The boys clashed midfield, tackling and dragging each other through the grass. I circled the action and went long, getting further than the others on our team. James spotted me and passed the ball. It soared above the stadium light, disappearing and landing again in my hands.
I held the leather to my chest and ran across the field, dodging one boy and then another. A skip here, a fake-out step there. Even Jay reached out to stop me, but I spun around him too and scored a touchdown.
Catching my breath, I turned and looked back on the people watching me, and knew immediately my athleticism had earned me some standing with the guys of both houses. It made me want to get back out there and go again.
Yeah! Not so clumsy now, huh?
Six touchdowns in, the Blue House won the game. We had an edge in athletics, at least! And we all gravitated together to give these manly half hugs once all was said and done.
But white boys didn’t like to lose. That became clear when we got back to the locker room and Cannon Cleary screamed, “Didn’t know you could run like that, Nick! You’ve got such agirlishfigure.”
There were laughs here and there. I chose silence. I didn’t want to be mean in return. But my God, did I secretly wish to be stronger and bigger like they were so that they could never say a thing. Even though I was fast, I was still being chumped for not looking the part.
Jay was walking out of the showers and going to his locker—the way he stomped around the crowd made me think he was angrier at the slight than I was. “Do you ever leave people alone, Cannon? I swear it’s like you spend all your time focused on someone else. Focus onyou.”
There were someoohsas people took sides on the back andforth. They both looked the part. Cannon’s muscles ripped smoothly through his defined, lean build. Jay was shorter, but with broad shoulders and a powerful chest—his entire torso was robust and balanced with strength.
“Says the guy who’s inserting himself into something that wasn’t about him,” Cannon spat back.
“It is about me,” Jay said. “I see you bullying someone, I’m going to say something.”
“Oh, brother.” Cannon rolled his eyes. “So fake righteous—isn’t your father aconman?”
The room went watchfully silent.
Gatsby?I thought. Aconman? What did that mean? Well, Jay did say his father gave “donations” to that juice joint we went to. And they sold alcohol there. But that wasn’t exactly conning.
Jay wasn’t fazed by the comment and continued packing his gym bag. “You’re benefiting from my father’s junior cop program,” he said, plainly.
“That’s beside the point,” Cannon said. “I know a spin when I see one and no one makes millions through charity. He built this school to make itlook likehe isn’t a crook.”
A crook?The West Egg pamphlet said Gatsby Sr. built wealth throughpeer-to-peer investing. Whatever that meant, it sounded legit! But perhaps not very moneymaking.
“You know nothing about him,” Jay said, his voice quieter now.
“Of course not—he makes sure to stay out of sight, doesn’t he?” Cannon stepped up to Jay. “We all know that’snot for no reason.”
The room held its breath, watching as Jay didn’t back down. He looked angry, and for a second, I thought he might swing at Cannon.
But he didn’t. He held his ground, and when he spoke, his voice cut through the silence with a cold peace. “Anyone who talks so loudly on things they don’t know about is a fool.”
He left Cannon with a final glare before slamming his locker shut and striding out of the locker room.
Cannon just snickered, his smugness not faltering.
And I stood there, trying to place the emotion I had for Jay, which had sprung up unexpectedly while watching the encounter. Admiration? Loyalty? It all started because he stood up for me. He didn’t know me well, and yet he’d been there immediately as if to fulfill some preexisting duty to me.
As everyone else filed out of the locker room, the usual chatter carried on. I ran forward after standing in disbelief for what felt like a lifetime of pondering.
I couldn’t catch up to him in time. The last I saw of him that night was from the back. He shrank in the distance beyond West Egg’s main field, his silhouette collapsing down the front steps and out of sight.
Was there a shift between us? Was I imagining it?
West Egg may have felt more like a battleground than a haven, but at least in this battle, I had an ally.
Another surprise midnight football game came around a few days later, as the White House boys were challenging us to arematch to avenge their honor. On the night of our next game, I found a letter in my locker.
I pulled it out, making sure no one could see me, wondering if it occurred to Jay how intimate this method of communication was?
