Short Stories - Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Calum and Luke weren't in the locker room when I got there.
Which made me want to punch a locker.
When I emerged onto the basketball court, there they were. Standing by Coach, talking to her about something or another. The infuriating part was that I knew they'd done it on purpose—they'd guessed that I would know about what they did to Isaac and hidden out here like cowards, thinking that they would be able to avoid conflict since Coach was present.
It was a pretty idiotic plan, since I had every intention of making a scene either way.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled, storming over to where they stood. "What kind of sick fucks assault an amputee?"
"Yo, chill," Calum said defensively, glancing around like he didn't know what I was talking about. "What's your deal, man?"
"My deal is that your sorry asses deserve to be in jail right now!" I snapped, reaching out to shove him by the shoulders. He shoved me back, harder, and I was ready to full on punch the guy when Coach blew her whistle loud enough to make my ears ring and pushed us apart.
"Both of you, five laps, now!" she barked.
"You don't get it!" I protested. "This son of a bitch nearly put your small forward in the hospital!"
"Coach, I have no idea what he's talking about," Calum defended.
"Bullshit!" I shouted, turning on him. "You and Luke cornered Isaac in an alleyway last night and beat the shit out of him!"
"Ryan, do you have any proof of this?" Coach demanded. "Do you realize how serious of an allegation you're making?"
"How about the fact that they left right after Isaac last night, and then I found him beat up in the alley?" I said incredulously. "I mean, how obvious can it be? They hate the guy! They wanted to get rid of their competition, and now he doesn't even have a leg!"
Calum rolled is eyes. "Can't you see what he's doing?" he asked Coach. "Isaac got mugged or something, and they're looking for someone to blame. They're just trying to get money from me!"
"Are you joking?" I exclaimed. "That is the dumbest—"
Coach held her hand up, instantly quieting both of us. "Five laps," she said. "Now."
My eyes widened. "You can't be serious!" I said. "Those bastards deserve to be kicked off the team!"
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on me with a silencing glare. "I am not going to kick two of my best players off the team over some he-says-she-says. When you find viable evidence against them, then the appropriate actions will be taken. Now get the hell out of my face before I make it ten laps."
I wanted to argue more, but I knew it would be pointless. Coach never had and never would care about the welfare of her players. All she cared about was winning.
At the end of practice, when we were all sat in a semicircle around Coach as she spoke—unsurprisingly, I was sat as far away from Calum and Luke as possible—she made an announcement. She'd picked the team captains.
"I'm somewhat disappointed," she admitted, "Because I wanted to make Isaac one of the captains. Since he can no longer play, however, my plans had to change."
Calum and Luke exchanged a smug glance, and it took all of my willpower to kep my ass on the floor.
"So instead, your captains for the 2018 basketball season are . . ." she said, and everyone leaned forward in suspense. Everyone except for Luke and Calum, who knew their names were about to be called.
"Berkeley and Matthews."
Luke's jaw dropped. I tried to hide my surprise as Calum met my eyes, his sending a fiery glare.
Coach's gaze turned to me. "I think you deserve it," she said. "You're one of my best. Besides, I believe it would do you and Calum good to learn to work as a team.
As if.
The next day, I didn't make my usual trip to the locker room when the final bell had rung. Instead, I made my way over to the principal's office.
Isaac was already there when I arrived, sat in his wheelchair next to all of the other waiting seats. The only other person in the room was the desk lady, who had her head in her hands and was softly snoring, her glasses crooked on her face. To each side of her desk, a hallway extended with door after door of administrators whose thoughts didn't stretch far beyond what was in their wallets. I knew that the principal's room was down the left hall, two doors from the desk, waiting.
Isaac looked up at the sound of my footsteps, and I could see from his expression that he was anxious.
"Hey," he said, and his voice only confirmed my guess. His fingers toyed nervously with a chain around his neck—a Star of David necklace, I realized with a closer look.
I smiled, sitting down in the waiting chair next to him. "Hey. Where's your mom?"
He nodded down the hall. "Talking to the lady herself," he said with a roll of his eyes. "And probably not getting anywhere."
