Chubby Chaser Page 7

  “You’re dead, you fucking slut! Do you hear me? Dead!” Amanda was kicking and screaming and doing her best to get her hands on Emily again, but Eric held her tight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other around her breasts. Her face was a little bloody, as well as a little scarred, from Emily’s scratches.

  “Fuck you, you crazy bitch!” Emily came back, underneath the mountain of dirty-blond hair covering her face.

  “Shut the fuck up, you pathetic cocksucking whore!”

  Jason smirked; he thought it was hilarious that Amanda would call Emily out for sucking dick when Amanda herself had given him several blow jobs, and Emily hadn’t given him any. Yet.

  “Get the fuck off me!” Amanda shouted at Eric, but he didn’t let her go. She smashed one of his feet with one of hers, making him let go, and stormed off.

  “Stupid slut!” Eric called after her.

  Collin dragged Emily over to Jason. “You got her, man?”

  “Yeah, I got her.” He asked Emily, “Are you okay?”

  She flipped her hair out of her face. Tears were running down her slightly bruised cheeks. Why did girls cry over everything? A dude—a real dude, not some fag—wouldn’t be caught dead crying before, during, or after a fight, but chicks did each and every time.

  “I’m fine,” Emily said, wiping the tears from her face. “I just don’t know what her fucking problem is. I thought we were cool. I thought we were friends. Fucking bitch.” Jason held Emily in his arms to console her. A few seconds later, she looked up at him, panicked. “Is my face okay? I don’t want it to be a hot mess for homecoming.”

  Thursday’s practice was a repeat of Wednesdays: no fumbles and only a single successful interception when second string was in possession of the ball, but Coach Logan wasn’t feeling as charitable as he had been on Wednesday, so he made the team run fifteen laps, either forgetting or not caring that he had said he would only double the number of laps for each fumble and each interception for each additional day that they spent on passing plays.

  “Ya’ll will be thanking me tomorrow for this,” Coach Logan said as they ran around the field. “This will make ya’ll more hungry and eager to win, come tomorrow.”

  Jason’s alarm on his phone went off at six in the morning on Friday, as usual, but Jason was already up, having been too pumped for today’s events to fall asleep last night. He knew that today was his day, but he made sure he wore his lucky blue plaid boxers just the same. The boxers had started to fray along the waistline, and they had developed a tiny hole where his taint sat from Jason wearing them so often over the years: he had worn these boxers the first time he’d had sex (sophomore year); he had worn these boxers when Coach Logan had made him the varsity starting quarterback (junior year); and he had worn these boxers when he had led his team to win the state championship (last December), so it was fitting that he wore them today.

  Cheers and salutations, from students and teachers alike, greeted Jason when he walked through the school’s doors that morning. He had always been warmly received, but today it was even more pronounced. They knew Jason was the reason they had won their first state championship in years, and they wanted to motivate him to do it for homecoming. They were counting on him. They were depending on him. It added even more pressure to what Jason was already feeling, but it was cool. He did his best work under pressure; besides, he liked people counting and depending on him: it made him feel wanted; it made him feel important; it made him feel as though he mattered.

  Jason was so wired that it seemed to take three hundred hours to get through his morning classes instead of three. Having lunch in the cafeteria with his friends compounded his excitement, as they, as well as the whole school—minus the boring losers—were as amped as he was.

  There were no afternoon classes so that all of the students could partake in the parade and pep assembly. Jason and the rest of the football team went into the locker rooms to change into their uniforms after lunch. When they were done, they went to the football field, where their underclassmen-made float for the parade was waiting for them: it was a large white eagle with blue wings perched on top of a large flatbed truck. A leather seat had been attached to the eagle’s back, and Jason knew on instinct alone that the seat was meant for him—the quarterback, the leader. He began to scale the float, using steps built into the side, when Eric called to him.

  “J, what are you doing?”

  “Being the natural badass that I am.” He placed himself in the seat. “How fucking cool is this?”

  “You’re the douchebag of the world!” Eric joked. He and the other players climbed into the flatbed.

