Busted: Confessions of an Accidental Player

  She said I treated her like an object. And as I feel the tears running down my face, I hate myself more than ever before, because I know that she was horribly, painfully right.

  I was an asshole.

  What am I now?

  When I finally turn onto our street, I can see a faint glow in the window of Mom’s bedroom. I don’t want to go in if she’s still up. Then I see a light in Abby’s bedroom window as well, and without thinking I pull out my cell phone and call her.

  “Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Abby whispers angrily across the line.

  “Because I need to talk.”

  “To me?”

  “To someone I trust.”

  “Then why don’t you call Brandon?”

  I deserve that, I know I do, but it still hurts.

  “Please, Abby. Mom threw me out earlier, so I went to stay with Dad. Then he threw me out. I’ve got nowhere left to go.”

  “Well, you’re not coming here.” She pauses. “Where are you?”

  “Just outside your house. By the tree.”

  She sighs. “Okay, wait there. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  She hangs up and appears moments later carrying a couple of blankets. In silence she sits beside me, draping one blanket across my shoulders and wrapping the other around herself. I’m grateful for it; now that I’m no longer walking, the air feels suddenly colder.

  “So I know why your mom wanted to kick you out,” she says softly. “But what’s the story with your dad?”

  “We had an argument about everything that’s happened.”

  “Everything that’s happened to you, or everything that’s happened to him?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh. And what did you argue about?”

  “I said I’ve been acting like a jerk, and Dad got all ‘screw everyone’ on me. So then I said he’s been a jerk too, and he kicked me out. God, it was like talking to a middle-aged version of Brandon, or … ”

  Abby looks at me for the first time. “Or what?” she presses.

  I look up at the moonlit leaves dancing in the breeze. “Or maybe it felt so weird ’cause it was like looking into the future and seeing what I might become.” I take a deep breath and puff out my cheeks, which feels oddly therapeutic. “I didn’t believe Mom when she said it would be helpful for me to talk to him, but I guess she was right. I’ve been such an asshole, Abby. I’m still an asshole.”

  Abby shakes her head, hair flying loosely from side to side. “No, you’re not. Assholes take pride in their own stupidity, and I don’t see you having much fun right now. Yesterday you were an asshole, but today … well, it’s up to you. You’re not a lost cause, Kevin.”

  Is she really forgiving me for the things I’ve said and done? I meet her gaze, trying to divine an answer, but her face is implacable. I want to tell her how much I need everything to be right again between us, but where to begin? I’ve held myself together pretty well, but now I can feel a tear escaping again, and another. Abby kindly averts her eyes.

  “Kevin, I know you think I don’t understand what you’ve been going through the last few weeks, but you’re wrong. Don’t you think I’ve wondered what it would be like to be really popular? What it would be like to be told I’m sexy? But what’s the point, right? At the end of the day, I’m still me. And if that’s not good enough, then too bad, because, well … personally, I think I’m pretty damn cool.”

  She smiles, and I can feel the tension in my chest lessen a bit. I dab my eyes quickly. “You’re popular, you know. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re sexy too.”

  She nods. “Ditto.”

  A silence descends on us, but it’s not entirely comfortable. Abby plucks individual blades of grass and holds them up to the moon, taking in the beauty of the night, but she won’t look at me. The healing process may have begun, but we’re still a long way from the carefree intimacy we used to share.

  “What are you going to do?” she says finally.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hmmm. Well, just remember that senior year isn’t over yet. You still have time to make things right.”

  She removes the blanket from her shoulders and hands it to me. I can still feel the warmth from her body in the fibers. She squeezes my arm gently and stands up, and seconds later she’s gone and I’m alone, sitting on the grass beneath a tree in the middle of the night, wishing I could just turn back the clock.

  33

  School’s over for the day, and I’m hiding behind the trees that border the student parking lot. It’s a risky place to be—any number of things could happen to me out here. I could get in trouble for loitering; I could get lynched by GRRLS; I could witness freshmen making out. But I wait anyway, because I need to talk to Morgan, and I need to talk to her alone.

  By four o’clock almost every car in the lot has gone, but Morgan still hasn’t appeared. Her white Miata is parked in the space nearest the school entrance, because she’s always the first to arrive in the morning. No wonder even the teachers love her.

  Eventually she emerges and sashays over to her car. She’s smiling, as usual, and suddenly I find this very admirable. I mean, just last week Brandon publicly humiliated her and her friends turned their backs on her. If anyone ought to patrol the corridors with a scowl etched on her face, it’s Morgan.

  “Hey, Morgan,” I say, mirroring her smile.

  “Huh?” She looks over at me as I push the last branch out of the way. “Oh God, it’s you, Kevin. Stay away, I’ve got Mace.”

  “No, it’s cool,” I say without thinking, maybe because that’s what I’ve heard Brandon say when guys threaten him for hooking up with their girlfriends.

