37. Cameron
THIRTY-SEVEN
cameron
Anger covers me like an extra layer of skin.
I like it because it’s always there. When I start thinking about Lenni, anger is there to take over and remind me that if she didn’t care about her stupid article more than she cared about me, we’d still be together.
Problem is, anger is a thin layer. One minute of actual reflection and I’ve cut right through it. It’s not really about the article. It’s her pain and her past and all the things I didn’t say when she asked me to choose her; that I’d give up football in a second if it meant keeping her, but that I can’t take it away from my best friend, not when he needs it in ways even I don’t understand. That I can’t take it from Cash and Lorenzo and the dozens of guys on the team. For some of them, it’s life.
At first, I think she just needs time to cool off, but days pass with no word from her. So maybe it was always bound to turn out this way. There are feelings and then there’s real life; no matter how much I adore Lenni, I won’t throw my best friend under the bus so she can move past her bad memories. And no matter how much she cares for me, life did her wrong, and she’s looking for signs that it hasn’t stopped.
But rationalization doesn’t blunt the pain.
What we had was so good, so real, and we’d only just gotten started. Now that I’ve tasted what my life was missing, what am I supposed to do without it?
Wednesday night, Reeve finds me in my room after practice. I haven’t told anyone what went down with Lenni because I didn’t expect us to still be broken up.
“Hey.” Reeve flips on the lights. “Jerking off in the dark again?”
“Nah.”
“Where’d you disappear to after practice? We were looking for you to grab dinner with us. I thought you’d be at Lenni’s.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
He sits at my desk chair and takes in my pathetic appearance as I sit hunched on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with you? Girl problems?”
“Yeah. It’s over.”
“Over?” He laughs and scoops a miniature football off my floor, tossing it between his hands. “It just started.”
“No kidding.”
“Chin the fuck up, man. A couple months together isn’t enough to earn you a broken heart.” Met with silence, Reeve drops the smile. “All right, clearly she dumped you. What happened?”
“What happened?” I look at him for the first time. “You fucked Sasha James, that’s what.”
He spins the ball in his hands. “What are you talking about?”
Fucking Reeve, leaving messes everywhere he goes. Suddenly I’m furious. “Have you heard about some guys on the team having naked pictures of Sasha?”
“I mean...not really, but she’s probably sent nudes to half the team so it’s not shocking.”
“She didn’t send this one. Someone took it without her knowing.”
He pauses. “That’s fucked up,” he says dumbly.
“Yeah, it is, especially because the picture was taken in your bedroom.”
“Hold on. No goddamn way.”
“Yes. No question about it.”
Reeve shakes his head. “I didn’t take any pictures of her.”
“Did you hook up with her in your room?”
“Once.”
“When?”
He scowls. “I don’t know, man. I guess it was at that big party we had the week school started. But I never took a picture of her.”
We stare at each other for a moment before I turn away.
“Hey!” Reeve stands up and the football rolls onto the floor. “I didn’t fucking take pictures of her, Cam. You know I would never do that!”
I do know. Reeve goes through girls faster than toilet paper, but he isn’t dishonest and he doesn’t treat women like that. But then I think of Lenni and the guys who hurt her all those years ago, and doubt hits me all over again. Maybe I’m wrong to think I know Reeve so well I can be sure he wouldn’t play some stupid drunken prank. It wouldn’t be the first time someone I trusted turned out to be a stranger.
“Cam. Say something, man.”
I blink, trying to push away the anger and let logic take over, but everything is swirling inside me. “It was your bed,” I say. “Who else would have taken a picture like that?”
I meant it as an accusation and Reeve takes it as one, flinching like he’s been slapped. “Literally anyone at the party could have done it. I left her sleeping in bed and came back downstairs, remember?”
I remember. Some of the guys had whooped and clapped as Reeve came down the steps and there were a few comments about losing track of how many guys on the team Sasha had slept with. I swallow hard, knowing I laughed along. I remember looking around and seeing the one guy who wasn’t laughing: Mason. We all remembered the way Sasha had very publicly shot Mason down last year, and not just once. It was hilarious because no one had ever known Sasha to turn down a football player’s advances.
