Chapter 39

Game Plan

Heather hurried to the home side. “Where are all the players?” she asked frantically of a passerby.

The student stopped. “They’ve gone to the locker rooms already. Half-time’s about to start.” The student studied Heather for a moment. “You know, of all the Heather Primm impersonators today, you’re the most convincing I’ve seen. Everything but the hair. If it weren’t done up so nicely, I’d say you looked just like her. I’m Ryan, by the way—”

But Heather had already started a mad dash for the locker room. She had to tell Adam what she had learned.

The athletic hallway was nearly deserted. One of the athletic trainers sat outside the locker room like a guard. Heather, who had been running wildly, slowed her pace when she saw him.

“This hallway’s supposed to be closed,” he said. “Football team only.”

But Heather had to talk to Adam. She thought quickly. “Please,” she begged, jittering and bouncing, “I drank so much soda—I really can’t hold it long enough to wait in the line out near the stadium. Please!”

The trainer’s face softened. He pointed to the girls’ locker room. “Be quick about it,” he warned.

“Thank you!”

Heather hurried inside the girls’ locker room. She didn’t need the bathroom, but she had to kill time or the trainer would be suspicious. She walked to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her painted face looked just like all the others she’d seen in the crowd. It was anonymous and threatening, painted to intimidate.

Is that what her scar did to everyone: intimidate?

Burton’s words echoed in her mind: It’s so hard to take you seriously with that ridiculous face paint you’ve got on. Why would you hide your beautiful face from the world?

And the words of her fellow student: Of all the Heather Primm impersonators today, you’re the most convincing I’ve seen. Everything but the hair. If it weren’t done up so nicely, I’d say you looked just like her.

Her painted face and her cheerful hairdo was the closest she’d come to fitting in since school started this year. But was that what she wanted? To fit in and go about from day to day as if nothing had ever happened?

Heather had already answered the question as she turned on the faucet and worked the hand soap into a rich lather. She scrubbed at her face until it was clear of paint and the skin was a glowing flush. Then she took out her hair and combed it all the way down her back, the way she used to wear it. As her red, irritated skin cooled and paled, her scar became visible again. At first she reached for her compact of makeup, but she stopped herself.

After all, she had to tell Adam the truth, and part of her argument would be to show him.

Yes, she reminded herself, that was her task. She had to find Adam. She took one final look at herself in the mirror. A beautiful girl stared back with large, inquisitive eyes and shiny dark hair. This was the Heather she knew. The honest Heather. The true Heather.

She snuck out the back entrance to the locker room. The back hallway was empty. She crept to the recessed doorway that marked the back entrance to the boys’ locker room. Surely Adam was there. But did she dare enter? It might be the most private moment Adam would have until after the dance. It seemed like the Thunderbolts would win the game, and Adam would surely be inundated by waves of admiring fans afterwards—Burton would likely be among them. Yes, it was now or never. And so thinking only of Adam’s safety, Heather held her breath and entered the boys’ locker room, hoping it was not nearly as gross as stereotype had led her to believe.

It was.

The room was hot and sweaty, a stagnant, nauseating mixture of body odor, toilets, and cheap, industrial cleaning supplies. But the room was unexpectedly quiet save for one voice, the mighty and unwavering voice that echoed through the cavernous room. It was the voice of Adam Hollowcast delivering one of his famous half-time speeches to his team. Heather hid behind a row of lockers, crouching in a shadow and listening.

“And so I propose,” Adam was saying, “that we win the second half in such a way. That we look at it not as an opportunity to earn glory for ourselves, but as an opportunity to pay back any debts we owe to the school.”

The gray lockers were grated for ventilation, allowing Heather to peer through them to catch an obscured view of Adam. He stood on the bench in the middle of his teammates, and they all gazed up at him as he spoke. It was clear they were confused by the last thing Adam had said, and he reached his hand out to the team to clarify.

“Antonio,” he said, picking a teammate at random. “Haven’t you ever done something you knew you shouldn’t? Something that you benefited from?”

Antonio thought for a moment. “You mean like copying my girlfriend’s math homework last week?”

The team laughed.

Adam nodded. “Yes, just like that. So, say, instead of making a field goal to impress your girlfriend, make a field goal to pay back the school for cheating.”

“Why?”

“It’s so much more motivational. How do you think I’ve been—” He stopped his train of thought and turned to Greg. “We all know you ate half of the donuts for the field hockey bake sale. The ones you were supposed to pick up for the girls.” Again, more laughter. “So instead of scoring a touchdown to impress those field hockey players, why not score a touchdown to give them a victory, to make them happy, to pay them back for your gluttony?”

Greg smiled. “I like the way you think, Hollowcast. Penance through football!”

The room echoed with the players confessing minor infractions and the ways they planned to remedy them on the field.

“That’s it!” Adam clapped his hands and then raised his arms. He looked around at the faces of his teammates. “And as for me, when I’m on that field, I’m going to play harder than ever before because—”

Heather watched the color drain from Adam’s face as he sucked in a breath and prepared to confess.

