BELLFORD, OHIO
“Yo, yo, yo! Gather ’round, ladies.” Bruce Bishop drops a stack of rubber-banded index cards onto the bench in the locker room. Immediately, hoots go up, and everybody stops what they’re doing to dive for the cards. “The hunt is on.”
Excitement ripples over me. I’ve been hearing about this hunt since I was a freshman. Justin never played; he wasn’t that into sports. But I can’t freakin’ wait. The hunt is a tradition at Bellford. Every season, for two weeks before homecoming, all Bengals hunt through town for points as written on the card they choose from the deck. We race around town with our cell phones, snapping images for proof-of-points. Even better if you have a buddy or two to witness you. The items to be hunted are pretty straightforward. Climb to the roof of the elementary school, fifty points. Stand next to a mannequin at a department store in a dumb pose, ten points, but in a—well, crude pose, twenty points. The most points you can get are a hundred, and that’s usually for some sort of sexual thing, like getting a blow job on our rival school’s grounds. I don’t know who thinks these things up, but I’m up for whatever they throw at me. Each card is different. That’s because one year, back in the nineties, a bunch of players got into a fight over who found one item on the list first.
Vic grabs the deck of cards and rips off the rubber band. “Seniors first.” He takes a careful look around, spots no adults, and fans the cards out. One by one, the senior players take a card. “Okay, juniors next. Hey! No peeking.”
Right. We’re not allowed to look at our cards until everybody’s picked one.
Yes! I wait, not patiently, for my turn. Finally, I pick my card.
“Sebastian?” Vic holds out what’s left of the cards to the quiet sophomore, hanging back from the rest of us.
Sebastian holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
“What?” Bruce stares at him in shock. “You’re not playing?”
“No. I…well, I don’t think it’s right, that’s all.”
“Yeah?” Bruce steps forward, shoving Sebastian back a step. “Well, maybe we don’t think it’s right that you play football, either.”
Vic sighs. “Back off, Bruce. Let’s see what we got.”
Everybody looks at their cards, and the cursing and laughing begin.
“Aw, shit, guys. Where the hell am I supposed to find a life-size picture of Michael Jackson?”
“Improvise, dude!”
I study my own card. Steal someone’s mailbox, play ring-and-run, and kiss a girl in the stairwell while changing classes are each ten points. Flatten somebody’s tire, dance on a grave, piss out a car window are thirty points each. Copping a feel is twenty points—ten for each side. And one hundred points for sex with an ex. I grin. I can probably snag two hundred points if I call Dakota and Hannah.
Dakota’s cool. But Hannah? Not so much. She hasn’t even looked at me since the night of the bonfire, when I spilled beer on her. Okay, so maybe not Hannah. But Dakota really liked me. I wasn’t all that into her, so I broke it off, but maybe there’s still a chance. I take out my phone, snap a picture of my card, and hand it back to Bruce with a wide grin.
Dakota and I have social studies together first period. The next morning I unleash the patented Lawrence grin on her at full strength, and she turns a little pink.
“Hey, Derek.”
“Hi. You look really great today.”
She rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“So listen. I was thinking.” I throw an arm around her shoulders and walk with her to her desk at the back of the room. “What would you say to maybe giving us another shot?”
Her eyes go wide, and when she bounces up on her toes, I know I’ve got her. “Um, sure. But what about what’s-her-name?”
I feign confusion. I didn’t get very far with Corinna, the girl I’d dumped Dakota for. “I missed you.” I lean in and kiss her cheek.
“Me too,” she whispers.
The bell rings, and the teacher walks in, shooting me a glare.
“Wait for me after class, okay?”
She does.
After class, we decide to ditch our second periods and make out in the stairwell.
Woo-hoo! Ten points.
When the bell rings for dismissal that day, I give Dakota a ride home and park in front of her house. She unfastens her seat belt and turns to face me, taking my hand in hers. “Derek, I’m so glad you asked me out again. I really missed you.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.” I lean over and kiss her.
“I want us to be together, Derek.”
“Mm—hmm.” I nuzzle her neck.
“I mean, really together.”
I freeze. Holy shit. Did she mean… I pull back to study her face. She gazes directly into my eyes. “What? You mean you want us to…”
“Yes. I want you to be my first.”
Christ on a cracker, this has to be my lucky day. I reach for my door handle. “Anybody home right now?”
She grabs my arm and holds me in place. “Yes. My parents.”
I shut the door with a sigh. Was my house empty? Probably. If Ashley had dance practice. “We could go to my house.”
Dakota shakes her head. “No, not today. I was thinking after the homecoming game. We could maybe go to the lake, just you and me. I know the whole team likes to do a big party, but…” She trails off, biting her lip, and I don’t care if the team plans to meet the president after that game, I’m ditching them.
“Yeah. Absolutely. I’d rather be with you, too,” I assure her and kiss her again.
As soon as I get home that evening, I text Bruce, Andre, and a couple of other guys that I will be collecting one hundred points the night of the homecoming game. Meanwhile, I’ve got to figure out how to clear the rest of my card without getting into trouble.
