Chapter 29

by the time i get home, my parents have already returned, dinner is almost ready, and they want to talk.

“There he is,” Dad says. “How was today? You look exhausted.”

I smile limply and don’t know if I want to sit down or collapse on my bed. Ollie’s story keeps repeating in my head. I thought it was you at the door.

Mom pops out of the kitchen. “Sweetie, you do look beat. I’ve got a nice meatloaf for you.” She squeezes my arm and I wince. She looks at me and I can smell the wine on her breath.

“Thanks. How was your lunch today?” I ask.

“Fabulous! You wouldn’t believe what these women are up to . . .”

And she rambles on and on, slightly drunk, about the various “crazy” things all her teacher friends are into. I act like I’m paying attention to her, but it’s only Ollie I can see and hear: When I came out, I didn’t know what was up because Gilbey and Alva seemed like they were really checking on me. Then I took the first hit.

“Greg? You with us?” Dad asks and I come back to the living room. “Ha! Your stories are putting him in a coma.”

Mom frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine. I said I’m fine. Shit, just let it go.”

“Whoa, whoa. Watch the way you’re talking.” Dad’s voice is still calm but edging up, and this infuriates me.

“Why? What have I said? Just let it go? Is that too much? Or was it shit? What a terrible word. How about fuck? Is that all right? Because I’ve had a terrible fucking day! So, please, just give me some fucking space!”

They sit back, stung, and look at me wide-eyed for a second, before Dad unleashes. “You will not talk to us that way! You listen to me. You can be upset as much as you want, but you control yourself!”

“Ha!” It’s a genuine laugh because he’s such an idiot right now. “‘Control myself’? You think yelling at me while I feel like shit to control myself is the answer?” I laugh again. “Fuck you.”

Mom steps in front of my father. “Gregory Francis, I have no idea what’s gotten into you.” Her words are slow because she’s been drinking, and I don’t feel like waiting for her to finish.

“Food, Mom. Tons of your food. That’s what’s gotten into me. And that’s why I feel this way.”

She plants a hand over her mouth like she’s slapping herself. Dad steadies her. “Just go to your room until you are ready to act civilized! And you had better come down with an apology,” Dad says.

I stand. I feel like I could fight or cry. I don’t want to do either, but I’m at that point of no return. “Here, let me say it now, so that I don’t have to come back down. I apologize for being such a fuck-up. I’m working on it, in more ways than you’ll ever understand. So do me a favor, have my back no matter what. Be prepared to fight for me. I deserve that. I’ve deserved that all of these years.”

They speak, but their words are meaningless, because the storm in my head drowns them out. I head upstairs.

In the bathroom, I pump the hot water and strip down. The polka-dot bruises pop in the mirror, but I know that Ollie has a matching coat, and much more.

There was nothing I could do, Greg. They’re so strong, and I don’t know how to fight. The only thing that saved me was Dad getting home from work. They left when he pulled in, but he saw them, and it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. He demanded to know who they were. That’s why he bugged on you and Quinn. I told him they were old friends who were assholes now. He got confused. I lied, Greg. I didn’t tell him they were lax bros. I couldn’t. I knew you needed the time.

I make a fist and bite on it. It helps muffle the scream, as does the running water. But nothing can dampen what I’ve seen, what I know, and what I have to do.

• • •

In my room, in complete dark, I lie on my bed and hear our fight being rehashed by my mother. She’s talking to her sister and crying and drinking wine. I hear the glass clink every time she sets it down. I’m sure my dad’s pacing. But they’re not going to come up here. That was too much for them to handle, but just exactly what I needed to say. They’re going to need to digest that for a while.

The phone chimes and I have a text from Ella. Here’s the rough cut of what I have so far.

I click on the link, and it brings me to Ella’s YouTube channel. She has more videos than I do. How have I not checked her out before? I mean, her work.

Of course it’s excellent. It captures this undeniable camaraderie that the bros have and puts Mallory at the center.

I reply, That is AWESOME! But, hey, I need to tell you what happened to Ollie.

