Chase

My thirty-yard throw to Jack is perfect. He catches it and covers the short distance to the end zone, adding another cherry on top of our 39-12 victory.

The crowd is cheering and the guys are celebrating, but I feel like I’m not completely here right now. I played tonight’s game on autopilot, making the throws and running the plays that have become second nature to me.

My head’s been elsewhere all day. When I gave Sophie Chambers a rose this morning, I smiled and she smiled as what felt like the whole school looked on. They seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief that things are back to normal now.

They all knew we’d win tonight. They all knew Sophie was the one we’d decided as a team was hot enough to celebrate with us tonight. And while that all felt slightly wrong this morning, I chalked it up to my mojo being off from Gin saying no last week. To maybe being a little bit over high school football in general. Ready to move on to a bigger game, where I have to bust my ass just to hold my spot on the team.

But then I saw Michelle Zimmerman. She’s a senior, like me, and today was her first day back at school after a thirty-day stay at rehab. Everyone knew her drinking had gotten worse the past several months, and that she was dabbling in some pretty hard drugs.

None of us had guessed she’d try to kill herself, though. Her mom had found her in bed with an empty pill bottle on the floor, and she’d had to get drugs pumped out of her stomach and then she’d been admitted to rehab.

And now, she’s back, but one look at her told me she’s not the same girl we all knew before. She’s thinner, to the point of looking frail. Her long blond hair is cut to shoulder length now and pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. And even though it’s still warm enough for shorts and T-shirts this mid-September, she’s wearing pants and a baggy shirt with long sleeves.

I never knew Michelle well. It set in when I was thinking that, how weird it is to say that about someone I’ve had sex with, but it’s true. She was one of the Sweet Sixteen last year.

She enjoyed it. They all do. But when I saw her this morning—when she saw me looking at her from across the hall and her eyes locked on mine, I almost stumbled back from the wave of emotion I felt coming off of her.

Was she just calling me out for looking at her, like everyone else is today? Or was she trying to tell me something? It wasn’t a kind look. It was more like she was telling me she’s stripped bare now, all the way down to the bone. More naked than she was that drunken night last year. And that I’m more a part of what’s happened to her since than I want to admit.

“Hey, you need a ride to the cabin?” Jack asks me as we walk to the locker room after the game.

“Nah. I actually think I pulled my groin.”

“Shit, how?”

I shrug. “No idea.”

“You’re not pussing out on the party. Put some ice on your crotch and drink a few beers, you’ll be good.”

I nod, just to get him off my back. My groin is fine, but I thought up the lie earlier so I won’t have to explain why I’m not fucking Sophie.

I wasn’t feeling it anyway, but after the way Michelle looked at me earlier, it’s not an option. I can’t even think straight—much less think about sex—until I figure things out.

What I really want is to talk things over with Gin. Her unfiltered honesty is what I need, and I trust her. That’ll have to wait, though. There are a couple other things I have to do first, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

After a quick shower, I dress and head for the concession stand. My dad’s there in his usual spot, breaking down the game with friends at a picnic table. His eyes light up when he sees me.

“Good game, son.” He stands and claps me on the shoulder.

I smile and thank him, though the words taste bitter. He never calls me “son” unless we’re around other people.

“Hey, can I borrow your truck?” I ask him.

He fishes for the keys in the pocket of his jeans and passes them to me. “You got it. Have a good time.”

I could’ve asked him if I could commit murder, and he would have smiled and said yes. As long as we get the win, nothing else matters.

Nothing. And that’s why my stomach’s been churning all damn day.

I thank my dad, and he tells me where to find the truck. I get stopped several times on the way to the parking lot by people who want to congratulate me or ask me about the game. One of those times, it’s my sister Cassie who stops me.

“Hey, Dad said you’re taking his truck. Are you going to the party? Can I come with you?”

“No.” I say it more forcefully than I meant to.

Cassie crosses her arms and cocks her head. “Why not? I’m old enough.”

“No, you’re not. Go home, Cass. Or go get pizza with your friends. You’re not going to the party.”

“Come on, Chase. Please?”

“Look, that’s not even where I’m going. I’ll give you a ride somewhere else if you want.”

She considers. “Okay, let me tell my friends.”

I assume she means tell them she’s leaving with me, but instead, I find myself in the truck with Cassie and three of her giggling sophomore friends. One of them rolls down the passenger side window on the way out of the parking lot, and they all wave and call out to people.

I wish I felt a shred of their energy. Instead, I feel beat down. It’s partly physical from the game, but mostly mental.

The whole way to the girl’s house I’m taking them to, I grip the steering wheel hard, questions racing through my mind. After dropping them off, I make the ten-minute drive to Michelle’s, parking on the street in front of her family’s two-story brick home on a tree-lined street.

It’s a quiet neighborhood with nice sidewalks—a notch above the average Roper one. I’m halfway up the sidewalk leading to the front door when I stop.

I shouldn’t have come here. It was her first day back at school, and she’s been through a lot. I’m not even a friend of hers.

But something makes me keep walking. I need an answer to the question that’s been bothering me since seeing her in the hallway this morning.

The lights are still on in the living room, so I knock softly at the front door. After a minute or so, a man with graying hair opens the door, giving me a puzzled look.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m sorry for coming by so late, sir. I was wondering if Michelle is here.”

He furrows his brow and then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, she’s—”

“It’s okay, Dad.” Michelle approaches from behind him.

