Chapter 32

An Inspiring Spectator

All season, Heather had avoided Adam’s football games. But after discovering Adam’s secret closet and discovering Burton’s true nature, she had to confront Adam. If she could just talk to him one-on-one, she could determine how bad his condition was, and—if necessary—she would find him help.

Heather waited impatiently for Ruby to arrive from school. They would have to eat dinner right away and then walk to the game, for they had no ride: Heather’s mother found her free time now monopolized by her latest boyfriend.

While there were times when Heather could have used her mother’s guidance, Heather found her father more helpful, even though their discussions were confined to the phone. There was just something about Heather’s father that comforted her, as if he already knew what she was thinking and what would be the best advice to give.

While her mother was out working and dating, Heather had to babysit Ruby nearly every night. Heather could have used much more attention for herself, but she was forced to devote all her extra energies to her sister. In short, during the weekdays, Heather was practically expected to raise Ruby as a daughter. It took a different kind of strength to do that. Heather found a special place in her heart for the three girls at school who, under various circumstances, had found themselves simultaneously high school students and teenage mothers.

Tonight was no different. Heather was nervous enough about having to confront Adam after the game, but she had to stifle her own feelings to make dinner for Ruby so they could get there on time. It would take a good deal of time to walk the three miles to the school, especially with Ruby’s easily-distracted personality.

Burton caught sight of the Primm sisters on their way out the door.

“Going to the game, then?” he asked, emerging from his garden the way a cloudy sky sneaks up on a clear day.

“Yes,” Heather said.

“I could give you a ride,” he offered. “I’m covering the game for the Observer.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up at the prospect of not having to walk. “Maybe it would be okay just this once,” she whispered to Heather, “even if he is the bad man.”

Heather shook her head. “Remember the T,” she whispered.

“T for Truth,” Ruby recited.

“Yes.” Heather put an arm around Ruby’s shoulder. “If you think he’s the bad man, then you can’t accept a ride from him.”

The logic made Ruby scowl. “It’s a long walk.”

“But you’ll get to see Adam.”

But the Ruby with whom Heather currently conversed seemed like a different Ruby altogether than the one playing in the woods the evening before. “I changed my mind,” said the capricious child. “He’s not the same Adam.”

“Yes, Heather,” Burton said, now catching up to them. “Why is it so necessary for you to attend the game? Why would you subject yourself to a crowd that clearly won’t want you there? Why would you walk three miles just to be ridiculed?”

Burton leaned in. A wind gusted against him, picking up his greasy locks and revealing his misshapen ear. Ruby had never noticed his deformity before, and her eyes widened in surprise. She took her sister’s hand. “He is the bad man,” Ruby’s lips said silently.

“You can tell me all about it during our ride to the field,” Burton continued.

Heather shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s a nice evening, and the exercise will do me good.”

“Suit yourself. It doesn’t look like such a nice evening to me.” He looked up at the sky where purple-grey clouds were gathering. “If you need a ride home,” he growled, holding up his cell phone, “you need only to text me.”

Heather took Ruby’s hand and hurried down the street towards the school. Burton stared after them as long as he could, and until Heather disappeared around the bend she felt a prickling on her neck and a tingling in her scar.

Heather stood at the gate to pay her admission to the game, but the student selling tickets was the same girl she had tutored four days earlier.

“I got an A on that paper,” the girl whispered. She did not accept Heather’s money but rather inked her stamp and marked each girls’ right hand with an inky “paid.” Heather smiled in thanks and walked to the bleachers with Ruby.

The game had just started, but the Thunderbolts were already up by one touchdown. And of course at the helm was Adam Hollowcast. Heather watched his body move along the field. Was this really the same sickly student who had trembled and collapsed before her eyes only just the morning before?

All his nervousness, all his torment he poured into the game. He ran faster than any of the other players. He looked more quickly and more carefully before making a pass. He saved no energy for the next play, expending it all to bring his team to victory. And the way the boys idolized him! Maybe Heather had been wrong to suspect that Adam was as sick as she thought.

“Oh no!” a student gasped as Heather walked through the bleachers. “It’s that girl.”

“No way!” another student gasped. “Whenever she’s around, poor Adam gets so upset. He hates the site of a traitor. She’s the one who got Jared Winters and the others kicked off the team. It’ll be her fault if we don’t win states this year.”

