Chapter 36

The Quarterback in a Quandary

That night of the season’s first snowfall, Adam spoke to his parents, leaving out certain details but disclosing enough of his troubles to afford himself relief.

From that point onwards, his time at Orchard Valley had a short expiration date, and it changed Adam. Prior to his plans for Hawthorne, Adam had been reluctantly thrust into his role of popularity, accepting his status only at the expense of self-torture.

Since that night with Heather, however, Adam had changed. He’d grown giddy—almost deliriously so—the way a criminal might feel after escaping from death row. Instead of allowing himself to be pushed to the center of attention, Adam now vied for this on his own.

Walking to the second floor one morning, Adam saw Liz Freert, a girl who had frequently blushed and locked her eyes on him anytime he was around. This morning, instead of looking modestly away as he normally did, he locked eyes with her, causing her face to blush, the rouge increasing in intensity until it bled even into her ears. Thrilled by the effect he had on her, Adam reached out his hand and brushed her backside as he passed. He glanced over his shoulder and licked his lips before continuing on.

Liz dropped her jaw and clutched her racing heart. It should have been impossible for her face to redden any more that it had, but it did so anyway, glowing almost to a purple. Thrilled at her reaction and his sense of power, Adam strode down the hallway in search of more prey.

And why shouldn’t he feel this way? He had—yes, it had been him after all, for Heather would not have disclosed the story if not for him—he had robbed the school of its most coveted possession and then single-handedly through his prowess on the field restored it for them again. Who else at Orchard Valley possessed so much power!

No one.

Which is why, as Matthew Ericson walked down the empty chemistry wing, arms laden with books, Adam knocked into him, scattering all manner of textbooks, notes, and binders. Adam chuckled at the expression of hurt on Matthew’s face. How joyful it was to see such pain on someone else for once rather than the pain searing from within. Adam chuckled again as he continued down the hall.

In chemistry, Adam was called to the board to work a catalyst equation, but instead of writing what he knew to be the correct answer, he drew two water molecules in such a way that, had Mr. Ramsey had any young children in the room, he might have covered their eyes for propriety’s sake. Adam’s perverse depiction of the molecules elicited giggles from the class, something the old Adam would have shied from.

Adam’s euphoric extroversion lasted beyond the school day. Andy Holt, a promising member of the freshman football team, had idolized Adam since his rise to captain. Andy had been sure to point out that he shared initials with the team’s leading quarterback, and whenever time afforded, he stayed late to watch Adam practice. Over the past two months, Adam had been sharing advice and skills with Andy in hopes that Andy might surpass him next year and knock him out of his undeserved limelight. Now, however, Adam felt none of that familiar self-hatred.

He soared through practice, barely feeling anything. His muscles were pure energy. After successfully running a counter-play to the defensive squad’s blitz, Adam ducked to the side to adjust his shoe. Sure enough, Andy was there with a cup of sports drink.

“Here ya go, Adam!” He looked up at his idol the way a puppy would look at its master, his eyes searching only for affirmation. “That was an awesome play!”

To this, Adam only snorted.

“Do you think, if I practice really hard, I’ll ever be able to move like you do?” The puppy-dog eyes watered up at Adam once more, pleading, begging for a positive word.

And normally, Adam would have offered a kind smile and an encouraging word. But today, Adam stood straight, towering over the freshman. He drew his lips into a toothy grin, and the advice he delivered was so discouraging and disheartening that it shall not be repeated here. But its effect was so great that young Andy Holt left practice wondering whether he should even bother to return to the field at all.

Leaving the locker room after practice that day, Adam stopped at the vending machine to treat himself to a ginger ale, something known to calm his stomach. It was a rare treat compared to his usual lemon juice or vinegar, but he was feeling good about himself.

As he stood next to the vending machine sipping his drink, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Douggie. She had come from the drama department’s props storage room, a room notoriously secluded and ignored. She had probably been in there since earlier in the school day. Based on her dilated pupils, she probably barely realized how long she had stayed or what time it was.

“I’ve seen what you’ve been doing lately,” she said, standing awfully close to Adam.

“What I’ve been—doing?”

Douggie smiled. “You’ve changed. Something”—here she raised an eyebrow—“is making you feel good. I could probably guess.”

Adam flushed. “What do you mean?” Instinctively he covered his clothed arm with his free hand. His bloody Ts had started to heal, but it would take time. What was it that Douggie knew about him? His heart rushed, and his embarrassed face melted to pallor. Whatever she knew, he had to make her keep it to herself. Adam fully intended to disappear from Orchard Valley without word or explanation. He would not face the fallout that would inevitably follow a disclosure of the truth. “What do you mean?” he asked again.

Douggie stepped even closer. She leaned on Adam’s shoulder and brought her free hand to his forehead. Her eyes were far away and dreamy as she traced the area around Adam’s eyes. She saw something she liked, and her mellow gaze broke into a smile.

“You’ve been acting different,” she said. “What have you taken?”

“Taken?”

Douggie nodded. She swung her backpack to the front and pulled it open for him to see. “Which did you take? Whatever it is, I probably have more.” She dug through her stash. “Or if you want to be as good as Jared, I’ve got something that can help, now that I know you don’t have any qualms.”

