Chapter TWELVE
Ice hoops were already in full swing when Chase showed up to Galvin’s Pond on Friday afternoon. Every year, during winter break, the guys would get together at the pond and set up Zach’s portable basketball hoops. Assuming the ice was thick enough, they would half-skate, half-run through unwieldy games of Horse or 21. More than a few nasty bruises had been sustained over the years thanks to these games, but they were worth it. If nothing else, ice hoops was another way to make Ascension’s long winters bearable.
The tiny pond was set back from the road, behind a curtain of trees, in the Galvin Nature Preserve. On the far side of the preserve was Ascension’s oldest cemetery, one of those historic relics that contained just a handful of crumbling stones. Every Halloween, the land was overrun by a haunted hayride, complete with swamp things emerging from the water and zombies popping out from behind trees. Chase liked the hayride—it was girl bait; they seemed to love snuggling up and being fake scared. Last year, Kelly Van Doran had actually whispered,
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“You’re so brave,” into his ear as they’d bounced along the rocky path. During the summer months, Galvin was a cramped swimming hole, crowded with teenagers reveling in Maine’s short window of hot weather, too lazy to drive to the beach.
Chase had more somber memories here, too. After Zach’s dad’s funeral freshman year, the two of them had ended up at Galvin, while folks were still mingling at the McCord house.
At home, Zach had been stoic and serious, but by the pond, he’d broken down in tears, throwing rocks angrily into the pond. Chase had sat quietly by, thinking about how different their dads had been. How he almost envied Zach his grief—
Zach, who was actually losing a father figure, a mentor. After a while, Chase had pulled a fifth of bourbon from his coat.
“Here, have some of this,” he’d said. And Zach had drunk gratefully. “Thanks,” Zach had said. “I know you get it.” Then they’d gone to Zach’s car for a Wiffle ball and bat. Chase had fed Zach easy pitches, allowing him the satisfaction of seeing the ball sail through the air, almost to the trees, by the force of his hits.
Today, Galvin was practically deserted. There were only three cars in the parking lot when Chase pulled up, all of them bearing Ascension stickers.
Winter had come early and strong this year. There was no doubt the pond was frozen solid. As he crunched across the frozen field toward the “court,” Chase heard the guys shouting, talking shit, laughing. He could see six or seven of them jumping around on the ice and snow. He rubbed his hands together and pulled his cap down over his ears. No snow was in 159
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the forecast today, but the wind was blowing with a particular intensity. His nose wouldn’t stop running no matter how many times he dragged his arm across it.
He hadn’t really wanted to show up today. Since the paint-ing and picture-taking, he hadn’t stopped thinking about Ty: All he wanted to do was see her again. But then Zach had called to remind him about the game, and Chase felt bad. He really hadn’t been hanging out much lately.
“Surprised you showed up, Singer.” Barton’s voice carried crisply over the ice. “Thought you might be busy panhandling.”
Great. This again. Chase had almost forgotten about that whole gag over the last few days. “Thought you would have come up with a new insult since then,” he tossed over his shoulder as he high-fived Zach in greeting. “Barton, save your shit talk for the court.”
He jogged up and down on the ice, trying to get into game mode.
Zach grabbed the ball from Barton’s grasp and sailed a jump shot into the basket.
“In the bag, baby.” Zach did a small victory dance. “I’m just that good.” It was a nice shot, Chase had to admit.
“Speaking of bagging,” Carl Feder said with an exagger-ated wink. “Which one are you going to bring to the Feast?
How can you possibly choose between them?”
“Moving on, Feder. Okay, so we’ll have me, Wagner, you, and Nick on one team,” Zach was saying, pointing to the players as he spoke. “And Chase, Brian, Barton, Steve, and Will on the other. Sound good?”
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Barton scoffed quietly but didn’t say anything. The rest of them nodded and assembled themselves into small huddles.
As they split up, Chase heard Steve Sawyer say to Zach,
“You know I couldn’t even get her pants off, right, dude?”
So they were talking about Em. Chase remembered the time Steve had come to practice boasting about having made out with Winters. Then the next time he hadn’t been boasting so much. He’d brought her down to his basement to watch old episodes of Saturday Night Live hoping for a blow job and he’d gotten no further than second base.
“Maybe you just don’t have my skills,” Zach said, bounding out onto the ice. “So, same rules as last year?”
Chase couldn’t help but flash back to the other day, when he’d walked in on Em and Zach. Em had been so embarrassed as she clutched a pillow to her chest and searched frantically for her bra.
“Zach’s trying to bone Emily Winters,” Barton said, thinking he was filling Chase in on a big secret. Chase nodded and looked away. He didn’t want to talk about Em and Zach. It felt shitty. Invasive.
Zach very artfully managed to neither confirm nor deny the allegations. But his confident laugh made Chase feel colder than the wind did.