But before Adam could finish his sentence, the coach clapped his hands at the door to the locker room. “Time to wrap it up, boys! Let’s get out there and skin some Bears!”

The boys cheered and followed their coach through the locker room’s front entrance, leaving Adam standing alone on the bench, forlorn.

“Adam!” Heather whispered through the locker grates.

Adam clutched his stomach and listened to the echoes of his name. Heather poked her head around the corner. When Adam saw her, he smiled.

“Heather!” He reached his hand to her. “I was looking for you in the crowd. I hoped you would be here today.” He studied her face. “You look beautiful. With your hair like that, you remind me of—”

“Shhh! No time! Listen carefully. I talked to Mr. Wallace today, and I’ve got horrible news.”

“Hollowcast!” The coach’s voice boomed through the locker room from the doorway.

“On my way, coach!” Adam called.

“Hurry it up,” the coach shouted before slamming the door again.

Adam turned to Heather, reaching for her face. “I was so worried about you. When I looked into the crowd I saw so many people with their faces—their faces.”

“Shhh. There’s no time now. Burton found out that we’re transferring, and he’s trying to come with us.”

“Come with us?”

“Not only that,” Heather said, watching disappointment creep over Adam’s face. “He’s signed up to be your roommate.”

Adam stifled a moan and grasped at his stomach again.

“You need to understand,” Heather said.

“Hollowcast!” the coach shouted.

“Coming!” Adam started for the door.

Heather put her hand on his forearm. He drew it back as if he were unaccustomed to people touching his arm like that.

Heather stared him in the eye. “You need to understand. Burton has you held hostage. The only way you can escape him is by confessing that you were my source. It’s the one thing he’s using to keep you prisoner. If you confess, you take away his power. Understand?”

Adam pulled away and walked to the locker room door. He turned to Heather with a pained expression. He opened his mouth, but he had nothing to say. Instead, he opened the door and hurried to catch up with his team, leaving Heather alone in the musty heat of the boys’ locker room.

Heather didn’t feel much like facing the crowd. She didn’t want to talk to her father yet, either. She wanted to be alone. But how could she? Adam was still miserable and lost, Burton was taking her to the dance, Ruby needed a role model, and her parents would actually be interacting this weekend. So many people needed her help that she couldn’t possibly ignore them all. It was difficult to imagine a more stressful combination of events. So instead of joining the crowd outside, Heather turned the other way and walked through the empty hallways of the school.

She turned first towards the main corridor. It was mostly dark; the main office was locked. Looming above the other end of the hallway was the newspaper office. The desk lights had been left on, illuminating it like an aquarium. And indeed, that is how it was designed: to be viewed by all members of the student body, to put the newspaper staff on display. Heather wondered what it would have been like to work in that office. What would it have been like to belong? To be able to indulge her love of writing with others who shared the same passion? But the more she thought about it, the more she realized: Like the staff, she was on display. Only her display followed her everywhere. The staff in the office were only put on display when they chose to be. Heather could not hide in normalcy like they could.

Heather thought back to a few years earlier. She had been clothes shopping for middle school. Ruby was just a tiny little thing in her mother’s arms, and Mrs. Primm entrusted Heather and her father to choose outfits for the new school. Heather followed her whimsy, choosing non-traditional outfits that flaunted her sense of creativity. When she was finished, she had a little fashion show for her parents.

Her father smiled the whole time, proud that Heather’s strong personality was coming through. But with each combination of colorful fabric and flared accessory, her mother scrunched up her face. “Why can’t you be normal, Heather?” she had asked. “Don’t you ever want to fit in?”

Heather nodded without truly contemplating the question. Didn’t everyone want to fit in? That day she returned from the store with an eclectic mix of clothing: outfits her mother approved of and whimsical compilations her father had snuck onto the check-out counter to her mother’s chagrin.

And that’s how it had always been. Her mother always pulled her to be normal while her father pushed her to be herself. No wonder her parents had separated. The memories made Heather’s scar burn, and suddenly she was glad her father was visiting for the weekend. Still, her scar was pulsing now, so she made her way to the most calming spot in the building. Tucked away in the back hallway in a corner of the English wing, it was the room of Ms. Phillips.

The room, like all classrooms, was locked; so Heather had to be content to press her face against the tiny pane of glass in the doorway. She peered in at the circle of chairs, at the colorful posters on the wall. There near the clock was Heather’s favorite. A quote painted on the wall:

This above all, to thine own self be true.

Ms. Phillips’ was the only class that truly allowed Heather to be herself. “It’s not what we read that’s important,” Ms. Phillips always said. “It’s why we read and how we read. When you read a novel, you’re served a little slice of humanity. You recognize in the characters some of the ingredients that make up you, and you realize you aren’t alone in this life.”

Heather smiled to herself at the advice. It had been a great comfort to her, especially in recent months. Indeed, many of the protagonists she could think of didn’t fit in—and yet they managed to find their ways in life. So, too, would Heather. As she thought of these things, the glass pane cooled her burning scar. With her head clear and her heart stilled, Heather remembered her task—Adam. She hurried down the hallway and out of the building towards the football stadium, wondering where Burton was and hoping that she wasn’t too late.