American Gothic Passion Play
byline: Anubis C. Soundwave
Prologue A: Let's win this one.
"Dude," says Kwan as he walked to Dash's house with Dash. "She kissed you, so the attraction's on her end, right?"
"Shut up, Kwan," scowls Dash.
"But dude, she-*" Kwan starts.
"I know. I don't want to talk about random shit," spits Dash. "I want to go home."
Kwan sighs.
The two freshman athletes reach Dash's house.
"Damn, that was a shit concert," mutters Dash. "The main act had choice tits, though."
"Nice ass, too," grins Kwan. "You know how I am about round, shapely female buttocks."
Dash rolls his eyes. "Who are you going to sodomize this weekend?" he asks.
"Lakeisha Pringle," says Kwan.
"Whoa-you landed a junior," says Dash, a bit awed.
"Yeah, I guess," Kwan shrugs.
"What's with you, man?" asks Dash.
"I'm...getting bored with casual flings," says Kwan, staring at the ground. "There's a girl I'd like to date, but she's more or less spoken for." Kwan sinks his hands in his pockets.
"Really?" wonders Dash. "Who is she?"
"It's...something I don't want to talk about," says Kwan, scowling.
"What gives!?" balks Dash. "We talk to each other about everything!" he continues. "I'm the guy who helps you keep track of each of your conquests so you can put names to faces."
"But you don't want to talk about-*" Kwan starts to counter.
"No, I will not talk about Manson's dumb kiss!" shrieks Dash.
"Then I'm not talking about this girl, dude," says Kwan, firm.
"Fine," snorts Dash. "I'm going inside. See you tomorrow."
"Whatever, Dash," says Kwan. He walks away.
"I don't have time to deal with Kwan being a shit," hisses Dash as he enters his house.
Inside, Dash listlessly waves at his parents, then walks into his room. Taking off his letterman jacket, Dash flings it onto his chair; he falls back onto his bed, then absently touches his lips.
"You're...within your rights to be upset," says Sam, rubbing her arms under Dash's annoyed glare.
Dash pinches the bridge of his nose. "Get to the point, Manson," he says tiredly. "My mystery meat's getting cold."
"If our positions were reversed in this situation," continues Sam, "I'd-*"
"Stop," says Dash, raising a hand. "Presuming that I would foist a sloppy lip-lock onto you-and I'll admit that it's not out of the question," he continues, his cheeks flush, "I'd frankly go for second base at least."
"Dash," glowers Sam, "I'm trying to apologize."
"And I'm saying there's nothing for you to apologize for," snorts Dash. "You kissed me; there were two witnesses. As much as we'd both like to reverse that, we can't un-kiss," he continues.
Sam studies Dash, noting the quarterback's trembling. "I won't hide behind a double standard," she says, squaring her shoulders.
Dash stares at Sam as she continues speaking, an intense burning in his eyes.
"...and I'd scream bloody..." continues Sam, trailing off as she notes Dash's expression. "Why," she asks, "are you staring at me like that?"
Dash blinks, then smirks. "Same reason as usual, Manson," he says. "Because you're odd."
Sam rolls her eyes.
"Most girls who initiate kisses," continues Dash, "enjoy something about the kiss. What pisses me off about the whole thing," he adds, scowling, "isn't the fact that you stole a kiss from me. It's that you didn't even enjoy it." Dash grabs his lunch tray and stalks back inside.
Sam winces. The problem is, I... she says to herself, touching her lips as she blushes.
Sam abruptly shakes her head. "Why the fuck did I even bother!?" she seethes. "This whole thing is ultimately that bitch Ember's fault."
A tall, bearded man with violet-blue eyes and graying dark chestnut hair grins at Sam.
"You tricked me," fumes Sam quietly. "My own great-uncle tricked me," she continues, seething, "who's ostensibly a man of the cloth."
"I didn't lie, Samantha," says the man.
"Fuck you and your idiot of a grandson," spits Sam.
"You know that Zachary would love to arrange such blasphemy," says the man wryly.
"Even if I had any interest in sports," says Sam, "why would I-a Casper High School student-wear Zack's sweaty Dire Wolves T-shirt?"
"That shirt is clean," counters the man. "I washed it before I gave it to you on his behalf. Zachary would have bought you a new one, but he didn't have enough money."
"Uncle," glowers Sam, "let's just get this over with-and let's come to the understanding that you will never trick me into watching Zack play football again."
"Thank you for supporting your cousin, Samantha," says the man.
Dash enters the varsity locker room. "Why is this room empty?" he balks. "Where the hell is Grady?"
