Chapter Fifteen: Indestructible
(Zander)
My unconditional promise to answer Ivy’s questions has weighed on me all week, even more than my promise to Van. Not because I fear what Van will ask me to do any more than I fear answering Ivy’s questions, but because I know Van won’t call hers in any time soon. She’s too fixated on Ivy right now. Shocked as Ivy was when Van apologized to her for blowing up in her face, I expected it. When Van gives her word on something, she means it. It’s not always a good quality. Like with her investigating Ivy.
Van must make a pretty good sleuth, because Ivy hasn’t mentioned anything unusual happening with her lately. My sneaky little sister has been nice as can be to her all week. It’s killing her hunger to do it, too. Maybe I should have some sympathy for her struggle, but I don’t. She could always just leave Ivy alone and give up on the ridiculous belief that she’s hiding something. We’ve met in her homeroom twice and talked on the phone several times. She even met me after practice yesterday, and not once have I seen, heard, or felt anything suspicious from her. Unless you count her love of pistachio ice cream. That’s definitely suspicious.
A hand slaps against my shoulder pads, knocking away thoughts of Ivy. “You ready for this?” Samuel asks.
“Yeah, I guess. Los Lunas doesn’t have a very strong offense.”
Samuel shakes his head at me. “How do you stay so calm before a game? I feel like my skin is about to jump off my body. I can’t remember any of the plays, and I feel like I’m going to hurl.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say.
“Seriously, how do you do it?”
I shrug. He scowls at me as he bounces nervously on his toes.
“The pressure just doesn’t bother me,” I say. It’s true, but not in the way Samuel thinks. Pressure definitely bothers me when I sit down for a test. When I get out on the field, though, what do I have to worry about? No one is going to hurt me. No one is going to get past me. I have complete control over my portion of the field. Even knowing the college scouts are going to be watching tonight, I know I’ll impress them.
“I wish it didn’t bother me,” Samuel says. “You may not care what girls think about you, but I do. If I suck out there tonight, my chances of getting Kaleigh Adams to go out with me shrink to nil.”
The sudden desire to tell Samuel that I do care about what at least one girl thinks of me burns under my skin. Maybe I let what Van said get to me more than I thought. Instead, all I say is, “She’ll go out with you either way, Samuel. Just ask her.”
“You think?”
I nod, but anything else I might have said is cut off by the coach calling us to the huddle. He isn’t one for speeches or sappy motivational encouragement, so he keeps it short with a promise that if we don’t play our best he’ll make us run laps until we’re all puking next practice. It doesn’t sound like it would get a bunch of teenage football players excited, but everyone piles out of the locker room on a serious adrenaline high. I jog along behind them, wondering whether or not I’ll be able to see Ivy from the field.
I don’t see her anywhere in the throng of hyped up spectators, but I know she’s out there somewhere with Van. What I do see are two men dressed in slacks and polos carrying clipboards in one hand and cell phones in the other. Their eyes scan the line of players exiting the locker room hungrily. Finally, my pace picks up and excitement starts to creep into my veins when they see me. My mouth splits into a grin. It’s going to be a race to see who can reach me after the game first, Van and Ivy, or the scouts.
When I reach the huddle, all thoughts of girls and scouts are forgotten. It’s time to find the pain. My hunger leaps up to the forefront of my mind, nearly taking control. With the way I’ve been teasing my hunger around Ivy this week, it’s desperate for some nourishment. Not even my nightly forays into the desert to hunt have been enough. It sounds crazy even to me, but I swear my reaction to her gets worse every time I’m near here. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work.
Usually my hunger for someone lessens each time I am around them and don’t succumb, like I’m desensitizing myself. It’s hardly a fast process, given how in the almost three years since meeting Ketchup, my hunger has only gone from an all-consuming need to an intense desire to see him suffer. I don’t know how long it will take before I can be around him for more than five minutes, but for Van’s sake, I’m trying.
As Coach finishes up his last minute instructions, we break away from the huddle and flow onto the field. I’m all focus until I see the runningback across the line. His hands are already shaking, but when he catches sight of me, he flinches. I don’t do it to intimidate him. I simply can’t help grinning, my smile widening when all the blood drains from his face.
