The Hard Count(56)
“You said nobody’s job out here was guaranteed, sir,” Travis says.
“Damn right,” my father responds, loud and quick.
He begins to pace, and I lean against the bus, my eyes moving from him to Nico, who is watching my father quietly and respectfully. His face is bruised, and he is finally showing the wear from tonight’s game.
“Monday, we begin again. We…start over. I’m going to post a list. If you’re on that list, then you are on the team. The rest of you better show up ready to try out. Nobody is guaranteed, and I don’t give two shits who your dad or uncle is!” My father shouts his ultimatum, and a few of the coaches flinch at his choice of words. Jimmy O’Donahue snickers to himself and looks away.
“I suppose Nico gets to be on that list?” Travis says, stepping forward more, backing up his opinion. I think he was expecting others to join him, and when they don’t, he starts to sway on his feet and look around.
“You all can probably guess the few names that will be on that list. And if you think they’re going to be there, then guess what?” My dad stares into Travis’s eyes, moving closer until there are only inches between them. “That means you know who’s really playing with their heart and who’s doggin’ it. Quit pretending you don’t. And quit being an embarrassment to this program. You embarrass me, your parents, and yourselves.”
My dad holds Travis’s gaze until my brother’s best friend blinks and his eyes fall down to his feet. He knows my dad’s right, and he knows he’s acting like a child. I don’t know why he’s taking over for acting out on my brother’s aggression, but it’s not winning him any points in anyone’s eyes but Noah’s.
“I don’t want to be on that list,” Nico says, breaking the silence. Heads shift and my father turns to look at him quickly, his brow pulled in. Nico steps forward. “That’s part of the problem, Coach. I know you mean to reward hard work, but that’s just not how it comes across.”
Nico turns to look down the line of players, most of them the guys who gave up on him tonight and let him struggle.
“You all think I’m getting some sort of special treatment. I’m not stupid. I hear the shit you say—sorry Coach, no disrespect with the language,” Nico says quickly, holding up his hand. “I hear you, though. I know I’m the scholarship kid. I know that Sasha and I, and maybe Jason and Malachi over there, are the only people with brown skin on this damned team. We feel it. You don’t have to say anything guys, if you don’t want to, but you know…you all know. We feel it. You whisper about it, even when you don’t think you are. We must be getting favors. We must be here to make sure Cornwall isn’t too white. Why the hell couldn’t it be because…we’re good. Maybe we’re just…good.”
Nobody speaks. Mouths are shut, and consciences are evaluating the words Nico just said. He isn’t wrong, and even though I feel some of the guys wanting to protest, they won’t—they can’t. They would be liars.
“So keep me off that list. I’m going to earn my way just like the rest of you. But you better be willing to prove your skills, because I’m done holding back, and I’m done not beating other teams by thirty or forty points,” Nico says, turning so he faces Travis, stepping forward until they stand only feet apart. “And I’m done pretending I don’t hear the things you say.”
Travis swallows, his eyes meeting Nico’s. The standoff is short, and it ends in Travis giving Nico a slight nod, a silent pact between the two of them.
I wait by the bus, watching as the team slowly breaks away, some not even bothering to head to the locker room at all. My brother walks away with Travis, but the bond that was there for years feels different between them. When Noah starts to talk, Travis doesn’t engage. That might change the minute they get in the car and drive home, but the fact that Nico put those thoughts out there in the open has done something to everyone—even my dad.
After several minutes, I’m standing in the parking lot alone. My father’s car is the last one besides mine in the lot. Nico left with Sasha, not bothering to stop to talk to me. I didn’t expect him to, but I felt slighted somehow still. Izzy tried to talk me into going to Charlie’s, mostly because she likes drama and wants to see how many people still decide to show up.
I want to go home, and maybe for the same reason Izzy wants to go to the ice cream shop. I want to see how tonight affected my mom. I want to see if Travis drove home, and if my brother and he parted ways. I want to ask my brother what he was thinking. I want to shake him, and scream at him.
I want him to apologize to me—for being a goddamned *!
And I want the adults to quit plotting for ways to take my father down. They’re not so different from the students, and Nico said it all. I hear them, too. They think I can’t…they think my mom can’t. We all hear them.
The streets are quiet on the way home, and I purposely don’t drive near Charlie’s, so I’m not tempted to stop. I head directly home, pulling into my driveway, feeling a sense of comfort when I see Travis’s Jeep in his driveway. My mom’s car is still not home, though, and when I unlock the front door, the house is quiet and dark. My brother’s door is wide open, his lights off, and his bed the same unkempt mess it’s been for days.
His leg may heal soon, but the rest of him—the other parts he’s slowly destroying—I don’t hold out much hope.