Chapter 9: The Mud, the Blood, and the Beer

We remained at the Coney a while after Scott and Kara had left, chatting about nothing at all really, and then I took Roxanne home. I kissed her good night on her doorstep, and that ended our first official date.

The next morning, I got up bright and early, and went for a morning run. Fall was my favorite time of year, because the weather was still nice, but the air was cooler. Doing just about everything was more comfortable, except maybe swimming, but I had a heated pool for that, so I didn't mind. After getting home, I hit the shower, made some breakfast, and then headed back over to the Stephens' house, to see how things were going.

My initial reluctance when Kara tried to recruit me for this project was due to my history with it. I had worked on the three previous ones, and they had been nothing but trouble. All three times, I had ended up being the sole male student that did anything productive. Usually I was the only one that showed up at all. If some of the other guys did manage to show up, they usually spent most of the time flirting with the girls, which in my view was a double waste of time, because not only were they not doing anything, but they were distracting my female worker bees, and that meant they weren't doing anything ... and if the boys weren't doing that, then they were keeping themselves busy shooting staples at each other, playing with the power tools, and all around being a waste of resources.

For what it's worth, I consider oxygen a resource.

So, Sunday morning, I found myself alone, again, in the big red barn in Carly Stephens' back yard.

I'd been at it about an hour and a half when Brandon's car pulled up outside the barn. He walked up to the barn and greeted me with a, "What's up, dude?"

"Hey," I replied. I was working on building the wood frame for the back drop we needed. I looked over to him. "Hey, grab the end of that board there." I pointed to a 2x4 I was holding one end of. He picked it up and helped me loft it into place, then held it fast while I put a few screws into it.

"So what brings you out today?" I asked. As far as I knew this was the first time Brandon had showed up to one of these.

"I figured I'd come out and bond some, seeing as you won't come to our parties," he replied.

I drove in the last screw, and then set the cordless drill down. "It's just not a good time yet. It's been one game so far. We haven't even seen how things are going to play out this week.

"Yeah, I know. It was a weird scene though," he said.

"How so?" I asked, only half paying attention, as I walked to a nearby pile of wood and selected another board.

"Well, it was like everyone wanted to talk about what happened at the game, but on the other hand, nobody wanted to talk about what happened." He looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was remembering something. "And then not having Kara around, or my sister, well..."

"I'd assume Kara is a significant presence at any social gathering, and taking her out of the group changes the dynamic significantly." I grabbed the cordless and screwed the new board into place.

"Exaaaactly," Brandon replied, dragging out the word. "It's like the female part of our crew lost their leader, and they don't know what to do now." He paused for a second. "Come to think of it ... the party kind of sucked."

"Yeah?" I said, "That's too bad. Not that I personally care all that much, but I'm sorry you didn't have a good time."

"Thanks, I think," he said, furrowing his brow for a moment. "How did your date with my sister go?" he then asked; surprisingly, his question held no subtly threatening undertones. "She was home early, couldn't have gone too well."

I stopped and looked at him. "You're aware we're talking about your sister, right?"

"My sister's a big girl. I checked you out. I did my brotherly duty."

"Oh," I said. "Well ... it was kind of a weird night."

"Weird how?" he asked.

"I assume you haven't talked to your sister?"

"No, Kara came over early, and the two of them took off. I don't know where they were headed. I thought maybe here."

"Ah," I replied. "Nope, they haven't been here, least not while I've been here. I haven't seen anyone really." I walked over to my cooler and took a swig of Pepsi, then sat down on the nearby stack of wood. "Well, Kara came with us last night."

"Fer real?" he asked, "The three of you?"

"No, I called my buddy Scott to double with us." I said. "Not really double. Just, well, so she wouldn't feel like she was a third wheel."

"How'd that go?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I get the feeling Kara's kind of messed up right now."

"Yeah," Brandon agreed. "Getting dumped sucks. 'Specially like that, and for a younger chick too. Can't be good for her ego."

"Right."

"So now what?"

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You're the man with the plan," he said. "I know, I know," he continued, warding off my attempts to interrupt him. "You're gonna say you just got roped into this. Fine, we'll just let that go. But I know better. I can see the gears turning ... I think you have a plan."

"I think you give me too much credit," I said.