Somewhere to my left, I hear the center hike the ball. Chaos ensues around me, but not within me. Inside, I am perfectly calm, taking in everything going on around me, and watching the ball get shoved into the trembling runningback’s arms. He blows past the first few defenders, but hesitates before darting to the side. I can almost hear his heart thudding against his chest as he puts everything he has into attempting to get around me. I almost give him some ground, make him feel like he has a chance, but then I remember the scouts.
His eyes widen to the size of golf balls as I barrel toward him. He shoots forward one more time, one saved burst of speed held back for just this moment. It isn’t enough. It never is. One arm clamps around his body, while my free hand swipes across his middle and dislodges the ball. I don’t know where the ball goes. I don’t care. My hunger wants to hurt him, begs me to crush the life out of him. We slam into the ground and skid to a stop. My hunger scrabbles around inside of me, soaking up the pain of the impact, the forming bruises, the struggle to breathe.
My chest is heaving as my hunger continues to rage. I roll away from the runningback and will my body to move farther from him. Not going back to finish what I started is torture. I breathe in, slowly. My eyes close as I focus on not giving in. Remembering my little sister in the stands, remembering what will happen to her if I am taken away, forces a precarious calm over me.
The crowd is screaming and jumping up and down on the bleachers when I stand back up. Someone from Los Lunas must have picked up the fumble. Secretly, I’m glad for their recovery. I’m not that interested in scoring, just in staying on the field as a part of the defense. The kid I just knocked the breath out of looks at me in disbelief when I extend my hand to help him up, but he accepts. I haul him back to his feet, holding onto him for a few extra seconds to make sure he won’t topple over again, but also to soak up the remaining bits of pain clinging to him. The ache in his shoulder is the last to fade.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, rolling his shoulder.
“Good. Don’t hesitate next time, okay?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy, blanching at the thought of there being a next time. But there will be. I run back to my position and get right back into the game. The receiver who burned our corner and caught the ball doesn’t get past me. He makes the mistake of trying to break his fall and dislocates his shoulder. Who cares about the points scored, that was the highlight for me. The part of my mind I can actually control feels bad for him, helps get him over to his bench, but the hunger-controlled side runs amuck in celebration of the agony pouring off him. Stepping away from him nearly breaks my will. I’m grateful when he’s removed from the field.
Every Los Lunas player that touches the ball anywhere near me gets a taste of my power, and my hunger gets a taste of them. I try to take it easy on the quarterback when he attempts to sneak past the line. He probably isn’t used to getting hit. It takes him a few minutes to get back up, but he’s fine in the end. The only person I feel any guilt about hitting is the runningback from the beginning of the game. He looks terrified every time he knows the ball is coming to him, but he doesn’t hesitate. Not once out of the eleven times I face him. That almost puts a dent in m
y hunger. Almost.
I honestly don’t even look at the score board until the game is over. I stare at it as I attempt to rein in my hunger and come down off the high so much pain has given me. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that we won since I ran in the majority of the touchdowns myself when I had to switch to the offense to fill the required roll of runningback, but even I’m shocked to see 42-10 displayed. I had no idea we scored that many times. It just isn’t what I focus on during a game. What surprises me even more is when the Los Lunas runningback jogs over to me at the end and shakes my hand.
“Good game, Zander. I’m gonna be feeling it for a week, but that’s the game, right?”
“Sure is,” I agree. “You played pretty well yourself. Not many players are willing to come at me like you did. You’ve got guts.”
He laughs. “Well, at least next week’s game won’t seem so bad after this.”
I’m sure. I don’t flaunt it, but I know I’m the best player in the state. If he can face me down over and over again and not balk once, he’ll be perfectly fine against anybody else. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Grady Johnson.”
“Are you a senior this year?” I ask. Out of everyone I tackled today, this kid impressed me the most.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Come with me,” I say as I jog to the side of the field. I don’t give him any explanation, but he still follows. He catches up with me a few seconds before the scouts burst through the crowd, headed straight for me. Grady slows. He looks over at me with a questioning look, but I motion for him to keep coming. The scouts look ravenous as they race each other to reach me first. Neither of them even notices Grady at first. They blurt out congratulations and praise as soon as they reach me. I let their eagerness calm down a little before really paying attention to what they’re saying.