“If?” the first student asked. “Without Jared, there’s no way we’ll win states. Adam has a lot of heart, but he’s so scrawny compared to Jared. And at the state championship, size matters.”

The second student agreed. “I’m surprised she’d even show her face.”

“How dare she?”

“I know! You see what happens to Adam every time he passes her in the hallway. You see how he gets pale and trembles. It shows you how merciful he is: he’s probably trembling to control himself from beating Heather senseless. He should, though. He should teach her a lesson or two. No student should turn against their own football team. I’d pay to see Adam beat her up.”

Heather heard all this as she tried to escort Ruby to an empty place on the bleachers.

“Let’s shield her from Adam’s view. The last thing he needs is to see her in the bleachers and lose concentration. She’s already probably cost us the state championship. Let’s not let her cost us this game.”

With that, the two students stood up, blocking Heather’s view. Ruby looked up at Heather questioningly, but Heather just put a finger to her scar and led Ruby further down the bleachers.

The evening had grown colder, and with the sun setting behind the purple-grey clouds, Heather’s breath left her mouth in steamy puffs. It was much warmer among the crowded bleachers, but Heather chose to sit in an isolated section all the way at the end. Braving the cold was better than exposing Ruby to the defamatory comments of her peers.

And even as Heather mounted the steps to her own section of the bleachers, she could not ignore the comments she heard:

“How dare she show her face at a football game!”

“Isn’t one scar bad enough? Does she want a second one?”

“If I were Principal Elders, I’d have her banned from the stadium.”

Nonetheless, Heather braved the comments and the cold and sat herself at the bottom of the corner of the bleachers. The view was poor, and no one else sat there.

Ruby wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t we sit with the others? Is it like the flowers? Must we sit on a separate rock just like the flowers did?”

Heather shook her head. They watched the game in silence for a few minutes. Adam had made a series of successful passes, and the team was now within range of a touchdown. They lined up for the next play. Everything was going well until—for no reason at all—Adam looked to the bleachers. His eyes seemed drawn to Heather like a heat-seeking missile. They fell upon her scar; and his face, sweaty and red from physical exertion, turned pale.

When the play started, he missed the snap and fumbled the ball, and the other team took control.

“Hey, Heather! Haven’t you done enough to ruin this team?” an angry student yelled.

A spoonful of mustard flung from a pretzel-eating spectator landed right between Heather’s shoulder blades. It splattered onto Ruby’s face and landed in her eye. Ruby stood on the bleacher and cried, pointing an accusing finger at the crowd.

“Come on, Ruby.” Heather carried her sister down the steps. “I’ve got somewhere even better where we can watch the game.” Heather left the bleachers, doubled back around, and placed Ruby on the ground.

“Come on, Ruby,” Heather said, crouching under the bleachers.

But Ruby did not follow. “What did they do that for?” she asked, her breathing still irregular from her tears.

“They just don’t understand,” Heather said.

“They don’t understand the truth, you mean?” she asked through sniffles.

“Yes. Now come on,” Heather said again, motioning for Ruby to follow. “There’s a chill.” She looked up at the crowd. “Let’s get out of the air.”

“I don’t need to get out of the air. But if you do, then I’ll follow you only on one condition.” The little girl put her hands on her hips.

“What condition, Ruby?”

“I’ll go under the bleachers with you only if you tell me a story.”

“What story?”

“A true story. The true story of your scar.”

“You’ve heard that story already. Now come on, Rue.” Heather stood under the bleachers and held her hand out for Ruby to follow.

“It’s Ruby. And, no, I haven’t heard that story.” The child plopped down on the ground and made such a squeal that even members of the crowd cheering above peered down to look for the source of the horrible noise.

“Hey, it’s that little freak,” a student said from above.

“That means her traitor sister is around here somewhere,” said another.

Ruby’s little jaw dropped.

“All right, Ruby. I’ll tell you the true story of my scar. Just come here.” Heather pulled her sister under the bleachers just in time, for not an instant later the spot where Ruby had been standing suffered a deluge of soda and popcorn thrown by the giggling students above.

One of the boys hung his head down over the edge of the bleachers to see if he had hit his target. His upside-down face searched for the unwelcome spectators. But Heather had wasted no time in pulling Ruby further into the middle of the bleachers. The pair disappeared into shadow, and the boy above lost interest.

