He knows what Brandon Rogers would say about it, can hear his words as if he’s watching Brandon on one of the political talk shows: you’ve got to stand your ground, argue with intelligence, the political correctness police are always trying to get us to say something that proves we’re full of hate when all we’re trying to do is be racial realists, and if you can be proud to be black or Latino, why can’t you be proud to be white? But Jessup knows that none of what Brandon Rogers would say makes sense here, and while Brandon Rogers might believe, Jessup feels like he’s tied up in knots, so he tries to keep his expression still. Flat. But that’s not what Corson sees.
“You got your face all scrunched up!” Corson laughs. “You’re angry, aren’t you? Go on. Just say it.” He opens his arms up now, taking in the whole room. “You got that word just ready to burst out of you, don’t you? Go on, now. Say it. Say the word. Call me ‘nigger.’”
The air disappears from the room. There’s an absence of sound. Breath sucked into lungs. It makes Jessup think of the moment of kickoff at a football game, when the ball is at its apogee. Everybody is just waiting for it to come down.
Except this isn’t a game that he wants to play. This isn’t fair. He didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything. But he can’t say that. Can’t call a time-out.
Corson’s girlfriend tugs at his arm. She’s crying. The dark slash of makeup is running off her eyes. “Please. You’re drunk.”
Corson reaches out, slow, careful, not pointing so much as shaking his finger at Jessup, scolding him. “You’ll call me ‘boy’ when it’s just us in a parking lot, but how about now? You thinking of it now? Nah. You’re not thinking ‘boy.’ You’re thinking ‘nigger,’ aren’t you? Just say it. Call me a nigger.”
Jessup stays quiet.
Corson lowers his arm and then shakes his head. He’s got a big smile on his face, his teeth showing wide. “Didn’t think so, bitch.”
One of the Kilton Valley players, the kid with the afro, steps up and grabs Corson’s elbow. “Come on, man. Let’s get out of here.”
For a moment, Jessup thinks Corson is going to shake his friend off, but then he accedes. There’s an odd stillness from the rest of the room as the Kilton Valley kids, boys and girls alike, shuffle out and through the grand entrance, stopping to grab varsity jackets, bags, a couple of them finding boots they’d pulled off when they’d come in. Jessup stays where he is. Derek Lemper shakes his big melon head, purses his lips, but doesn’t come over. Stays with Steve Silver. Nobody talks to Jessup. Wyatt is still out on the deck with Kaylee. Missed the whole thing.
As the kids all head outside, Jessup ends up drifting along, watching. There’s a mob of Cortaca kids outside, too, the girls saying good-byes, the guys standing more off to the side. Jessup is an island. He sees them get in their cars in twos and threes. Corson is fighting with his girlfriend. The girlfriend leaves in a huff, gets in a car with two other girls. One of Corson’s friends holds out his hand for the keys, but Corson shakes his head once, twice, gets into a dark sedan by himself. Car slides a bit as Corson gets it off the grass onto the driveway. He shouldn’t be driving, Jessup thinks, beer in his hand all night. But that’s not Jessup’s problem.