Chapter 51- Survival of the Fittest
Even before Lisa opened her eyes Friday morning, her head turned to the right, so her gaze immediately fell on the July image of the football team she had hanging on the wall, landing on the strongest and hottest of a whole group of hot, muscular boys. Shirtless, out on the beach- Lisa got a thrill even thinking of Henry that way, and she loved having that image of him being the first thing she saw in the morning, and the last thing she saw at night.
Lisa got up, heading to the bathroom and taking a shower. She had always been obsessive about her appearance, but was even more so now that she was finally the sole object of Henry's affections. She spent more time than ever making sure every inch of herself was flawlessly clean and conditioned, spending over an hour in the bathroom every morning and evening. Lisa's step was light and she went about her morning easily, happy that it was Friday. This was tempered, though, by her burning annoyance and impatience at having to wait more than a day to physically be with the golden-haired He-Man she adored. Lisa consoled herself with the knowledge that she only had to wait till noon on Saturday- just over another twenty-four hours.
Ethan McIntyre's parents were catching a 10:30AM flight to Ontario, so the party was set to begin at 12:00! According to every single kid who'd so much as heard of it, this was going to be one of the biggest blow-out bashes in Joshua L. Chamberlain High's history. Nothing less would do to mark the final victorious season of Chamberlain's towering kings; nothing at all. There would be food to feed an army, alcohol, pot, and everything else!
Not that Lisa would be enjoying much of that; no, she would be too busy enjoying Henry. There was no better high than having sex with her perfect boyfriend. And with the party starting so early in the day, Lisa had a feeling she'd be experiencing that particular high quite a lot on Saturday. She smiled at herself in the mirror, brushing her hair. It was going to be a beautiful day.
XX
Going through the motions of preparing for yet another day, Julie wished she could've been looking forward to it more. Her heart wasn't quite in it today. After her morning shower, Julie looked at and drew strength from the June calendar image of Mark. Things were tough right now, and she needed all the strength she could get. Between the pregnancy and Mark… Mark doing what he had to do to cover their relationship, the next few months were going to be the most difficult of her entire life.
The only way Julie would be able to get through it would be to remember that all of this was only temporary. Beyond this terrible ordeal lay her married life with Mark and their child- or children! She could make it through Hell given that promise of Heaven on the other side.
XX
A fresh blanket of snow had fallen overnight, and it was twenty degrees at most outside. Scott's breath puffed in front of him as he walked stiffly out to John's 442 at the curb. He wasted no time pulling the long passenger door open, throwing his backpack in and getting inside.
"Cold as shit, man," Scott said, shivering.
"That's what the heater's for," John said, patting the dashboard. The 442's rumbling V8 generated a lot of heat even in the heart of winter, making it comfortable enough inside, even with the extra loss of heat through the thinner convertible top.
"Dude," Scott said, laughing a little, "Who else besides you even drives a fuckin' convertible to school, living in Maine?" He laughed again, shaking his head. "You must be crazy, man."
"That's right," John agreed with a smile, shifting and pulling away from the curb. "And I just don't know any better." Both of them laughed.
XX
John and Scott had agreed on Thursday that they'd ride to school together, making a point to be early. Part of it had been in the hopes that nobody would show up early enough to bother them, but John's harassment was destined to continue even today. As the two seniors walked towards the front doors of the school, they spotted a group of freshmen, all wearing heavy coats and hats, their hands stuffed in their pockets, lounging around near the entrance. They were looking around, looking for someone, and doing a mediocre job of being casual about it.
Scott glanced at John, who shrugged. He had a sense of what was probably gonna happen, but he wanted to get inside, and was not going to be forced into taking the long, cold way around to another one of the entrances. He was going to just keep going and handle whatever these little freshmen planned on doing.
As the seniors got closer, the freshmen kept throwing glances between them and one of their number, a lean, pale-faced boy with just a little blond hair showing under his wool cap. "Okay, guys," he said, tension entering his voice as John and Scott were about to pass directly in front of him. "You know what to do."
