Touchdown (15 page)

He watched his father leave with Evan, and hit the showers.

Suddenly Goldie piped up “Wow, your dad is tough. I remember when my daddy used to take me horseback riding and they were so beautiful, but they smelled kind of how you smell right now. But just so you know, I loved my horse. Her name was Star. I cried for three days when she died.”

Clay took a deep breath. He really didn't need to deal with this crazy ghost girl again. “Goldie. Would you kindly hush up? I'm not a freaking horse. And are you aware that you just ruined my life?” He turned on the shower, and the violent spray pounded the tiles.

“What's the big deal, anyway?” Goldie said. “It's not like you wanted to play football as a career, right?”

Clay growled. “I am so messed up, Goldie, thanks to your great performance tonight. But you're not going to ruin the rest of my night!”

As he hurried out of the locker room, he could hear the angry muttering of his teammates. At least they were decent enough to keep it to themselves. Except good ole Thomas Booth, who uttered an obscenity directed at Clay.

Fists clenched, Clay ignored it all. He had to get out of there. He didn't know if he could stand the bus ride home—in fact, he thought he'd rather die. On second thought, the last time he felt that way he almost did, and that's what got him into this mess . . .

Carolyn was waiting outside of the locker room. Great, he thought. Another person who is disappointed in me.

Carolyn's makeup running and her ponytail had drooped. She looked like a discarded doll. She gave Clay a sympathetic hug.

“Claybear! I am so sorry. You must feel so terrible about the game.” Carolyn rubbed Clay's arm supportively. “Do you want to talk about it with me? I'm all ears,” she said.

Clay stared at her. “No, thank you,” he said.

Carolyn persisted. “Do you want a ride home with me and Mom?”

Clay grunted in response.

Carolyn continued, unaffected. “But really. Ouch. I've never seen you play like that. Just don't let it get you negative. You're still, like, the best player on that field and you never know who the scouts will want after they review all your plays.”

In a way, Carolyn's pity was ten times worse than his team's hostile silence.

“Clay, I know the guys are probably mad but they'll get over it. You're the best.”

Clay couldn't tell who Carolyn was trying to convince. “Just drop it tonight, Carolyn, all right? I don't want to talk about it.”

Carolyn got even closer, looking into Clay's cloudy eyes. “It's not just tonight. You haven't been yourself for a while.

“I can't see how talking about this would help.”

“I knew it,” Carolyn said. “You were just playing me all along with your sensitive side. I thought you were my friend?”

Her voice broke and Clay realized that there were tears streaming down her heart-shaped face.

Clay hesitated. “Carolyn, you're a great girl . . . ”

Carolyn nodded and sniffled through her tears, pushing him away. “Yeah, Clay, I get it. I'm a great girl, but . . . you've never loved me like I loved you. You're just too weak—too scared to end it with me. At first I felt if I just needed to love you more—but I don't know if I can anymore.”

“Carolyn . . . ” Clay interrupted, and then realized he had nothing to say. She was right; he was too weak to end it with her.

“What's so scary about being with me, anyway?”

Clay stared at her, but remained quiet. They both knew she was right. They never had a relationship beyond what their friends had expected of them. And now that he'd let down their team, there was nothing keeping them together.

“I know—I might get emotional and cry.” She laughed sadly.

Clay tried to put his hand on her arm but Carolyn jumped back as if he was burning her.

“Clay. Just go away. You have to put your stuff on the bus, right? Forget about that ride. Forget about me.”

Carolyn retreated to the bathroom, where Clay was sure her entire sorority was congregating to comfort her. He wondered why she could never see that he didn't want to go steady when he was on a roll . . . but was able to accept that he didn't love her when he was no longer a football hero.

• • •

The light went on the bus before the driver could pull out of the parking lot.

Austin called out. “What's a cop doing on the bus?”

Clay took out an earphone. What would the cops want here, at this hour?

Clay squinted in the bright light and saw Officer Brady, looking stern. Whatever it was, Clay was exhausted, and he was sure Officer Brady's presence had nothing to do with him. He popped his earphone back in and continued listening to his music.

