“You don’t,” Addison said. “But I’d still sort of like to know... I mean, we know how Tommy feels.”
“Well, I sort of feel the same way,” Mason said. “All right, I do feel the same way.”
Tommy smiled, heartened by this.
“Besides, it just weirds me out, Add. You having sex. I’ve never known someone who’s not a virgin.”
“Mase?”
“Hum?”
“I’m pretty sure your dad’s not a virgin.”
WHEN RICK HOWARD CAME DOWN the stairs to the locker room clapping his hands hard three times, it meant he was about to speak. Chris Powers was toweling off and Kevin Kardash had just whipped him with a towel when the coach shouted out:
“That was a great practice guys. Great. I know this year when we go against Cartimandua we’ll win. I wanna see a championship this year! You guys are winners. I feel it.”
Chris grinned at Matt Mercurio, who was liberally lathering his armpits with deodorant and shrugged. Rick Howard was an optimist and a little bit cheesy, but he was better than Mr. Brenner, and the practices had gone so well. Back when he’d actually been a student at Saint Vitus, he’d carried them to victory, so when the dean of the school volunteered to step in as the football coach, no one objected.
“Guys,” Rick said, “I want to really transform this team this year. I’ve been thinking,” he said, hairy legs apart, arms folded over his tee shirt, “and for us to really win, we’ve really got to respect each other. We’ve got to be a family. We’ve got to treat each other with respect, and we’ve got to treat everyone here at Saint Vitus with respect.
“You hear me guys.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, guys, here’s what I want to ask you,” Rick continued as Chris swapped deodorants with Mercurio and pulled his tee shirt on, looking for his shoes.
“How do you all feel about yourselves? If we don’t feel like winners we can’t be winners. How do you feel when you walk through the halls?
“You’ve got to be leaders. I’ve been thinking about this. From now on I don’t want all of you just sitting with each other at lunch. I want you... to take care of other people. I really want you all to just see people sitting by themselves, you know, who could use a friend. Take them aside. Eat with them. Like what Jesus would do.”
“Did he really say, like what Jesus would do?” Mercurio smirked on their way across the parking lot.
“I didn’t know Howard was a Jesus Freak. Where are we? Cartimandua Christian?”
“Well,” Chris said, cocking his head, “we are a Catholic school. And that means we are Christian, so-”
“So are you gonna sit by someone tomorrow?” Jack Ballard sneered.
“Yeah,” Chris said defiantly. “Yeah, I am.”
Mercurio murmured, “Howard did sort of tell us to, and he is the Dean of the school.”
“You too, Merc?” Jack Ballard raised an eyebrow. “You guys want a ride or what?”
“I’m gonna walk,” Chris said, shifting his gym bag on his shoulder and jamming his hands into his sweatpants. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
As Chris walked off, Jack murmured, “Powers probably will do it. You know he’s kind of Jesusy.”
“Chris is a good guy,” Mercurio said.
“I know he is,” said Jack Ballard. “But didn’t he used to wanna be a priest back at Sacred Heart?”
“He’s a good guy,” Mercurio repeated watching his friend disappear.
“And,” Bob Hardesty added, “he’s also our quarterback, and will probably win us a championship, so you’d better lay off.”
Chris decided that it was too hot. Once the school year started what was needed was fall leaves and chill. But September never knew that. It just kept staying hot. He stopped at the corner of Bancroft Street and looked across it. The two boys were looking back at him, one Black, the other white, both in Saint Vitus uniforms.
He waved and crossed without having the sense to look both ways and then said, “Balliol. Sully.”
“Hum?” Sullivan Reardon said.
“He said,” Balliol repeated, “‘Balliol. Sully.’”
Sullivan Reardon stared at Chris Powers and said, “You’re Chris Powers.”
“Well, yeah,” said Chris with a stupid grin.
“And you’re Sullivan Reardon and I’m Lincoln Balliol and we’re waiting for a bus and now we all know everything.”
“I didn’t know you knew who I was,” Sullivan said plainly.
“Well,” Chris said. “Of course. It’s a small school.”
Balliol was just looking at Chris and Chris finally turned a smile on Balliol who nodded, and then Chris nodded awkwardly back.
“Well,” said Chris. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“Yeah,” said Sullivan. “Yeah.”
“Unless you go blind,” Balliol murmured, and then said, “Up! Here comes the bus.”
“Bye,” said Chris again.
“Later,” Balliol said as the large bus sighed to a halt.
“Bye,” said Sullivan, and climbed on the bus behind Balliol.
Balliol was putting his fare in the machine, and the bus was lurching off down Page Street so violently that Sullivan crashed down in the seat beside his best friend.
“Chris Powers knows my name.”
“And you know his.”
“But he’s the quarterback.”
“And you’re Sullivan Reardon. Chill out, Sully, all right?” Balliol folded his knees to his chest and took out a book while the bus rumbled toward the mall.