"OK, dude. You just keep sayin' that, and I'll just keep pretending I believe you."

When Monday morning rolled around, and I found myself back in school, it was an entirely different experience from any I'd ever encountered.

I spent the first part of my school life being tortured and abused. I was undersized when I was younger, and I was quiet, which meant I got taken advantage of because I was an easy target. Up around the time my mom died, I shed that persona a little bit. I had started to fill out a bit, and around that time I'd gotten into the band thing, so my social development took off in a manner of speaking. There's something socially liberating about blasting power chords through a stack of amps. I also stopped taking shit from people; a few well placed fights in public places put out the word that I wasn't exactly a pushover. Sure, I got suspended, but I considered it a small price to pay to cut down on what until then was almost daily harassment.

Today however, when I breezed through the halls at school, and the crowd of students parted for me, well, that was very, very different. And it also occurred to me: this is how Mark Moore was treated. That led me to a different thought. There can only be one top dog. Regardless of whether I wanted to or not, eventually, there was going to be a battle for that spot, and even though I didn't necessarily want it, I would be thrust into it, and therefore would be forced to fight for it.

All of these thoughts were still bouncing around in my head as I slid into my seat in the back row of Mr. Simonson's third period. I was distracted, and didn't realize that Sylvia had spun around in her seat and was giving me the once over until she snapped her fingers in my face. I jolted back to reality with a "Wha... ?"

"You were off in space, Nicholas," she said.

"Yeah, I guess I was," I agreed.

"So," she continued, "I was at the game Friday. You are new quarterback."

"It would appear so, yes."

"And you have girlfriend now, too."

"That would appear to also be a yes."

"You are fast mover, Nickie. I would not have suspected ... but then again, that is how they say, 'the one to watch out for'."

"I don't know if I'm quite that devious, Sylvia," I replied, sort of defensively. "Things tend to happen of their own volition sometimes."

"If you say so, Nickie. Again, I do not believe you." And with that, she spun back around, and class began. That she echoed Brandon's opinion on my control of the situation did not go unnoticed.

Nothing else happened during the day, save for a small incident during lunch. I was sitting with my regular crew, doing my regular lunchtime routine, when I got this weird sensation, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked around, to see what had gotten me spooked, when my gaze came across the jock table. Mark was there, and looking my way. When our eyes met, he stared daggers at me, and the message was clear: "I am your enemy."

When I broke his stare and started to look away, my focus drifted slightly to the left. There was Samantha, sitting next to Mark. At that very moment, she looked away from the girl she was talking about, and right at me. The look on her face, well, it disturbed me more than Mark's threatening one did. Hers wasn't one of ire by any means.

It was one of interest.

Extreme interest.

Uh oh.

After school, we'd all gathered in the locker room, as Coach went over the game plan. Our next opponent would be one of our district rivals, the Eisenhower Eagles. The weather for Friday was calling for rain. Heavy rain. In addition, we were playing away. If I was gonna crash and burn at quarterback, this would probably be it.

"Gentlemen," Coach started as he entered the room, "We had a good win last week. We must now prepare ourselves for a bad win. The Eagles are a physical team; they will punish us up front, and I don't know if we're physical enough to stop them long enough for Nick to have a chance to pass down field. In addition, we will not have the element of surprise this time, and we'll be dealing with the weather. All in all, this is going to be a real challenge for us."

"I know Eisenhower is not considered a contender," he continued. "That is irrelevant. All that matters to us is that they stand in our way. Now, this week, we're gonna change things up a little."

And with that, the coach's assistant began handing out new playbook packets, to the groan of almost everyone. I grabbed mine from the pile as it was handed down the row, and took a look at the first play. I instantly knew what Coach was planning.

It was called, among other things, the wildcat. It involved a direct snap from the center to a running back, who could then run the ball, or a do number of other things that fell firmly into the "smoke and mirrors" category of play calling. Shortly thereafter, we all herded out to the practice field.

It was Tuesday night, and Roxanne was coming over. Since our date Saturday night ended up being a bit of a bust with Kara tagging along, we tried to plan something else. It had been raining cats and dogs all day, so practice was cut short. A brief stop at the Stephens' place to check things out, and I was I off to my house. Roxanne was to show up around seven.