“Not literally anyone,” I say. “You’d have to be a pretty big piece of shit to do that.”
Reeve flares up. “If you think I did it, then grow some balls and say it, Cam.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Reeve’s features shift with relief.
“I think I know who might have, though.”
“Oh, yeah, I see those wheels turning. Put that big-ass brain to work for me, brother. What are you thinking?”
“Connery.”
Reeve looks disappointed. “No, dude, Sasha would never fuck him.”
I roll my eyes. “Catch up, dumbass. He doesn’t have to fuck her to take a picture of her. He’s a fragile little weasel, and she humiliated him.”
“You mean that creep was slithering around my room?”
“It has to be him. There weren’t that many football guys at the house that night. And let’s be real. Our team is a bunch of animals, but they aren’t shitty enough to do this.”
Reeve nods and sits back down. “So Mason’s confirmed subhuman. But why does that have you sitting alone in the dark and pining like some douchebag from a soap opera?”
The heaviness returns. “Someone let Sasha’s picture get beyond the locker room. The paper’s working on a story about it, probably trying to identify players and expose them. As sexual assailants.”
“Shit. That’s bad.”
“No kidding, Reeve. Especially because you’re the one who looks guilty.”
“They think I did it?”
“Lenni does. She’s seen the picture, and she’s been in your bed, remember?” We look away from each other. It’s an ugly memory.
“Shit. You gotta tell her she’s got it wrong.”
“I did. Hence”—I gesture to myself— “sad soap opera douchebag.”
“So she dumped you for taking my side.”
“She’s got some...shit from her past. The story’s personal to her.”
He nods slowly, then looks down at his lap. “Sorry, Cam. And...thanks.”
I don’t deserve Reeve’s gratitude when five minutes ago I was waiting for him to tell me he was guilty. “It’s not doing us any good if Lenni still thinks you did it.”
Reeve runs a hand through his hair, his expression spreading into a grimace. “A story like that would destroy me.” He says it slowly, like he’s only now beginning to imagine the possibilities. “And sink our team.”
My head feels heavy, and I let it drop into my hands. I don’t tell Reeve that while the idea of a team scandal and Reeve’s career being on the line fills me with dread, it’s the thought of Lenni that makes my heart twist with pain, what her obsession with this story is doing to her. What it’ll always remind her: that I let her down.
“So what are we gonna do about this?” Reeve asks.
“No clue.” I shut my eyes. “But we’re gonna do something.”
After practice the next day, I skip the shower and head over to where the field hockey girls play. They’re still practicing, so I watch for a few minutes. When Sasha and three of her teammates finally head my way, I catch her eye and wave. Her friends exchange knowing smiles, but Sasha looks surprised as she breaks away from them to meet me.
“Hi,” she says uncertainly.
“Hey. Sorry to ambush you. You have a few minutes to talk?”
“I guess so. Is this about Reeve?”
I shake my head and start walking in the opposite direction as her teammates. She falls into step next to me. I realize I know almost nothing about Sasha. There’s a lot of talk about her on the team, and I’ve heard more descriptions about what she’s like in bed than I want to. I’ve seen her boobs and her ass, thanks to that fucking picture. But I don’t even know what she’s studying. I feel unexpectedly ashamed.
“How have you been?” I ask.
“What’s wrong, Cam?”
I clear my throat. I should have planned this better. “I guess I was wondering if you’ve heard anything about a, um, photo. Of you.”
She glances over at me, then looks ahead. “Yeah. You’ve seen it?”
“Just for a sec.” I feel like a complete asshole.
“Has Reeve?”
“He didn’t know about it until I told him yesterday. Listen, I’m really sorry someone did that to you.”
She shrugs, but she won’t look at me. “You didn’t do it.”