I glanced over, but the principal's door was shut. It was all too easy, though, for me to picture Isaac's poor mom trying to get her to listen and getting nothing of it.
While we waited, I did my best to ease the tension and make Isaac laugh. It seemed to work on him, but it didn't do much for me. Because, as much as I tried to hide it, I was freaking out a little, too. I knew this school. I'd been here for three and a half years.
Just like everything else in this little shithole of a town, it was an unproductive, unsympathetic box stuffed to the brink with people who only cared about their own problems. And in a place like this, everyone had problems. Drugs, theft, abuse, debt—you name it, we've got it.
Minutes later, the second door down the hall creaked open, and Principal Rixon poked her head through it, her uninterested eyes landing on the two of us. "Mr. Bernstein, Mr. Matthews," she said with a nod. Then her gaze moved away from us. "Janice, wake the hell up!" The front desk lady jerked awake with a snort.
It went a lot faster than I'd expected.
All I had to do was go in, sign some witness agreement, and relay what I remembered from Tuesday night. True, I hadn't seen much, but I offered everything I knew.
Principal Rixon didn't seem very motivated to do much questioning or disputing, so she told us that the boys would be called in and punished accordingly. Lonnie was quick to demand for elaboration, but all Rixon gave us was "expulsion and such."
Which was success, I suppose.
Lonnie turned to me once we'd left the office, clasping her hands together with a relieved sigh. "Thank you so much," she said. "Words can't describe how much better I feel knowing Isaac can come to school without worrying about who he'll face whenever he turns a corner. You're incredible."
I could feel my cheeks turn pink as I smiled shyly. "I'm just doing what I can," I said modestly.
She nodded, her eyes bright. "I hate to rush off after you've helped us so much, but I've gotta get this guy home and hurry off to work."
"No worries," I nodded. "I hope everything works out."
With a smile, she said, "I'm starting to think it will."
Isaac had been weirdly quiet. It was only as his mom started down the hall, beckoning him to follow, that he looked up at me. He blinked as though he'd just snapped out of some weird haze.
"You good?" I asked, my voice teasing.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, great," he said. "Thanks for, you know, being awesome and such."
I chuckled. "When are you guys going to stop thanking me?"
He grinned. "When you stop being awesome."
"Well, fuck," I said, raising my arms exasperatedly. "Might as well ask me to change my genetic code."
"Cocky bastard," he scoffed, and I laughed.
"Listen, I'm just agreeing with you."
"Isaac!"
He turned his head toward the voice of his mom, who was all the way at the doors of the hall, waiting impatiently with a hand on her hip. "Sorry!" He called, his hands moving to the wheels of his chair.
Before he could turn around, I asked, "You staying home tomorrow?"
He raised an eyebrow at me. "And miss a nameless music club meeting?" He asked, pressing a hand to his chest as if the idea was absurd. "My, I could never!"
I was laughing as he turned to leave, I myself turning in the opposite direction. It was time for practice.
I had only just left the locker room and joined the rest of the boys when Janice the Sleepy Desk Lady appeared in the gym.
"Caleb Bentley and Lucy Freeman?"
Coach Nars paused in what she was saying to look over at Janice's stooped form. "What do you need with them?" She demanded.
"The principal would like to speak with them," she said. Her words came out slowly and seemed to fuse together, and under her glasses her eyes were bloodshot. She had a lazy sort of smile on her face. Sleepy Desk Lady was actually Stoned Desk Lady.
From where they stood, both Calum and Luke turned their eyes to me. I shrugged, smiling gingerly, as they jogged over to Baked Desk Lady. "Later, Lucy," I said, my voice sweet, and I was pretty sure he would have jumped me if Blown-Out Desk Lady wasn't right there. Not that she would've noticed.
She was back half an hour later, and the entire practice was interrupted in order for the whole team, including Nars herself, to go to the office and tell what they'd seen. I didn't go in, since I'd already given my report, but as I stood outside with the boys still waiting to be called, I could tell this was a waste of time. From what they told me, none of them knew a thing—they'd all gone in the opposite direction, back to the school.
As promised, Isaac was at school the next day. He was there when I got to macroeconomics, sat at a table against the far wall because he could no longer sit at a regular desk.
