“So,” he said, his voice low. “How you holding up, son?”
“Good, I guess.”
He rubbed his chin with stubby fingers. “I know it’s been a rough summer for you, what with your mom…” His words trailed and he cleared his throat. “Sometimes, when we go through hard stuff, the best thing to do is to put all your energy and focus into something else. Channel it. Drive toward something that makes you happy.”
What makes me happy…
Working at our family’s auto body shop instead of pissing my summer away with practice… Building something with my hands, build a life in Santa Cruz… That would make me happy. Football wasn’t even in the top ten, but I was damn good at pretending it was. Judging by Coach’s skeptical glance, my mask was slipping.
“I felt pretty focused today,” I said.
“You were, absolutely. That last bomb you dropped on Weatherly is one for the highlight reels. I just meant if things get real tough, you have this team. You have us.” He put his hand on my shoulder pad. “Let it all out on the field.”
I heard him loud and clear: If you’re sad about your mom being diagnosed with Stage IV liver cancer, play harder, but don’t ever quit.
“Thanks, Coach. I get it.”
He rubbed his chin dubiously. “Yeah? Seems like the fire’s gone out a little. Not that I blame you. News like what you got…it takes some getting used to, I’d imagine.”
I nearly choked on the idea that I’d ever get used to my mother dying. And my “fire” for football was a sputtering flame, kept alive by my father’s persistent and relentless insistence it never burn out.
“I’m good, Coach. Promise.”
“Good to hear it, son.” He smacked my pads again. “Go get showered up and I’ll see you tomorrow. Come early if you can. There’re some plays I want to run by you and Donte. Something to wow the scouts coming next month.”
“Okay, Coach,” I said automatically. Like a soldier responding to a commanding officer. Doing my duty.
His disappointment for my lack of enthusiasm breathed over my neck as I wandered to the locker room in the remains of the afternoon. The sun was nearly gone.
Nearly gone…
Pain slugged my chest like a heavy mallet. I had to stop and grip the flagpole outside the gym, shocked at how much power Mom’s diagnosis still had, even weeks later.
My “big brain” that Coach liked to fill with complicated plays recycled the events of this last summer like a film on rewind. My mom, looking fit and happy in the pool, laughing with my little sister, Amelia. Amelia’s laughter fading when she pointed out that she could see the outline of Mom’s stomach…
Mom had been losing weight and didn’t know why. She brushed it off as a mysterious diet she didn’t know she’d been on. Then came the weakness. And pain. So much pain. The diagnosis came less than a week later.
Six months. Maybe more. Probably less.
Nearly gone.
I blinked stinging sweat and tears out of my eyes and joined the guys in the locker room. They were showering, walking around bare-ass naked, crowing about the last play, giving each other shit, or talking about girls. Locker room talk that would make most parents weep for humanity.
As always, I kept my head down, eyes averted, wearing my exhaustion like a heavy coat so no one would wonder why I wasn’t joining in.
“Yo, Whitmore!” Donte called as I passed him on my way to the showers. “Plans tonight? Maybe with that sweet little Violet McNamara?”
A chorus of oohs and laughter went around. Despite all of us at Central practically growing up together since preschool, Violet McNamara was new to our group. Earlier this summer, Evelyn Gonzalez—the queen bee—had pulled Violet from behind her books to reveal a stunning girl with raven-black hair and intense blue eyes.
I slipped on my king-of-the-world smile. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Donte laughed. “He’s such a smooth player, our boy, Whitmore.”
“Lucky bastard,” Chance said. “I shoulda claimed her first. Who knew she was so fucking hot and un-tapped, if you know what I mean.”
They all laughed. My ears reddened.
I’d only hung out with Violet a handful of times this summer, but I liked her. Shy but also capable of holding her own. I thought she was sort of brave.
And maybe my last chance.
I tried to date girls from Central High or nearby Soquel and never felt a connection. Maybe Violet would be different. She wanted to be a doctor. Maybe I could have a real conversation with her, and something would happen between us. Maybe I’d finally feel the spark of something—anything—and then the nagging anxiety in the back of my mind would go away.
I stripped out of my sweat-soaked gear and claimed one of the showers. The cold water flowed over my skin, raising goosebumps. I turned my face to the spray, and the echoing voices, slamming lockers, and laughter were distant sounds from an alien planet.
“Hey, River. You coming to Chance’s back-to-school rager?” Isaiah, our star running back asked later, while I dressed quickly at my locker.
A beefy arm slung around my shoulder, jolting me.
“Of course he is,” Chance bellowed in my ear. “Wouldn’t miss it. Right, Whitmore?”
I gritted my teeth and threw off Chance’s arm with more violence than I meant to. A low rumble of whoas issued from the guys in the vicinity. I rarely got pissed. Never lost my temper or my cool, or showed any emotion other than calm, casual confidence.
“Asshole,” I said into the awkward silence that