He looks at her skeptically, concern etched on his face.

“It’s okay,” she says again.

He steps aside, and Michelle looks at me.

“What are you doing here, Chase?”

I sigh softly. What am I doing here? I’m supposed to be on the way to the party, to drink away my troubles.

“Can we talk for a minute?” I ask.

Her dad opens his mouth to protest, so I add, “Just sitting on the front step, maybe?”

“Yeah.” Michelle gives her dad a weak smile of reassurance and then steps outside, closing the door behind her.

She sits down first, and when I join her, I make sure to leave a foot of space between us. I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. That’s an odd thought to have, though, given our history.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I say. “How was the first day?”

She shrugs. “About as expected. Lots of staring and whispering. People trying to get a look at my wrists to see if there are slash marks, even though I used pills.”

A few moments of awkward silence hang in the cool night air.

“What are you doing here?” Michelle asks again. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the party?”

“I need to ask you something. I don’t know if I’m a dick for coming over here on your first day back and bringing up something that might make you feel bad, but—”

Her laugh is humorless. “I’ve spent the past thirty days talking for hours every day about stuff that makes me feel bad. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

I take a deep breath and go for it. “Did the Sweet Sixteen thing have anything to do with…what happened?”

Michelle arches her brows in surprise. “With my suicide attempt, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Her exhale sounds heavy. “Look, I’m just trying to get by at school. I don’t need anyone getting pissed off at me. I missed a month of schoolwork, and I’m really behind.”

“This will stay between us. No one will even know I came over here, you have my word. I just need to know for myself.”

There’s another silence, but this one doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable. I pick up a rock from the flower bed next to the front step, rubbing my thumb over its smooth surface as I wait.

After a little while, Michelle responds.

“I guess that was kind of the beginning for me. When you gave me that rose, I felt…I don’t know, validated. Other girls were jealous. I’ve always been skinny, and I’ll never have the curves I wish I did. But when the time came, doing it…I guess it felt like the price I needed to pay for popularity. The only socially acceptable answer was yes. Saying no… wasn’t even an option. And after it was over, I drank for the first time. I overdid it and got so sick. But that became my solution. Something bad happens, or things get overwhelming—just drink it away. Then I got introduced to drugs. They were cheaper and easier than booze for me. And saying no never felt like an option to me. I see now that it was, though.” She blows out a breath and turns to me. “I don’t know, did that answer your question?”

I swallow, staring across her front yard at the glowing lamp on the post. “You didn’t…enjoy it, then?”

Her eyes bulge, and she shakes her head. “I mean, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but…no. I was terrified. Everyone was seeing me naked, and I knew it was going to hurt, and…like I said, I saw it as a price to be paid. A ticket into a club that would make me popular. So other girls would envy me.”

I turn toward the flower bed, a wave of nausea making me want to bend over and throw up. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

When I turn back to face Michelle, I say, “I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry. If I had known—”

She gives me a pitying smile. “You had to know. Those parties aren’t for the girls, Chase. They’re for the football team. Do you really think any girl could honestly enjoy that? Why do you think they’re usually drunk before it even starts?”

I shake my head. “I guess I’m a fucking idiot. I’ve just said what all the guys who were older than me said when I was a freshman playing football. It’s consensual, they can change their minds…”

“Oh my God.” Michelle wraps her arms around herself. “What would happen to a girl who changed her mind, though?”

“I’ll never do it again.” I look into her eyes, hoping she can feel my sincerity. “I’m sorry I was such a stupid asshole.”

Michelle’s expression softens. “It wasn’t just that, Chase. I made a series of really bad decisions that led to my suicide attempt.”

“I know, but…it’s not right. That’s what I’m hearing from you. It made you feel…”

“Gross,” she finishes for me. “Your first time being with twelve guys—or however many it was—is gross. When we talked about it in rehab, I realized someday when I have a boyfriend from somewhere else, I’ll have to tell him about it.”

“The right kind of guy won’t blame you for it.”

“I hope. But I’m also a recovering addict, and I attempted suicide. I’ve got lots of baggage.”

“You’re a survivor. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I can’t say the same.”

She rubs her hands up and down her arms. I wish I had a hoodie to offer her, but I’m just wearing my dress shirt from after the game.

“You’re the first person to talk to me today. Other than teachers and my parents, I mean. I ate my lunch alone in my car. So…thanks, I guess.”

“Keep your chin up. It’ll get better. And I know this is awkward as fuck, but if you ever need a friend…to talk or whatever, call me.”

“Thanks.” She turns back to look at her front door. “I should get inside. My parents worry about me every second now.”

I feel an urge to apologize to her, but I already did that—twice—so I just stand up and say nothing.

“See you at school,” she says.

“See you.”

I walk back to the truck in a daze, just sitting there for a full minute after I get in without starting it.

I’m an asshole. All my life, I’ve sworn I wouldn’t turn out like my dad, and I just found out that, like him, I’m a complete asshole. I don’t even know what to do with the realization.

When I start up the truck and put it in drive, I know there’s no way I’m going to that party. I’ve done more than enough damage already.

I can’t even text Gin tonight. If I tell her I see now what she’s been saying all along about the Sweet Sixteen, her I told you so’s might make me actually throw up. I’m already on the edge of it.

Instead, I drive home. As I park in the driveway, I hope to hell my old man’s out drinking with his buddies because I can’t even stand to look at him right now.

Turns out I’m a chip off the old block I hate so much.