But calling him would mean that Corson just wants to talk. Corson wants more than that. He wants an audience.
That’s not what Jessup wants. He lifts his hands, palms out, a gesture of supplication, a gift. Whatever you want, Corson, I don’t want to argue. “Heading home, man.”
“You called me boy.”
The room is suddenly quiet. There’s music on, but it’s low, something with an acoustic guitar, some sweet flower girl talking about love and what it feels like to be in high school.
“I don’t think so.”
There’s something akin to electricity in the room. Derek Lemper, wearing a shirt now, lumbers up from the couch. Trevell is leaning against the kitchen counter, next to Jayden and their girlfriends. Jayden has his big knee brace on. Jessup glances through the sliding doors to the deck. The lights are on outside, a throng of people, twenty, thirty kids out there, and Jessup can see Wyatt with his coat on, standing with Kaylee, the two of them kissing, oblivious to what’s going on inside.
“You called me boy,” Corson says again. His voice is thick from beer. “But that’s not what you wanted to say, was it?”
Everybody in the room is looking at Jessup and Corson now, back and forth, waiting, watching. Derek has a dumb look on his dumb face, smart enough to know something’s wrong, that a fight is in the air, too dumb to understand anything more.
“You kicked out my fucking taillight,” Jessup says, but even he knows it comes out wrong. There’s something else he needs to say, but that’s not it.
“Am I black?” Corson’s voice is tight. He’s loud.
Jessup blinks. “What?”
“I said. Am. I. Black.” The Kilton Valley players have pulled into shape around Corson, the guys from Cortaca High starting to shift a little. It makes Jessup think of electrons and protons.
Corson’s girlfriend steps in front of him. She looks like a glass of milk next to him. “Come on, honey. You’re drunk.”
Corson is gentle but firm, moving her aside. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Mr. White Power here.”
“I’m not—”
Cuts Jessup off. “Saw you talking to your dad at halftime. Fresh out of jail, huh? But your brother’s still doing time.”
His girlfriend tries again. “Corson.”
“Everybody already knows,” Corson says. “His dad and his brother killed two black kids. Brother’s out around town with Nazi tattoos, gets in a fight, beats them to death with a wrench.”
“Corson!”
“Everybody already knows,” Corson says again. “Their whole family goes to that white power church out in the country. No secret there.”
Jessup looks around the room. It’s true. Everybody knows. He’s hoping he’ll see someone, anyone to save him. A life raft, a float, a rope, a log, anything he can grab onto to stop himself from drowning. But it’s just faces looking back. He locks eyes with Trevell. The receiver breaks it off.
People have been talking. Not just now. His entire life.