RUNNING BACK

Chapter 34: You Can't Teach Heart

My dad is right. I can't give up. I have to fight.

The next morning, I climb out of my cocoon, dreading the day. Normally I don't give much thought to my wardrobe, but today I make it a point of wearing extra baggy Levi's with my oversized T-shirt. I've got zero appetite, but I do manage to choke down some coffee on the car ride there.

Emma rides with me to school, and I let her play Taylor Swift the entire drive. She's lip syncing the words to "Shake it Off," pretending her hairbrush is a microphone. This is her way of lightening the mood, and trying to take my mind off what awaits me.

I grudgingly admit that even though she's a big pain in the ass most of the time, at the end of the day, she's a pretty good kid. I need her. Especially today. She's going to be my perky bow-topped buffer.

When we pull into the parking lot, there's a group loitering there. We get closer, and I see who is assembled: Jack, Beto, Darius, Rafa, Louie, Geno, Lucas, and Marshall.

I reluctantly step out of my car, eyeballing them suspiciously. What do they want?

"Hey," pipes up Emma. "What's going on?"

Jack steps forward and speaks for the group. "We're here to escort you and your sister to class."

"Oh. Okay..." She's loving the attention, a giant smile splitting her face.

Everyone satellites around Emma and me, and we move together as a constellation towards the school. Tears pop into my eyes, but I'm not going to let anyone see me cry.

This has become a mantra I repeat over and over in my head.

Someone cleaned up my locker—the outside and inside, restoring the contents to their former condition. My books are brand new, and the notebooks containing all of my work have been dried out and preserved. Someone did all of this for me. That damn lump expands in my throat.

I'm not going to let anyone see me cry.

I take my books out of my locker and find a note—the contents of which are so vile I can't even talk about it—tucked into my biology book. I read it during class after walking to my seat while the other students gawk and murmur around me.

But I'm not going to let anyone see me cry.

I hear people talking and they point at me in the hall, whispering behind their binders, eyes following me as I pass.

I'm not going to let anyone see me cry.

I have cried enough to last me the next twenty years. I am so over crying.

*****

At the end of the school day, I just go home. No football for me. I'm not allowed back. I don't know if I even want to go back.

Is it worth it?

The past few days makes it seem not worth it.

*****

On Friday night, I listen to the game on the radio, at home alone, in my bedroom. I suppose I could have gone and sat in the stands, but it's an away game, at Vidor High outside of Beaumont. The effort is too much.

We lose. Forty-nine to fourteen.

It's quite a trek home on that rickety old school bus, and I can't say I envy them the ride. I still wish I could have been there for them.

I exchange texts with Jack about the slaughter. He tells me they had a strong passing game, and our coverage had gaps. They also had a fast running back who was shifty. The worst part was our offense couldn't keep the ball for very long, putting a lot of pressure on an already over-strained defense.