Already know. Quinn texted me.

“What?” I say aloud, then type, ???????

What, because I told him to fuck off, u think we don’t communicate?

I feel like reaching through the screen and shaking the shit out of her. Not to hurt her, but to break loose some of her awesomeness so I can have some for my own.

Thanks. I don’t know what else to type.

Will do. You let me know how things go tomorrow. U ok?

Now I know what to type, the truth. No.

• • •

Bros slide out of cars and watch me from beneath their hoodies. I feel their eyes and hear them talking. Shit.

Inside, it’s worse. They openly point and laugh. It’s like I’m the prized pig at some roast. I think they forget I’m human and can understand body language.

I set my bag down and Gilbey struts over. I pull the GoPro out of my bag, because if it’s going to start this way, the least I can do is try to protect myself.

Gilbey reaches across me and puts his hand on top of the camera. “Not yet, chubs.”

I look at his hand and keep my eyes on it when I speak. “Why? You have something in mind? Like what you did to Ollie?”

I expect him to show some emotion, even amusement, but his face is a mask. “Just leave the camera be, for now.”

“For now? As in I can have it later? After, you mean?” I turn to Gilbey and remember butting him into the locker room wall with my gut. That’s not an option now.

“It’s the same thing, Dun,” Alva says, appearing as if on cue, from the shadows.

The rest of the bros move as well, as if to some silent signal. They form a half circle, penning me in. I hear Ollie’s words and I ignore the camera.

“So this is how you have to do it? Two-on-one, like with Ollie. Or the strong versus the weak, like with Kyle and Stephen.” Both draw up short when I say their names. I look at them and wonder why I thought they offered a shred of hope.

“You see, Dun, that’s the way the world is. We live in our world, and it’s the only thing that matters. Our results speak for themselves, and if we have to fight for them, so be it.”

“More like imprison people in it.” I’m saying this as much to get at him as I am to let Stephen know I understand. “You take people’s choices away and make them believe what you tell them. You only provide your way. That’s not real life.”

Alva narrows his eyes. “Sounds like you’re talking about your little movies, Dun.”

That hurt, and I don’t have a quick comeback. Instead, I watch Alva pick up the GoPro and walk over to Kyle. He straps it to his head, and Kyle doesn’t resist, just lets him do as he pleases. Alva turns the camera on, the red light glowing against the early morning dimness. He raises his arms and the bros tighten up, the half circle impenetrable.

Gilbey walks to the middle and bounces on his toes. Alva moves to the opposite side and swings his arms and neck. It’s two-on-one, again, and I know I’m going to end up like Ollie. But now they’ll have it on film, and who knows what they’ll do with it, how they’ll edit this to make it seem like I started this fight.

“Fine!” I scream, “You want this? You two want to kick my ass, go ahead. I’m not afraid. Ollie survived. I will, too.”

Gilbey laughs and advances. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

And right before his punch lands square in my nose, I look at Kyle and see the red light isn’t on. He’s not recording. I am thoroughly fucked.

I go blind from the hit but feel the explosion of blood as it gushes down my face. One of them laughs, and I’m punched in the jaw. Something cracks but I can see again. Not that it does much good. Alva and Gilbey trade off with each other.

“This is why you’re pathetic, Dun. You can’t even fight back.” Alva doubles me over with a shot to the gut. He’s right, but he’s also wrong. I have to live through this to prove that, though.

“Lights out, bitch!” Gilbey elbows me in the back of the head and I fall to the floor, no hands to stop myself, just my forehead on wood.

“Yeah!” Alva screams, and in his voice is everything I hate. So even though the blood running down my throat is choking me out, my head feels caved in, and all of me is a crumpled, useless mass, I smile. I roll to the side and I turn to him and I smile as wide as I can.

They attack. The kicks are nonstop, and I can feel skin hanging loose at my cheek where it’s been ripped away. They bark insults and I will my body to pass out so I don’t have to endure any more, but, like usual, it doesn’t respond.