Dash nurses a still-bleeding laceration on his right bicep. "This will probably leave a scar," he says, looking for bandages. "Anyway," he continues, "we've paid our dues against Elmerton for tonight, and varsity can take over from here."
"Hell, we're winning-thanks to the Foot, of course. I won't turn my nose up at three-oh for a score," muses Dash aloud. "Shiro's still asleep on the O-line, and Mendelsohn sacked me twice," he continues, "so I'd say we earned every fucking point. If Grady's smart, he'll just hold those points and let our varsity defense destroy Elmerton's shit offense."
"I almost feel sorry for Mendelsohn," says Dash, chuckling. "All the work he and his D-line are doing to maul our offense is undone because his O-line fucks it all up." He opens another drawer, his smile fading. "Why can't I find a fucking first aid kit!?" he demands.
Sam enters the locker room. "Maybe it's been bullied," she says sardonically, "so it's hiding from you."
"Yeah," snorts Dash as he notices Sam. "We gave our first aid kit a wedgie."
Sam laughs at Dash's response.
Dash studies Sam. "What are you doing in here?" he asks.
"Laying low in the last place my uncle would expect me to be," says Sam, "until the second half of this farce starts and I can escape Football Hell."
"So your uncle dragged you here?" muses Dash.
"He-my great-uncle-tricked me," says Sam. "He wanted to spend our shabbat supporting my stupid cousin."
Dash raises an eyebrow as he notes Sam's Elmerton High T-Shirt.
"Yeah: he's on the other team," says Sam. "Plays defense. I don't give a shit."
"I get it," says Dash. "This is one of those rare moments where you actually make sense."
Sam shakes her head.
"Anyway," continues Dash, "I'm about to leave: the JV half of this game is over, and it's varsity's turn to deal with Elmerton."
"You don't want to watch your team try to hold on to its three-point lead?" wonders Sam.
"Grady can hold it if he wants," says Dash, shrugging, "though with our shitty O-line, we'll probably still lose it." He touches the cut on his bicep.
"Take off your jersey," says Sam, "and rinse that cut. I won't let you get that infected."
"Why do you care if I lose an arm?" scoffs Dash as he complies; he rinses the cut on his arm at a nearby sink.
"I care about wounded animals," says Sam wryly, "even if the animal in question is an obnoxious jerkass of a teenage jock." She slips off the Elmerton T-shirt, then cuts the shirt with a pair of scissors.
Dash blinks, noting Sam's familiar black shirt with purple oval.
"Sorry to disappoint," quips Sam, cutting several strips of fabric from the Elmerton High T-Shirt. "You're not getting a striptease out of me." She approaches Dash with the strips.
Dash pats his arm dry with a towel; his body becomes tense as Sam gently touches his arm, examining the cut.
"That's going to leave a scar," muses Sam. "Is football defense normally that brutal?"
"Only when we're playing against Elmerton," says Dash, staring at Sam as she ties the makeshift bandage over the cut. "That team's all-varsity, and so..."
Sam stares at Dash, watching as he licks his lips. "Are you hungry, champ?" she asks, a confused look on her face.
"Sorta..." says Dash slowly. "Want to head to the Nasty Burger when we bail?" he asks after a moment.
Sam blinks. "That sounds like a date request," she says quizzically.
"I guess," says Dash, a wry grin on his face. "I tend to ask cute girls out," he continues, his grin fading as he stares into Sam's eyes, "and you're...kind of cute..."
"What?" wonders Sam, trembling...
...as Dash places his hands on Sam's shoulders. He gently touches Sam's cheek, then her chin.
"Dash," asks Sam, confused as she blushes, "what are you-*"
Dash draws Sam close, then kisses her.
About seven minutes later, Dash continues to kiss Sam, grabbing her rear; both savor the kiss.
"Whoo-hoo!" whoops a voice.
Reluctantly, Dash breaks the kiss, turning towards the door to the locker room-the source of the voice.
A tall Casper High quarterback with brown hair and blue eyes grins at Dash and Sam, flanked by a group of Casper High players.
Sam blinks, straightening her clothes. "Looks like we attracted a live audience," she says.
"I guess..." says Dash, studying the quarterback. "I was wondering where you were, Grady," he says to the quarterback.
Grady chuckles. "We went to support our school," he says, "by purchasing overpriced consession snacks."
"Oh," says Dash, studying Grady and the other players, the varsity Ravens team. "Why aren't you guys dressed to play?" he asks after a moment.
