Page 20 of Don't Let Me Go
“What did they do?” I ask. The articles online had mentioned the hazing, but they hadn’t gone into specifics.
“They’d make him down a six-pack and then do push-ups until he puked. Or they’d get him so drunk that he passed out and then they’d drive him out of town and dump him in some random farmer’s field in just his underwear. Devon never said anything. He never complained. He was so desperate for the guys to like him that he went along with whatever they told him to do. He wanted to prove he was one of us. He didn’t want to let down the team.”
The wordteamseems to stick in Jackson’s throat. He shakes his head in disgust.
“I should’ve stopped it,” he confesses, staring down at his hands as if he’d like to wring his own neck. “Whenever the guys started in on Devon, I’d always make some excuse and leave the room. I never participated. Iswear.”
Much to my own surprise, I hear myself say, “I believe you.”
Jackson looks relieved. But his relief doesn’t last long. He turns inward again, his face clouding over in self-recrimination.
“I still knew it was happening. I knew it was wrong. Devon was getting hurt, and I didn’t say a thing. I did nothing.”
“And then Devon ended up in the hospital,” I finish for him.
Jackson nods and shuts his eyes like he’s shutting out the world.
“Yeah. One night in December, right after we’d made the finals, the team was celebrating at Kris Kaplan’s house. His parents were out of town, so we had the place to ourselves. I was upstairs in one of the bedrooms with my girlfriend, Micaela. We were just hanging out when we heard all this shouting coming from downstairs. We went to the living room to see what was happening, and when we got there, there was a crowd of people standing around Devon. He was on the floor. Not breathing.
“People were freaking out. No one knew what to do, so I called 911. An ambulance came, and the paramedics got Devon breathing again and then took him to the hospital. We found out later that he had alcohol poisoning. Apparently, the guys on the team had made him drink so much, it almost shut down his heart.”
I didn’t know Jackson had been the one to call 911. None of the articles had mentioned that. Just like none of them had mentioned that Jackson was the one person on the team who hadn’t bullied Devon. They’d said the whole team had been involved.
“Is that why you moved to Orlando?” I ask. “Because of what happened to Devon?”
To my surprise, Jackson shakes his head no.
“After Devon was hospitalized, there was a police investigation. The guys on the team wanted to cover their asses, so they told the police that Devon had a drinking problem, that he had a history of getting wasted. They claimed no one else at the party had been drinking. That Devon had shown up drunk and no one had given him any alcohol.”
I stare at Jackson incredulously. “And the police believed them?”
Jackson shrugs. “Nobody wanted to see the team that was one game away from bringing home the championship trophy get disqualified. The police accepted the story. So did our coach. And the school. No one at the party got in any trouble. Except Devon. He got kicked off the team and suspended from school for the rest of the semester.”
“Jesus Christ,” I growl.
“I know.”
“That is seriously fucked up.” Then I recall what I read last night and realize something in Jackson’s story doesn’t add up. “Wait a second. TheOrlando Sentinelsaid that your entire team got suspended for hazing Devon.”
Jackson nods. “We did.”
“But if your team lied about what happened, and the police believed them, how did the school find out the truth?”
“Because I went to the principal and told him.”
I stare at Jackson in surprise. That piece of information wasdefinitelynot in any of the articles.
“I had to,” he continues. “I couldn’t let Devon take the blame. Not after everything we did to him. I mean, we almostkilledhim, andhewas the one being punished? It was bullshit. So a few days before we were supposed to play in the final, I told Coach Barnes and Principal DeSoto what happened. They had no choice but to suspend everyone. Which meant we had to forfeit the championship.”
Jackson lets out a bitter scoff. “The guys were furious when theyfound out. They thought I was a traitor, and they weren’t the only ones. Everyone—students, teachers, hell, even the lunch lady—they all looked at me like I’d betrayed my team. And my school. And the whole fucking city. Micaela was the only one who stood by me. But everyone else?”
Jackson’s face burns with anger.
“Even my parents acted like I’d betrayed them. My father was furious. He said I should’ve kept my mouth shut, played ball, and protected my team. He told me I had deliberately sabotaged any chance of a career in the NFL. That I’d flushed my entire future down the toilet over nothing. That’s what a kid in the hospital was to him. Nothing.”
Jackson releases an exhausted sigh that seems to come straight from his soul. “That’swhen I decided to move to Orlando.”
I hardly know what to say. It’s inconceivable to me that anyone—let alone Jackson’s parents—could hear everything that had happened and still decide that Jackson was the villain of the story. And all because he was brave enough to tell the truth.