And then all at once, the fighting stops. There’s a noise, something loud, vibrating the air, but I can’t make out what it is. Then hands grab my face and I’m pulled upright. My vision is cloudy and I have no sense of what’s about to happen, beyond being certain that it will hurt.

“Greg? Greg, can you hear me?”

I can hear, but who is this?

“All right, I’ve got you.” Mallory lifts me as if I weigh half of what I do. He seats me in the bleachers and yells, “Get me some water! Now!” A bottle appears, and I realize I can see again, still fuzzy, but better. “And a towel. Jesus Christ!” Mallory tips the bottle into my mouth. “Don’t drink, spit.”

I do, and the spray is pink. I repeat the process and Mallory dabs at my face. I’m beyond the pain. I feel almost sedated.

“That cheek needs stitches.” Mallory speaks close to my ear, and I wonder if he spoke this way to his son. “Hold this, right there.” He leaves the towel at my cheek and I pin it in place, but I’m not sure I have the strength to maintain the pressure.

“What is going on here, Mr. Mallory?” Callaghan’s voice is clear through my busted head.

“Was just about to ask that same question, Mr. Callaghan. Looks like a fight with Greg, here, and our captains.”

I can’t see Callaghan, but I’m sure he’s thrilled with this. “Let’s get to the root of this. Alva. Gilbey. Who began this skirmish?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. Look at Greg,” Mallory says.

“Thank you, but let me handle my boys first.” Callaghan clears his throat and I look up. He’s in the center of the half circle. The bros haven’t moved. Mallory shakes his head. “So?” Callaghan looks at Alva and Gilbey, whose hands are covered in my blood.

“Greg started it. It’s recorded, sir,” Gilbey says. Alva shoots him a dirty look and I wonder when they planned this, and whether Gilbey’s fucking up his lines.

Callaghan looks around and sees Kyle. “Who put this on him?” he asks.

“Greg demanded we do it, sir. He was crazy, so we did. You’ll see,” Alva says.

Callaghan takes the GoPro and looks at the screen. He frowns, hits a button, and frowns again. “There’s nothing here. You can’t view it.”

Mallory moves away from me. “Of course you can’t. That’s not how they work. You have to upload it.”

Callaghan looks up and it seems as if he’d like to square off in the circle with Mallory. “Fine,” he says.

“What were you expecting to see?” Mallory asks.

“Obviously I was expecting to see what our captains told me I would.” Callaghan shoots Alva and Gilbey a look so dark they bow their heads.

“But do you really need the film to see what went on here? I walked in on this. I saw what they were doing. And just look at their hands. Is there really a question?”

“Yes, there is.” Callaghan shoves the camera back into Kyle’s hands and turns to Mallory. “If these boys were defending themselves against a crazed student, that changes everything.”

“Greg? You’re calling Greg crazed? Are you kidding me? Him against these two? Please. Remember, I am the father of a former captain. I know what it takes to achieve that position. So don’t you try and pass that bullshit over on me. These two beat the shit out of him. Period. There’s nothing more to it.”

Callaghan clenches his jaw. I should look away, but I don’t. His eyes alight and I’m still not afraid.

“You of all people should know when to hold your tongue, Mr. Mallory.” Callaghan gives his assistant coach and the booster president his full and intense attention.

“What did you just say?” Mallory says.

“Apparently your ears are going the way of your mouth, so let me make this clear, do not speak about these matters. They are not yours to meddle with.”

Mallory’s back straightens and when he takes another step toward Callaghan, it is very obvious that his military physique has not withered. “Not mine to meddle with? Interesting choice of words coming from you.”

“Watch it!” Callaghan barks, lifting a finger to Mallory.

“Point that finger at me again and I’ll take it off your hand. I am not your servant. You do not give me orders. We have an arrangement, yes, but you will listen to what I have to say about what I have seen with my own eyes.”

Callaghan does not drop his finger. “You do not hold the upper hand in this arrangement, so I would think about where you want to go from here, because we both know how this will end.”

