NOVEMBER 21, 2009
At Paige’s house, we watch Tyler’s favorite movie, Never Back Down, about a football star who moves to a new school and becomes a champion freestyle fighter. Colt O’Connor, the tight end who says that the person he’d most like to have dinner with would be Megan Fox, is there too, since he and Paige are kind of together now. So are Madison and Cody Chandler, the leprechaun ghetto wannabe.
That whole group hasn’t accepted me so much as they put up with me because of Tyler. I don’t feel any more or less out of place with them than I do anywhere else. Being with Tyler is its own space. Whenever I am with him I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Plus, I like thinking about the mad sex that they imagine Tyler and I are having.
We are all flopped around on Paige’s long leather sectional couch like puppies in a litter, lying on top of one another, legs hanging over the back of the couch, half our bodies sliding over onto the floor. Tyler is semispooning me from behind but not really touching me. Then the star executes a flying kick to someone’s face, Cody bellows, “Oh no, you dinnit!” and Tyler laughs in a way that presses his crotch firmly against my butt.
He is hard. Like, industrial-strength hard.
Is it because of the freestyle fighter in the movie who has an amazing body? Or me?
“Hey, Ty-Mo!” Paige’s father comes in and we all sit up. Mr. Winslow is a project manager on big construction sites. He and Madison’s father are in a group that trains for marathons together. I gather that all the marathon training is causing trouble at Madison’s house. Madison’s eyes are always red like she’s been crying and I heard her say something about staying at her father’s place, like maybe he’s not living at home anymore.
Tyler stretches like he is working the kinks out of his back, casually grabs a pillow, and drops it onto his lap. Mr. Winslow is holding a platter of chicken wings in one hand. He balls the other into a fist and holds it out to Tyler, who obligingly bumps it, then takes a wing.
“What’s shakin’ with the recruiters?”
“Not what I hear. I hear those scouts have been out there watching you since preseason scrimmage.”
“There’s been some interest.”
“Yeah, like they’re flying you all over. So what are you thinking? Southeastern State?”
“Southeastern’s a good school.”
“Goddamn effing great school’s what it is.”
“So you’re a Timber Wolf?”
Mr. Winslow holds his hand up like a paw and growls like what I assume is a timber wolf.
Tyler tips his forefinger toward Mr. Winslow. “Go, Wolves.”
“The athletic director was a Pike with me. I’ll put in a good word for you. Not that you need it, but can’t hurt.”
Tyler nods. “Can’t hurt.”
Mr. Winslow puts the platter down. “I’m going to send him an e-mail right now.”
“Cool.”
After he leaves Cody says, “You didn’t tell me you were going with Southeastern.”
Tyler tosses the untouched wing back on the platter. “Southeastern can suck my dick.”
When he takes me home, Tyler asks me to stop coming to practices. He says he wants to keep us completely separate from football. Us. The word sings through my brain.
I like to think that Tyler doesn’t want to talk about college because it means we’ll be separated. It is what I like to think, but I know that is not the real reason. Maybe, like me, he doesn’t even know the real reason.
Before he lets me out, I glance down at his crotch and get my answer: It was not the freestyle fighter in the movie. It was me.
I not only stop going to practices, but I make a point of never even asking about the games.
Simple. Like the quarry.