”

I jog back over to run the next play at practice, doing it on autopilot. Jack Pearson paints scenery when he gets assigned to help the drama club, so hopefully that’s what I’ll be doing too. I’ll paint anything if it means I can be near Gin.

After seeing her at the Y the other night, I can’t get her off my mind. I’ve known her since kindergarten, but since offering Gin the rose, it feels like I’ve met a new girl. I’m intrigued and wondering why I’ve always written her off as quiet and disinterested in everything.

My mind is only half on practice, but that’s enough. Coach is often telling me to dial it back at practice, anyway, and save my fire for game night.

I’m not feeling any fire this week. At least, not for football. When practice is over, I take a quick shower, eager to get home and finish my English paper. I’m pulling a clean T-shirt over my head when Jack Pearson’s words make me freeze.

“That bitch needs her cunt thawed out. She owes me a fuck.” He laughs, and some other guys join in.

I slam my locker door closed and walk over to him. “Who’s that, Jack?”

His expression fades from a grin into a sneer. “You know who.”

“Gin? ’Cause I distinctly remember telling everyone to leave her alone.”

He shrugs. “Last time I checked, you weren’t my daddy.”

The room goes still with quiet. I step closer to him. “I’m your captain. And I’m not gonna tell you again. Leave Gin alone.”

“What the fuck is up with you sticking up for her? She’s a frigid—”

I shove one of his shoulders, and he stumbles back.

“Say one more word—” I point at him “—or go near her one more time, and you’ll be sorry.”

He scoffs and looks around at our teammates. Most of them are looking at the ground, the lockers—anywhere but at him.

“I see how it is.” He laughs bitterly. “Bunch of fuckin’ pussies.”

I turn, grab my gym bag, and leave the locker room, not looking back. None of the other guys has said much about Gin—not to me anyway. Jack seems to have it out for her, though. He needs to let it go.

Usually, I catch a ride home from Sam, but today I don’t feel like talking, so I walk.

Roper’s small downtown is nearly full of locally owned businesses. Somehow, they hang in there, though most of the buildings could use some work. People here are loyal and willing to pay more to shop local.

I scan the windows of the sporting goods store, Peyton’s. It’s a sea of red inside, all jerseys and T-shirts supporting the team. Every pair of shoes I’ve ever owned has come from Peyton’s. Same with my sisters.

I pass a dog groomer’s shop, a hair salon, and a small diner that’s full every morning. Occasionally, a business will close down, but someone always opens up another one in that spot. Nothing much changes in Roper, and I’ve always liked that.

Lately, though, I feel restless. I’m torn between wanting to get the hell out of here and away from my dad and needing to stay close to look after my mom and sisters.

I cross through the intersection leading from downtown to a residential neighborhood. All the houses are simple one- or two-stories with aluminum siding and maybe a one-stall garage. This neighborhood is a lot like mine, full of working-class homes most Roper kids grow up in.

There are a few exceptions—doctors and lawyers who build fancy houses on the outskirts of town, but for most of us, this is life. Not just life during childhood, but after that too. Kids like my dad make big plans to leave here after high school but then end up staying forever.

Not me, though. Whether I go to college near here or far away, I’m making it out of Roper. I’m going to give my mom and sisters a better life than they have here, and football is my golden ticket.

Kids from school wave at me as they drive by in cars their parents bought them. I’ve saved money from working in the football off-season, doing farm labor, construction, or any other odd jobs that require a broad back and strong arms. I’ve thought about buying a car, because it would make my life easier. But I’m afraid to part with the money. If my dad loses his shit some night and really hurts my mom, I know she doesn’t have access to any money. He controls all that. My stash of cash would be enough to get my mom and sisters somewhere safe.

It takes me about half an hour to get home, and when I walk in, my mom is pouring something into a pan in the kitchen.

“Hey, whatcha makin’?” I ask.

“Cornbread, to go with chili for dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

She smiles. “How was p—”

“Chase.” My dad walks into the kitchen, stops, and crosses his arms.

A bitter taste fills my mouth. I can hardly even stand to be in the same room with my old man anymore. But I can’t let him see that, for my mom’s sake.

“Yeah?”

“I got a call from the Bama coach today. They need a commitment.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as I try to figure out a response.

“I know we said either Ohio State or Bama,” he says, “but I’m leaning toward Bama.”

He said either Ohio State or Bama. I’ve been seriously considering FSU, because Florida is a long-ass drive from Missouri.

“I’m not ready to commit yet, Dad.”

“You’ve been saying that for long enough. We’re way past the hand-wringing now. If you don’t commit, someone else will. We can’t lose your spot.”

“I need more time.”

