I knew how he felt. When Dazia set a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a wedge of cantaloupe in front of me, I could hardly stand the smell. I forced myself for Dazia’s sake.
She set a bowl of oatmeal in front of Mom, and I watched, my heart climbing out of my throat, as Mom closed her eyes and laid her hand on her stomach.
“I’m so sorry, River,” she said faintly. “I wanted to watch you play today so badly. And the parade after. To see all those people cheering for you…” She swallowed hard. “But I think I need to go lie down.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Amelia, come and tell me all about it later.”
“Okay.”
Mom started to rise, and Dad jumped to his feet to help her.
“Finish your breakfast, honey,” Mom said. “Dazia, do you mind?”
Dad sat back down while Mom spared me a final smile and slowly, leaning heavily on her friend, retreated to her room.
Silence fell where none of us spoke or touched a fork or spoon. Suddenly, a scraping of chair against tile sounded, and Amelia hurriedly ran from the room, hair flying, a hand clasped over her mouth.
“Big day,” Dad said, his voice thick. “It’s going to be a great game. The launchpad to your future.”
A future he almost had but was stolen from him. And now his futurewith Mom was eroding right before our eyes.
“Yeah, Dad,” I said and managed my own smile for him. “It’ll be great.”
***
“You ready for this?” Donte smashed his fists on my shoulder pads. “We are going todestroythem with our signature Whitmore-to-Weatherly bomb up the right sideline. Their defense is going to go home questioning their will to live.Am I right?”
“Hell yeah,” I managed. “Accept nothing less.”
“That’s my boy!” He brought his fists down a final time and then stormed around the locker room, psyching up the other players until it was loud with cheers and smack talk.
Chance Blaylock, half-dressed in our blue-and-gold uniform, shoved his bulky bare chest against my arm. “What’s wrong, Whitmore? You look ready to cry in your Wheaties.”
“Fuck off, Blaylock.” I shoved him roughly under the pretense of pregame testosterone overload. “The only crying happening today is going to be on the Soquel bench.”
“I heard that. But goddamn, we’re lucky I’m here. That asshole Parish nearly fucked us big-time.”
I bent to tie my laces, concealing a sour grimace.
Even without Chance, I was going to throw for at least two touchdowns and two hundred yards. The Soquel Saints had no defense. This was a gimme game against a low-ranked team meant to make us look good. Makemelook good in front of the scouts. The whole thing felt wrong. Dishonorable. But nothing else in the world was going to make my dad happy.
“You should see the sweet table Parish’s uncle sent us to replace the other one,” Chance was saying. “My parents should bethankingme that I had that dickhead at the party. Hell, Holden probably picked the table out of the catalog himself, if you know what I mean.”
I slammed my locker shut, a cold feeling spreading through my gut.“No. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do. He looks like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time flipping throughfashionmagazines. And what kind of name is Holden?”
“It’s fromCatcher in the Rye,” I said instead of something I’d regret. Or beating his ass.
“Huh?”
“It’s a book about an outcast. A guy who feels like the entire world is drowning him in bullshit.”
Chance frowned stupidly. “So?”
“So…that’s who he might be named after.” I turned back to my locker. “Never mind. The book has no pictures in it. You wouldn’t get it.”