A second later: "Let's do it!"
"Get 'em!"
"Eat some snow, faggots!"
In the span of a few seconds, every one of the five freshmen dropped his casual pose, reached behind the two-foot-high brick wall lining the front walk that they'd been sitting on, and came up holding a snowball. They hurled an opening volley, vaulted over the wall and quickly pelted the rest at John and Scott, who by now were coming after them.
"That's it!" one boy shouted, "We're out!"
"Go! Go!" the blond freshman leading them shouted, and in what seemed to be a prearranged move, the group took off across the snow-covered front lawn and bolted around the side of the school building.
Scott turned to John after they'd gone; his eyes widened in surprise when he saw his friend was laughing, calmly wiping snow from his face and neck.
"Man, I got worse from you in the winter of 6th grade," John laughed, shaking his head. "I kinda feel sorry for those kids. They must be running out of ideas."
The brown-haired senior smiled, surprised and pleased. "You're taking this pretty well, man," he said, glad to see how well John was bearing up under the stress of his situation. He'd been worried John would start to buckle, that even the support some kids were showing him wouldn't be enough. But from the looks of things, John was doing fine. It was good to see that.
XX
When Mark arrived at school, he immediately went looking for Jessica Banes. Out of all the many, many choices, she'd come up as the only one that was perfect. Great looks, new to school, a cheerleader- plus she'd been bold enough to flirt with him, passing by in the halls the other day. Jet-black hair, green eyes, and from the look of it, one fucking nice tan. She'd either spent some time at a tanning salon, or was lucky enough to go on summer vacation in a warmer state. Either way, Mark liked it.
He found her sitting at one of the mostly-empty tables in the cafeteria, looking over an assignment before 1st Hour started in twenty minutes. He shrugged his backpack off and sat down, unzipping his blue and silver Varsity jacket. She looked up, and her eyes widened a little, then more than a little when she saw who it was. She quickly tried to hide it, though, and Mark smiled at her. He liked hiding things too.
"Hey," he said, putting on a warm, charming smile. "How's it going? I'm Mark."
"Hey," Jessica replied, her brown eyes meeting his. "I'm Jessica."
"You're new to school, right?" Mark asked, and she nodded. "I transferred over from Waynflete this semester, couple weeks ago."
"I noticed you right away," Mark said, "I never miss somebody as beautiful as you."
Jessica blushed, and from the way she was smiling Mark knew she was pleased.
"I noticed you, too," she said. "Everybody says you're the strongest, hottest guy at this school, you and your brother."
"Well, what do you think?" Mark replied.
"I think they're right," Jessica said, giving him a flirtatious smile. "You could be a model."
"I was," Mark said, and laughed as the look of surprise returned to Jessica's smooth, nicely-tanned face. "My brother and I got asked to come down to New York City for a photo shoot with Premier," Mark said. "You should see the magazines they'll have us in sometime."
Jessica smiled. "They send you any copies?"
"When they do, would you like one?" Mark asked, smiling back.
"I might," she allowed, and Mark wanted to grin. She seemed about as smart as she looked, which was pretty fucking good.
"Hey, I thought I'd tell you, Varsity Football's celebrating our third undefeated season tomorrow. I was hoping you'd like to go to the party with me, around noon. Are you free then?"
Jessica's eyes widened again; she looked more than a little stunned. "Yeah! I mean- yeah, sure!" she nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that sounds great!"
Mark grinned at her. "Great!" He took out his phone, punching a couple of buttons and holding it out to her. "Here's my number. What's yours?"
Knowing she probably looked as dazed as she felt, Jessica got her phone out and they swapped numbers. They talked a little more, flirting with each other and having fun with it, before Mark headed off to class. Jessica could barely pay attention at all during any of her classes that day. She went through halls and classrooms alike feeling as if she was up in the clouds somewhere, barely even noticing the many envious stares other girls were directing at her. She hadn't even been at this school a month, and already one of the two hottest boys here had asked her out.
