But who was I to tell Foster about grief? What did I really know?
It took a moment for me to collect enough words for a sentence: “I don’t really think you should blame him for all of it.” I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “I don’t think … I mean, will it help?”
Foster’s voice was hoarse. “It’s easier. Than blaming her.”
I nodded, and we sat in silence.
26
The unpleasant PT in gym class was right—we were set to play Lake Falls the Friday after Sam Wells’ visitation. I don’t think anyone really knew how to handle it. Could it be the same as a normal game? Could the cheerleaders still cheer? Could the crowd still rumble, still chow down on hot dogs, still yell and carry on?
It appeared that they could, because they did. There was a moment of silence for Sam Wells before the game. But when the moment was over, everything seemed to go back to normal.
Our team took the field with its usual look of determination, but something was different about play tonight. It was sloppy.
And somehow the sloppier the team got, the better Ezra got; he darted around defenders faster, he pushed himself further. He was playing a spectacular game, and by the end of the first half, Temple Sterling led by four touchdowns. Lake Falls, despite Temple Sterling’s sloppy playing, hadn’t even come within twenty yards of its end zone.
Mr. Harper was taking sideline shots of our players and of theirs—the sports section would be organized a little differently this week, I’m sure. Some tribute to Sam or something. The courage of a team going on without its captain.
Which was, in a literal sense, what Temple Sterling was doing. When the team went back in at the half, Ezra was held on the sidelines.
“Put me back in.” I was close enough to hear Ezra arguing with Mr. McBryde.
“You’re out for the time being.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t like it, you can sit out the rest of the half, all right?”
“Are you kidding me?” Ezra threw his helmet to the ground. I had never seen him so mad. In fact, I had never seen him mad at all. On an emotional scale of one to ten—one being catatonic and ten being full-on daytime soap opera—Ezra usually hovered somewhere around a three.
“Look.” Mr. McBryde got right in Ezra’s face, his voice dangerously low. “If you don’t want to cooperate, you can sit out the next game. Despite what you seem to think, you can be benched like anyone else.”
“It’s not like that.” Ezra was struggling to control his voice.
“You can leave, Lynley.” Mr. McBryde was steely. “We’ve got a game to play.”
“And I was playing it!” Ezra burst. “I was the only one out there playing it! Don’t you see what they’re doing?”
Mr. McBryde picked Ezra’s helmet up and shoved it into his chest. “Check yourself,” was all he said, and then he stormed away to consult with the defensive coach.
The offensive coach, Mr. Evans, went over to Ezra. I could hear him talking quietly about how important it was to be “classy” in a situation like this, and how he was concerned that it might look as if they were abusing Lake Falls’ situation to pad stats.
Just as Rachel had said. Politics.
“Ease up,” Mr. Evans said. “Everyone’s gonna get a little play tonight, okay? It’s only fair.”
Ezra didn’t speak. He just clutched his helmet and refused to meet Mr. Evans’ gaze.
With Ezra sulking on the sidelines, Lake Falls scored twice in the third quarter and twice again in the fourth. A two-point conversion made the score 29–28, Lake Falls. Our coaches pulled the greener players out after Lake Falls began to score, but Ezra never went back in.