Page 87 of Trick Play
I grab her wrist, sitting up as tall as I can in my seat and peering down at the sidelines. “Speaking of Cal, why isn’t he dressed to play?”
“Huh? What do you mean?” She peers down at the sidelines as well. We’re about halfway up on the Marycliff forty-yard line, so we have a pretty good view of the whole field, but picking out distinct players in the crowd by the bench is tricky.
I point him out, dressed in his jersey and jeans, a headset over the red Marycliff hat on his head where he paces along the sidelines by the bench watching the field. Marycliff is kicking off. “There. Did he get hurt?”
“Oh,” she says, her voice unsurprised. “Yeah. Um, not exactly? I mean, I think his knuckles got a little bruised, but nothing serious.”
“His knuckles?” I practically shriek, drawing the attention of my parents.
“Girls? Is everything alright?” my mom asks.
“Yes, sorry, fine. Ellie was just telling me something surprising. I didn’t mean to be so loud.” I turn back to Ellie and lower my voice. “Was he in a fight?”
“Oh, ummm …” She looks all around. Good thing that Ellie’s terrible at coming up with believable stories on the spot.
“Ellie. What. Happened?”
Sighing, she deflates, slumping in her seat. “IsaidI wasn’t going to be the go-between for you two. I promised myself I’d just be your friend and stay out of it.” She nods to herself, forestalling my protest that telling me what happened when she clearly knowsisbeing a friend. “But you should probably know.” She peeks past me, checking my parents. Satisfied, she refocuses on me. “I don’t know all the details, just what I got out of Simon, and he’s not exactly a Chatty Cathy.”
“Ellie, please, for the love of god, just tell me what happened.”
The words spill out in a rapid stream, her eyes constantly darting around and her voice as hushed as possible so that no one overhears us. “The guys went out for dinner the other night and they apparently bumped into some frat? I dunno exactly what happened, but one of the other guys shoved Gray, Gray punched him in the gut, and when he charged him, Cal yanked the guy off and punched him in the face. There probably would’ve been more, but a bouncer came out and broke it up and they went their separate ways, but someone told the Coach. He was about to yank Gray from the game for fighting, which is against their code of conduct, and Cal said he was the one who started it or something. So Cal is suspended from the game instead.”
I blink at her, trying to make her words make sense. Because it sounds like she just said … “Cal took the fall for Gray?”
Ellie nods, eyes wide, face solemn.
“But why?”
She shrugs.
Looking around like Ellie did, I make sure no one is listening in and lower my voice as well for good measure. “But he started dating me to try to mess with Gray so he could have the starting spot.”
Ellie nods.
“This would’ve been his chance to start. In the biggest game of the season. The biggest game of his career to date.”
She nods again. “Yup.”
“So why would he do that? And who were they fighting? And why? They all know the code of conduct. They know the coach is serious about that. Why would any of them, especially Gray and Cal, risk the consequences?”
“Why doyouthink they would risk all that?” Ellie asks, with that annoying patronizing quality certain teachers give you when they know the answer but are waiting for you to figure it out for yourself.
“If you know more, you better tell me right now.”
She holds up her hands. “I don’tknowanything in particular. Just that you used to go to school here. You’ve refused to go to parties held by a specific frat at Marycliff who also has a chapter at your old school which just so happens to be located not too far away. And the only thing that both your brother and my brother have in common enough to fight over is …” She hesitates, meeting my eyes, her mouth twisting for a second before finishing. “You.”
I sit in my seat, stunned, my mind flitting through the various possibilities. They encountered a frat. Gray provoked one of them into shoving him so he’d have an excuse to punch back. Cal joined the fray.
It could just be a coincidence. It could’ve been a different frat or a different guy. But deep in my gut, I know Ellie’s right. Anyone else, even if some guy were mouthing off, neither of them would’ve gotten into an actual fight. Not with a huge game looming. Not with everything they’d stand to lose.
I’ve watched an angry Cal hold back so he wouldn’t do anything to injure himself or risk his spot in a game—his pacing when I told him about Brent comes to mind—and that’s with just the off chance of seeing time on the field. And I know Gray well enough to know that he doesn’t fight. I’ve literally never heard of my brother getting in anything worse than a verbal confrontation with someone, and even that’s rare. He’s not a hothead. Usually if someone’s being stupid, he just leaves.
I’m barely aware of the game, not paying any attention until a cheer goes up around me. Marycliff has forced a turnover and now has possession of the ball. But now I don’t care about the game. Because the need to talk to Cal, to confirm that what Ellie suspects is true, is nearly overwhelming. I want to run down the stairs and hop the railing so I can stand on the sidelines and drag him somewhere to talk. But I know that’s not possible. For one thing, security would probably dragmeoff to talk before I even got to Cal. And for another, no one down there needs me as more of a distraction than I apparently already am, if Gray and Cal actually punched Brent on my behalf.
I can’t deny that the thought of Brent gasping from a punch to the gut only to have it followed up by a black eye from Cal is immensely satisfying. I only wish I could’ve gotten a knee to the balls in myself.
Sadly, I don’t think that’ll ever happen. I’ll have to be content with this sort of secondhand justice and the hope that karma will catch up to him eventually.