Jessica felt so excited she could hardly sit still or keep a thought in her head. Being bold enough to flirt with Mark in the halls the other day had paid off better than she'd even hoped. Tomorrow was going to be amazing. Knowing some of the things Jessica had heard about Mark, that wasn't just a guarantee. It was a fact.
XX
Lisa was at her locker, getting her books for 1st Hour, and could hardly have been more surprised when Henry came into view when she closed it. Towering and handsome, he was leaning against the next couple of tan-painted lockers, a small smile on his face. Six-foot-six and three hundred pounds of pro athlete's muscle, and he had approached without making a sound.
"Hey, beautiful," Henry said, and the smile on his face, the way he looked at her, made Lisa melt. There was no way of missing the love in those blue eyes, the warmth and affection in that pale, handsome face.
"Hey, Henry," Lisa replied, feeling excited and nervous, and very happy all at once. Henry leaned in and their lips met, and Lisa closed her eyes and just forgot everything. The kiss only lasted a few moments, but it was deep and sensual, something Henry did better than any man alive. When he gently drew back again, Lisa looked up at him and said softly, "I can't wait for tomorrow."
Henry gazed at her. "Neither can I."
XX
AP World History had reached 1940-1941, and currently they were covering the Battle of Britain. Mr. Phelps was outlining the German air campaign to destroy the Royal Air Force and pave the way for Operation Sea Lion, and how, due to the Luftwaffe's failure to win its months-long struggle for control of the skies over Britain, the planned invasion never happened.
And as usual, Henry and Mark Evans had things to say about it.
"Why did the bombing campaign become so focused on the cities?" Henry asked, after raising his hand while Mr. Phelps talked about "the Blitz", the intensive bombing campaign carried out against the city of London. "If beating the RAF was their mission, what's the point?"
"After the accidental bombing of London by a lost group of Luftwaffe night bombers," Mr. Phelps said, "RAF Bomber Command took the attack to be deliberate and retaliated with a night raid on Berlin. Hermann Göring, chief of the German Air Force, was a boastful, egotistical man, and he'd publicly said that no bombs would ever fall on Berlin. When they did, Hitler was furious. He personally intervened in the Luftwaffe's bombing strategies, ordering that retaliation for the bombing of Berlin become the primary objective."
"But why, Mr. Phelps?" Mark asked, echoing his brother's question. "It meant leaving the RAF's airfields alone. It was a waste of time."
"Hitler didn't see it that way," Mr. Phelps replied with a slight shrug. "He was apt to take any slight or insult very personally, and having the capitol of the Third Reich bombed enraged him. Hitler wanted revenge, and cared about that more than he did about going after objectives that would actually win the war for him. He did the same thing at Stalingrad, sending the entire Sixth Army to its doom over a city that wasn't even that important to the Soviet war effort, all because it had Stalin's name on it."
It could've been Phelps' imagination, but he thought he saw the brothers, seated in the front row, exchange a glance and a smile when he mentioned Stalingrad.
"If Hitler had ordered the Luftwaffe to wipe out every airfield in Britain," Henry said firmly, "The Luftwaffe could've flown and bombed anywhere they wanted. Germany could've invaded Britain and won the war. The whole Blitz was a waste of time."
"How could Hitler not have seen that?" Mark insisted, sounding almost personally annoyed at the lack of logic in the German leader's thinking. "War isn't about some contest of egos, Mr. Phelps; it's about winning."
The rest of the class listened to this exchange, spellbound; even the least historically-inclined among them was awed. Henry and Mark Evans talked about these things as if they'd actually met the people, seen the events themselves. As if they'd actually been there. Even Anthony Summers, who was normally pretending to stay awake, checking his phone or passing love notes to some girl, was completely attentive.