Heather sat on the cold cement, and Ruby climbed into her lap. “Now you hafta tell me about your scar. What is it?”

Heather stared at her sister, but she didn’t know where to start. But as usual, Ruby had enough to say for the both of them.

“I heard some students say that your scar stands for Traitor. Is it true? I thought you told me it standed for Truth. And if I keep being a journalist, when will I receive my own scar?”

Heather opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How could she respond to a question for which she didn’t completely have an answer? Ruby was right: everyone at school said the scarred T stood for Traitor. Heather had received the scar in the alley, and why had she been there in the first place? She hadn’t been true to herself. She’d been in the alley to hide her trophy from sight. Wasn’t that a sort of treachery against her resolve to be true?

“They’re right,” Heather told her sister finally. “The scar I received on a day when I was not true to myself. I was a traitor against my values. As for getting your own scar, Ruby, if you stay true to yourself all the time, you’ll never have to bear the burden of such a thing.”

Ruby’s eyes glittered, and she leaned up to kiss Heather’s forehead right in the place where the two scarred lines met. Then, she left Heather’s lap, taking flight like a bird to the front of the bleachers, through which she could just make out snippets of Adam Hollowcast dominating the field.

With Heather gone from the stands, Adam seemed to regain his focus. In fact, his plays improved as, impossibly, he poured even more energy into each one. The spectators credited his improved condition to Heather’s disappearance. Only Heather knew the truth: that Adam’s impressive physical prowess was the direct result of his self-hatred for the way the crowd had treated her. With each step on the field, he hoped not just to win the game, but to punish himself dearly for the pain he had caused his former girlfriend.

The space under the bleachers was secluded: everyone was too focused on the game. Even Douggie and her friends, who sometimes frequented the space under the bleachers for their own recreational purposes, were absent. Before long, Ruby had calmed down long enough to refocus her efforts on play. She skipped around under the bleachers. In the distance, the last rays of dying sunshine shone through some empty seats on the bleachers above. Ruby giggled and ran towards it, basking in the warmth it provided from the frigid cold.

“Come on, Heather. It’s warm.”

Heather shook her head. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be so young that a simple patch of sunshine could brighten her mood. Nonetheless, she humored her sister by walking towards the sunshine.

“Come on, Heather! You got to run. The sun is going away!”

But Heather did not quicken her pace. She walked towards Ruby, who giggled and twirled in the anomaly. Truly, most of the sky was overcast with the sun rapidly setting, and the damp cold suggested snow.

“It’s the last rays, Heather, and you’re going to miss them,” Ruby giggled.

Surely, just as Heather reached out her hand to touch the sun, it disappeared, setting behind the earth.

Heather frowned.

Ruby stopped, her hands very serious in explaining the phenomenon. “The sun was afraid of you. It was afraid of the scar on your face.”

“That’s nonsense,” Heather muttered.

“It’s true. The sun was afraid to touch something so sad.”

“What makes you think the scar is sad?”

“It has to be. You’ve been sad ever since you got it. And Adam has ignored you since then and been sadder than ever and thinner than ever and the bad man has spent even more time with you. All those things are sad.”

Heather sighed. “Maybe.”

“Heather, tell me about the scar. What is it? Where did you get it?”

“I told you already, Ruby.”

“You’re not being true. Your scar is the same reason Adam wears long sleeves and doesn’t talk to us anymore. Tell me what it is!”

But Heather once again was saved by a distraction. Above the bleachers, it had started to snow. It was just an early snow flurry, the first snow of the year. It wouldn’t amount to more than a dusting, but it excited the crowd nonetheless.

“Come on, Thunderbolts!” the crowd shouted, the snow reenergizing their vigor.

Ruby, who was drawn to excitement, dashed out from under the bleachers and giggled in the falling snow. For once, Heather had a reason to pull her hood up. In shielding herself against the cold, she hid her face and was thus able to join the crowd. She and Ruby stood at the fence and watched the play.

The falling snow had excited the players as well, and the crowd cheered for the Thunderbolts, who had regained possession of the ball.

The crowd cheered. “Go Adam! Go Hollowcast! Go Thunderbolts!”