“Zander, Alabama has had their eye on you for quite some time now. We could use someone with your ability on our team,” one scout says.
“LSU is very eager to sit down with you, Zander. Coach Feldstein already has a jersey with your name on it ready to present to you as soon as you sign a letter of intent with us.”
The first scout scowls at the second. “Alabama has a full ride football scholarship available,” he throws out haughtily, “and you are our top choice, Zander. We’d love to have you come down and tour the campus, see the dorms where you’ll be living, meet the coaching staff. We can arrange a visit any time.”
Before the second guy can try to one up the first one, I interject. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught either of your names.” They stumble over each other to give me names and cards. “I haven’t committed to any school yet, but I’d definitely be interested in seeing both the LSU and Alabama campuses before I make a decision.”
Their eyes gleam eagerly.
“I’ve still got another year of high school, though,” I remind them. “But if you need someone for next year, I think I can help you out. If you happen to need a runningback, that is.”
Grady, who had been standing there soaking up the fanfare looking a little unsure of himself, suddenly perks up. His head snaps over to me, clearly shocked.
“Gentlemen,” I say, “this is Grady Johnson, and if you were watching me on defense at all, you should have seen that he was the closest one to getting past me all night. He very nearly got around me a couple of times. Against anybody else, he’s going to get you major yards every time.”
Both scouts stare at me for a split second in surprise before turning their attention to Grady. Stumbling through their first few questions, Grady gets a hold of himself after several minutes and starts talking about his stats, grades, and plans for the future. I stick around long enough to make sure he’s not going to panic if I leave, but after that I turn away with a promise to set up visits with both schools within the next couple weeks. I get detoured a few more times by my coaches or one of the fans milling around before ducking into the locker room. I think I’ve found a moment of peace despite the celebration raging inside until Samuel plops down on the bench next to me.
“What was the deal with handing the scouts off to that Los Lunas player?”
“He’s a good player. I thought he deserved a little notice,” I say. When Samuel looks at me skeptically, I follow my answer up with another good reason for dumping the scouts. “Plus, I hate talking to those guys. I know they want me to play for them, but I don’t like feeling like a cow they’re haggling over.”
Samuel shakes his head. “You’re nuts, man, but if you were going to shove someone else in their face, I’m shocked it wasn’t me.”
“Hey,” I say, “if you really want to get tackled by college guys twice your size, I’d be more than happy to give you a boost.”
He flinches dramatically. “I’ve still got bruises from practice on Wednesday. No thanks. Football gets me my athletic credits and extracurricular activities for my college applications. That’s all I’m after. I’d get killed the first game for sure.”
“More like the first practice,” I joke.
My humor catches Samuel off guard. It may very well be the first time I’ve ever joked with him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Laughing more than the paltry joke merits, Samuel punches me in the shoulder. “Thanks a lot, Zander. I’ll remember that next time you need me to chase off a girl.”
With that, he dives back through the party and heads for the showers. After getting all my gear stored, I do the same. I finish first, thanks to Samuel’s general prissiness when it comes to grooming. I rub a towel over my head and smooth my hair down with my hands while he pulls out some kind of foaming goop and a hair dryer. Regardless, I find myself waiting for him to finish. Maybe I’m starting to understand Van’s insistence on having friends, or maybe I’m just nervous to be put face to face with Ivy. The game took a lot out of me, but my hunger for her isn’t getting any better.
Samuel and I walk out of the locker room straight into the blaring music of the traditional party raging around the field. I try to spot Van or Ivy through the throng, but end up finding someone else instead. The curly redhead isn’t someone I’d normally take any time to notice, but after talking to Samuel before the game, I elbow him and point in the girl’s direction. When he sees her, he licks his lips nervously.
“Go talk to her.”
“No, man, she’s with her friends. I don’t want all her friends to hear her turn me down. I want to talk to her when she’s alone,” he says.
“Samuel, she’s a girl. When are they ever alone?” He grimaces, but doesn’t make a move toward her. “Besides, she’s less likely to say no with her friends standing there. She wouldn’t want to embarrass you or look like a jerk in front of them.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Zander.”