Richard Phelps, for the rest of the class and afterward, couldn't help but marvel at how engaged Henry and Mark Evans had been this whole year. They could've easily become historians themselves; with their knowledge, insight and passion, the history departments of universities the world over would be standing open for them. But Phelps doubted the brothers would be content to merely study history; with their drive and ambition, they were probably counting on making it.
XX
"Sup," Martin Brodinsky said casually, sliding into an open seat beside Ethan at his lunch table.
"Sup, Martin. You talk to- who the fuck was it again?" Ethan asked, keeping his voice down.
"My cousin, dude," Martin replied with a smirk. He said that just about any time you asked, sometimes saying his cousin, other times a friend of his, a friend of his cousin's, etc. It was hard to tell if he was lying, telling the truth, or somewhere in between, and Ethan had a feeling Martin wanted it that way. All the better to cover his ass if somebody squealed, or if his parents- or somebody else's parents- ever found anything. But the fact remained that few kids knew more people inside and outside of this school than Martin Brodinsky. He was a kid who knew how to get things.
"So what'd he say?" Ethan asked, trying to sound as casual as Martin did. Why not? Martin was a rockstar in his class, a legend among underclassmen for being one of the youngest Evans-brothers' party hosts ever. He'd made it. Ethan was now going through the same trial, taking the same risk. He needed the pot he'd asked Martin for, a full pound of it minimum. He couldn't miss anything.
"He said it depends. What did your Aunt say?" Martin asked, his code for an ATM or a bank.
"You know how she always gives me some spending money for breaks," Ethan said, smiling a little. "She's very generous. Gave me a nice bonus for my grades this semester."
Martin smiled back, nodding. "You wanna hang out after school, man?" he asked. "Last time you were by my place, you left some of your shit with me. Just try not to be so careless next time, all right?"
As Martin got up to go, Ethan grinned. "Yeah, man, I will. Thanks."
"Anytime," Martin said, and he headed off, before long stopping at another upperclassmen table, slapping palms with some other juniors and seniors. Probably talking about people's aunts again.
Ethan sighed, happy and relieved. When he stopped by to hang out with Martin today after school, he was going to give the sophomore more than a hundred dollars he'd gotten out of his bank account on Wednesday. Martin, in turn, would hide quite a lot of carefully-wrapped pot inside Ethan's car's trunk, which his parents had never searched in his entire adolescent life. Ethan would go home, bring it inside, and keep it hidden safely in his room until tomorrow. So that was that; one more check mark on the list.
Every day this week, Ethan had been working on getting everything ready for the party. He'd called Little Caesar's and ordered two dozen pizzas, going by and paying for it in advance on Thursday. He'd been to several grocery stores and supermarkets, buying a truckload of chips, pretzels, Cheez-Itz, and half a dozen other snack foods.
He'd bribed, begged and offered deal after deal to his big brother Luke, just out of college and living in Springfield, Massachusetts, until Luke had relented and agreed to buy a virtual catalogue of booze on Wednesday. Beer and vodka, pound after pound of it, glass bottles and aluminum cans by the dozen. Flavored and unflavored, imported and domestic. Ditto on the wine and whiskey, thrown in for anybody that wanted it. Luke had come through beautifully, and Ethan had paid him for every penny of it- plus a twenty percent "service fee". The brothers had hidden it upstairs in the attic, doing a masterful job. Nobody who didn't know it was there already was ever going to find it.
Last of all, preparing for what he knew would be a spectacularly trashed house come Sunday, Ethan had gone around and found some boys willing to stay and help clean up. He'd had to pay every one of them half in advance, but it was necessary. No way would he be able to clean up the mess by himself.
Altogether, getting ready for December 12th had cost Ethan a goddamned fortune. Hundreds at least. His brother, cool as he was, had cheerfully told him once they were done in the attic, "If you blow this, man- I'll make you pay. You have no idea, Ethan. Big. Huge." He had put his bank account so close to the red, if his parents checked even once before Christmas he'd have a lot of explaining to do. But Ethan was actually less worried than he'd thought he would be at this stage. So much time, effort, and money had gone into this, the help and advice of so many people had been called on or enlisted. This was going to work; Ethan was sure of it.