Being a career wallflower, I'll admit that my arts of seduction led much to be desired. Not that I was planning on seducing Roxanne per se, or that I even needed to, but girls like to be romanced. Even though Roxanne had been the instigator in our relationship, more or less, I thought it was important to prove to her that she was worth the effort of wooing.

To this extent, I was cooking dinner for us. Like I said, my skill as a Casanova was not particularly impressive, but if nothing else, I could put together a decent meal. A long stretch of living practically on my own made sure of that. So, with that in mind, I was cooking up a nice chicken pasta creation. It was far more effort than I usually spent making dinner, but then again I was not particular. It was hamburgers or tacos most nights for me; Roxanne deserved something special. So, while the chicken was sautéing in a large skillet, and the pasta was boiling away, I was working to create the sauce from scratch. At some point, I began to think maybe I was over my head, but everything I put into the sauce seemed like it would taste good, so I hoped it would work out.

The doorbell rang at five minutes to eight, just as I pulled the bread out of the oven. I checked the temps on the burner dials real quick to make sure nothing would get out of control, and then headed to the front door. Pulling it open, I saw her there, looking beautiful. She'd changed apparently, after school; the blouse and skirt combo wasn't her normal day to day attire, and I said silent thanks I'd though ahead far enough to put a nice shirt on.

"Hi," I said as I opened the door. "C'mon in. I'm almost done with the food." She stepped over the threshold and I closed the heavy oak door behind her. "You look nice." I said, honestly, but without hyperbole.

She leaned in and gave me a light kiss on the lips, and said, "Thanks. You look not so bad yourself." Then she sniffed the air, "And you smell good too." I had managed to shower and shave quickly when I got home, and apparently she appreciated the aftershave.

"C'mon into the kitchen," I said, as I led her through the house towards the aroma of dinner.

"It smells great," she said. "I hope you didn't work too hard on it. I know you had practice today."

"It wasn't too bad. Practice got cut short. Have a seat." I gestured towards one of the high bar chairs that were pulled up next to the island counter. We had a large kitchen, well outfitted, with granite countertops. There was a small round kitchen table off in what was formally called a breakfast nook, but most of my meals were spent eating at the island on the stools. It was convenient more than anything else.

I shut off the heat to all the burners, grabbed the skillet with the sauce in it, and began pouring it into the pot I had the drained pasta in as Roxanne slid into one of the chairs.

"Besides, I'm used to cooking, so it's no big deal." I grabbed a bottle of wine from the nearby rack and popped the cork. "Wine?" I was already pouring her a glass of white, and I handed it across the island to her.

"Oh," she said, accepting it with a mischievous look. When I looked back at her, I noticed her get a funny look on her face for a minute. "Are your parents home tonight?" she asked.

I paused for a minute ... was it possible she didn't know? I thought everyone did. Apparently not, though. I considered carefully what to tell her. I didn't want it to blurt it out and have her be embarrassed, and I didn't want her pity. I'd dealt with my feelings about it long ago ... it really wasn't a big deal to me.

"Uh, no," I said, as nonchalant as I could. "My dad doesn't actually live here, and my mom is, well, she died years ago. I live by myself"

She dropped the glass, and it shattered when it hit the floor.

Mission accomplished, asshole.

I kneeled on the floor as I finished cleaning up the spilled wine, thanking myself a) it was white and not red, and b) I'd only given her half a glass. Roxanne, on the other hand, was repeating "Sorrysorrysorrysorry," over and over again.

Finally I just looked up at her and barked, "Rox!" She quieted immediately.

"Its fine," I continued, "It was just an accident. No big deal." I tossed the glass shards along with the rag in the trash can.

"I'm such an insensitive bitch," she lamented to herself, albeit out loud. When it looked like she was going to start tearing up, I walked over to where she was standing after she'd leapt away from the counter. I wrapped my arms around her pulling her into a, I hoped, comforting embrace.

"Roxanne, I mean it, it's not a big deal. I just assumed you knew ... I thought everyone did. I'm not used to well, meeting new people who aren't aware of my situation."

She sniffed once, and then looked up at me with her big blue eyes, "Really?"

