“Maybe try more pads,” Kai said, grabbing a stack of them and stuffing them under the uniform, against my chest. The cold pads scraped against my skin as I fidgeted. As much as I tried to breathe through my mouth, it wasn’t enough to prevent the body odor stink of the dirty uniform from penetrating my nostrils.
“Whose uniform is this?” I asked, adjusting the chrome visor. Daisy had explained that if I did this one task, the three of them would do everything in their power to get me into Sterling. And hearing how unpredictable the bicker interview process could be, I didn’t want to chance it. You couldn’t ask for a better guarantee than having Cecily, the president-elect of the club, on your side.
“I stole it from the third-string kicker,” Daisy explained. “We hooked up last night on the hood of his car in the lot behind Ivy.” I gave her a look and she shrugged. “What? I was a literal nun all summer. Something had to be done.”
“I got it,” Cecily said, and disappeared into her closet. She emerged moments later holding a mouth guard. “Try this.”
I slipped the mouth guard in my mouth, and the girls hollered. “That’s it!” Daisy said, turning me around to face the mirror.
Staring back at me was a scrawny-looking third-string kicker with a long brown braid hanging out of the helmet. I stuffed my hair back in, took the mouth guard out, and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
Kai shoved a pill bottle into my hands. “You know what to do,” she said.
I looked down and read the label:Stimulant Laxative.
Earlier today, Cecily told me what Alex Bain did to her at the end of sophomore year. He had led her on, acting like they were serious when he really just wanted to hook up with her. When they did finally have sex, he had taped the whole thing on a video camera hidden under a pile of clothes in his room and thenshowed the entire football team. Cecily couldn’t even report it to the school because she knew they’d never kick out their star football player.
I’d never seen her so upset. Cecily, who was always poised, well-spoken. Strong. As she told the story, I felt myself growing more and more angry. How could we let him get away with this? Although what he’d done to her was much worse, I couldn’t help but remember how I felt the day I stood there soaking wet with beer as everyone pointed and laughed. The shame, the resonant fury.
Payback’s a bitch, Alex. And this time, I’ll be the one laughing.
—
The stadium waspacked with students and alumni. an excitement flowed through the stands as fans gripped their beers and sounded their noisemakers. Princeton football was 5 and 0 this season and this was the biggest game yet. We were playing our archrivals—Harvard—and if we won, we’d clinch the Ivy League. As the band played the school fight song, the crowd erupted in cheers.
Wearing my gear, I’d managed to sneak into the huddle in the tunnel that led out to the field. My heart thudded as Alex Bain, the quarterback, gave a pep talk. Daisy had persuaded the third-string kicker to stay home in exchange for front-row tickets to a Patriots game, which Kai bought for this purpose. And here I was in his place.
“Let’s go out there and fuck shit up. Every play. Bring the pain, hit hard, let’s leave it all on the field.”
The guys whooped their approval and jumped up and down. I awkwardly joined in. Someone slapped me hard on the back, knocking the wind out of me. Everyone shouted, thudded their fists against their chests. Someone slapped my butt and a yelp of surprise escapedme.
Music boomed and the announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers as we ran out onto the field. “Welcome the Princeton Tigers!” The crowd erupted in cheers, and my whole body tingled with pride.So this is what it feels like.Players ran in dizzying patterns, tossing the football back and forth.
I anxiously scanned the crowd. Cecily, Daisy, and Kai were in thefront row with giant signs and Tigers gear. They were shouting at me, but it was impossible to hear over all the noise. Daisy signaled toward a table where Gatorade drinks sat with players’ numbers written on them. A #2 and #12 sat side by side.What number was it?Pulse racing, I turned toward the field to scan the players for Alex, but all I saw was a blur of orange-and-black-spandexed men.
“Palmer, there you are.” Someone slapped me on the back. My stomach dropped as I whipped around. Surely I was about to be caught.
But to my surprise the trainer kept talking, seemingly unaware that I was definitely not Palmer. He was a fast-talking man with a nasal voice and rectangular glasses. “I thought I told you to sit this one out. Your shin splints aren’t going to get better if you keep pounding on ’em.”
I nodded and gave a quick grunt, like I’d heard the other guys do.
He squinted at me. “You sure everything’s okay?” My palms were slick with sweat as I nodded enthusiastically.
“Hey, Carl, can I get taped up? My ankle tape’s getting loose again.” It was Alex’s voice.
I couldn’t believe I was so close to him. I hadn’t really looked at him since that night at Cottage—his sweep of blond hair and freckled skin, that cocky grin—and a tremor of anger rippled through me again.
Clocking the number on his jersey, #2, I quickly turned back to the drink bottles and grabbed #2 off the table. Jogging past a row of cheerleaders to the far corner of the field, I bent down like I was tying my shoe. I felt sick with adrenaline as I unscrewed the cap, took out the laxatives, which we’d crushed and put in a napkin, and poured it into the Gatorade. My hands were slick with sweat as I screwed the cap back on and gave the drink a shake.
“Hey, Palmer,the fuckyou doing?” I heard another voice, this time angry. It was another kicker.
Unable to get away this time, I made my voice low and hoarse and gestured to my throat. “Sick as fuck,” I said, shaking my head. I clutched my stomach and pretended to heave.
“Oh shit,” the guy said, taking a step back. “Never mind, man.You just chill. We’re good.” He disappeared off into the mass of players on the field.
Alex was getting taped up on the bench when I finally handed him the bottle, which he accepted without looking up. “Thanks, man.” And a spike of adrenaline lit my insides as I sprinted away.
—