  “No, Kevin, it’s not cool. It’s so totally not cool.”

  “Oh.” This never happens to Brandon. “Okay.”

  Morgan unlocks her car and is about to climb in when she glances at me. I think my slumped shoulders are weakening her resistance.

  “Just one question,” she says, leaning against the car door. “Was it worth it?”

  I hesitate. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  I look away. “I guess I liked being popular, you know? I liked being noticed. But now the people I care about the most hate me, so … no,” I say emphatically. “It wasn’t worth it.”

  “Are you just saying that because you got caught?”

  “Well, it doesn’t exactly help any.”

  To my surprise, Morgan laughs. “What the hell were you thinking? I know these Graduation Rituals have been going on for years, but this year your mom was teaching a Women’s Studies course. You must have realized that was going to change everything.”

  “I didn’t know she was teaching it until I’d agreed to do the book. I guess I just hoped she wouldn’t find out about it.”

  Morgan laughs even harder. “Are you serious? She’s your mom. How could you possibly think she wouldn’t find out?”

  I just shake my head, because there’s really nothing to say. When I look up again, Morgan looks more serious.

  “What is it you want to say to me, Kevin? Why are you here?”

  I take a deep breath and tell her what I’ve been thinking about all weekend—my Grand Plan. It’s complicated, and I know she’s reluctant to help me after everything I’ve done, but I’m hoping that the chance to get back at Brandon is too much for her to resist.

  She spends a few minutes pulling a variety of indecisive faces, but finally settles on a smile that tells me she’s willing to play her part. And for the first time in weeks I feel proud of myself. Not cool. Not popular. Just proud.

  “Do you need a ride home?” she asks, sinking into the leather bucket seat.

  “Sure.”

  I clamber in and she pulls away slowly, checking her
mirrors and signaling like a law-abiding adult. If she weren’t so beautiful, Morgan would have to be considered one of the dorkiest girls in school.

  “Have you and Abby ever dated?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um … it’s just never happened. What about you and Brandon? How did that happen?”

  Morgan groans. “He was the first boy to ask me out since freshman year. I guess I just wanted to have a date again.”

  I take a quick peek to see if she’s kidding, but she doesn’t seem to be.

  “But that’s impossible. Every guy at Brookbank wants to date you.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, but it doesn’t change the fact that before Brandon, no one had asked me out in three years. I think I just wanted to feel … wanted. And Brandon’s so popular and everything. I got suckered in, I guess.”

  “So who are you going to prom with?”

  “I’m not going with anyone. Today, all of the girls from the Women’s Studies class decided to go solo. With everything that’s happened the past few weeks, we figure it’ll make things less stressful in the long run.”

  I can’t help smiling. “That’ll make my mom proud. She really loved teaching you. She said you were the best students she’s had in years.”

  “Yeah?” Morgan is obviously touched. She takes a deep breath. “I wish we hadn’t told her to leave. It was all kind of heat-of-the-moment, you know? Do you reckon she’d come back if we asked?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not because of me … just because she’s already achieved what she set out to do. Like, you’re all standing up for each other now, and before long Brandon and his posse won’t know what hit them. I think she’d say that’s a job well done.”

  Morgan laughs again, a soft, gentle laugh that warms me from the inside out. “I like the sound of that,” she says.

  She follows my directions and soon I’m home. She puts the car in park and pulls up the hand brake, then turns to face me.

  “Abby was right about you. You’re not such a bad guy after all.”

  It’s not quite the compliment I was hoping for, but when Morgan leans over and tries to kiss me on the cheek, I pull away.

  “Whoa!” she exclaims. “What was that for? I was just giving you a friendly peck on the cheek. It’s not like I was trying to French kiss you or anything!”

  I can feel my cheeks burning red. “I know. I mean … I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  She stares out her window crossly, so I undo the seat belt and open my car door. And that’s when it hits me.

  “Actually, I do know why I pulled away.”

  “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

  “Because that’s Abby’s house.” I point next door. “And I think I’m … I think I—”

  “It’s okay.” Morgan is smiling again. “I get it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back to being you again.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “But I always figured you thought I was a total geek.”

  “Yeah, of course. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t admire you, or find you interesting. It just means that unlike Brandon, you’ve got a functioning brain cell.” She laughs again at the look on my face. “Maybe you need to work on embracing your geekiness.”

  I climb out. Morgan pulls away, and I’m left standing on the sidewalk. It’s sunny and warm, and I feel unbelievably contented. Not only is Morgan Giddes my new friend, but I think I’m … I think I …

  34

  Now don’t forget, baseball final’s this Thursday at seven,” says Brandon, pacing along the gap between the tables. “I expect all of you to be there.”

  Everyone cheers, but the sound is rather pathetic on account of the fact that there are only eleven guys left. I realize that they’re all members of the baseball team, with the exception of me.

  “You got that, Kevin?” Brandon looks directly at me, apparently coming to the same realization himself.

