Chapter 2

Nathan didn't hear from Damien all weekend, which didn't really mean anything. Usually no news meant good news, but he knew better than to underestimate anything Damien was capable of. Freezing out wasn't his style. Tim came over Saturday morning to play some video games. When Nathan asked him if he'd heard from Damien, Tim just shook his head and continued playing Halo.

Saturday night, Nathan went down to the river court and just practiced by himself. After practicing his three point shot over and over he turned around to get a swig of his water bottle, and saw a hot blonde with wildly curly hair standing next to her red '53 Mercury Comet. She slowly walked over to him, the same look in her eyes like all the times Nathan blew her off to hang out with his friends. He could never understand why she was mad though, she spent enough time with him, couldn't he hang out with his boys every once in a while?

"Hey," Nathan said. He smiled his boyish smile; the one that won the hearts of most girls he'd dated – or hooked up with. He met her halfway and grabbed onto her jacket, pulling slightly to lead her to him so he could kiss her. But instead she resisted, pulling back. "What's wrong now?" Nathan asked exasperated. He was getting a little tired – scratch that; REALLY tired – of Peyton's dramatic mood swings.

"What do you think is wrong?" Peyton spat.

"Peyton, don't play games. What's wrong?"

"I saw you Nathan."

"You saw me-?"

"Leave the party. I saw you leave the party with that girl! Where the hell did you go?"

"Home."

"Yeah, and what did you do at home?" Peyton's tone was masking what her eyes gave away – the hurt she felt when she realized Nathan was hooking up with some other girl. She'd never been the jealous kind before, whenever Nathan partied or flirted with other girls. But he's never cheated on her before, and he didn't even cheat this time, but Peyton didn't know that and it pained her more than she let on.

"I swear, Peyton," Nathan tried to say calmly. "Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened?" Peyton's eyes flared at him. Her mouth twisted into some kind of smirk and then she let him have it. "Do you think you can just treat me like this? I tried to look away whenever you flirted with other girls; whenever you got drunk and let them fawn all over you. I tried not to get mad when you'd blow me off to hang out with those low-lifes you call friends. But I WILL NOT feed into this bullshit lie just so you can turn around and do it to me again."

"Look!" Nathan yelled. He tried to be calm, but sometimes his temper got the best of him. He hand clenched into a fist, but he kept it by his side. All of his pent up frustration was about to come out on the one person who didn't deserve it. But Nathan couldn't help himself. "I don't know what the hell your problem is! You know I've never lied to you, why do you think I'd do it now?"

Peyton just stared at him, like she didn't know what to say or how to answer. Nathan brought his hands up to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated that he couldn't put into words how he was feeling. He turned and walked toward the basketball hoop, and then turned back. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and then let it all back out. It calmed him down a bit, but not much.

"I didn't do anything with her."

"I saw the way you looked at her Nathan," Peyton said sadly.

"I'm not lying."

"It doesn't matter. You're a bad boyfriend. And I deserve better."

Nathan didn't know why, but the last sentence really got to him; like he'd been stabbed in the back. He raised his fist and swung around. As his fist came in contact with the basketball pole a sharp pain sent up his fingers and through his arm. He bit his lip – a little too hard – and when he turned around to face Peyton both his knuckles and lip were bleeding.

Peyton stared at him, looking from his bloody knuckles back to his face. "You always do this!" She yelled. "You always confront a problem with violence. And that's why no one else will date you. I've put up with it for too long, but after everything you've done, I'm through."

"You need to leave." Nathan looked to the ground.

"Why? Are you gonna hit me?"

"Just go."

Peyton glared at him, almost as if she wanted him to fight for her, to beg for her back. But she didn't say another word. Instead she turned on her heels, got in her car and drove away.

After Peyton was out of sight, Nathan grabbed his basketball and threw it as hard as he could at the basket. It hit the rim and bounced back, falling just behind him where it bounced a few more times until it hit the grass, rolling until it stopped. "Damnit!" He yelled. Why had he done that? Because he couldn't control his anger, that's why. Idiot, he thought. Peyton's comment hit him like a Mac truck. He'd never actually hit her, but once he had lost his temper during an argument, and when she'd tried to walk away he grabbed her arm squeezing it tightly and pulling her back. She's yelled at him that it hurt, but his grip didn't loosen. This caused a black and blue mark to form on her arm, which lasted for a week or two.

After the incident, Nathan couldn't concentrate on anything else but what had happened. He tried to play basketball to forget, but he couldn't. So instead, he went home and drowned them away in a large bottle of vodka.

Monday at school Nathan didn't see Damien in the parking lot where he normally was and Nathan didn't want to wait around to see if he showed. Damien had a way of skipping out on school after incidents like the one at the party happened. Nathan desperately needed a smoke. He'd had two already that morning, but after what happened with Peyton and his Sunday of feeling hung over all day, mixed with the dreaded feeling of seeing Damien again, he needed something to calm his nerves.

Nathan was about to get up and sneak behind the gym when he saw a green Honda pull up – the same one he'd ridden in Friday night. Haley got out of the car, and while attempting to juggle five books, coffee, and a book bag she dropped the books and spilled the coffee on her pants.