Officer Brady approached Clay. His teammates turned around to see what was going down, and Clay noted that Thomas had a nasty grin on his face.

“Hello, sir.” Clay had slipped his headphones and sat up straight, alert to the situation.

Officer Brady gave Clay a curt, close-mouthed smile. “Hate to interrupt, but I'm going to need you to step off the bus for a moment.”

Thomas snickered and Clay furrowed his brow. Something was off here.

Goldie then piped up again. “Clay, Something stinks. Why is that grumpy player smiling? For a team that just lost a game he seems actually cheerful.”

Clay sighed and hopped off the bus, turning to face Officer Brady. “Sir, what's this all about?”

Officer Brady cleared his throat and looked grimly at Clay. “Last time I saw you, do you remember what I said?”

Clay nodded seriously.

Officer Brady continued. “I warned you that one more toe out of line and you'd have to get it. Do you remember that?”

Clay looked over the officer and then glanced at the bus. His teammates wouldn't look at him. That wasn't surprising. But Goldie was right—Thomas Booth, with his fugly Mohawk, was gloating.

“Do you, son?” repeated Officer Brady.

Clay snapped out of his stare. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

Brady's face hardened. “An anonymous tip called in about an hour ago. This person had reason to believe that you were under the influence of marijuana during tonight's game and you may possess an illegal amount. We might have to take you into the station for that, depending on what we find.”

“What?” Goldie shouted. “I've never taken drugs in my life!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Harper, are you sure now is a good time for you to disrespect a member of law enforcement?”

Clay mustered the courage to save himself from more humiliation. “I'm so, so, terribly sorry, Officer Brady,” he said, backpedaling. “It's just that this insinuation is really far from the truth. I didn't smoke a joint before, after, or during the game. And I've never bought any pot. Ever. Period.”

Officer Brady straightened his jacket and looked a bit uncomfortable. “Mr. Harper, I wish I could believe you, but the anonymous tip said that if we checked your duffel we would find the proof. He also mentioned that if we questioned your team, they would agree that you haven't been acting like yourself lately,” Officer Brady said.

“Who said that, sir? What are they talking about?”

Officer Brady continued, and ticked off what he'd heard about Clay like he was reading a shopping list: “You've gone for tanning at a salon. You've taken Zumba lessons. And you participated in, uh, ‘beauty day' with the sorority girls? Not that there's anything wrong with that—but the anonymous tip said you have never been into any of that before and added to what you did out there on the field—your behavior seems erratic, son.”

“But that's not illegal, sir.” Clay said.

“So you aren't denying your behavior has suddenly changed?” Officer Brady raised his eyebrows.

Clay shrugged. “I, uh, like trying new things?”

“Like polishing your nails green?” Brady cleared his throat. “The tip suggested you had marijuana in your bag. I'm going to ask you to hand over your duffel bag.”

Clay hesitated, thinking about what Goldie had said about Thomas Booth. What if Thomas had planted something in Clay's bag? If Clay was off the team, Thomas would move up to quarterback.

Goldie spoke to Clay in his head. “Couldn't you take a drug test to show that you are clean?”

Clay responded in his head. “Yeah, all that would come out is half a dozen poppy bagels.”

Goldie swallowed. “Um. The poppy in the bagels might skew your results.”

Clay blanched. He was afraid she could be right. He'd heard of athletes suspended from their teams when poppy showed up in their tests as opiates. That's the last thing he needed. Clay stared at Thomas who held a condescending smirk then turned back to look at the officer. “What happens if you do find pot in there?”

The officer looked sympathetic for a fleeting moment. “Mr. Harper, you'd have to come down to the county jail. It could take a while to sort this all out.”

“A while?” Goldie shouted out loud. “I only have less than a week left on this earth! We can't spend it in jail!”

The officer continued. “Before we start contemplating how much time any of us has left on this earth, how about we see what you're carrying?”