5
Ashley
Sebastian Valenti saw us and knew something was wrong. He ran to me, asking if I was okay, asking what happened. He opened his backpack, gave me a sip of water from his water bottle. He took off his sweatshirt and covered me. And the defendant said, “Two hundred points, dude.”
Sebastian took his phone out, and when the defendant saw that, he hit him. If this sounds like a “nice kid” to you, we need a new definition of nice.
—Ashley E. Lawrence, victim impact statement
NOW
BELLFORD, OHIO
The boys take off in clusters. Some head for the school, others head for the parking lot, and others just walk down the road. Those who see me sitting here frown, glare, or flip me off.
They know.
They know exactly why I’m here.
When Mr. Davidson walks in our direction, I climb to legs that suddenly shake. Beside me, Tara and Sebastian stand, too.
“Mr. Davidson,” I say as he reaches us.
“Yes?”
He’s a big man. Scary big. Bald head, goatee, deep voice, and giant biceps that strain the sleeves of his Bengals T-shirt. I wish I had a bottle of water because my mouth is Sahara dry. I’m so glad Tara and Sebastian offered to do this with me because being up close with this man is terrifying.
He waits for me to say something. Names. That’s a good place to begin. “I’m Ashley Lawrence. This is Sebastian Valenti and Tara Liu.”
Recognition ripples across his face.
“You know who I am.” It’s not a question.
He nods. “Yes. And I’m sorry for what happened. For what was done to you.”
“Then you have some idea why I need to talk to you now.”
He glances at his watch. Sky-blue eyes meet mine. “Yeah, I guess I do. Is right here good?”
I nod, and he lowers himself to the grass and waits for us to join him. When we do, I can’t seem to remember why I thought this was a good idea. He waits, and finally, Sebastian clears his thro
at again. “So, Mr. Davidson, I was on the football team two years ago.”
Bushy eyebrows come together in a frown. “I know. And I would like to know why you didn’t come to today’s meeting.”
Sebastian glances at me and then shakes his head. “I don’t play anymore.”
Mr. Davidson doesn’t like that answer. He turns to me. “Ashley, before I accepted this job, I did a lot of research. I wanted to know what I’d be walking into. I know what happened. I know about the scavenger hunt. And I’ll tell you what I just finished telling all those boys this afternoon. This team, this new Bengals team I’m putting together, it’s going to be all about the game. There won’t be any other traditions. In fact, I’m lobbying against even doing any homecoming events this year.”
I exchange a glance with Tara. This is excellent news. Really excellent news. But then I remember the looks I got in class today. And my happiness evaporates. “Mr. Davidson, there are things you should know that weren’t in the newspapers.”
He leans forward. “Like?”
“Like pretty much all of the boys at your meeting today hate me for canceling football last year.”
“I can’t force people to like you, Ashley.”
I wave that away. “It’s not about popularity. It’s about safety. I don’t want them breaking windows at my dad’s business. Or surrounding my mom in the parking lot of some store. I don’t want them calling my house in the middle of the night and then hanging up. I don’t want to come to school and find threats in my locker.”
Mr. Davidson stares at me, lips pressed tight. “All of that happened to you.”
Again, he states it like he already knows the answer, but I respond anyway with a nod.
“And you’re sure it was these boys?”
“I am,” Sebastian answers. “I was on the team back then. I heard them planning stuff like that, talking about it afterward. I know exactly who smashed the windows and who circled her mom in that parking lot. They thought it was funny.”
“I see.”
I almost laugh at that. He sees. And what good does seeing do me?
“Mr. Davidson,” Sebastian tries again. “Some of these guys? They don’t care about the game. They play because of the power, you know? They like getting to slide out of homework, and they get a rush off the way football is worshiped around here. The second Mr. McCloskey made that announcement today, they started making their plans. I’m telling you. It’s all gonna happen again.”
Mr. Davidson listens intently while Sebastian talks, and I swear, it’s the most I’ve ever heard him say at one time. Finally, the new coach nods and looks at me.
“No,” he says firmly.
No? That’s it? I roll my eyes. What a waste of time. I sneer at him. “Thanks for your time,” I say with as much sarcasm as possible.
“No. I’m not going to let any of that happen again. Not on my watch.” Mr. Davidson shakes his head. “I get what you’re saying, Sebastian. But I think worship is a bit over the top. Football’s a popular pastime around here. I work my players hard so they’ll win, and when they do, they deserve respect. But I will not let them slack off homework or exploit their positions on the team. If I see that, they’ll ride the bench.”
Mr. Davidson seems honest, but what he’s saying isn’t going to help. Sebastian just told him he knows who terrorized my family back then, but the new coach didn’t even ask for their names.
“And the scavenger hunt?” I blurt out the question.
He slices the air with both hands. “Absolutely not. You have my word on this.”
Words aren’t good enough.
“Mr. Davidson, no offense, but what are you gonna do to make sure?”
The new coach’s eyes narrow, and he turns to Sebastian, eyeing him up and down. “That’s up to Sebastian. I can teach these boys how to play ball. And I can ensure they keep up their grades. I can even punish them when they mess up. But in my experience, there’s only one way to lead a team, and that’s from within. That means I have to appoint a team captain with the kind of moral compass I want to see exhibited by my whole team. Other organizations elect their captains, but I don’t. I appoint them. You should have been at the meeting today, Sebastian. I was waiting for you.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “I don’t play anymore,” he says again.