And the price he was paying? Worth it. He had no doubt. Not just for the social boost this would mean for him, the popularity he'd gain as a successful party host for the Evans brothers. Best of all was the moment when the Evans brothers would deem his party a success. Ethan would proudly take his bow, and ask for his reward.
As a sophomore, Ethan had heard of the irresistible offer Mark Evans made to the dorks on the chess team. What he'd arrange for them if they ever managed to beat him. Ethan, never a chess player but still fascinated by that reward, planned to ask a step further. Most boys would've thought a night in a good hotel room with one senior cheerleader would be enough, but Ethan was more ambitious. He planned on asking for two.
Both on the same night, each on a separate one- he didn't care. If he did this right, if this party went well… it would happen. That was how powerful Henry and Mark were, how much girls listened if they put in a good word for you. If they liked the party that Ethan McIntyre threw for them, they'd make all the arrangements. That was all that mattered.
XX
On his way to the kings' table, Andrew was surprised when somebody grabbed his arm as he started crossing the cafeteria.
"Hey," the boy said, and Andrew turned to see his friend, Brian D'Aramitz.
"What's up?" he asked, curiously raising an eyebrow but keeping his voice casual.
"You're sitting with me today," Brian said firmly, and began leading the redhead to his- once Andrew's- table. Andrew's eyes gravitated towards the nearby table of Henry and Mark Evans, and he felt the tug, the desire to go and sit there. But Brian was his best friend, and he seemed oddly tense for some reason. Andrew didn't fight it; he went ahead and joined Brian at his table, sitting down across from him at one end.
"So what's up?" Andrew asked again, and right away he saw the anger in Brian's eyes.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you recommended me to them?" Brian hissed, jerking a thumb over towards Henry and Mark Evans at their table nearby. "You told them I'd be good for Varsity Hockey captain and just fucking forgot to tell me about it? Jeez, man, what the hell else did you tell 'em about me? Do they think I've fucked college girls or something?"
Startled, Andrew held up his hands, eyes wide. "Hey, man, I- look! They said I couldn't tell you. I couldn't lie to them, Brian. And what's the big deal, anyway? Haven't you been doing as good as I told 'em you would during tryouts?"
Even as he asked that question, Andrew felt a tremor of fear. For Brian, and for himself, since if Brian hadn't done well at tryouts it was going to reflect badly on him. He'd recommended Brian, and the benefits of making a good pick or the consequences of making a bad one would be his either way.
Running a hand through his pale hair, Brian sighed. "Okay, man, I'll tell you. I was doing fine, I'm sure I was, until yesterday. Henry and Mark called a break, pulled me into the locker room. They told me how good I was doing, said you'd told them I'd make a good Varsity Hockey captain for next year." He drew in a breath, let it out, clearly reliving an emotional memory. "That's when they said I was getting dropped from the team."
"What?" Andrew almost shouted, and heads turned. Brian's eyes flashed. "Shut up!" he hissed, and played with the food on his tray until everybody went back to what they were doing. "They said I had no killer instinct, man. Like, I was babying the other new guys, and that was getting in the way of them turning us into men. So they said they had to drop me, because they couldn't have anybody on the team with no fire in 'em. I- I begged, man. I told 'em I'd prove I was the right guy for captain next year, I just needed one more chance. So they let me stay. I've been going all-out ever since, man. Every second. They said I need to show 'em I'll do whatever it takes to win. And I'm gonna fucking do it." He sighed, looking profoundly relieved, probably just at having finally relayed this to another person.
Andrew was silent a few moments, thinking. Finally he simply said, "They're right."
"Yeah, I know," Brian said, not sounding completely convinced- but nonetheless bowing to the brothers' authority.
"No, really, man," Andrew said calmly. "Just hear me out."
