Additional Author's Note - I'm going in and using Fanfic's built in horizontal lines to break up the points of focus some so the story is easier to follow, since it doesn't keep the tab formatting from Microsoft Office. Please PM or Review if you have any thoughts about how the writing is going.
Author's Note - I reached 11 pages on Microsoft Word with chapter 1, and decided with where I had taken one of the vignettes, it was a good place to tie up that chapter. That said, as I continue to write and explore the characters its always possible I might go back and 'retcon' things when it seems right or better to do so. I hope you're still reading, I've appreciated all the reviews and PMs I've gotten about this work and hope to continue getting them. Yours, V Marron.
Chapter 2
"You've got the light to fight the shadows / so stop hiding it away." - Emeli Sande
It was Friday morning, and everybody was back at school after the muted horror of the day before. High school is traditionally full of bluster and threats, every day interactions that adults take for granted and treat them for what they are, temporary, but for those with all the world before them, sometimes tomorrow is simply too far away and today has to matter more than you or I think it should.
And so there it was, everyone at school knew about it and in the hush of their cliques, on instant messenger the night before or in muted whispers as homeroom period started at the beginning of the day, it was discussed. The boy who was everything that any high school jock would want to be, Nathan Scott, the boy that had stood up, Lucas Scott, and the boy that everyone had forgot it seemed, Jimmy Edwards. All three of them were at school the next day.
There is some protection in routine, something safe about the perfectly ordinary, even something comforting about the horridly ordinary, the perpetual cycle that high school seems to be. The sports may change, and the subjects may alter some and the hair styles and clothing fads come and go, but high school is much the same for someone today as it was forty years ago. It is in this routine that Tree Hill has fallen into, the backdrop of the lives that are forged within its halls.
Thirty three years of routine were catching up with Coach Brian "Whitey" Durham as he sat in his office. He'd been told this morning by the Principal, that Dan Scott, one Nathan Scott's father would be coming by to visit him this morning regarding the incident and the subsequent arrest, suspension and transfer of four key members of the Ravens basketball team. One might question why one parent could demand such an audience, Whitey was a busy man with a teaching load on top of his responsibilities as the basketball coach, but the Principal had told him to be waiting in his office for Dan Scott.
He had the morning newspaper folded up in his hands when Dan entered the office without so much as a courtesy knock on the door. With a face creased by age and a somewhat permanent frown on his face, Whitey looked up and saw Dan and nearly laughed. As much had changed in the seventeen years since Dan Scott had last played for the Ravens, nothing had changed. He still just saw an angry young man, unhappy with himself standing in his doorway, insisting that it be his way or the highway.
"Who do you think you are!?" Dan demanded without even the customary 'hi coach' that Whitey usually expected from most visitors, even those that he knew weren't happy to see him. With the spiteful grin that only the truly salty with age can muster, Whitey tapped the wooden nameplate that stood at the edge of his desk.
"I believe my desk is labeled, Danny." He said coolly, very deliberately setting the newspaper down on his desk. He cracked his knuckles together, looked down at the newspaper for a moment and then back to Dan Scott.
"How can you suspend half the starting lineup? Now Nathan's going to be double and triple teamed all year, how is he supposed to win state for you with that all season?" Dan continued, his voice rising with every word, the veins in his neck bulging. It occurred to Whitey that Dan was wearing a very nice, well-tailored charcoal suit. He wondered if he'd gotten it here in Tree Hill, or elsewhere.
"Easy. You know you're in here asking the wrong questions, concerned about the wrong things, son." Whitey replied, shaking his head.
"I'm here for my son. You're trying to ruin his season, all because you can't get back at me anymore, so you're going to punish him." That bought a long moment of silence from the older man, his shoulders raised up and down with a heavy gulp of air.
"You know Danny, only you could come in here and be this angry about the wrong son. Lucas is your son too, ain't he? Seems to me he stood down a bunch of low down, good for nothing bullies – Your precious Nathan included, who by the way, is lucky I haven't kicked HIM off the team too. But I don't see the point of punishing the son for the father, when he's just what you've made him into."
"And what's that supposed to mean, Whitey? Hmm? Lucas isn't my son. He shouldn't have my name and I've had nothing to do with him." Whitey laughed sadly, shaking his head.