  Jason heard the marching band playing in the distance, signifying that the parade procession had begun. The police and fire trucks were the first to go, followed by the marching band. The cheerleaders and all the other sports teams were up next. They sometimes had floats of their own, but they usually only rode in plain flatbed trucks with banners that had their names on them. The homecoming-court nominees came after the cheerleaders and other sports teams. They rode in their parents’ convertibles and trucks, which had banners on them stating the nominee’s name and the class the nominee was in, while waving from the back. The football team, the real stars of the parade, went last in the cavalcade.

  Jason looked down at his adoring public from his seat in the sky, and they were looking up at him, shouting and cheering. They were so minuscule from his vantage point that he felt as though he were God looking down at a bunch of insects. These feelings would intensify when it came time to take the field, and everyone was looking for him to guide them and to pull another win. The parade traversed the main streets surrounding the school before heading back to the school itself for the pep rally.

  The pep rally took place in the school’s gymnasium. The cheerleading squad, led by Emily, started off the event by hyping up the crowd with the school’s fight song. The marching band backed them up with musical accompaniment. Jason and the other football players stood and watched from the far right side of the gym.

  While the other players leered at the cheerleaders, Jason searched the bleachers for his parents. He searched for them every time at every game, but he didn’t know why. They had never shown up for one of his games—they had instructed the nanny to drop him off and pick him up from his peewee-league practices and games, though—nor had they ever given any indication that they would. But Jason looked for them every time anyway. Neither one of his parents were football fans. In fact, Jason would hardly be exaggerating if he said that in a town of about two hundred thousand, his parents were the only ones not into football. But they could’ve still shown up to support him. Eric’s parents spent more time traveling than they did at home, yet Eric’s mom somehow found the time to show up to most of his games, and his dad would make it from time to time, too. And Andy’s mom managed to make regular appearances at his games despite being a single parent and working odd hours as a nurse. Jason pushed his parents out of his mind. He had a game to win and a college coach to impress. He couldn’t afford to let anything cloud his mind or cripple his playing abilities.

  The cheerleaders and the marching band finished their performance and then relinquished the floor to Mr. Franklin, the vice principal, who was carrying a small trophy, and a mannish-looking older woman with an austere face and short black hair. She looked familiar to Jason, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place a name with the face. Her heels clacked as she moved to the middle of the gymnasium floor, carrying a microphone in her hand. She began to speak.

  “Hello, everyone. My name is Ms. Kallens. As some of you may already know, I am the new principal of Tallis High, and I just wanted to welcome you all to the first pep assembly of the school year.” She paused to clap, and the audience joined her. “Our first order of business is to announce the winning class of our show-your-school-spirit design contest. And the winner is . . .”—she paused for dramatic effect—“the senior class. May I have the senior class president, Micha
el Adams, come accept the award on behalf of all the seniors?” The crowd’s cheers made her microphone-enhanced voice sound like a whisper, forcing Ms. Kallens to repeat herself.

  Michael Adams, clad in a pair of black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt that read “If Jesus were alive, he would’ve occupied Wall Street,” descended the bleacher steps and joined Ms. Kallens and Mr. Franklin. Ms. Kallens took the trophy from Mr. Franklin and handed it to Michael. He set the trophy on the floor and took the microphone from Ms. Kallens, who seemed loath to give it to him. It appeared that Michael was about to give another one of his lame-ass speeches when he took the microphone from Ms. Kallens, so Jason tuned out. Michael might be popular (how that happened, Jason did not know), but to Jason, he was nothing more than a pompous, self-righteous hipster who always tried to make himself sound smart by using big words and important by mentioning the various political causes he participated in. Jason liked to remind Michael every chance he got that his dad worked for Jason’s parents and that Jason would have won the election for class president if he had ran to keep Michael in his place.

  “Thank you, Michael. That was a wonderful speech on civic pride,” Ms. Kallens said as she took the microphone back.

  “But I wasn’t finished,” Michael said.