"Okay," Brian said, and he looked at Andrew, ready to listen.
"Henry and Mark Evans have won almost every game they've ever played at this school," Andrew said, sounding as awed as he felt at that fact. "The football team has trophies out the ass; we haven't lost once since Henry and Mark's freshman year. Three state championship wins, dude, and four for the hockey team. JV and Varsity have both been kicking ass for four years. We used to just be big in state athletics; now people have heard of us all over America. This school's got some fucking respect, dude. And it's helping every player here get athletic scholarships in college, because every college coach knows how fuckin' good Chamberlain athletics is."
Andrew paused, shrugging. "Yeah, man, a lot of it is because of Henry and Mark, you know, how good they are as players. They're the fuckin' best there'll ever be. They're our generals, man, but every general needs an army. They couldn't have won this many games if they hadn't trained the rest of the team the way they have. And they've trained us to be one thing, man: winners."
"Something else to think about," the redhead went on, "Have you ever thought of how hard it's gonna be next year? With Mark and Henry gone? We've been kicking the shit out of every high school in Maine for years. They're all gonna be coming for us next year, looking for payback. And there's no way our own guys won't take a morale hit when we lose Henry and Mark."
Leaning forward, his voice passionate and urgent, Andrew said, "It's up to us, man. You and me. We gotta lead the football and hockey teams next year, get 'em through this. And the only way we can do that is if we're even harder on our new guys than Henry and Mark ever were on us. The entire team's gonna have to move up a notch, dude, both of 'em, because we're losing our not-so-secret weapons. We have to be ready for that."
Brian stared thoughtfully at Andrew for almost a full minute, clearly impressed. He looked at Andrew in admiration, smiling a little, and right then the redhead knew he'd won his best friend over.
"So I guess your grades in English have improved," Brian observed, and they both laughed. "You know what, man?"
"Yeah?" Andrew asked.
"You're gonna make a great football captain."
XX
5th Hour was Julie's favourite class of the entire day, and had been for months. No matter where she was or what she was doing, when Mark was in the room you just couldn't beat the view. Julie took most any chance to look at him, savored every excuse to let her eyes linger. Unfortunately, the chances were few- they had to be. Students would notice for certain if Julie let herself gaze at Mark the way she wanted to, and that couldn't be allowed to happen.
Looking elsewhere, keeping her looks at him brief and professional, was always difficult, but today it was harder than normal. Julie just couldn't seem to keep her eyes off Mark. Worse, she couldn't seem to stop imagining him with another girl, something that never brought up thoughts or images Julie was happy with.
After class, Mark came up to her with his usual questions, brilliant and insightful as always. When Julie alone was in a position to see him, he gave her a heart-melting smile, and the unmistakable look of love in his eyes helped. It helped a great deal.
XX
The fourteen boys who'd made it this far were quieter than usual in the locker room, many of them too anxious about the final day of tryouts to say anything. Brian D'Aramitz told everyone to give it everything they had, warning that only the strongest would make it.
Chris, meanwhile, sat by himself for a while, gazing down at the cross resting on his chest. He repeated an Italian rosary Anthony had taught him, and when he crossed himself, Alex Fosse, sitting next to him, repeated the gesture. Brian came by as they were all getting ready, giving Chris a nod, as did Dylan Lucznik. This was it.
XX
The hopefuls stood stiffly at attention at the center of the rink, standing straight and still as they could in immaculate blue-and-white uniforms. The senior players skated into view, fanning out behind the tallest and strongest of them, Henry and Mark.
"Today, it's time for your first real game," Henry said. "This is the last day of tryouts. You've got one last chance to show us what you're made of, and then you're gonna find out who makes the team and who doesn't. We seniors have been helping you so far, showing you how to do this right. Today you're not playing any of us. You're playing each other."
"The seniors," Mark added, "are going to watch. And you guys better believe we're gonna be paying attention to how you guys play. We'll know who we're gonna cut before the game's even over."