“But I don’t take drugs,” Adam insisted.

Douggie leaned against him again and winked sleepily. “Sure you don’t. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Only next time, let’s do it together. It gets lonely sometimes.” She turned to point to the drama prop room, but when she turned back to Adam, he was already heading down the hall.

At home, Adam sat in front of his computer. In a fit of euphoria, he had already cleared his bloody secret from the closet. Now that his room was clean again, he left the door open and allowed only the light from the hallway to spill into the darkened room. In front of him, the cursor blinked, and the computer screen cast his face in a pale glow. Here was his speech for the Homecoming Game. He had written it before making plans with Heather, and into it he poured the raw inspirations of his former tormented self.

He re-read it, and the words practically took flight from the screen. They were made of stardust, presenting their audience with the opportunity to mold them into anything. To the despairing they were hope. To the successful they were affirmation. To the motivated, encouragement.

Yes, these words were the product of the Adam, the tortured Adam. And where was he now?

Douggie had been right. Adam had taken a drug—the drug of escape. Abandonment. And yes, it had made him feel better. But like any drug, the high it provided was false. Temporary. Whether attending Orchard Valley or Hawthorne Academy, the truth would always be that Adam had turned against his team. Eventually the truth would emerge. The terror would claim him again.

A knocking on his open door jarred Adam from his thoughts. His mother peeked in from the hallway. “Hi, honey. Are you all right sitting here in the dark? I don’t want you to strain your eyes.”

Adam turned around. “I’m okay, Mom.”

Mrs. Hollowcast smiled. “I’m so glad you’ve cleaned up your room. And you’re so happy now. I’m really glad you’ll get to see Heather more often. You were so much happier when you spent time with her. You’re such good friends; it’s a shame something came between you like this. In ten years, the two of you will be laughing it off!”

Adam nodded, but he did not smile.

His mother leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “I’ll miss you while you’re at school, but I think you’ll be so much happier at Hawthorne Academy.”

Adam bit his lip. He knew he’d be happier there, too, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a borrowed happiness only, bought by cowardice.

His mother stared into the distance for a moment, the way mothers do. “Anyway,” she said, snapping out of it, “your friend is here.” She turned to the hallway. “Burton, we haven’t eaten yet. You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner. I’m sure the two of you would like to spend time together before Adam disappears to Hawthorne Academy!”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Burton said, all charm.

Adam’s muscles drooped. Burton had been there the whole time. He had heard! He knew now that Adam was transferring! And what did he intend to do about it? Burton’s face was drawn up in a tight smile, one he was trying unsuccessfully to restrain.

“Adam,” he said in greeting.

“Well, you boys have fun,” Mrs. Hollowcast said before disappearing down the hallway.

Burton entered and sat at the edge of Adam’s bed. Adam eyed him askance.

“Those herbs finally seem to be working,” Burton said with a tone of forced propriety. “I’m so glad to see you’re better. I’d say it’s almost like you’re a—Completely. Different. Person.”

Adam said nothing.

“Do you want to rehearse your homecoming speech, Adam? I’m all ears.” He smiled at the pun.

Adam shook his head.

“Maybe you could give me a sneak preview for the newspaper?” Burton raised an eyebrow. “Or discuss the game plan?”

Adam turned to look straight at Burton. In the darkened room, Burton’s pale skin looked even paler. And yet a darkness emanated from within it. His eyes glared back at Adam, quick and animalistic. Even Burton’s lip curled into a guarded snarl.

Burton stared back at Adam. He cocked his head, examining Adam as a doctor would examine a patient. “Yes, you seem better, but there’s still something off. Like you’re still preoccupied about something. Some secret, perhaps? Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Adam grunted.

“Are you taking all the same classes next quarter? Or maybe your schedule is switching around?”

Adam bit his lip. Burton had clearly overheard Mrs. Hollowcast’s comment about Hawthorne Academy. And once again, that euphoric energy rekindled itself in Adam, putting him on the offensive. “No,” Adam said, loud and confident. “I don’t want to talk to you about my schedule. Or my speech. Or football. Or my health. We’re done, understand? Find someone else to leech onto for your newspaper interviews because I’m done with you.” By the time he was finished speaking, Adam was standing, towering above Burton.

Burton’s face showed that he was taken aback by Adam’s behavior, but there was something else hidden in his eyes. A part of him was pleased. And the expression grew as he rose, excused himself, and saw himself out.

Alone, Adam sat back down again. His hand trembled ever so slightly, but he drew his brow tight and willed away the tremors with anger. He turned to his speech and highlighted all the text. It was written by a different Adam, not the one who sat before it now. With the quick click of the delete key, the speech disappeared. The cursor blinked at Adam. He rose quietly to shut the door. And there, in the darkness, with only the dim glow of the screen lighting his way, Adam placed his hands on the keyboard. Through his fingers flowed a new speech. It seemed to flow right from the pain within, and he could barely wait to deliver it on Saturday: It would be the most memorable homecoming speech Orchard Valley had ever heard.