It was a little thing, but it made me wonder just how many little things he had to deal with thanks to Caleb and Lucy.
As far as his appearance went, he was in the it-gets-worse-before-it-gets-better phase; his bruises were dark and so were his cuts. People would still do a double-take when they saw him, then keep staring for just a moment too long. He hated it. I knew he did.
The good thing was, he seemed a lot more optimistic than he had for the last few days. There was no sign of Calum or Luke. The first step in restoring order had been successful, and I was happy to see him coming back to himself bit-by-bit.
The new seating made it significantly harder to talk to him, so I ended up walking alongside him toward his next class just so I could steal a few moments.
"You know, you don't have to watch over me," he said.
Nodding, I said, "I know. I just wanna talk."
"Oh," he glanced down shyly. "Sorry."
I sighed. "No, you're not," I said, and he looked back up at me, confused. "Your confidence has seriously taken a hit, hasn't it?"
He shrugged. "It's kinda hard to feel big when you have to look up at everyone."
"Well," I mused, "Just for the record, all of these headasses you have to look up at still think you're the hottest thing to step foot in the halls of Westview High. Behind me, of course."
"Of course," Isaac chuckled. "You said all the people I have to look up at?"
"Every last one of them."
He raised his chin, making a point of looking up at me, and I felt myself blush.
"Well, there's that confidence."
I got to the chorus room a few minutes before he did at the end of the school day, and it was almost startling how quickly eyes turned to me.
"What happened with Isaac?" Harper Davis asked, jumping to her feet and sending her red her flying. Then she backtracked. "Well, you don't have to tell us, obviously. But is he okay? We're all really worried for him."
This was why I loved this club. Isaac had gone to a total of two meetings, and already they were more worried for him than the rest of the student body combined. They didn't care for the gossip, they just wanted to know how he was.
"I can't really speak for him," I said honestly. "But he's coming today."
Harper clapped excitedly. "Awesome!" she said. "Because we were all talking, and we have an idea to hopefully cheer him up a little. We figured it would be better than attacking him with all of our questions. Or, well, it was Callie's idea, so I'll let her say it."
Callie waved smugly from where she sat atop the piano.
"Why the fuck are you on my piano?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
"Because this is a goddamn democracy," she bit. Then she slid off of the piano to tell me her idea, and a smile spread across my face. It was small, but it was sweet, and I had a feeling Isaac needed it.
Said boy appeared in the doorway just an instant later, met with several greetings and a few hugs that seemed to take him aback a bit.
Then Callie, who was at the bench of the piano, pressed her fingers to the keys. Students scrambled to stand around her, and I rushed over to the drum set.
Callie played a familiar tune, and I could see the recognition strike Isaac as he realized what was happening.
"Sometimes in our lives," we all sang together. It was messy at first—we were unpracticed, out of sync, and laughing at ourselves for it—but that was all the better. We were a group of friends, not some perfect show choir. "We all have pain. We all have sorrow. But if we are wise. We know that there's always tomorrow."
Our voices came together as we got used to the tempo and each other—thirty boys and girls, some who could sing and some who couldn't, all offering a message to a friend.
"Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won't let show
"You just call on me brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on
I just might have a problem that you'll understand
We all need somebody to lean on
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on."
As the final notes tapered out, all of our gazes were in Isaac. I glanced around and saw eyes full of support and compassion that just wanted to be there for him. When I looked at Isaac, I could tell he saw the same thing.
And from the look on his face, it mean a lot to him.
I knew he prized his independence. He needed to feel like he could do things for himself. But nobody, no matter how strong, would stare into a network of support and not feel it.
"Thank you guys," he said, clapping his hands appreciatively. His voice came out hoarse. He turned his eyes to the ceiling, blinking furiously. "Who the fuck brought onions?"
Around me, thirty kids laughed and cheered, a few rushing forward to hug him again. I may or may not have been part of that few.
After that, the club ran just as it always did. We talked and laughed and made bomb-ass music. Nobody gave Isaac any special attention, but no one treated him like the new kid he was, either. It was his third meeting, and he was now just like the rest of us.