"And that's supposed to exonerate you somehow? You say that like it makes you somehow less wrong here. After what Lucas did yesterday, if he was my boy I'd be claiming him. I'd be saying that he did what he did because of the man I'd taught him to be. I don't even know him, Dan. Doesn't play for me, but I'm proud of him anyways." There was ice and a sense of ruthlessness in Dan's voice when he replied next,
"And you're right on one count, Whitey. Lucas doesn't play for you. Nathan does, so maybe that's which one of my sons you should be worried about, instead of Lucas. You need players now, Nathan more than ever, and you don't have anyone on the junior varsity that can step up to help out Nathan." The old coach nodded, put his hand to his chin and made a show of being deep in thought,
"You know, you're right, Danny. I've got this all wrong." He shook his head then, breathing out, giving every impression that he'd had some sort of epiphany, a 'coming to Danny', if you will.
"Damn right you know I'm right, Coach." Dan continued, sensing that he had the advantage, that he'd finally gotten through to the old coot after all these years.
"I should put Lucas on the team." Whitey nodded again, before continuing,
"You're damn right I should put him on the team. Wonder why I didn't think of it before, after all, he is Dan Scott's son."
"You wouldn't." Lethal venom in Dan's voice.
"The embarrassment, the public ridicule, the comparison to Nathan, it won't be fair to him, or to Karen to put them through that." He continued, beyond flabbergasted at the sacrilege that Whitey was proposing.
"You want to talk about something embarrassing, Danny? Ask yourself why your son stood by and watched four other boys attack and beat his own brother senseless, and then talk to me about what's embarrassing."
Mr. Cutter was one of the freshman and junior level English teachers, and for everyone that wasn't taking advanced placement English, he usually ended up being their teacher at one point or another in their high school career. He was the kind of teacher that acknowledge the sense of self that most high-schoolers are trying to cultivate, the idea that they're 'grown up' now and can make their own decisions, have big important thoughts and dreams and everything else. Most students loved him for it, and occasionally they'd have the opportunity to discover that as much as it freed them from the normal constraints of childhood, it also bound them to the harsh rule of adulthood and reality.
Haley really was doing her best to pay attention in class, but she found it nearly impossible. All throughout the school day, she'd been trying to talk to Lucas, for heaven's sake they were best friends, but it was if he was avoiding everyone today. Karen had told her about what had happened at the café the night before and she'd gone home with Karen after they'd closed up to see if Lucas was ok and he'd blown her off.
Ok, well maybe he hadn't blown her off, he just hadn't been very talkative, hadn't seemed to have an opinion at all about any of it. Just quiet, which wasn't like Lucas; he'd always seemed to have an opinion on everything and anything. So why not this?
"Miss James?" And there it was, like his name, Mr. Cutter's voice pierced Haley's frantic thought process as she sat staring the back of Lucas' head, wondering what it was he had squirrelled so deeply up in there.
"What do you think the author meant, with those lines we just read?" There was that awkward moment of silence, the flash of panic that comes across most any smart student's face when they realize they simply don't know the answer because they haven't been paying attention in the least, and they didn't even hear enough of the question to even fabricate enough of an answer to hide it.
"Um…" She stalled for time, desperate to avoid the embarrassment.
""Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? ...Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience." It was Lucas who spoke up then, re-reading the lines from the novel they were reading as a class, John Steinbeck's East of Eden.
"I think what it means is that maybe when people truly hurt us, we think it was somehow done because they care about us. Or its some kind of test, where if maybe if were hurt the right way, they'd love us again, or care that they hurt us. But I think what the author is saying that obviously if they hurt you this bad, they aren't watching anymore anyways, so why bother?" He continued, answering the question for Haley. This gave Mr. Cutter a moment of pause, as he'd presented the question to Haley, not to Lucas. He looked at the young man for a long few moments, it had of course already made it all over the school and all the teachers knew about it.
As an English teacher, he found himself drawn to the idea all its own. Considered on its own merits, all the boy had done was invite a beating down on himself, but that was perhaps only to the illiterate eye. It was so much more than that, it was in a sense, heroic. He hadn't won some great battle, hadn't landed any blows in retaliation as far as anyone could tell, but he'd won nonetheless, even if it didn't feel like it just yet.
"Indeed, Mr. Scott, it could be taken that way. I think a common frustration that students have with Mr. Steinbeck's work, perhaps with any work really, is how many ways it can be taken. We have tests that tell us if we've interpreted it the same way some fogey old English teacher interpreted it years before you…" And this last comment brought a round of subdued laughter from the classroom, Mr. Cutter was well known for being self-effacing and honest about things, a trait the students may have loved him for.
"But what I want to impress upon you as best I can while I have the privilege to be your teacher is this; that literature is meant to inspire. I don't think Mr. Steinbeck wrote East of Eden because he had all the answers, but because he was looking for them, and if we're reading it now thinking it will somehow give us all the answers, well, I think it'd be wrong. As he said there is only one story, I want you to really start thinking when you read, but think for yourself." He let that linger on the air for a few moments, as the class seemed all at once look at their desks. Each more than a little uncomfortable with the consideration they'd just been given.