I, along with every bro, am as confused as transfixed. What the fuck are they talking about? I wish I had the GoPro, so I could have the right angle for this. I need to watch this again, and I don’t know if my bag will pick up this conversation from so far away.

I look past the men to Kyle, imagining what it would look like in his shoes, and I see the light cradled in his arms. The red record button is on.

Mallory yells something inarticulate, a frustrated growl.

Alva calls out, “You should leave, Mr. Mallory. We have unfinished business, and you aren’t part of it.”

It’s like slow-mo, watching Mallory size up Alva, as if he’s looking at a child or small, yapping dog. There is no fear in Mallory’s eyes, but there is disgust. “Who do you think you are talking to, Andrew? Huh? You think I’m one of these boys, who is afraid that if he steps out of line he’ll get messed up?”

“No, sir. I know who you are,” Alva says.

“Who am I?”

Alva shifts his weight. “Master Sergeant Mallory, father of Corporal Max Mallory, booster club president and assistant coach.”

“And which of those is the most important title?” Mallory asks.

“Master Sergeant, sir,” Alva says, but it sounds hollow.

“You are wrong, Andrew. Father. That’s the answer.”

Callaghan sighs. “Can we get on with this, please?”

Mallory looks like he’d love to hang Callaghan with his own tie, but he stays calm and focused on Alva. “Father is the answer because he was everything to me and to this town and to this team. He was a warrior. And he didn’t become that way by torturing the weak. He guided, he taught, he motivated. That’s what leaders do. You,” he steps closer to Alva, “you are weak. You rule with fear. You and this team and your behavior are a poor legacy for my son. This is not what Max would have wanted. Were he here . . .” Mallory cannot finish. His chin falls to his chest.

Alva smiles and now Callaghan steps forward. “But he’s not. So let us carry on.” Callaghan claps. “All right boys, two miles. Go.” And they file out, Alva and Gilbey included. Except Kyle. He hangs back, holding the GoPro. “Give me that.” Callaghan reaches for the camera, but Mallory whips around.

“No. That’s not yours; it’s Greg’s.”

Callaghan takes it from Kyle and tosses it toward me. It falls to the floor with a crack. “Oops,” Callaghan says. “Your filming is done, Greg. We do not need you anymore.” He walks away.

Mallory crosses to the camera and picks it up and hands it to me. “Idiot. Doesn’t he know these things are indestructible?”

I know I’m supposed to laugh. He just called my principal an idiot. But there’s nothing amusing in this moment. I’m still in pain, still confused, and know I’ve lost.

“Thanks,” I say, “for sticking up for me. It’s how you said.”

“It always is, Greg.”

I hope I don’t have to ask. It hurts to speak.

“My son was captain for Callaghan, and let’s just say there’s a lot he had to do, a lot behind the scenes. You’re like he was, Greg. You’ve got that inquisitive nature, so strong it’ll get you killed.”

I know it’s a compliment, but still, get me killed?

“You should keep filming, keep investigating, you’ll find more than you’ve ever hoped for.” Mallory grabs my shoulder to get a good look at me. “In the meantime, let’s get you to the hospital.”

I shake my head because I don’t want to open my mouth, but this makes me nauseous. “No. It’s all right.”

“Greg, no need to be tough here. You’re hurt.”

It’s the smart move to let him help, but no, I want to stick to our plan.

“Already have a ride outside.”

Mallory squints. “Were you expecting this?”

I shrug.

“Greg, is there more I should know?”

I can’t. Even though he may be so in the dark that he deserves to know more than anyone else in this town. Not yet. Soon.

My face pounds from the little I’ve already said, but I force myself to answer. “I’ll have that film for you next week.”

“Greg, what? No. That’s crazy. You don’t . . .”

“Don’t make a liar out of me. I told you I would make it.” I grab my jaw, unable to say more.

“That’s the last thing I want to do, Greg.” He sighs. “You go ahead and make that film. I don’t know why you’d want to, but I’ll be honest, I’d like to see what you can put together.”

That makes two of us.