Clay thought fast. Officer Brady had already believed the worst in him. There probably was pot in his duffle and Thomas Booth had probably put it there. And if he was jailed and suspended, not only could he kiss the NFL goodbye, but he wouldn't be helpful to anyone. He wouldn't be able to get this crazy girl out of his head. And he'd made her a promise to help her. It was bad enough that he'd already let everyone he cared about down . . . He didn't want to have to let down this girl, too.

“Clayton Harper? Will you step aside so I can check your bag?” the officer said.

Clay did as he was told—he always did as he was told—and gazed up at his teammates, though all of them averted their eyes. Clay knew that everyone in his life—his dad, his coach, his team—even Carolyn, was disappointed in him, they thought he'd let them down. But the truth was they had let him down.

“Run! Now!” Goldie hollered.

And with this thought in mind, Clayton Harper threw his duffel bag like a football, far and over the policeman's head. Clay took Officer Brady's moment of distraction and confusion as an opportunity to bolt.

“Stop!” the officer yelled as Clay sprinted. But the cop was no match for Clay—he was a quarterback; he knew how to run and cleared the parking lot with ease, his strong muscular legs pumping up and down as he ran.

Clay heard the Officer on his heels, panting and exhausted. “You know, Clayton, that when we catch you—and we will catch you—this won't look good at all!” Officer Brady's voice cracked.

Clay could barely hear him—he was already two blocks away. After a while he squinted behind him and saw that Brady had given up chasing him and was turning back, walking purposefully to the parking lot.

“Clay!” Goldie shrieked. “He's going to get a car!”

“It's all right.” Clay panted as he continued to run.

Goldie clucked. “You can't outrun a car, can you? Maybe you can?”

Clay ignored her and continued running toward the woods.

“Ah!” Goldie squealed. “I never thought I would ever experience an actual police chase! I'm nervous, but excited!”

Clay shook his head but knew Goldie had a good point. Officer Brady was probably getting into his police cruiser at this very moment. And as much as a police chase excited Goldie, Clay hoped to avoid that kind of scenario.

As if on cue, the police car's siren went off and Clay picked up his pace.

Goldie started singing on the top of her lungs, “Don't stop believing!”

At least one of them was having fun.

The police cruiser sped around a rain-slicked corner and Clay had to think fast. If he kept running on the side of the streets, Officer Brady would catch him, cuff him, and bring him down to the county jail. No matter how he messed up this game—no way would he get into the pros with an arrest record. He needed time away from everyone to figure this all out. He noticed that the only way to go was through the leafy forest on the side of the road. No cop car would be able to maneuver there and Clay doubted that the policeman would follow him in the woods by foot.

Goldie continued singing until Clay slowed down, walking further and further into the forest. It was dark and spooky. “Clay, this is so creepy.”

“Funny, coming from a ghost girl,” Clay grunted in response and sat down on a rotting tree stump.

“Could you get up?” Goldie jerked his foot, but Clay forced it down.

“I'm tired,” Clay said, trying to catch his breath.

“All right,” Goldie said, “but what if Jason is hiding in the bushes with that freaky hockey mask?”

Clay laughed. “You're afraid of a make-believe character from a movie?”

Goldie sighed. “Well, you never know. I mean you wouldn't believe that I exist, yet here I am.”

“Good point,” Clay said and got up from the stump. "But I'm still not happy about you ruining my game. That was not okay.”

Goldie agreed. “I'm sorry, really, but you know I didn't mean to and I'll make it up to you.”

Clay sighed. “How? You're dead.”

“I don't know, but I will. And I always keep my word. Always. In any case, we make a fabulous team! Can we get out of the forest now? It's creeping me out.”

“And go where?” Clay asked as he continued walking. “I mean, this thing has to end somewhere. Don't you have special powers or something? Can't you get us out of here?”

“No, I wish . . . ” Goldie grumbled.

Clay took his phone out from his pocket. “Modern magic,” he said, and touched the screen. Surprisingly, in the middle of nowhere, he had service.

“Ew,” Goldie commented. “Your cell phone case is ugly.”

Clay looked at his ratty Bullfrogs case and ignored Goldie as he activated the GPS map function. “It may be ugly, but it will get us out of this forest.”