Adam dashed down the field like a god immune to any mortal attacks the opposing team dished out. Against the white snowflakes, the Thunderbolts’ black and red uniforms stood out on the field; the visiting team’s paler yellow and white uniforms blended in. Adam headed straight for a gathering of opponents, but he screamed, causing his body to accelerate beyond them. He was untouchable.

The crowd exploded. The Thunderbolts cheered for Adam. “Hollowcast” became a chant shouted from the stands, stomped into the metal bleachers, and echoed across the field.

But there at the base of the bleachers, Heather shook her head. The scream Adam released there on the field was like no other could mutter. It was a scream of utter torment, a release of pain building up in the very soul. It was liquid agony boiled deep within the gut and evaporated through Adam’s trembling lips. Indeed, it was a scream Heather had heard once before, a scream of tortured relief Adam had exhaled when he believed he was alone on the auditorium stage.

“It’s a good thing Heather disappeared,” a spectator shouted to her companion. “She was bad luck. Now that she’s gone, Adam can shine.”

But Heather shook her head. The spectator was wrong. It was not Heather’s disappearance from sight that inspired Adam’s superhuman performance. It was because Heather had appeared before him in the first place. The very sight of her miserable form conjured up all the repressed agony in Adam’s body. It was precisely her presence that inspired his current performance.

The crowd cheered: Adam had made a touchdown. Heather frowned. She, the one shunned from sharing in the crowd’s happiness, was the one responsible for the touchdown. And aside from Adam, no one would ever know it.

It was no surprise that the Thunderbolts won the game. The crowd echoed on the bleachers above as it descended and finally made its way to the parking lot. But Heather had dashed under the bleachers again, her hood drawn protectively over her head to shadow her face.

“Why don’t we leave with the others?” Ruby asked, hopping up and down and pulling at Heather’s hand. “And it’s so cold! Can we find the bad man and ask him for a ride home? Is it really against the rules?”

Heather’s scar burned at the mention of Burton, but she said nothing.

“Is he here? Do you think the bad man is here? And can he drive us home? Maybe it isn’t against the rules if it’s snowing.”

Heather only shook her head and drew herself more deeply into the bleacher’s shadows. Her scar told her that “the bad man,” indeed, had watched the game, and Heather had no desire to see him.

Ruby seemed to read the answer on Heather’s face. “Then at least can we start walking home now? It’s gonna take forever to get back. Or maybe can we call Mommy? You think she’s home yet?”

“I doubt it,” Heather said, putting a finger to her scar. “Besides, we can’t leave yet,” she whispered. “There’s someone I promised you could see.”

At the mention of seeing Adam, Ruby quieted. When the crowd had cleared, Heather took Ruby’s hand and led her back to the school. Heather sat on a concrete planter outside the back exit to the athletic wing while Ruby marveled at the thin layer of snow that dusted everything. In the stadium, the snow had already disappeared, trampled and melted by the spectators. But here no one had yet trodden, and the pristine snow offered Ruby a magical playground.

But Heather did not watch Ruby. Instead, she watched the back door, where soon would emerge the solitary figure of Orchard Valley’s heroic quarterback. He made it his habit to walk back from all home games, refusing rides from family, friends, and fiends.

Like the rest of his self-punishing endeavors, the school praised him for this strange habit. Everyone thought the brilliant captain needed the solitary time to reflect upon his most recent victory and mentally compose his next inspirational speech.

No one knew that walking home after an exhausting game was just one more way Adam Hollowcast was physically punishing himself for his undeserved reputation and success.

No one, that is, except for Heather Primm.

When Adam’s stooped figure emerged from the back door lugging a large football bag, Ruby scampered over to her sister.

“Is this what we were waiting for?” whispered Ruby.

“Yes.”

“And why does he always clutch his stomach like that? And why is he so sad? Does he have his own scar? Was he not true?” Ruby asked.

Heather thought about this. “Yes,” she said finally. “Adam does have his own scar. There was—is—a time he was not true to himself. That’s why he’s so unhappy.” Heather and Ruby watched him shuffle down the sidewalk in silence. The parking lot lights played against the glittering snow; the last of the spectators had left, and all was quiet.

Heather took Ruby’s hand and drew in an icy breath before taking a step to catch up with the boy with the secret scar.