Before I can do any more convincing, Van bursts through a group of teens, arms waving. She runs forward and throws herself at me. “Zander, that was awesome! You plastered those guys! I loved it!” Her enthusiasm is hard to ignore this time. I grin back at her.
“You enjoyed the game, then?” I ask, knowing she’s still riding the high of feeding her hunger. That’s another perk to playing football. Van gets something out of it, too. I’m hard on her, but I’ll do anything I can to help keep her safe and sane.
“Did I enjoy it? Are you kidding me? Football is so much better than basketball. I wish they played it year round. When you tackled the quarterback… that was awesome. Quarterbacks are such pansies. You should try to smash more of them,” Van says seriously. She doesn’t add, because they feel the pain more than anyone else on the field since they’re usually so protected. She doesn’t need to add that. I felt the richness of the QB’s pain even better than she did.
The rest of Van’s crowd finally catches up to her. Stopping well out of my reach, Laney and Ketchup halt. Ketchup has no idea why I can’t stand him, but regardless of the fact that he still refuses to stay away from Van, he does have enough brains to alway
s keep his distance from me. My hunger knows he’s there. I’m in control enough to ignore it for now. It’s impossible to ignore Laney, though. She’s jabbering away to Ketchup, who looks like he has a headache. Laney can give anyone a headache, but I know that’s not the only reason for his glum attitude.
Van told me Noah was going to watch the game with her. I look around, but I don’t spot him anywhere. Ivy, however, is trailing Ketchup. She glances up at me and smiles. Hunger simmers under my skin, but it’s thankfully dulled somewhat by the crowd of people and my physical exhaustion. I smile back, and she moves around Ketchup toward me. I brace myself for her impact on my hunger.
When she reaches me, I want to grab her. My hand moves to take her. As my hunger spikes, I realize it isn’t my emotions trying to swallow her up, and redirect my hand to flick Van on the shoulder as I take a few steps away. She looks over at me, and says, “What was that for?”
“Where’s this Noah kid? Did he bail on you?” I can’t help notice Ketchup’s expression darkening even more. Guilt drills at me. He wouldn’t be so unhappy if it weren’t for me. Maybe someday it won’t be this way, but for now it’s best he stays back.
“Noah had to take off,” Van says vaguely.
I frown at her. “I wanted to meet him.”
“Not yet,” she says, her eyes drifting to Ketchup before dropping down.
Ah, she’s afraid my hunger will want him. “You have to find out sooner or later.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. The fierceness of her glare stabs at me. “Well, if I get a choice, it will be later, okay?”
“Later for what?” Ivy asks, suddenly next to me.
“Nothing,” I say as I quickly move away from her. I focus on the press of bodies around me and on how tired I am. Even still, it takes a lot of effort to keep my hands at my side and speak in a normal voice. “Did you enjoy the game?”
The corner of her mouth curls up uncertainly. “Yes?”
“Is that a question or an answer?” I ask. “You must not have enjoyed it.”
Van snorts at Ivy’s reaction, making her blush. “I did enjoy it. You were great. It was just a lot more violent than I expected. I never went to the games at my old school. Are you okay? It looked pretty brutal out there.”
“Brutal for the other team,” Samuel pipes in. “Zander never even gets a bruise. The guy’s indestructible.”
Curiosity flares in Ivy’s eyes as she gazes at me. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who notices. I can picture Van writing down her reaction in some secret Harriet the Spy type notebook. Eager to get the topic off me and onto something else, I turn back to Samuel, and say, “Kaleigh’s still standing over there. Go ask her out before she leaves.”
“I’ll talk to her at school,” he says, brushing me off.
“Quit being a wuss, Samuel.”
He looks like he’s about to give me another excuse, so I turn just enough so he can see my hand as it takes Ivy’s. Instantly my hunger cinches around my neck, strangling me with the desire to hurt her. I fight it down desperately, and realize everyone around me has frozen. Even Laney stops talking for the first time since I’ve known her. Ketchup’s and Van’s eyes are both smoldering, though I’m sure for very different reasons. The only person’s reaction I really care about is Ivy’s. I look down at her, half afraid to see her expression.
Despite the shock that has left her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, pleasure gleams in her expression. Timidly, she squeezes my hand. It’s a huge effort, but I manage to smile at her. She smiles back, but she’s the only one.