"Damn, I really love that place," he said as we left the room an hour later. I was framed by him on my right and Callie on my left.
"It only gets better," Callie smiled. "That club is the only good thing about this school, but it almost makes up for all the bullshit."
I nodded in agreement. "It gives you something to look forward to," I said. "Also, why didn't you tell me you could play the piano?"
"Why didn't you tell me you could drum?" He remarked.
"Um, fuck you?"
Callie laughed and rolled her eyes. "You guys are ridiculous," she said as we reached the parking lot. "See you Monday, Isaac." She stood on her toes to kiss my cheek. "Later, babe."
"Bye," Isaac and I said simultaneously as she walked off. He turned to me. "Are you two . . ?"
"Don't even finish that question," I said, putting a finger up to stop him. "I might throw up if you do. Oh lord, now I've got images. For the love of God, please change the subject." He didn't say anything. "Goodness, you're useless. So," I said pointedly, "how are you getting home?"
"My mom works the day shift on Fridays," he explained. "She'll get me at like six."
"Six?" I said incredulously. "Dude, it's not even four. Nope, I'm taking you home."
Isaac opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to realize that would be fucking idiotic and said, "Cool, thanks."
My car wasn't as wheelchair-compatible as his mom's van, but since he had one good leg, he was able to climb into the passenger seat without any issues. The struggle came when I turned out to be completely incapable of the task of folding his chair, and he chose to laugh at me instead of offering any advice.
A few wasted minutes later, the wheelchair was crammed into my trunk and I was pulling out of the parking lot, feeling like I'd just taken part in some kind of mental Olympics.
Isaac's phone buzzed, and I heard him let out a small gasp as he looked at whatever was on the screen.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The sheriff just got back to my mom," he said excitedly. "We can go see him on Monday."
I felt his excitement rub off on me. "That's awesome. Shit's really coming together now."
"Seriously," Isaac said, and I could see his smile out of the corner of my eyes. "I've been doing research, and it hit me last night just how much we could get from a lawsuit. Calum and Luke are 18, so they'll be tried as adults. And we have to win this thing—I mean, they did it. That sketchy alleyway has cameras, you know. There's no way they'll get away with it if there's hard video proof."
Holy shit, I thought to myself. He was right. The situation wasn't hopeless or obsolete or anything close. Right now, fate was on our side, and Karma was about to bring her bitchy fist down on Piece of Shit #1 and Piece of Shit #2.
Isaac wasn't done. "The fine for the damage to my leg alone could, if we play our cards right, be enough to cover the cost of a new one, at least with insurance covering some of it. Which is really great, because that shit costs like 20 thousand, and there's no way we could afford it. And the assault and battery charges will help pay for the doctor's visits."
I couldn't help but smile like a fool. "I'm getting major second-hand-hype right now," I said, and Isaac let out a happy laugh. "So when do you think you'll be able to get a new leg?"
He hesitated, and I could hear the gears turning in his head. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. There's . . . there's something I want to do, and I'm sure it sounds crazy and stupid—by all means, tell me if it is—but I just . . . the process of getting a new leg takes a long time," he said.
"Okay . . ." I nodded, prompting him to continue.
"There's a lot of fitting involved, plus temporary prosthetics, not to mention the wait for the real one to be made," he explained.
I put two and two together in my head. "So you want to start the process now?"
We'd reached his narrow driveway, and I turned to face him as I put the car in park. I wasn't sure what to think of his expression—he could be so easy to decipher sometimes, and untranslatable others.
"I was thinking," he said. "A lot. I had some free time, you know, being stuck in bed for two days and all. And I did some more research and . . . it's doable. I know the lawsuit could take, like, a year to come to a close, but what if I don't have to wait that long to get started?
"I can take out a loan from that bank to pay for the doctor's appointments once I see how much they come up to; they don't have to be paid off right away. If the case goes well—which it should, once we get the footage—then I can pay the loans off and be fine. I'd wait on getting the actual permanent leg, because that's a bit of a stretch, but all I need is a temporary prosthetic to be back on my feet. Maybe I'm out of my mind, maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I feel like it could work, you know?