  Ms. Kallens ignored him. “Now I will turn over the floor to our Coach Logan.”

  The audience gave the coach a standing ovation.

  Michael went back to his seat.

  Ms. Kallens handed Coach Logan the microphone and then took a seat on the lowest level of the bleachers, taking Mr. Franklin with her.

  “We are the reigning state champs!” the coach announced, to thunderous applause. “Feels good to hear that, doesn’t it?” The audience applauded their approval. “After eight years of trying and failing, we are the reigning state champs.” The crowd of fans again showed their support via applause. “So far, we’ve won all our games.” The crowd cheered, whistled, and clapped. “And there is no doubt in my mind that we will win tonight’s homecoming game, and a second state championship, come this December. And it’s because of all these fine, upstanding men right here. Let’s give ’em all a big ole hand.” The coach turned toward the team, clapping, and the audience followed his lead. The coach then called each player up to the center of the gymnasium, and introduced him, saving Jason for last. When the coach called Jason’s name, the audience really lost it, cheering and roaring more loudly than they had for all the other players combined, and chanting the catchphrase “Do it, Pruitt!” with such fervor that one could have mistaken the school gymnasium for a cult of religious zealots. Jason was thrilled, to be sure—he did love attention and adoration—but he retained his usual calm, cool veneer as he strode up to the middle of the gymnasium floor and stood beside the coach, placing himself in front of his teammates, who had formed a horizontal line behind Coach Logan.

  After the football team’s introduction, Ms. Kallens and Mr. Franklin took center stage again to announce the homecoming court for the underclassmen and the nominees and winners for homecoming royalty. When Ms. Kallens called their names, the students had to walk to the middle of the gym, where they would receive a single red rose from Mr. Franklin, then form a horizontal line to the right of the two principals.

  For the freshmen class, Russell Cowen, a shaggy-haired blond boy and Penny Simmons, a pint-size, bottle-blond girl, were chosen. For sophomores, Nate Byrd, a beefy outside linebacker on the junior-varsity football team and Anya Perkins, a leggy brunette, who had given Jason a blow job last year, were picked.

  The homecoming prince nominees were Jordan Fields, a tall black guy; Bradley Garrett, a guy on the varsity basketball team; and Riley Sims. The choices for princess were Amber Taylor, a girl who wore more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker; Tina Rhodes, a flat-chested runt; and Amy Reed.

  Jason, Eric, and Collin were the homecoming king nominees. Kimberly Weitsel, Emily’s less attractive but more wild and loose friend; Alyson Manning, a pretty cheerleader Jason was interested in getting to know after he ditched Emily; and Emily received the homecoming queen nods.

  “Now we’re getting down to the real nitty-gritty,” Ms. Kallens said, doing her best to keep the excited crowd on the edge of their seats. “Our homecoming prince and princess are Riley Sims and Amy Reed.” The crowd clapped for them as Mr. Franklin gave them their roses and put sashes around them (Riley’s and Amy’s respective titles were written on the sashes in silver); Mr. Franklin placed a silver plastic tiara on Amy’s head as she blew a kiss to Collin. It was a nice moment, but Jason wished they would hurry the fuck up and get to the part where they named him homecoming king. It wasn’t as though anyone actually cared who won homecoming prince and princess.

  “Hey, J, Collin, when I win homecoming king, no hard feelings, okay?” Eric said.

  Jason humored his best friend by laughing at his dumb-ass joke, and he presumed that was the reason Collin laughed as well; even a retard could tell that Jason had this in the bag.

  “And last, but certainly not least, our homecoming king and queen are . . . Jason Pruitt and Emily Bulstride.”

  Jason could’ve sworn he felt the whole gymnasium shake; everyone was clapping so loudly.

  “We did it, babe!” Emily kissed him on the cheek and gave his hand a little squeeze as they walked toward Mr. Franklin. Her face was teeming with joy and pride.

  Mr. Franklin gave them their roses and put sashes on them that featured each of their respective titles, but their titles, unlike the homecoming prince’s and princess’s, were written in gold. Mr. Franklin completed the coronation by placing gold crowns on Jason’s and Emily’s heads.

