Break Stuff

Jack, October

Sometimes you just have one of those days. Nothing seems to go right. It's been building up all week, starting with the reporters at the Monday practice. They don't bother me, but all the shit-talking going on behind Peyton's back has been eating at my nerves. The stuff about her in the paper has really pushed Cash and crew over the edge. I was in the locker room after practice Wednesday when I overheard them in the showers.

"One tackle—one fucking tackle—and overnight she's a goddamn star just because she happens to have a pussy," Cash shouted over the sound of running water.

"It's such bullshit," Nolan agreed.

"Are you sure she has a pussy?" Baker asked. "Maybe she's packing sausage."

"Dude! Bro's gotta be a total tranny." Cash laughed. "Anybody wanna place a bet on whether Thomas has a dick?"

It took everything in me not to go ballistic on those motherfuckers. I stood there at my locker clenching and unclenching my fists as I did some deep breathing. I glanced at Marshall to gauge his reaction. Stoic as usual, blank expression. But when he walked out of the room, he pounded Cash's locker with his fist, leaving a sizable dent right next to the latch.

Probably won't be so easy to open now. That made me feel a little better until Thursday when I was on my way to lunch. I saw her and Marshall walking in the hall together, deep in conversation about something.

So when he sat down next to me and Darius, I just up and asked him. "What were you and Thomas talking about?"

He cocked his head to one side, shrugging. "Our English test. And the game tomorrow."

"You guys friends or something now?" I was trying to sound breezy.  

He shrugged again. Man, sometimes he really pisses me off.

"You think she'll play?" I asked.

He raised his eyes from his lunch and stared at me through his hair.

"Marshall, will you stop hiding behind your dreadlocks and have a conversation like a normal person?" I was getting pretty irritated.

The corner of his mouth ticked up ever so slightly, like he was amused or some shit.

Darius chimed in. "They're not dreadlocks, Chaplin. They're two-strand twists."

I stared at him. I really didn't give a shit at that moment.

It's ridiculous. I wanna punch the guys being assholes to her. And I wanna punch the ones who are being nice.

I don't know my ass from my elbow right now.

And then there's Bree.

She's really laying it on pretty thick. I mean, I get it. She's doing everything in her power to hurt Cash the same way he's hurting her. But it's gotten to be like a contest. The more he flirts with Emma, the more Bree hangs all over me. I really don't know how I stumble into these messes.

So when I board the bus for the game in Magnolia, I'm ready to break stuff. I sit by myself toward the back, put in my earbuds, and try to ignore all the chatter. Peyton is two rows up on the other side of the aisle. When we're about halfway there, she pulls a bottle of Pepto Bismol out of her bag and takes a few swigs. Aw, girl. Drowning anxiety in Pepto again. She looks over her shoulder and catches me watching her. She smiles weakly.

That's my cue.

"You excited, Thomas?" I ask as I slide into the seat next to her.

"About to have a nervous breakdown," she replies.

"You'll do fine," I tell her. "You got skills."

"You better not be seen with me," she says. "I'm public enemy number one around here."

She's talking about the article and reporters. She's worried the coaches will bench her again. But with Geno out, we really need her at free safety. We practiced a four-four defense this week, which means we could run with only one safety, Louie Diaz. The corners and backers will cover the pass too. If we run that in tonight's game, I'll be playing both ways as full back and linebacker. I honestly don't know how it'll all shake out.

*****

Well, it went much worse than expected. She was right. Benched. But the main problem wasn't our defense. It was Cash. It was the shittiest I'd ever seen him play. He threw three interceptions and turned over possession on a couple of fumbles. Magnolia's defense scored two touchdowns, both pick-sixes. There wasn't anything we could do on offense, since they knew our go-to play is running me down the middle like a bowling ball. And because I was playing both ways, I didn't have much left in the tank to power through tonight.

We lost 28-0.

But the worst part of all of it wasn't that.

It was Peyton.

After the game, I saw her and Marshall walking out of the women's locker room, together. To say she was upset would be a major understatement. More like totally wrecked. Maybe it's about being benched, but it seemed like more than that. Marshall was likely comforting her, which is good, I guess. They sat together on the bus ride home. I tried to talk to her, but she wasn't herself. I don't really understand, but something was very wrong. It makes me a little sick not knowing what it is.

But at least she has someone, even if it is Marshall and not me.

Some days just never get better.

When we arrive back at the school, I get my stuff together as quick as I can. I need to get the hell outta dodge. I feel like shit. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this week ever happened. I walk out to my truck, and Bree is there waiting for me. She's sitting on the tailgate watching Cash paw all over Emma.

"Hey," I say casually.

"Hey." She hops down and hugs me tight.

"You okay?" Her ponytail smells like hairspray.

She pulls away, taking her trusty bottle of Fireball out of her purse. She downs a couple of gulps. "Better now."

"I'm sure that sitch over there isn't easy to swallow." I nod my head in Cash's direction.

She puffs on her vape, exhaling off to the side. "Well, he played like shit tonight, so at least I don't have to be the one to try and cheer him up."

"Silver linings."

"Yeah." She smiles up at me. "Silver linings."

"You need a ride?" I ask.

"That's okay. I'm spending the night with Hillary, so she'll drive me."

"She been drinking too?"

Bree just shrugs. "Probably."

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"Are you worried about me, Chappie?" She puts her arms around my waist and bats her eyelashes up at me. 

I see movement in my peripheral vision. It's Peyton bolting toward her car. She wrenches the driver's door open and slams it hard behind her. She starts the engine and tears out of the lot.

I was right. Something is very, very wrong.

I look back down at Bree. "I'm worn out, Bree. Think I'm gonna head home."

I walk her over to Hillary and the other cheerleaders, say my goodbyes, and head back to my truck. Something makes me pause for a minute. Then I hear that little high-pitched voice.

"Jack?"

I turn to see Emma standing there.

"Hey Emma."

"Hey, did Peyton leave?"

"Yeah, she tore out of the lot about ten minutes ago."

"Oh. Okay." She twists her mouth and looks off to the side.

"Is she okay? She seemed...sad...or something." I search her face, but if she knows anything, it doesn't show.

"Not sure..." She turns and looks at Cash who's sitting in the cab of his truck watching us. "It's not like her to just...abandon me."

"You need a ride?"

She stands there for a minute thinking. "Hang on," she says. Then she walks to Cash's window. They have a brief conversation before she returns to me.

"It's okay, Cash says he can take me home."

That seems like a bad idea to me, but I guess she really likes him. So, what can I do?

"You sure?"

She nods. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I'm sure."

But I don't get a good feeling about any of this.