Chase thought back to the day Zach had told him that he was going to ask Gabby out. It was right at the beginning of last summer. Zach had spent all of their freshman and sophomore years bouncing from girl to girl, including the ridiculously hot UMaine sophomore he’d met when he was out sailing on his 161
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stepdad’s boat. That was when he’d coined the “college tours”
term. But he was getting a bit of a reputation for being a player.
So last summer, after a day when a bunch of them had gone to the beach and Zach and Gabby had flirted all afternoon, Zach had told Chase his plan. He was going to ask Gabby out. It was perfect. She was hot. He’d heard she wasn’t a prude from Ryan Chandler, a senior on the basketball team who’d taken her to prom and supposedly had inside knowledge. She’d been smiling at him a lot. Her parents would love it. And it’s not like they didn’t have fun together. She was cute and smart. She giggled a lot. She and Em were always up for sneaking into the Woods Knoll golf course and drinking rum and Cokes. It was just natural. Easy.
And yeah, he’d cheated on her a few times. Chase had even congratulated Zach. Zach got away with it, and no one got hurt.
But now . . . Chase didn’t know if it was because Em had been helping him, or because of how tortured she’d looked when she’d gotten out of Zach’s car the other day, but when Zach talked like this, Chase couldn’t even fake a smile.
He bounced up and down to get his blood pumping, to show that he was ready to play.
“Okay, so it’s our ball first,” Zach announced.
Chase’s head snapped up. “Why?”
Zach looked quizzical. “My team won last year. Winner’s ball.”
“Winner’s ball does not span a full year, dude.”
Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Zach relented.
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“Okay. Touchy, touchy. Shoot to see who goes first. Me versus Singer.” Zach threw him the ball.
Chase jogged out to the middle of the pond and aimed at one of the hoops. He missed. Zach did the same, shooting for the opposite basket. Another miss. They went back and forth a couple of times, the wind taking the ball in a new direction with every shot. Chase started to zone in on the game, the ball, the feeling of physical exertion.
He swished one right in.
“Our ball,” he said, flashing a triumphant grin.
“I still get my shot.” Zach toed up to the makeshift line—a thin line carved faintly into the ice. But as the ball sailed from his hands, Chase saw him take a giant step forward. The ball hit the backboard, rolled around the rim, and dropped through the net.
Chase called him on it. “Foul, man! Bullshit. Take it again.”
“What are you talking about?” Zach looked at him innocently.
“You stepped way over the line. Take it again.”
“No I didn’t.” Zach looked around at the other guys. “Was I over?”
“Dude, I saw it,” Chase insisted. For some reason he didn’t want to let this one go. “You can’t just make your own rules.
Do over.”
Zach stood there, not moving. “Jesus, you are really uptight these days, man. First the cock block the other day, now this.”
He forced a laugh, but his eyes were narrow and hard.
“Shut up, a*shole.” Chase spoke a little more forcefully. He dug his nails into his palms, feeling his heart beating faster, 163
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feeling his vision closing in slightly on both sides. “I’m just saying you can’t always bend the rules however you f*cking want.
You pull this shit all the time. Forget it. Go first. I don’t care.”
“Okay, guys. Whatever. Zach’s team goes first. Let’s play.”
Barton came up behind Chase. The others spread out, ready to get moving.
But Zach didn’t give up.
“What’s your problem, Singer? You have something to say to me?”
“Yeah, I said it. Your foot was over the damn line.” In the open preserve, their voices echoed. It was getting darker, and Chase’s mood was stormy. “You always cheat when you’re trying to bag something?” he said with a sneer, turning his back on Zach. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but he wouldn’t take them back.
He scanned the others’ faces defiantly, daring them to say something. All of a sudden, there were lots of faces down and feet shuffling.
“Oh, so you’re jealous,” Zach said, his voice syrupy sweet.
“Of my basketball skills or of the fact that Em’s into me? I didn’t know you had a thing for her. Go ahead—once Gabby’s back, Em’s off-limits to me. So feel free to take my sloppy seconds.
You should be used to hand-me-downs, right?”
That was it: Chase snapped. The anger that had been building for days—no, years—unraveled inside of him. “You’re a dick, you know that?” Chase’s voice was a low growl.
Zach’s mouth curled sinisterly and Chase could feel his own eyes pulling into mean slits.
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“What, you suddenly care about how people feel or something?” Zach practically spit out the words. “Chill out. I’m just having a good time.” He took a menacing step toward Chase.
“Well, I think you’re being a douchebag,” Chase responded, not budging a centimeter. “Think about someone else for a change.”
“Really? That’s what you think? Well, I think you’re being a faggot,” Zach said.”
“What did you just call me?”
“You heard me. Faggot.”