“Why not?”
Mr. Davidson’s voice holds that tone of authority. I can see it working on Sebastian. We’re all sprawled on the grass, and yet Sebastian sits up straight, almost at attention.
“Because.” He leans forward and stares at the ground, frustration clearly showing on his face. “You don’t know what it was like,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t good.” That last part is delivered with a crack in his voice. Sebastian shifts, hunching over his knees.
“I see. So instead of being the example for the team to follow, you quit.”
Sebastian’s eyes snap to the insulting tone in Mr. Davidson’s voice. “I never quit. I refused to do the scavenger hunt. I told them! I told them all it was wrong. But nobody listened. Instead, they spent every practice we had until homecoming doing their best to break me. I spent days healing from bruises, and nobody ever did jack shit to them and after—” Abruptly, he clamps his lips together, shaking his head. He shoots me a quick look, and I know what he means.
“Finish it, Sebas,” I tell him.
He sighs and shrugs. “After Vic got arrested, when all this stuff went public, I was jumped.”
I gasp and stare, horrified, at Sebastian. Beside me, Tara flings both hands up to cover her mouth, and even Mr. Davidson looks enraged.
“I got jumped in the boys’ bathroom in the locker room. I was kicked and punched while somebody held my arms, and somebody else had a towel over my head. I was ordered not to say a word. Not to testify. Not to talk to Ashley again.”
I knew he’d been unpopular with his team. But I didn’t know how bad it was. I should have. I guess I was so wrapped up in my own issues, I never looked at anybody else’s. Sebastian is a hero. After being beaten up by his teammates, he did testify. And he did talk to me.
Mr. Davidson slowly stands up. “Play ball for me, Sebastian. Be this team’s captain. That’s the only way I can make sure what happened to your friend and to you doesn’t happen again.”
“They’re not gonna listen to me, Mr. Davidson.”
“They will if they want to play.”
Sebastian considers that for a minute and then looks at me. “Ash? If you say no, then it’s no. I don’t want to hurt you more.”
Shit. Hurt me more. Is that even possible? Slowly, I shake my head. This is…this isn’t my decision. “Do you want to play?”
He shrugs his big shoulders. “Not if it makes it worse on you.”
“Forget about me. Do you want to play?”
Those pretty hazel eyes latch on to mine—they’re green right now—and he nods. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Then you should play.”
“Good. I’ll expect you right here after school tomorrow.” Mr. Davidson extends a hand before anybody can say another word. After a few seconds, Sebastian shakes it. Mr. Davidson nods, walks away, but then turns back. “Sebastian? A good captain, a strong leader, throws his support behind a worthy cause,” he says with a long look at me. “He expects his teammates to do the same.”
We watch Mr. Davidson walk away, twirling the whistle around his hand.
“Well, that went well,” Tara says after a minute.
“Actually, it did.” Wheels are spinning away in my mind. I grab Sebastian’s hand. “I have an idea, but I need you to make it happen. Are you up for it?”
Sebastian stares at our clasped hands. I quickly let go.
“Yeah. Anything.”
I swipe at my phone and open a browser. A few taps and I find what I’m looking for. “That thing Mr. Davidson
just said about a worthy cause. Do you think we can make something like this happen at Bellford?”
Sebastian takes the phone and reads the screen with Tara peering over his shoulder. It takes them a few minutes, but when they’re done, Sebastian looks up at me, eyebrows raised.
“You seriously want to do this?”
I nod. “I have wanted to do this for a year now. I just couldn’t figure out a way to do it by myself.”
He and Tara exchange a look, and then he stares right into my eyes. “Ashley, we absolutely can make this happen at Bellford. I promise.”
Deeply touched, I nod. “Okay. We should go. There’s a lot of work to do.”
Tara laughs. “I wish you could see your face right now. You look fierce.”
“Uh-uh,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “She looks fearless.”
I say nothing because neither is true.
• • •
We say goodbye to Tara when she turns up the path that leads to the big red door to her house and when it’s just Sebastian and me, I figure it’s time I register for a driver’s ed class. I don’t want to walk home from school anymore. Especially now that football’s back.
“Hey, Ash.”
I look over at Sebastian, and he’s biting his lip. “Are you scared right now? Like, with me?”
I suck in a deep breath, trying like hell to find the right words to make this sting less. “Truth? Yes.”
He looks away, but not before I see the resignation in his eyes.
“Sebastian, it’s not something I can control, but I’m trying. I swear. I have to remind my stupid brain that not all guys rape. That you, my dad, my brothers are not the ones who hurt me.”
Not that way at least.
“Is it hard?” he asks.
Nodding, I try to explain. “My body sees something completely harmless and innocent, and for some reason, it associates it with the rape. That forces me into defense mode, and I freak out because a lot of times, I don’t know what’s causing it. So I have to tell myself I’m safe, I’m fine, nobody’s hurting me.” I point directly to him when I say that part so he understands that I’m trying. I really am. “It helps. Eventually.”