“For a week.”
“You can’t suspend her on a suspicion,” Jesse says. “If you’re accusing her, then do it. That’s why I’m here – to verify everything that happens in this room. And in case you try to claim we both lied?” He holds up his phone. “I’ve been recording this.”
Mr. Vaughn’s jaw works. Then he turns to me. “Whatever else you have done, Miss Gilchrist, this is your gravest offense. Turning a good student into a fellow troublemaker.”
“Good student?” Jesse chokes on a laugh. “You aren’t talking about me, right?”
“You have been a model student, Mr. Mandal.”
“I have a C average, and I don’t know why it’s not a D. I barely show up for class.”
“You’re a star athlete. Your grades may suffer for that, but it’s only a matter of finding balance. Your IQ tests prove you’re very bright. It’s a rare combination – intelligence and athleticism.”
“Athleticism…” A weird note in Jesse’s voice makes me look over.
“Yes,” Mr. Vaughn continues, oblivious. “You’re the best runner this school has seen in years. You inspire the entire team.”
“Inspire?” Jesse’s laugh sends dread prickling down my spine, that first sense of an approaching storm.
“Steroids,” he says.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Vaughn says.
“The secret to my success, if you must know. Anabolic steroids. To build my muscles, because I don’t have my brother’s physique. I need ‘help.’ That’s what my trainer says – the trainer who was recommended by Coach Albright when I was trying to decide which high school to attend. I chose Southside, but my parents took your coach’s recommendation. They hired that private trainer to take me ‘to the next level.’ That’s how Coach Albright put it.”
His voice is so eerily calm that I’m sure he’s kidding, and Mr. Vaughn echoes that, saying, “I believe you should leave the jokes to Miss Gilchrist. That particular one could smear the reputation of your entire team.”
“Forget what I said about Albright. Maybe she had no idea how her recommended trainer turned average runners into champion sprinters. This isn’t about dragging your team through the mud. It’s about me. How I got to be the best sprinter in Riverside. Hint? It’s not hard work and dedication.”
I’m staring at Jesse, and he has his gaze fixed on Mr. Vaughn. His voice stays eerily calm, but a bead of sweat trickles down his cheek.
“That’s enough, Mr. Mandal. I’m going to ask you to leave —”
“The team? Sure. I’ll take a suspension, too, and whatever else you’re offering.”
“Your sense of humor —”
“Not joking. Really, really not joking. I don’t know how you want to handle this, but I’m ready to take my punishment. Return my trophies. Get expelled from RivCol. Whatever you want.”
“I want you to leave my office. Go to your last class, and I’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”
Both Jesse and I stare at him. Silence falls, so thick I swear I feel it.
“What?” Jesse says.
“You heard me, Mr. Mandal. Return to class.”
“I just confessed to using steroids.”
“In an effort to divert attention from Miss Gilchrist’s antics. I would applaud your chivalry, if it were not so misguided. I will do you the favor of pretending this conversation never happened. If you continue in this vein, Mr. Mandal, I would suggest that suspension would be the least of your worries.”
“Are you threaten —?”
I wrap my fingers around Jesse’s arm and whisper, “Let’s go.”
When he hesitates, I add, “Please,” and he takes my hand, fingers interlocking with mine, and marches from the office.
Skye
Mr. Vaughn comes after us, warning Jesse that he’d better get to class and I’d better get back in his office so he can formalize my suspension. We ignore him until he threatens to call security. Then Jesse says, “Call my parents, too, please. I’d like to tell them that I confessed —”
Mr. Vaughn cuts him off with a cough and says, “I expect you both to go to the library and wait for me there.” Then he retreats to the office.
Jesse mutters under his breath, “If we actually went to the library, how long would it take him to show up?”
“Monday,” I say.
Jesse shakes his head, and we continue out of the school.
Jesse walks to the bus stop. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s still holding my hand, but he’s clutching it hard. I don’t say a word. I hold on just as tightly.
We’ve just reached the bus stop when he spots a taxi and hails that instead.
It’s a silent ride. Jesse stares out the window. He hasn’t even put on his seat belt, and he jumps when I place the metal end on his leg. Then he nods and clicks it into place.
The car stops at Fletcher Park: the playground where we used to hang out and pretend we were still children.
Except we were children. In so many ways.
Jesse leads me through the gate. Then he stops. The swings are gone. The spiral slide is gone. So is the teeter-totter. Instead, there’s a bright red plastic climbing contraption with short slides and walking rails barely a foot over the ground, so even a toddler couldn’t get hurt falling into the bed of shredded rubber below.
Jesse squares his shoulders, as if he’s going to make the best of it. He turns toward the wall…
They’ve put plastic shielding along the base, so no one can climb it.
Jesse’s shoulders slump. “I didn’t know they redid it. I haven’t been here since…”
“Neither have I,” I say, and I smile, but he just keeps looking around for something – anything – familiar.
“It changed,” he says.
Everything’s changed.
Everything’s changed, and we can’t go back.
I squeeze away the prickle of tears. He doesn’t need that. Neither of us does. I tug his hand, and he follows as I lead him to the picnic shelter. He sits on a tabletop, but I say, “Uh-uh. Too easy.”
I climb onto the table, grab the shelter roofline and hoist myself up. He follows. We crawl to the opposite edge and sit looking out at the ball diamond, a new housing development under construction behind it.
“It’s true,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “About the steroids.”
“I figured it must be.”
“I cheated. All those awards…” He swallows. “My parents keep them in the living room. With Jamil’s. I won’t go in there. I didn’t earn any of them. I cheated. Every last race, I cheated.”
“Your trainer gave you steroids for weight training in the off-season. You didn’t take them at race time.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just —”
“Please.” He looks over at me. “I know what you’re trying to say, but I cheated, and I don’t want excuses.”
“Okay.”
“I just…” He pulls his legs up, sitting cross-legged, like we used to do on his garage roof. “With Jamil gone, my parents missed going to his games. Being in the stands. Cheering him on. You can’t do that at a spelling bee.”
“They did.”
“It wasn’t the same. They acted like it was, for my sake, but I knew they missed sitting in the bleachers. I’d always been a good runner, so I tried out for track and made the team. When I started high school, my parents got me that trainer. He suggested —” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not blaming anyone. I figured I’d use the steroids for one season to jump-start my training. But then I started winning, and it was the one thing…” His breath catches. “The one thing…”
He can’t finish. I take his hand and squeeze it. He just stares out at the ball diamond.
“That’s why I was a jerk to you the first couple of days,” he says. “I didn’t want you to see —” He inhales. “I’m not the kid you knew, and I was ashamed of that.”
I open my mouth, but he’s still talking. “Everything you liked about me, everything we shared, it’s gone. The shows we used to watch, I haven’t seen in years. The music we listened to, I don’t even have on my phone.”