The two boys stepped toward each other, and Sean cleared his throat. “Okay, okay. Guys. Come on. Let’s play.” Barton and Nick moved forward instinctively. But Chase barely heard him. His eyes were locked on Zach’s. The anger was a snake, lashing inside him.
Then out of nowhere came the punch. Zach’s fist shot out from the right side of his body, making contact with the left side of Chase’s face.
“Jesus!” Chase didn’t know if he said it or if one of the other guys did, but the word rang out in the open air. His cheek stung and his eyes watered. He felt the rush of adrenaline.
Chase balled up his fist and hit back, making contact with the left side of Zach’s mouth. He thought he felt the skin break beneath his knuckles.
Zach charged, head down, into Chase’s torso. They fell to the ground, grunting and cursing. Chase hit the ice, hard, with a cracking sound; he rolled over, shoving Zach’s head into the snow. Then the others were there, shouting, trying to break it 165
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up. Sean and Nick pulled at Zach, while Barton grabbed Chase under the arms and tugged him in the opposite direction.
Zach spit and dark blood spattered to the snowy ground.
Chase couldn’t tell if the blood was from Zach’s oozing lip or nose. He and Zach were both heaving.
Zach looked up at him, squinting. He shook his head ever so slightly, and no one approached him. “You always take things way too far, dude.”
Chase tried to shake free of Barton’s grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Even though he knew. He knew exactly what Zach was referring to. The dark secret that had been haunting him ever since the night of Minster’s party. The unspeakable thing . . .
Zach looked at him hard. “You know what I’m talking about.”
A spasm went through Chase’s chest. He shook at Barton again, who was still gripping his arms like he was a freaking animal. “I’m fine, man,” he said to Barton. “I’m fine. Lemme go.”
Barton finally released him. Chase didn’t look at Zach again. He turned on his heel and walked away. As he walked, he touched the skin around his eye gingerly. It was smarting and tender.
He could hear Zach’s angry words as he moved. “F*cking psycho. What the hell is wrong with him?”
Back in his car, Chase’s reflection leered at him, monstrous, from the rearview mirror. His face was practically maroon with exertion, and a yellow-black bruise was already starting 166
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to form around his eye. Just above it, there was a bloody cut.
He grabbed his sunglasses from the visor and put them on, even though the winter sun was low and dim. He noticed he was shaking uncontrollably as he pulled the car into gear and sped out of the lot.
Pulling up to the trailer, Chase squinted with confusion at the silver BMW that sat outside. Unless they’d won the lottery (and he’d made his mom promise to stop buying lotto tickets about a year ago—they only got her hopes up), there was absolutely no reason for such a rich ride to be outside the house.
As he got out of the car, though, he saw Em sitting inside the BMW. Must be one of her parents’ cars—she usually drove a little dented-up Honda. What the hell was Winters doing out here?
“Hey, Chase,” she said with a note of shyness. And then, after a moment of awkward silence: “You left this at my house.”
She held up his playbook in her mittened hand. Chase didn’t know what to say.
“You drove here to give me that?”
“Yeah, well, you’re never without it,” she said. He watched her pull her nose up at her own stupid joke. “I can’t stay, though.
I borrowed my dad’s car,” she added, sheepishly pointing to the gleaming silver.
This day couldn’t get any worse. First the fight with Zach, now Emily Winters showing up at the trailer. He didn’t even remember what state of shambles he’d left the place in this morning. For all he knew there was still a burnt Pop-Tart on 167
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the kitchen counter. There was no way he was inviting her in.
He hoped she didn’t expect anything from him. He had nothing to give. Especially not to her.
Forgetting all about his black eye, he took off his sunglasses, grimacing when his fingers brushed against the bruised bridge of his nose. Em gasped.
“Chase?! What happened to you?”
His hand instinctively went toward his eye. “I got into a fight,” he said sullenly. He couldn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”
“With who? Oh my god. Are you okay? You need to get some ice on that.” He’d seen Emily morph into nurse mode once before—at a Fourth of July party last summer, when Matt Harrison had run straight through a glass door. (It had been so clean that Harrison thought he was running through air.) It was kind of cute when she got like this. But he wanted to be alone.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “It’s just a little black-and-blue.
Thanks for the playbook.” He grabbed the binder and moved toward his door. If he was lucky, maybe she’d just leave.
“Hold on,” Em said. “Let me put some ice on it. And some of this cream. I know my dad keeps it in the car—one of the perks of being a doctor’s daughter. I’m like a walking first-aid kit.”
Before Chase could utter another word, she was rummaging through her glove compartment, tossing questions over her shoulder. “Who did you fight with? Where are you coming from? Does it hurt? Does it feel like you have a concussion?”
Apparently she found what she was looking for, and nudged him toward his front door. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t resist, either. He was too exhausted to bother.