"Baxter, dude: I'd ask the same of you," says Grady, "but the answer's kind of obvious." He gives Dash a lopsided grin.
"Only my jersey's off, Grady," snorts Dash. "We've got self-control."
"Our hormones are not our masters," adds Sam, "all appearances to the contrary aside."
"Wow," says Grady. "You are definitely adorable, Manson."
Sam rolls her eyes.
"Could you...leave us alone with Baxter?" asks Grady.
"That's fine," says Sam. "I'm about to make a break for it," she adds, "before halftime is over and my uncle misses me."
"What about your cousin?" asks Dash.
"He can go to hell for all I care," says Sam. "That's about as close as I'll ever get to rooting for the Ravens, by the way."
"We'll take it," say Dash and Grady in unison.
Smiling slightly, Sam leaves Dash with Grady and the other Ravens varsity players.
After Sam leaves earshot of the locker room, Grady lets out a slow whistle.
Dash blushes.
"Damn it; if we had let you two go on for another three minutes," says Grady, "we would have had a free floor show."
"I was only halfway to second base," says Dash, embarrassed.
"But it's for the best," continues Grady. "You're going to need all of that energy for the game."
"Huh?" wonders Dash. "I don't see how, Grady," he continues. "JV's done for the day. I know you and the rest of varsity can take Elmerton from here."
"Yeah...except no," counters Grady.
"No?" asks Dash.
"We can't, Baxter," says Grady. "We've...got hot dates tonight."
"No, you don't!" balks Dash. "Your girlfriends are all shopping at the mall tonight."
"How does he know that?" wonders a tight end.
"I have solid sources, dude," says Dash to the tight end.
The other varsity players glance at each other. "Paulina," they say in unison.
Grady shakes his head. "Be that as it may," he says, "your 'solid source' is no longer accurate. We're about to meet our girls at the mall to take them out to dinner and a movie-as a surprise."
"Then who's playing Elmerton for the second half?" asks Dash, already dreading the answer.
"Baxter," says Grady, "I know I can count on you and JV to bring home the win for the Ravens."
Dash's eyes widen as he laughs nervously; he beckons to Grady.
Grady nods to the rest of the Ravens' varsity team. "I'll explain things to him alone," he says.
"We're with you in spirit, dude," grins the tight end as he and the other varsity players leave the locker room.
Dash trembles, glaring at Grady.
Grady folds his arms.
"You..." breathes Dash. "You're full of shit, Grady. This is bullshit with a capital 'B'."
"Is that so...?" drawls Grady.
"I know you dudes aren't bailing on the game because of your fucking girlfriends," Dash snorts. "You want to get as far away from Elmerton's all-varsity D-line as humanly possible."
"Damn...you're right," shrugs Grady.
"The thing is," continues Dash, pouting at Grady, "technically, your squad's supposed to play against the Dire Wolves for the whole game. The only reason JV agreed to play the first half," he adds, "is because Coach wants to make sure we all have even play time."
"Okay, look, you stupid fuck," says Grady curtly. "I have a promising football career ahead of me," he adds, "and I can't afford to have that ruined by a rough tackle from a snarling mouthbreather like Mendelsohn."
"But I can have my prospects ruined?" balks Dash.
"Frankly, yes," says Grady flatly. "You're expendable. It'll take years for you to become mediocre, let alone potential NFL talent."
"No, dude," counters Dash. "I work hard on the field, and practice every fucking day. I'm the best passer in the tri-county area."
Grady rolls his eyes.
"I'm going to be in the NFL!" spits Dash. "My face is destined for a box of Wheaties," he adds, "and I'll make sure to beat any NFL team you're in."
Grady gives Dash an indulgent smile. "It must be wonderful to dream, Baxter," he says whimsically.
Dash narrows his eyes at Grady.
"But seriously: JV's going to finish tonight's game," says Grady.
"All we have to do is walk out," sneers Dash. "Then you varsity jackasses will either have to do your jobs, or cause the Ravens to forfeit the game."
Grady scowls at Dash.
"And if the latter happens," continues Dash, "after the hell we went through in the first half to get the Ravens' three-point lead on the board, I'll tell everybody that you and the rest of varsity bailed, and that's why we pissed our lead away."
"Ah," grins Grady crudely, "then I'll be sure to inform all of your teammates that you were caught red-handed in the goth chick's cookie jar."
Dash snorts. "Whatever, dude," he says. "While normally I'd be worried about clique politics," Dash adds, "the fact is: I, a freshman, was making out with another freshman. When it comes to anything involving the opposite sex, cliques don't matter."