“For what?” he yells, his face reddening with anger. “Get your thumb out of your ass, Chase. We need to sign with Bama.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head toward my bedroom. “I’ve got lots of homework. Can we talk about this later?”

“I told the coach you’re ready.”

I sigh heavily and drop my head. “I’ll be ready soon.”

“You’ll be ready when he comes here with your letter of intent.”

I don’t say anything else—it’ll only antagonize him. Instead, I go to my room and sit down on my bed to work on my English paper. Or at least look like I am. My head’s definitely not in it.

Most guys on my team would kill to have any of the schools after them that have offered me a full ride. They think I haven’t committed because I’m playing hard to get.

My dad’s right—it’s past time. Coach Carter keeps telling me the same thing. But I’m too torn up over it. No place seems like the right one.

I take out my phone and text Gin.

Me: What are you doing?

Gin: Trying to cut plywood. It’s harder than it looks.

Me: Huh, am I s’posed to ignore the hard wood jokes right now?

Gin: That would be good since I just cut my finger and I’m unlikely to laugh.

Me: You’re not using a power saw or anything, are you? You can really hurt yourself with those.

Gin: Don’t worry, all my digits are still attached… So what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?

Me: It’s over. And I’m trying to make a hard decision.

Gin: Blond, brunette, or redhead? I vote brunette.

I smile at the phone screen and almost laugh, which felt impossible five minutes ago.

Me: Naturally, bc you’re a brunette…

Gin: No, I’m not. Brunette means brown. My hair is the color of the grim reaper’s robe.

Me: Is death’s robe bright red?

Gin: Shut up. You know what I mean.

Me: Why do you color your hair?

Gin: Because I like it this color.

Me: I don’t believe you.

Gin: I don’t care. Are we done here?

Me: No. When are we going out for pizza?

Gin: Can I text you later? I have to finish these cuts. The freshmen are all staring at me with open mouths and paintbrushes in their hand.

Me: Yeah. Don’t forget.

Gin: I won’t.

I toss my phone on the bed and try to focus on my paper. When my mom announces dinner’s ready a few minutes later, I go into the kitchen and pick up my bowl and spoon from the table.

“Whoa, whoa,” my dad says. “Sit down. We need to talk about Bama.”

“I’ve got a paper to write, and then I have to watch film for the game. I have a thing after practice tomorrow, so this is the only night I can do it.”

He lowers his brows, frustrated. I know the asshole well, though, so I know how to buy myself at least a few more days.

“Can you watch the film with me?” I ask him. “I could use some help analyzing their defense.”

His brows shoot upward in surprise. “Sure. Just come find me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

I glance at my mom, who gives me a grateful look. I just saved her entire evening. Asking my dad for advice, which I rarely do, will mean he’s in a good mood for a while.

It’s fucking ridiculous that the only person in this house we have to tread carefully around is one of the adults. My sisters both have their heads down. They’re focused on eating and getting the hell out of there, like I usually am.

I eat alone in my room, finish my paper, and then watch some film with my dad. He has a notebook and pen ready, and he takes notes as we watch and rewind the film.

If he weren’t such a dick, I’d appreciate his enthusiasm. But I know none of this is about me. Not the film, not the college choice, not any of it. It’s about him making me into the person he planned to be.

I’m in bed scrolling through social media when Gin finally texts at almost 10:00 p.m.

Gin: So did the brunette win out?

Me: It’s a different decision, smartass.

Gin: Hmmm…what other decisions do football players make?

Me: You’d be surprised.

Gin: Anything I can help with?

Me: I don’t know…

Gin: If it’s pie or cake—pie. Bath or shower—bath. Bacon or any other food in the universe—bacon. Does that help?

Me: Helps me know I should ask you out for breakfast instead of pizza.

Gin: Ha.

Me: I’m trying to decide what school to go to.

Gin: I thought you had a full ride somewhere?

Me: I do, but there’s more than one school to choose from.

Gin: I see.

Me: I know it’s a “problem” most people would love to have…

Gin: No, it’s a big decision. I get it.

Me: Do you know where you’re going?

Gin: NYU.

Me: Wow, New York?

Gin: Yep.

Me: You didn’t think about anywhere else?

Gin: No. I’ve always known it was NYU.

Me: I wish I knew where I’m supposed to go.

Gin: What schools are you thinking about?

Me: I like University of Iowa and Penn State. My dad likes Alabama and Ohio State.

Gin: You’re the one who has to go there. You make the decision.

Me: I wish it were that simple.

Gin: It is.

Me: Did you get your wood cut?

Gin: I did. It only took about seven times longer than it takes the guy who usually cuts it for me.

Me: Hey, at least you did it.

Gin: I’m falling asleep…

Me: Go to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Gin: Okay. Bye.

I grin at her awkward signoff.

Me: Night, Gin.