After a while, the class eventually ended when the school bell rang for the end of the day and after looking to Mr. Cutter for him to nod his agreement with the bell, the students almost as one all got up and left the class room. It was outside in the hallway that Haley pressed the issue with Lucas.
"Hey you." She said quietly, coming up next to him in the hallway, almost shoulder to shoulder as they walked away from the classroom.
"Hey." Ever eloquent, Haley thought as Lucas barely answered her question, much less looked at her. It wasn't like him to act like this, and she wondered if he had more bruises on him than anyone could see from the outside. It tore at her heart, to think that he was scared or embarrassed or hurting or anything because of what had happened yesterday.
"Talk to me, please." She reached out and grabbed his shoulder with her free hand, that wasn't holding her books. He pulled away from her abruptly and turned, looking at her, his gaze fierce.
"Haley. Stop. What do you want me to say? That I got my ass beat?" A crowd was starting to form by this point, drawn like high-schoolers usually are by loud voices and confrontation.
"That I'm okay? That I'm fine? Do you feel better knowing you've asked me? Does it make me feel good that the only person who stepped in for me was a teacher?!" Haley was caught completely off guard by the violence of his answer, the hate he said it all with.
"Geez Luke, I'm sorry… I just wanted to make sure you were ok."
"Well, I'm not okay Haley. Do you feel better now?" And then he turned, and stormed off down the hallway, his green backpack slung over one shoulder.
Haley was left standing there as the crowd that had gathered finally dispersed, heading off to the end of the school day, whether it was the bus, or walking home or to the student parking lot.
"Harsh." A soft voice came at Haley from behind, and wearing a Ravens cheerleader outfit, Brooke Davis with a red backpack slung over her shoulder walked slowly up to Haley. Haley cringed when she realized the voice was talking to her, and she turned around slowly to face it.
"You heard all of that?" Brooke nodded with a wince,
"Sorry, pretty much impossible not to. I know we don't talk much.."
"Or at all." Haley interjected; Brooke smiled uncomfortably and nodded,
"Well yeah, at all. But I saw what happened to him yesterday. It was pretty bad. Maybe he just needs some space?"
"I think he got plenty of that yesterday from everybody who just watched." Haley said coolly, not sure who she was more upset with, herself, or everyone else, and then she turned and left Brooke standing alone in the hallway.
They were standing in Keith Scott's garage, the small business that Keith had built up for himself and survived in the same town as his brother's more ubiquitous Dan Scott Motors. His personal favorite quip about the situation was that he liked to fix the crap that Dan was always putting out there, which he usually thought, applied to more than just cars.
"Hey Coach." He said, grabbing a small towel and wiping most of the grease from his hands and the patting the rest of it off onto his dungy blue coveralls. After wiping his hands off, he reached out his right hand to Whitey and gave him a firm handshake.
"Keith, how is business?" Coach Durham asked taking a slow look around the garage. Keith looked around himself,
"Business is pretty good. Lucas helping out sure makes it easier." That brought a heavy sigh from the old basketball coach as he settled into the conversation he was about to have with his old player and friend, Keith Scott.
"That's actually what I'm out here tonight to talk to you about."
"Business?" Keith questioned, unsure of what Whitey meant.
"About Lucas, I mean. You heard about what happened yesterday, I assume?" The coach asked, grabbing a chair from a nearby table in the garage and easing himself down into it. He had the thought that he was entirely too old to be out on a bye week Friday night recruiting boys to play for his basketball team. To which Keith nodded grimly and spoke simply,
"Yeah, I did. Haven't gotten a chance to talk to him yet. Karen says he's been mostly just holed up at the house. I figured that meant he needed some space to process what had happened, so I've been letting him be."
"Well, Dan came to talk to me about it." Whitey said, letting it hang in the air between them, laden with old hurts and battles.
"Yeah, and what did Dan have to say about it?"
"Well, he's mostly upset that Nathan is now going to be double and triple teamed all season, I think, is how he put it." That got Keith to laughing,
"Yeah, well, you know my brother Danny, always focusing on what's really important." He shook his head and turned back to the car he'd been working on, resting his hands on his hips. He looked back over his shoulder at Whitey,
"I'll come talk to you when I've talked to Lucas, let you know how he's doing, if you're worried about him?" Whitey shook his head,
"Well, you see Keith, I was hoping you'd do a bit more than that for me."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Keith. I may have told Dan that I was going to put Lucas on the basketball team." Silence like a hammer fell between the two old friends then, Keith frowned and grimaced and gave a long 'mhmmm' to the whole suggestion and then turned back around completely to face Whitey with his arms folded across his chest,
"You can't be serious."