“But I’m a team captain, which makes me responsible for the crap that goes on in the locker room. Whether they know it or not, consider this an apology from the whole team.”
“Oh, wow. Does this come with an official certificate or something? Maybe a signed football?”
I know she’s trying to minimize it, but I can’t bring myself to smile. “Do you know who did it?” I ask.
“Mason, I assume. He hit on me again that night at your house and I rejected him. I guess I was a bitch about it, but he doesn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. Whatever. He called me a slut, and a week later I hear about the picture.”
“That’s who I thought too.”
“How come?”
“He was the only one at that party who’s asshole enough to do it.” I look down at the ground. “And he’s the one who showed me the picture.”
She nods like she’s unaffected but keeps her gaze straight ahead.
“It was a split second. I didn’t know what he was about to show me, he just held up his phone and?—”
“It’s fine, Cam. Don’t stress.” Guilt churns in my stomach. Here she is trying to make me feel better when she’s the one who’s hurting. Why did I think I could have this conversation and not feel like a jerk?
“I tried to shut it down when I saw it, but I guess I didn’t try very hard. To be honest, I didn’t give a whole lot of thought to how you’d feel about it. I’m sorry, Sasha.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she says, but I don’t buy it. “I know people talk about me. I just ignore it.”
“Talk is one thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a little more than talk, isn’t it?” She sniffs. “Anyway I should head in. I have a lot of studying tonight.”
“Sure. Sorry if this was . . . weird.”
“It definitely was,” she says with a brief smile. “But thanks.”
I nod, not wanting her to go yet. I’m not sure if what I’ve said has had any meaning at all to her, or if I’ve just embarrassed her more.
“What, Cam? You want to say more, I can tell.”
“I’m just thinking . . . you don’t have to ignore it, you know.”
Sasha looks up at me, and this time she looks sad. For the first time, I notice how blue her eyes are.
“You could go to the school. The athletic director. You’d have every right.”
“You don’t actually want me to do that.”
I swallow. “I’m only saying that you don’t have to take it. If you do, I worry you’ll regret it.”
She studies me. “This isn’t just about me, right?”
“It’s about you. And someone else I know.”
“Someone with regrets, I’m guessing?”
“I don’t really know, actually.”
She nods. “Well, I’m sorry this someone might or might not have regrets, but I’m not interested in going to the school or anyone else.”
“Then tell me what I can do.”
She looks exasperated. “Nothing, Cam. Leave it alone. I just want to forget about it, and I want you to do the same.” Sasha shakes her head. “I gotta run. See you around.”
I watch her head for the building, then I turn to cut across the grass toward the main part of campus. I really wanted that conversation to be simple, the problem fixable. I wonder if I just made everything worse for Sasha.
Realization comes down hard on me: I’m responsible. Whether it was one player or a dozen, part of my team did this. And what kind of captain do I want to be? The kind that’s flooded with relief at knowing Sasha wants to sweep the matter under the rug, probably just like captains before me? Or the kind that has the strength to change myself and maybe even the whole team? That answer, at least, is obvious. I need to do something, whether it’s for Sasha or some future girl I’ll never know. I just don’t know what.
My stomach churns with a sudden rush of nerves. I’ve always been proud of the type of team captain I am: quiet, calm, leading by example. Turns out, that’s not enough. I’ve had that role dialed in for so long, I never thought I’d have to change. To be outspoken, to call people out, to force all of us to think beyond what’s best for the team might as well be speaking a foreign language. Where do I begin?
“Cam!”
I turn around to see Sasha jogging toward me, field hockey stick in hand.
“Maybe there is something you can do,” she says when she reaches me.
“Shoot,” I say. Maybe Sasha has the playbook I desperately need.
“Kick his ass for me, Cam.”
I study her face. It’s dead serious. “Really?”
“Really. When he thinks of that picture, I want him to remember his humiliation, not mine.” At her side, her fingers have gone white, wrapped tightly around her stick.
“As you wish.”