As the fourteen boys gathered on the ice looked around at each other, starting to size one another up again like they had on day one, Henry pointed at Brian D'Aramitz, tall and lean, in the center of the first row.
"You! D'Aramitz!" Henry called out, "You're Red Team captain. Get some fuckin' jerseys for your guys in a minute."
"Marshal!" Mark barked, "Get up here with D'Aramitz. You're Blue captain."
"Make your picks, guys," Henry said simply. "Don't keep us waiting."
XX
Brian's grey eyes scanned the thirteen pale, nervous faces looking back at him. He'd made some friends so far, gotten to know a lot of these guys. There was one, strong and uncompromising, who he knew he wanted on his side. Partly because they were warming up to each other, partly because the dark-haired Polish boy just gave the vibe of being somebody you wanted as your friend, not as your enemy.
"Dylan Lucznik!" Brian called out, and the junior he'd named skated out from the formation and spun neatly to a stop behind him, facing the group he'd just left.
Chris, by the look of him, was thinking similar thoughts. He also knew better than to take too long, and a moment later yelled, "Fosse!"
"Whoo-whoop!" the brown-haired kid called out with a grin, doing a happy little dance and skating quickly over to join the redhead. His antics brought a few nervous laughs, but most of the boys just waited expectantly.
"Dylan Kowalski!" Brian called.
"Gary Kowalski!" Chris shouted, claiming the other of the twin, auburn-haired brothers.
"Stiles!" Chris called, and Brian immediately shouted, "Pierce!"
One of the team's weaker boys and one of the ones most given to bullying him each joined their captains. William Cressner was Chris' next pick, while Kyle Donelson joined Brian.
"Leigh-Mallory!" Chris barked.
"Dowding!" Brian shouted.
"Bache!"
"Lutze!"
And as those last two boys joined the captains who'd chosen them, that was it. Fourteen boys facing each other, six on six with one extra each. Meeting each other at the center of the ice, the battle lines drawn and the goals set up, Brian and Chris grinned at each other under their helmets. Or at least they tried; it came out half-grimace, half-smirk.
"Scared, ginger?" Brian asked, his voice low.
"No chance," Chris whispered back.
The puck between them, the two boys locked eyes. Equally determined, each one could tell this would be no easy game. For all they knew, the one that lost would end up getting cut.
Not me, both boys thought at the same instant, and they slapped their sticks together once, twice, three times. A second later the puck went shooting across the ice.
XX
"Come on!" Brian shouted, digging his skates hard into the ice and shoving himself forward. He was sweating hard under his pads and uniform, his mind racing and his heart pounding. "Come on, let's go!"
Dylan Lucznik and Connor Lutze, his chosen right and left wing, kept pace alongside him, spreading out as they raced in on the goal. They'd fought their way through Chris' offense to get here, the shot was seconds away- Brian went for it, slamming the puck forward with every ounce of strength he had. Blue goalie Leigh-Mallory grimaced and swung his stick out to meet it- he missed. The puck shot into the goal, and Brian raised a fist as his guys roared.
The next play, Chris' team took possession early on. Led by the boy with the flaming-red hair, Alex Fosse and Gary Kowalski battled their way past Brian and his left and right wing. His defense, less organized than Chris' was, didn't stop the first goal shot, or the second five minutes later.
"We're gonna get our shit together!" Brian shouted at them, huddled before the next play, a full thirty minutes into the game. "We're gonna do it, and we're gonna do it right now!"
"So what d'you want us to do?" Dylan asked evenly. He'd taken hit after hit this game, gotten knocked down twice and narrowly missed a hockey puck to the balls. Every other boy wearing a red jersey was breathing hard, sweating fiercely, and would more than likely be wearing a nice set of cuts and bruises come Saturday. It had been a fight to the death from the start of this game, both sides giving no quarter and asking for none. Brian had a feeling the rules were only somewhat being followed… but that didn't seem to bother the watching seniors any.