"I'm trying to do this as independently as possible," he said. "My mom can't know. I can't put that kind of burden on her right now. I'm eighteen, so it shouldn't be too tricky to have everything done under my name. It helps that I managed to get a job interview, too—turns out I don't need two legs to work at a movie ticket booth. So if that goes well, I can use what I make to pick up any slack. And I really think it could work out. I really want it to."
He leaned his head back against the headrest. "I'm sure this is going to sound really stupid, but . . . there are these little things I want to do. Like, dance at prom. Or walk onto the stage at my graduation."
More things that I'd never even considered. Of course he'd want them—anybody would. "That's not stupid," I told him, my eyes never shying away from his. "No brainless bastards should be able to take those experiences from you."
He sighed in relief. As if he'd been expecting me to argue. Little did he know, I'd started working overtime at Hobby Lobby since Tuesday night, and I didn't intend to stop. This wasn't quite what I'd been planning for, but I knew that finances were going to be an issue throughout this entire process, and I wanted to do whatever I could to help. If that meant using the extra money to help with the cost of his trips to the doctor, then that was exactly what I'd do.
Isaac's plan sounded fine enough to me. But I knew that we were young, and that we'd never lived out on our own in the real world, and that we had a lot left to learn when it came to money. There was no class in school entitled Loans and Lawsuits. So maybe there were some important flaws in the reality of his idea that we just didn't see. And if there were, I was going to make sure that they didn't get in the way. I already had another plan brewing—I'd have to wait for the right moment to get it started, though.
"So I want to keep this from my mom," he reiterated. "But I don't want to go alone. Will you come with me?"
I felt my heart do a little jump at the fact that he was even asking me. "Yeah, yeah of course," I said. "Definitely. Tell me when the appointment is and I'll be there."
Isaac smiled big. How had I not noticed before that he had dimples? Right there, a little divot in each cheek. "Am I allowed to thank you?" He teased.
"Absolutely not," I said with an adamant shake of my head, and he laughed.
"Fine," he grinned.
"Fine," I said back. An intense stare-down ensued, and I was the first to crack. "Fuck."
"Ha," Isaac said triumphantly.
I flipped him off and left the car to get his chair from the trunk, bringing it around to the passenger side so he could get on.
"Oh, by the way," he said as I walked with him to his door. "I'll be at practice on Monday."
"Oh?" I said, surprised. "And how is that?"
He shrugged. "Nars wants me to come be some kind of assistant-coach type thing. Figured I might as well, now that Calum and Luke are gone."
"Sweet," I said, holding the door open for him. "I can bless you with my presence some more."
He scoffed. "God must really love me," he said sarcastically. But he was smiling. "Bye, he said as he entered his house.
"Byeeee," I sang, closing the door behind him. His face lingered in my mind long after it disappeared. I took a deep breath. Dammit.
Isaac was at practice on Monday afternoon, as he said he'd be. Apparently, Coach liked that he "knew the game really well." And since our last assistant coach quit—probably because Coach Nars was a generally intolerable person—the spot was open.
Besides, Isaac was a student, so he didn't have to he paid. That was always a plus in admin's eyes.
I could tell he wasn't totally comfortable with the job. I saw it each time he bit his tongue. He seemed worried to say anything constructive or critical to the boys on the team, despite the fact that he'd been more than able to take on that leadership role when he was a player.
It wasn't hard for me to guess the problem. He didn't think anyone would listen now that he was in the chair.
"Hey," I said to him during a water break. "Remember that most of these guys still see you as the kick-ass small forward that won us two hard games. Confidence."
He grimaced. "I'm trying, man."
"Try harder," I teased playfully, ruffling his hair and earning both a laugh and a smack from him.
After that, he didn't seem so nervous to speak up.
I rushed to third period on Tuesday morning, desperate to find out how the meeting with the sheriff had gone. I'd gone with them, but the sheriff had merely let me in to get my witness statement and sent me away. I hadn't been able to stay long enough to hear the results because I had to go to work, and Isaac's bitch ass hadn't texted me back all night.
I stopped dead, however, before I even got to the classroom. Down the hall, talking with some girl by his locker, was Calum Berkeley.