I had to stifle a laugh so that I didn't make her feel worse. I adopted as serious of a face as I could, and said, "Really. I mean it. It's nothing to lose sleep over. Now, sit down, and let's eat, before my dinner is ruined, which will upset me... ," she giggled at that part, "and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

And so we did. We sat next to each other on the big stools at the counter, because Roxanne wanted to see just how I normally ate; how life living by myself was normally. I told her all about the accident, how my mom had been coming home from a school function one night, how the notorious Michigan winter had sent us freezing rain, then snow. I told her how the truck was coming around the curve by the lake, and even though the driver was being cautious, his trailer jackknifed, right into my mom's SUV, pushing it though the guardrail and into the frozen depths. I told her about the funeral, about how for a while, my dad was absolutely destroyed, and how he finally began to function again, but just wasn't the same. I told her how he finally just threw himself into his work, and spent most of his time overseas doing business. In short, I told her everything. By the end, her eyes were glistening with tears not shed, but she didn't look like she was actually going to cry.

Roxanne picked up a napkin and dabbed at her eyes.

"So where is your dad now?" she asked.

"Right now? I'm not sure. He travels a lot, because of his job, but he has a few places. He pretends this is still home, when I talk to him, but I think he's just deluding himself when he says that. He's got a place in Northern Italy he usually stays at if he's not going to be travelling for a while." I didn't want to go into too much more detail about that.

"Oh," she said. "That's kind of sad, that you never see him. He never comes back here to see you?"

"Once or twice a year. Usually around Christmas or New Years, he'll drop in for a day or two, maybe a weekend, but then he's right back out."

"How do you feed yourself? Buy stuff you need?"

"I have a bank account he puts money into for me. He's not an absent father..." I said, trying to get my meaning across, "he's just not here."

At this point, we'd finished dinner, and were just sitting in the kitchen, talking. Suddenly, Roxanne's expression changed.

"So it's just you in this big house, all by yourself?" she asked. Her eyes were sparkling now, and it wasn't caused by tears.

"Yep."

She slid off the stool and held out her hand to me. "Show me your house."

So I gave her the grand tour. Our, or I guess at this point I should just say my, house was not a mansion by any means, but it was larger than normal. In addition, the layout of the house was what some people would call sprawling, so I think it seemed larger than it was. I showed her the downstairs, the main floor, and the pool area out back. I had deliberately avoided my bedroom downstairs. It was out of the way and she didn't notice. When we came back to the living room, she looked over at the stairs, and made her way in that direction. Reaching the stairs, she looked back at me.

"I wanted the full tour," she said. "We're not done yet." I followed her up the stairs.

There wasn't a lot up there, really. There were two mostly empty rooms, one of which was a home office my father used in the rare occasions he was home. I had my computer in there as well; I used the room more than he did. The other empty room was a guest bedroom ... it had been mine when I was little. At the end of the hall, there was a bathroom, and at the very end, a set of double doors led to the master bedroom.

Roxanne stepped right up to the doors. She turned around and faced me, putting her back up against the doors, but I could tell from the sounds her hands were on the doorknobs.

"And what's in here?" she asked. She was trying to play seductive. I was going along with it, for now.

"Master bedroom," I said simply, without elaborating?

"Really? Not, your bedroom?" she asked. "It seems to me you're the acting master of the house. Shouldn't you stay in the master bedroom?" I slowly approached her until I was face to face. Reaching around her, I grabbed one of the knobs, turned it, and pushed the door open behind her.

"You have a point. Maybe I should think about moving up here," I said, giving her a little push into the room. "Think my dad would mind?"

The master bedroom was large, but it was sparsely furnished. Since my dad was never here, he didn't really have keep anything there. There was a king sized bed in the middle of the room, up against the main wall. Along one side, there was a set of glass doors that led out to a balcony that overlooked the pool area. Save for a dresser against the opposite wall, that was all the room contained.

I stood, leaning against the door jamb, as Roxanne strolled through the room, just kind of looking around. She sauntered over to the dresser, and I saw why she was headed there. Sitting on top of the dresser, in fact the only thing on the dresser, was a family picture, taken about fifteen years ago. She stepped up and reached for it, but then paused. She looked back at me.

"Can I?" she asked, leaving the question hanging. I nodded from my place by the door. She picked up the photograph and seemed to be studying it.

"Your mom was beautiful," she said. She looked up at me "When was this taken?"

"About fifteen years ago. We were on vacation in Hawaii."

She looked back at the photo. "How old was your dad in this picture?"