"We're gonna win this," Brian said firmly, looking around at his guys. "I don't care what any of you fuckers do. Just back me up when I get that puck, because it's nine on nine, and tenth goal wins the game. And we are gonna win it. Come on, let me hear it- Red Team!"
"RED TEAM!" Lucznik, Dylan Kowalski, Pierce, Donelson, Dowding and Lutze shouted, and moments later a similarly-fierce shout of "BLUE TEAM!" echoed across the ice.
All right, Brian thought grimly, adrenaline coursing through him. Now we finish this.
XX
"Here they come!" Chris shouted, hurriedly waving his left and right wing players back as his three defense players moved up. Brian skated past him, keeping the puck with him no matter what. He could hear the clashing of sticks, the grunt of pain as two boys collided and one or both of them went down.
At the last second before he took the shot, Brian saw Chris tearing past him, aiming to fill a gap in his defensive line- yet another gap existed far off to the right, practically beside the Blue goalie. Dylan Lucznik had raced ahead and positioned himself there, and was shouting something in Polish, so excited he'd gone back to his native tongue. Without knowing a word of the language, Brian understood.
Me! Send it to me!
Turning on a dime and beginning to skate forward, just a foot or two for the shot over to Dylan, Brian felt somebody moving in close to intercept him. "Not this time, man!" the boy shouted, his stick cutting in front of Brian's. "Not this-"
But Brian was moving too fast to stop, or even slow down. His shoulder simply rammed into the other boy and now Brian did hear real pain as Fosse hit the ice, swearing and crying out.
Then Brian swung his stick, the puck shot out and raced towards Dylan; the dark-haired boy caught it and neatly swing it in.
"YEAH!" Brian shouted, joined by roars of triumph by the rest of his team. The battered, bruised recruits he'd led to victory skated over and gathered around him, laughing and congratulating each other, and most of all, their captain. The Blue recruits stood quietly; some hung their heads in shame.
The sandy-blond haired-boy turned his head; he could see Alex Fosse still on the ice, grimacing painfully and holding the back of his head, rubbing his neck. Chris was there, kneeling beside him. Brian felt a pang of regret; he hadn't meant to hurt Alex. Or anybody, really. He'd just wanted to win. That… was what mattered most.
"Okay, okay, shut it! Shut up!" Henry Evans shouted as he skated out onto the ice, joined by his brother and followed by the other seniors. "All of you, get back in formation, let's go!"
XX
The seconds ticked by, slow and agonizing, as Brian and the others silently awaited judgment. Henry Evans raised his clipboard and began to read. His lips began to move, forming the first name.
"D'Aramitz, Brian!"
Joy and despair blazed into life simultaneously; had he made it or had he failed? Which list was this?
"Donelson, Kyle!"
"Fosse, Alex!"
"Kowalski, Dylan!"
"Kowalski, Gary!"
"Leigh-Mallory, Randall!"
"Lucznik, Dylan!"
"Lutze, Connor!"
"Marshal, Christopher!"
"Pierce, Alex!"
The boys gathered in formation remained silent, still holding their breath. Then Mark Evans spoke up.
"If Henry didn't say your name, get the fuck out. The rest of you, congratulations. You're in."
The ten chosen boys let out a cheer that shook the rink, while the four who'd failed skated away, heads lowered. Brian could've cared less. He punched the air with his fist again and again, screamed wordless, incoherent expressions of savage joy, and danced in a wild circle with Chris Marshal until one of them tripped and they both fell on their ass. Neither one cared.
Later, when these boys got home and the adrenaline had faded, their many aches and pains would make themselves known. Their athlete's muscles, pushed to their limits and beyond in the past five days, would be reaping their revenge for the next few. But Brian didn't care; not one of the other nine did, either. They shouted and yelled until their voices grew hoarse, then went right ahead and shouted some more when they got to the locker room and the already-running showers. They had done it; they were Varsity Hockey players. They'd made it.
