Change 4–Day 11

Audrey and I are in a routine. We walk together from homeroom to first period, then wave to one another at lunch, and then I avoid her for the rest of the day. I eat alone, but I catch her checking me out at least a few times during lunch period. Nobody sits with me, so I gobble my meal as quickly as possible with my headphones on, head down.

* * *

“Howdy,” this guy Brady says to me in the locker room while we’re suiting up for practice. I recognize him from English class last year. He maybe said two words to me (well, Kim), but I didn’t get a vibe one way or the other from him. Good or evil.

“Excuse me?” I say.

“I’m Brady.” He holds out a fist.

“Kyle,” I say, tapping his knuckles with mine, then go back to tying my shoulder pads.

“I know who you are. Everybody knows who you are.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says. “I heard Coach yesterday, already talking about a D-1 scholarship. And my sister, she’s a sophomore. She says there’s a running bet for whoever goes up and talks to you first in the cafeteria and gets invited to sit down. I think it’s up to fifty bucks.

“That can’t be true.”

“Lotta rumors about you too,” Brady continues, even though I’m not trying to keep this convo going.

I guess I’m curious about what these “rumors” are, but there is no way I’m letting him think I care. I nod, tie my cleats.

“Chloe, you met her? Head cheerleader? Kind of hot? Anyway, she says you used to be a model for Louis Vuitton. She says there’s a picture of you shirtless in one of her European magazines.”

I laugh.

“It’s true!” he says. “It is, isn’t it?”

I say nothing, grab my helmet, and jog out to the field.

* * *

The coaches are all over me, trying to get me caught up on memorizing the plays, how to run our offense. It’s a lot to remember, and to be honest, they sort of treat me like I’m dumb. Well, who can blame them—they’ve been coaching Jason as QB-1 for the last three years.

Speaking of whom, as practice is letting out, Jason gets all up in my business, hopping around and quizzing me on plays, imparting little tips about our crosstown rival’s defense. I see Audrey walking up in the distance behind him, can’t take my eyes off her. And of course Jason notices. Great.

“What time are we leaving?” Audrey asks him, though she’s peering at me through my face mask. I kind of pull a lips-closed grin, but I don’t think she can see my mouth.

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, like she’s a pesky mosquito. “This is an important game tomorrow night.”

“No problem,” I say, “I have to get home anyway.”

“You need a ride?” Jason offers eagerly.

“I’m good.”

“Audrey, this here is my protégé, Kyle.”

“We’ve met.”

“Oh, you have?” he asks suggestively.

Uh oh, here comes the boom . . .

“Homeroom,” I quickly add, but it sounds muffled through my helmet.

Jason stands quiet for a few seconds, head swiveling back and forth, back and forth. I’m wondering which way this is going to go, but after a beat, he slaps my ass real hard, and nods Audrey off, “We’ll be done in five, meet you at the car.”

She starts walking away, and I watch her go. Jason watches me watch her.

“Focus!” he blurts menacingly, right up in my face, then slaps my helmet on both sides with his palms. He starts cracking himself up like a lunatic. “She likes you.”

“I don’t even know her, man.”

“Well, she wants to know you. We were worried that she was into chicks, but I bet if anybody could turn her, you could.”

There really is no bottom with this guy.

“I’m sure your sister is dope, but I’m not up for a relationship,” I say.

“You a fag or something?” For a second I’m terrified, the memories of all the evil Jason has done to me, to my friends, rushing back. I feel sweat rolling down my spine, adrenaline spiking. Inside, I’m still Drew, Oryon, Kim. My fight-or-flight hasn’t calibrated to my new hulking form. Then Jason chuckles, low and greasy like. “Just kidding, brah. No fag throws a football like you do. Am I right?”