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Inside, she took off her hood and shook out her long hair.
Then she sat him down on a stool at the kitchen counter, found a dish towel, and gently cleaned off his wound.
“Were you with Zach?” Chase could hear the quiver in her voice. What a little shit Zach was. This girl really liked him. He saw the way her eyes got far away for a moment, and he instantly thought of Ty. He knew his eyes looked like that these days too. He nodded, but Em barely paid attention. She just babbled on.
“Oh, cool. I was just wondering. Because . . . like, because . . . we were maybe going to go sweater shopping today but I never heard from him. I was sure he was just with you or whatever but I was just curious—Wait! Was Zach in this fight too?”
She looked at him, stricken. And he knew he had to tell her. Would she want to know? Probably not. Was he doing her a favor? Maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to hurt her, to hurt Zach, to make everyone else’s lives feel as weird and jumbled as his felt right now.
“Yeah, he was in it, Winters. He threw the first punch.”
“Oh my god.” Em’s brown eyes went wide, and she was suddenly, obviously, fascinated. Chase probably could have said Zach picked his nose and Em would have savored the details.
“Who were you guys fighting?” she asked, almost under her breath.
“Each other.”
Em took a step back. “I don’t get it.”
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came up. Zach punched me. And I punched him back.” Chase shifted on his stool, feeling his eye throbbing in pain. Was she going to help him clean this wound up or not?
“So it was all over a game?”
Chase snorted. “Not exactly. I called him out on being an a*shole.”
“Why—why would you say something like that?” Em squeaked.
“Because he is an a*shole, Winters. I mean, he’s my best friend. Or was. Or whatever. But he treats girls like garbage.”
“What are you talking about?” Em’s face had gone pale, like the snow outside the trailer.
“He’s not going to break up with Gabby, for one thing. He said it, point-blank, in front of a whole bunch of us just a few hours ago. And it’s not because he, like, loves Gabby or anything. He likes her. But part of that is just because she’s easy to deal with. He doesn’t have to put in any effort. He can do whatever he wants. And he does.” Chase couldn’t stop now. He was going to spill it all. “He wants to hook up with both of you, so he does. He wants to meet girls from other schools, so he does.
That’s the point: He does whatever, whenever he feels like it.”
Emily looked sick. Chase had never seen anyone “turn green” before—even during intense preseason practices, when coach had them do sprints in the summer sun and some of the guys threw up. But Emily’s skin now had a decidedly puke-green tint to it.
“You’re a liar.” She said it quietly but furiously. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
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Chase sighed. Now that he’d spilled everything, he regretted it. Of course she wouldn’t believe him. But now he was in too deep to just let it go. “I do, Emily. I’m sorry, but I know exactly what I’m talking about.” It was, he thought, the only time he’d ever addressed her by her first name.
“Why are you saying this?” She was louder now. Almost hysterical. Chase felt bad, but she needed to know. “It’s not true!”
“Look at this,” he said, scrolling through his phone. He found what he was looking for and held it out to her. From Zach McCord, it plainly said. It was from three days ago, when Chase had walked in on her and Zach. It read: Hey man, thanks for the cock block. I only have a few days to make this happen, a*shole. Lol.
And then another one: Mtg that UMaine chick later. U should come if she has hot friends.
Em grabbed the phone from his hand. He watched her eyes run over the words. When she looked back up at him, one tear was spilling down onto her cheek. He looked quickly away. He should never have said anything. He didn’t want to see this.
“You don’t get it,” Em said. “This isn’t what you think it is.”
“Sorry, Winters,” he repeated dumbly. There was nothing else to say. He watched her grab her bag and put on her coat in silence. She slammed the door on her way out; the impact made the thin walls reverberate.
For a second Chase just stood there. He listened to Em’s car start up and peel away. The trailer was stiflingly hot and smelled nauseating, like damp socks and crusted tomato sauce.
He needed out. No. He needed Ty. He picked up his phone, 171
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which Em had thrown onto the counter like it was on fire. He dialed Ty’s number. It didn’t even ring. Straight to voice mail.
He got up, shuffled to the bathroom, and stared in the mirror. His swollen eye looked bad. What if it was still like this for the Football Feast? Did it even matter anymore?
He dialed Ty’s number one more time. Again, straight to voice mail. Christ. He wanted her right now. He wanted something.
He suddenly remembered the scarf he’d taken from Ty’s the other day. Maybe if he just smelled it, held it in his hands, he would feel better. He stumbled over to where his jeans were draped over the heater.
But when he pulled his hands out of the jeans pocket, there was no delicate white scarf there—just a handful of ashy dust.
He let the ash scatter, and brushed his hands off quickly.
Weird. His jeans hadn’t burned—they weren’t even that hot. Was he losing his mind?
He looked down at his hands.
They were streaked in black.
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