"Except...when they do," says Grady. "Think about the by-laws, Baxter."
Dash mulls over Grady's words a moment, then stares at Grady in disbelief.
"If you walk away from this game tonight," continues Grady, "you will be walking alone, and this will be the last game you ever play."
Dash stares at Grady.
"Of any sport," says Grady.
Dash winces at Grady, then glares at the ground. "You asshole..." he says quietly after a moment. "This is a kick in the nuts..."
Grady grins, smug. "I knew I could count on you, Baxter," he says, smacking Dash on the shoulder. "You're a real team player."
Seething, Dash dons his jersey, grabs his helmet, and leaves the locker room without a word.
"You suck, uncle," spits Sam, sitting on the bleachers with the tall, bearded man.
"No sane man would allow you to walk home alone at night," says the man. "Your grandmother would be very upset with me as well."
"Leave her out of this!" fumes Sam.
"That can never be, Samantha," says the man. "Your grandmother is my younger sister," he continues, "and I helped to rear your father from infancy."
Sam shakes her head.
"You look just like them both," adds the man, grinning. "I love you very much, Samantha."
"I can't even blame you for this, uncle," says Sam, sullen. "I blame the big faux-goth poser jock-ass in purple!" she shrieks. "I hope the Ravens kick your ass!"
A helmeted Elmerton High football player chuckles at Sam's comment.
"No... No..." gasps Kwan.
"That's the way it is, Kwan," says Dash, morose.
"But...that's not part of the deal," continues Kwan, his normally-cheerful, serene face contorted with anger. "That's not part of the deal!"
"We can't do shit about it!" spits Dash. "Varsity," he seethes, "has bent us over and fucked us without any Vaseline."
"Hold it," pouts Shiro. "I'm varsity, and I had nothing to do with this."
"Dude, you don't have a girlfriend to hide behind," says Dash, "and you wouldn't do this shit even if you did."
"Of course not," says Shiro. "I want to play," he continues, "and I like playing with you dudes better, anyway."
"Hear me out, man," says Dash. "If this were any other varsity squad, I'd be happy to play-to see where I measure up. But this is Elmerton, and we barely survived the first half."
"We got points on the board," says a slender relief junior varsity quarterback, "and we're beating them."
Dash rolls his eyes. "Get real, Grieseman," he says.
"Yeah," adds Kwan dourly. "Our one field goal was because of Roger."
"Get me in field goal range," says Roger, "and I'll get another one through the uprights."
Dash sighs. "That's a plan," he muses, "but Mendelsohn's not going to let that through again. He and his monsters on the Dire Wolves' D-line will do everything to force sacks, safeties, fumbles, and interceptions."
"Just..." begins Kwan, his expression sour.
Dash stares at Kwan.
"Hand the ball off to me," says Kwan.
"Dude," says Dash, "you're a tight end. You catch passes."
"Then toss me a short pass," says Kwan. "I won't let Elmerton's defense steal our victory."
"What about our defense?" asks Dash.
"Dash, we're in luck here," grins a cornerback. "Elmerton's offense is complete shit. Our grade school pee-wee team's D-line could have taken them."
"The Ravens' D-line in JV and varsity is second only to the Dire Wolves' own," adds a large blond linebacker. "I want to surpass the fuckers tonight."
Dash stares at the linebacker.
"If you, Grieseman, Kwan, and the rest of the backfield can hold your shit together with Ishikawa and the O-line on offense," continues the linebacker, intense, "then we'll do our job as always."
"We've got to win tonight, dude," says Shiro. "Mom and Dad are both actually watching this game-and Dad hates football. If we can win this, Dad will finally get off my ass about my grades and let me play."
"I know," snorts Dash. "Shinji's got the nerd thing going for both of you, and your mom's our school's principal-she has to watch our games."
"Fuck it," says Kwan. "Let's win this one."
Dash nods. "Defense?" he asks the linebacker.
"They will not gain any yards," seethes the linebacker. "They will not make any more first downs."
"Grieseman," says Dash, "you've got this quarter. What will you do?"
"Stick to my lane," says Grieseman. "Handoff, handoff, handoff."
"As for me," says Dash, "I'll just do what Kwan told me: give him the ball. Everybody ready?"
"Let's fight for another score! Quoth the Ravens: nevermore!" chant the other junior varsity players.
"Right on! Let's go!" crows Dash. With that, Dash and the rest of the junior varsity Ravens team leave the locker room.
NEXT: An unsolicited second opinion on that man in the mirror.