Initiation by Phil M. Williams Read Free Book Online

“What do you care? I thought you hated football.”
    “I do, but you guys are obsessed with it, so I’m just trying to be a good friend. You know, be supportive. Or we could talk about journalism or the book I’m reading.”
    Ben exhaled. “No, I’m not starting yet. But I will next year.”
    Sarah frowned. “Next year? You guys haven’t even played a game yet and you’re already talking about next year?”
    Ben shrugged. “I’m getting screwed this year at cornerback, but I should play on kickoff and punt … not that we ever punt.”
    “How are you getting screwed?”
    Ben turned back to the television, showing his tan neck and neatly combed hair. “Ask Carter,” he said without turning around.
    Sarah swiveled around to Carter with raised eyebrows.
    “I don’t know anything,” Carter said.
    Sarah swiveled around to Ben. “He said he doesn’t know anything.”
    Ben exhaled, still facing the television. “I heard him.”
    “Why did you think he would know?”
    “Sarah, leave it alone,” Carter said.
    Sarah turned to Carter. “Leave what alone?”
    Carter mimed cutting his own throat.
    “You guys can’t keep this from me. I thought we were friends.”
    “So did I,” Ben said.
    Sarah stood up. “What does that mean?”
    “Ask Mr. Perfect over there.”
    Sarah narrowed her eyes at Carter.
    “Ben, what are you talking about?” Carter asked, sitting up straight.
    Ben stood and turned around, his eyes red, his mouth open, his overbite exposed. “Like you don’t know,” he said.
    “No, I don’t.”
    Ben eyed Sarah. “Do you remember how I told you last year that the coach said I’d be first string this year?”
    “I guess,” Sarah said. “I don’t see what that has to do with Carter.”
    “I was gonna get a gold jersey when Williams got injured, but they just moved a free safety to corner ahead of me. Guess who got the gold jersey.” Ben crossed his arms.
    Sarah looked at Carter, then back to Ben. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s a competition, not a personal attack.”
    “Fucking transfers shouldn’t be allowed to play. I’ve been busting my ass for three years and they just waltz in and steal positions. Fucking Devin’s not even that good. Coaches only like him because he’s black.”
    Sarah threw up her hands. “Who’s Devin, and what does he have to do with Carter?”
    “Devin earned that starting spot,” Carter said.
    “You think he’s better than me?” Ben asked.
    “Yes,” Carter replied.
    “Get out of my house.”
    Carter exhaled and shook his head.
    “I said get the fuck out!”
    Carter walked out of the room and down the stairs. He stopped at the side door and slipped on his running shoes.
    “Are you going home already?” Mrs. Wheeler called out from the kitchen.
    “Thanks for the dessert,” Carter said.
    He trudged down the sidewalk, his head down. He heard the pitter-patter of quick steps behind him.
    “Carter,” Sarah said.
    He stopped and turned around. She walked toward him, her flip-flops snapping. She pressed out her lower lip and slid her arm between his.
    “Want some company?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I don’t know.”
    She smiled, her dimples on display. “I know just the place then.”
    They strolled arm in arm along the sidewalk, passing endless rows of identical townhouses.
    “Nobody ever goes outside here,” he said.
    “Well, it is ninety degrees out.”
    He shrugged. “In Panama, on a weekend, the whole neighborhood would be out until dark. Granted, there was no television.”
    “You didn’t have a TV?”
    “We had a TV, but there wasn’t anything good on. There was only one English station – SCN, The Southern Command Network. It was terrible. Everything was so old and they had the lamest commercials, if you could call ’em that. They were more like public service announcements.”
    “That’s so random.”
    “There was this one that was like, ‘You tell one lie and it leads to another