  The cheerleaders and the marching band put on one more performance, concluding the pep rally, then it was time for Jason to win the homecoming game and to impress the coach from SCU to complete perfect day number one.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Call it, James!” The referee yelled, flipping a coin in the air.

  “Tails,” said Allen James, the varsity starting quarterback for City High. Jason had a lot of respect for Allen: he had a strong throwing arm, and his passing yards and number of touchdowns were good—not as good as Jason’s but good nonetheless.

  The coin landed in the referee’s palm. “Heads.” He looked at Jason.

  “We’ll take first choice,” Jason said, “we’ll take the right side of the field, and we’ll kick off to start the game.”

  “Okay,” said the referee.

  Jason and Allen shook hands and then departed from the center of the field to return to their respective teams. On his way back, Jason scanned the football stadium for his parents, even though he knew they wouldn’t be there. When he got back to his team, he saw Ben Hoates talking to Coach Logan and the other coaches on the sidelines. The Tallis coaches were probably talking Jason up to Hoates. If it weren’t for those dumb-ass NCAA rules preventing college coaches from having off-campus in-person contact with recruits during an evaluation period, he could talk himself up.

  Ben turned away from the coaches. He was walking toward the stadium seats when he locked eyes with Jason. He smiled, nodded, and gave Jason the thumbs up. Jason allowed himself to relish this moment, but only for a moment: he still had a game to win, and he needed to remain focused. He joined the coaches on the sidelines and apprised Coach Logan of the results of the coin toss.

  “I think we should do an onside kick, Coach,” Jason said. “City won’t be expecting it this early in the game, and when they fail to catch it, we move in for the kill and take possession of the ball.”

  “Agreed.” The coach called over Aaron Mears, the upback and varsity second-string middle linebacker, and told him the plan. Aaron nodded that he understood and then rounded up the rest of the members of the special team into a huddle.

  Daniel and the rest of the special team moved to the forty-yard line for kickoff. Taking a few steps back from the ball, Daniel then ran toward it, his teammates close behind, and kicked the ball.

  T
he ball had traveled ten yards when a kick returner for City tried and failed to catch it. Parker reached the ball seconds after it was muffed and recovered it for Tallis.

  Coach Logan patted Jason on the back. “Good play, son.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Jason said, beaming.

  “Tell the offensive team to run a bootleg play. Get Moxley to block for you. Fake a pass to Jackson, then when City’s focused on him, pass the ball to Abbott.”

  “I’d like to run the ball all the way with no blockers, Coach, if that’s okay.”

  “How far can you get before they tag you?”

  “Pretty far. At least ten yards, Coach.”

  Coach Logan looked at him: there was no emotion on his face, but Jason could tell that the coach was feeling a great deal of respect for him. “Okay. Go do it, Pruitt,” he said with a chuckle.

  Jason gathered the offensive team in a huddle and informed them of the play. They got into their positions. Aries sent the ball back to Jason. Jason raced with the ball toward the right sideline and turned, pretending to throw it to Jackson. Jackson sprinted down the field as though he had the ball, drawing the attention away from Jason. Jackson faked a pass to Andy. Andy had only made it a couple of yards before he was tackled, but it didn’t matter: Jason had made it to City High’s end zone by that point. Jason commemorated his touchdown with a victory dance and then slammed the ball into the ground.

  The audience was a cacophony of cheers from the fans of Tallis (they were shouting, “Do it, Pruitt!”) and jeers from the fans of City (they were shouting, “Blew it, Pruitt!” which was stupid, because he obviously hadn’t blown it), which made Jason smile. He wasn’t doing his job right if he didn’t have both fans and haters. He ran back to his side of the field, stealing a glance of Hoates along the way to read his reaction to the play, but Hoates was doing something on his phone. Jason wanted to snatch the phone out of his hands and smash it, he was so chafed. How the hell was Hoates going to see how great Jason was if he was dicking around on his phone?