Seizing this as an opportunity to talk to her again – Nathan walked over and stood awkwardly behind Haley as she bent down to pick up the books.

"Hey," he said.

Haley looked up at him, squinting as the sun was in her eyes. "Hey," she said, almost frustrated. She finished gathering up her books and stood up, turning to face him. "What's up?"

"I was going to ask you if you needed help, but it looks like you've got it."

"Yeah."

They stood there for a few moments, just looking around, trying to find something to say.

"Hey Nathan!" Nathan saw in the distance Tim coming toward him wearing baggy pants, a shirt two sizes too big, and a sideways cap. Clearly, he was trying to "gangster" look, and it wasn't working out for him. Tim trotted up to Nathan and Haley. Nathan welcomed the interruption, but at the same time despised Tim for what he said next. "You've got coffee on your pants." Tim said looking at Haley.

Haley looked down and then turned red. "I've got to go." She hurried away not looking back at Nathan or Tim.

"So, Nate," Tim began. Nathan turned back to him after watching Haley walk away. His expression was indifferent. "We're skipping out."

"Okay." Nathan said, unfazed.

"For the whole week. Me and Damien are going to Atlantic City."

"What are you going to do? You have to be at least eighteen to do stuff."

"Check this out," Tim pulled a card out of his pocket. "I got my cousin to set us up with fake I.D.s. Look at it, that's me." Tim gave Nathan the card and he took a good look at it.

"Tim, this says you're sixty-three years old."

Tim grabbed the card from him and looked at it more carefully. "Man!" He yelled. "It was supposed to say twenty-three! I have to get this taken care of before we leave. You coming?"

"Can't." Nathan said, thankful that he didn't have to spend an awkward week with Damien. "Basketball practice."

"You're dipping out on us already?" Tim asked, almost hurt. Tim was a good guy; he just hung out with the wrong crowd. He was really sensitive; he just wanted to be liked.

"No," Nathan tried to explain. "I just haven't had a practice yet, and I don't want to get kicked off the team already."

"You know, Damien doesn't like you being on the team. He thinks they're gonna brain wash you or something."

"Well, Damien's paranoid."

"Yeah, maybe." Tim paused. "Well, I've got to get out of here before a teacher sees me. I'll catch you later, Nate."

Nathan watched Tim cross the parking lot and get into the passenger side of Damien's car. Nathan couldn't see Damien because the sun was reflecting off the windshield and it hurt his eyes, but he knew Damien had been watching him the whole time. Nathan sighed and then strolled up the sidewalk into school just as the bell rang.

Nathan flew through the day anticipating his first practice. He saw Whitey in the hall twice and got a raised eyebrow both times. He figured maybe Whitey thought he might duck out before he even had his first practice.

Walking into the locker room was a surreal experience. All the guys were people he'd roughed up in one way or another. He'd even stolen a girlfriend from one of them. The guys all stopped and stared at him as he found his locker and put his book bag down. Nathan tried to ignore their stares, but then a tall blonde guy with curly hair said, "Does it stink in here? Cause I think it smells like trash just walked in."

Nathan turned around, "Why don't you say that to my face?"

"Oh, I'd be happy to." The blonde guy walked up to him and now the boys were chest to chest, Nathan's fists were curled and ready to swing if the guy touched him.

Just then, Whitey's office door opened, making a horrible screeching sound. "Is there a problem here, ladies?" He said in a deep, gruff voice.

"No, coach," the blonde guy backed up and walked back over to his locker.

"Good then," Whitey said with a fake smile. It quickly turned back to a frown. "Now you've had enough primping time. Get out there and remind me why I put you on this team."

Whitey and the guys started filing into the gym, when the same guy came up to Nathan and sneered. "Get comfortable on the bench. That's the only place you'll be."

Nathan glared as the guy walked away. He got a high five from two guys and they looked back at him one more time before exiting the locker room. Nathan really wanted to run after that guy and prove how tough he was, but he didn't want to risk any chance he might have to keeping his spot on the team.

"Don't worry about him, man." A deep voice said behind me. He turned to see a tall black guy walking up. "That's just Mike. He think he all that. You just do what you gotta do. And if you wanna hit that son of a bitch, you do it."

"Thanks?" Nathan said, unsure of how to respond.

"Yeah, I can't stand him. By the way, my name Antwon, but everybody call me Skills."

"Why?"

"Cause I got skills baby, and not just on the court either, if you know what I mean."

Nathan laughed at this, warming up to this guy.

"You see that cheerleader named Bevin?" Skills continued. "She's my girl. Don't you be looking at her. Do that, and we'll get along just fine."

"Alright, it's a deal."

Skills patted Nathan on the back and then both of them walked out into the gym. Whitey already had the guys doing suicides.

As Nathan walked to one end of the court, Mike – the guy who'd been pushing his buttons – stuck out a leg and tripped him up. As Nathan turned around, Skills grabbed his shoulder and lead pulled him along. "You gonna be okay," Skills said. At the same time Nathan was thinking, it's going to be a long practice.