Chapter Eight

Part 3

I arrived at my dark, empty house, still clad in my grass- and dirt-stained uniform. My parents were out with friends for the evening, which was good because I didn’t feel like relating all the triumphs of the game to them just now. I walked into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and froze in my tracks. The mail was there, sitting on the corner of the table, and right on top was the monthly bank statement.

It was amazing how something that was once so benign could now be the bane of my existence. I first felt a compulsion to grab it, tear it up, and bury the pieces all over the backyard, but I knew that wouldn’t help my situation. Instead I picked up the envelope and, pulse racing through my ears, brought it back to my room. At the very least I could get it out of plain sight for now. Maybe I could buy myself some time.

I sat down on the edge of my bed with the envelope in my lap and stared at it. Right then, all my teammates were out somewhere carousing and celebrating our victory. I was sitting alone in my room with a bank statement. Could my life get any more depressing?

I thought about opening the envelope, but I couldn’t. I knew what it would say, but the very idea of those zeros staring back at me made me sick. Instead I picked up the phone and dialed Winter’s cell.

“Hey, football star! Where are you?! The whole world wants to douse you in Gatorade!” she shouted, with much noise in the background. “Not that I would let them,” she added slyly.

“Can you come over?” I blurted.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone changing immediately to one of concern.

“I just . . . I need to talk to you,” I said, squeezing my eyes closed.

“I’ll be right there,” she assured me. Then the line went dead.

I tossed the phone on the bed, shoved the bank statement under my pillow to get it out of my sight and headed for the shower. Winter would know what to do. She would be able to come up with a plan. And even if she couldn’t, just her presence would be a temporary antidote for my distress.