  “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I say truthfully.

  “Cool. So before we get onto the Book of Busts, I have to ask why the hell the Strategic Graffiti Campaign is still so far behind schedule. Anybody got an excuse?”

  “’Cause no one’s doing it except you and me,” Zach grumbles, with an impressively pouty lower lip.

  Brandon shakes his head disappointedly. “Well, that’s going to change.”

  Zach pulls out a few pieces of paper and hands one to each of us, along with a thick-nibbed Sharpie. I study the paper, which contains a series of inspired one-liners like “Kayla is a transvestite” and “Morgan is a frigid slut.” Apparently Zach isn’t completely clear on oxymorons.

  “So,” Brandon continues, “we’re all going to take these sheets and visit the girls’ bathrooms. Then we’re going to write these little quotes on every available inch of wall space. Got it?”

  He looks around, waiting for us to indicate that we share his unbridled enthusiasm for the project. He clearly doesn’t like what he sees, because he throws the remaining pieces of paper (I guess Zach thought more guys would show up) on the table in front of him and raises his fist aggressively.

  “It’s time, guys. If we don’t pull together now, what are we? We’re pussies, that’s what.”

  “Damn right,” adds Zach eloquently.

  “Look, I’m not being unreasonable here,” Brandon insists, wringing his hands for effect. “Remember, we didn’t declare war on the girls—they declared war on us. And I don’t see any Brookbank professors showing up to teach a course on Men’s Studies—no offense, Kevin. So now it’s our turn to strike back.” He and Zach exchange a meaningful glance, then look straight at me. “Kevin, you can start us off by writing the first few quotes.”

  So here it is, my moment of reckoning. I take a deep breath.

  “Um, no thanks. I don’t think so.”

  Brandon knows I must be joking, so he gives me a few seconds to laugh or change my mind. Then another few seconds.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  “What the f—”

  “You see, Brandon, I don’t think this is really the most productive use of our time. In fact, I don’t think any of the things we do represent a useful investment of our energies. So I’d like to propose an alternative plan.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “We disband immediately.”

  Brandon lets rip a half-crazed laugh. “Now I know you’re screwing with me.”

  “No, Brandon, I’m not.”

  He hesitates, narrows his eyes. “Don’t mess this up, Mopsely. You were nothing before you joined us, but I made you popular, made you somebody. If you walk away now, you’ll never have it this good again.”

  Even though I’m gripped by fear, I can still see the humor in a comment so far out of whack with reality.

  “What’s good about this, huh, Brandon? Everyone hates us, and it’s easy to see why. Look at us … discussing girls behind their backs, scribbling insults on the walls of their bathrooms when they’re not looking, getting their measurements like the numbers somehow mean something. Is this really the best we can do? Don’t we have just a little more pride than that?”

  No one interrupts my speech, and I let the silence linger. I can almost feel some of the guys coming around, but then Brandon storms to the back of the room and stabs his finger repeatedly against a poster advertising Brookbank’s upcoming ten-year reunion.

  “You want pride? This is pride,” he mutters menacingly. “Coming back in ten years’ time, knowing we accomplished something. You can disappear if you want, but we won’t fade away. We’ll matter then, because we matter now.”

  “That’s what this is abou
t? Our ten-year reunion?”

  “This is the forty-third year of the Graduation Rituals, Mopsely. For forty-two years no one had a problem, but all of a sudden your mom comes in and tradition goes to hell.”

  “Of course the girls had a problem with the Rituals. They were just too frightened to complain, that’s all. And that doesn’t mean everything was okay. It just means we’ve taken forty-three years too many to shut this thing down.”

  Brandon slams his fist against a table. “You’re not shutting anything down.”

  It’s weird, but there’s still a part of me that wants to save Brandon from himself, even though I know deep down he’s a lost cause. I lean forward.

  “Come on, Brandon,” I whisper earnestly. “Let’s end this our way.”

  “Our way? Who the hell do you think you are?” He smiles like my impertinence is comical. “I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to put you in charge of the book. Well, congratulations. You’ve officially regained loser status.”

  “I don’t think so,” I reply calmly. “No, I think you’re the loser unless you end this.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, if I’m such a loser, how come I got to make out with Morgan Giddes while you can’t even get with an ugly bitch like Abby White?”

  I feel the flash of white-hot anger. A part of me wants to jump Brandon, even though I know he’ll beat the crap out of me. A part of me wants to scream that I have gotten with Abby, and that Morgan tried to kiss me, even though she ditched Brandon when she caught him stealing second. But to my credit, I don’t say any of these things. Because this isn’t about Abby, or Morgan, or even Brandon—it’s about me. And I’m not here to outdo Brandon. I’m here to undo him.

  “Come on, Brandon. It’s over. You know it is. Look around you … the only guys left are your teammates. Even the football players who flunked remedial algebra had the sense to get out. Let’s end this with some dignity.”