"Only if the boy can't play like his brother."
"He's better than Nathan." Whitey nodded then, with an impish smile.
"Good, you'll talk to him then about it?" To that Keith put his hands up, palms facing Whitey.
"I didn't say I'd do that, I didn't even say I think this is a good idea."
"But you do think it is." The old coach countered, before pressing the advantage.
"How many times have you come into my office and talked about watching him play at the river court? About how you've missed him playing organized, how you think it's a shame that he isn't on the team anyways?" Keith resigned himself to it, he knew that Whitey had him then, but there was still a wildcard.
"Ok, so even if I say I'll talk to him – which I haven't said yet, what about Karen?"
"What about her? If the boy can play like you say, he deserves the chance and she's his mother. She'll want what's best for him." Keith sighed and shook his head,
"You know it's more complicated than that. What about Dan? I mean, what about Lucas, after what happened at school?"
To all that the Coach nodded and sighed heavily and thought about deeply in front of Keith as the questions were asked,
"Well, Keith. I think if Lucas is good enough to play for me, he deserves the chance to. Could be good for him, truth is the team sure can use the help especially now, and maybe it won't be the worst thing in the world for Lucas and his brother to have a chance to interact. Wouldn't it be better for you if you and Dan got along?" Keith shook his head vehemently,
"You had me until the last line, Coach. Me and Dan?"
"What about it? He's still your brother. You can't tell me your life wouldn't be a little bit happier if you two weren't so miserable to each-other." Keith shook his head and walked away from Whitey, shaking his head a couple of more times and then looking down at the ground.
"I wished you'd have talked to me about this first, or maybe talked to Lucas, or Karen or anybody, Whitey."
"I think Lucas already spoke up for himself, Keith." Whitey said quietly with heavy breath before he stood up from the seat he'd taken and walked slowly over to Keith.
"I think you'll find he's the right sort of kid for this." He reached over, putting his hand on Keith's shoulder in a fatherly fashion,
"He stood up for that boy when he didn't have to, when he could have just walked away like everyone else did. What makes you think he won't stand up for himself? I'll give him a jersey, a fight worth having, a fight worth winning, Keith. He's about more than basketball, that much is clear, BUT, he deserves a chance for basketball to happen for him."
"All of this just for basketball, Whitey? Everything it will change? Everything it could cost Karen and Lucas, cost me?"
"No Keith. All of this for Lucas, and for Karen. Why should her son not get to shine? Why shouldn't he have all the same opportunities?"
The river court was empty. It was a late Friday night, which usually meant a party at one of the popular kid's houses. The Davis residence; or Nathan Scott's parents' beach house was another likely location in Tree Hill, North Carolina. It being a late Friday night also meant that Lucas Scott was alone with his thoughts, and everything that came along with that. And tonight he wasn't so sure he wanted that, after everything that happened. He knew that he wanted to be alone, but he wasn't sure why. He hadn't done anything wrong, but he felt so ashamed.
Ashamed. But why? Powerless was a better word for what he felt as he held the dim orange basketball in his hands and looked up at the basket. All his life, it had always just been so simple. You saw a hoop, you put the ball in it. When he had played football in the past, it had been easy - get the ball into the end zone. Catch it, throw it, run with it. It all came so naturally for him, sports, basketball.
Stepping up for his friend had always come naturally. He hadn't walked into the school that day hoping that he got the opportunity to get beat up for a friend. His knees came to a slight bent and then he rose up, the ball smoothly leaving his finger tips, his hand curled forward into the basket after his shot, just like Keith had taught him so many years ago. Swoosh. The ball went right into the basket. He sighed and jogged after the ball as it dropped to the ground and then bounced once before he put his hands back on it.
Even when nothing else did, the basketball still made sense. It always would he hoped. All he could hear was the quiet of the riving just flowing past, the eerie stillness of the late night air, the buzz of the streetlamps that lit the basketball court. He dribbled the ball twice to his right, crossed it low between his legs to his left hand and moved away from the basket, spinning and squaring up to the hoop in a smooth twist before the ball lofted again from his hands, careened off the backboard and slid effortlessly through the net. Two for two. He couldn't have put it to words probably, but it made him feel in control again. Powerful.
Then he heard the sound of a car crunching through the grass that surrounded the river court, and the unmistakable glare of headlights. He bounced the ball once off the court again in frustration, before he cradled the ball with his left arm, waiting to see who it was that was coming out to the river court in the middle of the night. They had to be there for him, the question being who knew he was here?
