Suddenly our eyes meet. There’s a strange expression on his face.
I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure he hates my guts.
54. percentages.
The guys are really excited in the locker room after the rally. Rodriguez is describing some girl in the crowd who was giving him the eye.
Coach says, “Can I get your attention, gentlemen?”
People stop talking. There’s a creaking sound as the wheelchair guy slowly rolls in.
“Holt!” someone shouts, and the guys run over to him, shaking his hand and patting him on the back.
“Who’s that?” I ask Cheesy, but he ignores me and joins the group.
“How’re you feeling?” O. asks as he gently taps Holt’s cast.
“Better every day,” Holt says. “Another four and I’ll be up walking again. That’s what the doctor says.”
“Four weeks!” Rodriguez says.
“Months,” Holt says.
“Oh,” Rodriguez says.
“Hey, I want you to meet someone,” O. says. He waves me over.
“This the new guy?” Holt says.
O. nods.
Now that I’m close to him, I can see that Holt’s huge. He only looks small because he’s sitting in the chair.
“Are you tough?” Holt says with a smirk.
“He’s hard-core,” Bison says.
“He’d better be,” Holt says, and everyone chuckles uncomfortably.
“Hey, Coach,” Holt says, “you ready for Everest?”
“More than ready,” Coach says.
Holt’s face goes slack. He looks up at O. “Sorry I let you down,” he says.
“You didn’t let me down,” O. says.
“I let you all down,” Holt tells the team. They grunt, disagreeing with him.
Coach interrupts. “It’s time to hit the field,” he says. He looks down at Holt. “You want to watch practice? Get a little of the old flavor?”
“Nah,” Holt says. “I got things to do.”
Coach says, “All right then. Let’s motivate, ladies.”
The guys bark like Marines and head for the stairs. I check my sock and realize I forgot my backup inhaler. I’m taking the pills now, so I probably won’t need it. But I have to keep it with me just in case. That’s what the doctor told Mom.
I run over to my locker to get it. When I come back, Holt is still there.
“You know who I am?” he says.
“No.”
He grunts. “They didn’t tell you, huh? Out of sight, out of mind.”
“What happened to you?” I say.
He looks down at his cast. “Broken in three places. More than broken. Shat-tered.”
He says the word like it’s got extra syllables.
“That sucks,” I say.
“Not your fault,” he says. “Everest.”
There’s that name again. The mountain in the Himalayas. I’m thinking maybe Holt went on a climbing expedition and fell. It’s not like a lot of high-school kids have climbed Everest, but then again, we’re in Newton. There’s plenty of money floating around. You get back from winter break, and people have pictures from African safaris and stuff like that.
“I have to get to practice,” I say.
“Sure, bud,” he says. “Keep your head down out there.”
“I will.”
I climb the stairs towards the field. At the top, I sneak a glance back down.
Holt is sitting there, not moving, staring at the lockers like he’s looking for something that’s not there anymore.
“What’s Everest?” I ask O. in the huddle.
“Nothing to worry about,” he says.
“He’s a friggin’ monster,” Cheesy says.
“Shut up, Cheesy!” one of the guys says.
“You can handle him,” O. says.
“It’s a person?” I say.
O. seems upset now. He ignores my question and calls the Trojan Horse.
It’s our big sneak play. Pretend to hand the ball to a guy who can run, then hand it to a guy who can’t.
Me.
It’s a great fake-out. Even our own team gets fooled by it in scrimmages.
That’s what happens now. O. fakes the handoff to Bison then drops the ball into my bread basket. An opening appears in the defense right in front of me. So I take it.
I run for all I’m worth. I’d like to score a touchdown against our own guys. That’s would feel good. I see the goal line coming up before me. I’m pretty sure I’m home free when someone hits me from behind and I go down hard. I struggle to turn over, and I end up face-to-face with the Neck.
“Get out now,” he says.
I’m in shock. He hasn’t said more than two words to me the whole year.
“I’m not a quitter,” I say.
“You’re going to get hurt,” he says.
“Screw you. You’ve been trying to get rid of me from the very beginning.”
“You got it wrong,” he says.
Coach is blowing the whistle, but the Neck isn’t moving. He’s lying on top of me, talking to me quietly, three inches from my face.
“Listen to me,” he says. “Holt was you last year.”
“What happened to him?”
“Everest happened.”
Guys are running over and shouting for us to break it up. They think maybe we’re fighting. The Neck talks even faster.
“You think you’re popular,” he says. “You think you’re part of the team, but you’re not.”
I think about the team in my living room the other day. Everyone except the Neck.
“Go to hell,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That’s when the guys pull him off me.
I lie on the field, his words bouncing around inside my helmet.
One percent of me doesn’t believe a word he said.
The other 99 percent knows it’s true.
55. man meets mountain.
I make it to the school library fifteen minutes before it closes. I jump online to look at archived copies of The Newtonite.
I’ve never really read the newspaper before. Who reads their school newspaper, right? I mean, unless you’re in it, then you examine it like it’s the Dead Sea Scrolls. I’ve been in it exactly once, a group photo of the Model UN team going to New York City last year. I made sure I was in the back row peeking out from behind Eytan so my fat wouldn’t show. I brought home two copies, one to put on Dad’s desk, and one to give to Mom.
I’ve never taken the paper too seriously, but I take it seriously now.
I read the sports section.
I read about O.’s amazing performance last season. I read a sports column that claims Newton is not an amazing all-around team, but more of a good team with one amazing player. The column says that O. is so good, he’s like human steroids. He boosts the performance of everyone who comes in contact with him.
I find another article about O.’s chances of playing college ball, how even in his junior year scouts were looking at him. Division One scouts. That’s unusual for Newton.
I follow the team’s record last year. Win after win. They add up during the season until it seems all but fated that they will have a perfect record. The perfect season with the perfect quarterback.
Until the Brookline game.
Until Everest.
Junior Injured in Football Game.
That’s what the headline says. There’s a picture of a bunch of players in a circle watching while paramedics strap Holt onto a stretcher. I look at the numbers on the uniforms. Rodriguez, Cheesy, Bison. And #I—O.