Page 3 of Flagrant Foul
His shoulders are impossibly broad, so broad they graze the shoulders of the players on either side of him. I have a big problem with his shoulders, that’s for sure. But they’re nowhere near as bad as his arms. Or his hands. Or the way his upper body tapers into his waist.
He keeps talking, getting louder and more ridiculous as the night wears on. There were times, now long past, when I used to let myself believe performances like these were for my benefit. They aren’t. They’re for him. He enjoys regaling the entire team with obvious jokes, and for their part, they find him hilarious. He finds himself hilarious too. When he’s like this, when he’s being this dumbed-down version of himself, he laughs at his own jokes before he even delivers the punchline.
It’s the worst.
He’s the worst.
I wish I could say I only want him for his body.
2
Teddy “T-Dog” O’Reilly
Then
Itwasoneofthose summers that grew long arms and legs and stretched out forever. The kind of summer that smelled like iced tea and made you forget what cafeteria food tasted like and that homework existed. It was hot and humid in Alabaster Falls that year. We had a big backyard, but no pool. Nathan and Sev played baseball on the lawn when they weren’t sprawled out in the living room, watching hockey or gaming.
Given the havoc he’s wreaked on my life, you’d think I’d remember the day I met Sev Delorean in granular detail, but I don’t. Not exactly. I don’t remember the precise moment he sauntered into our lives. I remember that life without him existed, and then it didn’t. I remember the clunk of big shoes on the threshold that heralded his arrival. The careless crash of the front door as it swung shut behind him. A deep voice and a soft, husky word.
“'Sup.”
I remember that Nathan laughed louder when Sev was around, and that by the end of that stretchy summer, he was a permanent fixture in our house. In our living room. In our yard. In my life.
I may not remember the day I met him, but I remember what his presence felt like, even back then. I remember it well. There was something about him that was very obvious to me. Hard to miss. Impossible to ignore. He took up a lot of space, even when he wasn’t talking or drawing attention to himself. At fourteen, he and Nathan were four years older than I was. At the time, that felt like a lifetime. In my eyes, at least, they were both huge. Massive and muscular. Tall and deep-voiced, with an enviable shadow on their top lips.
They spent a lot of their time eating, talking about eating, or talking about hockey. When they didn’t think I was within earshot, they talked about things they didn’t want me to hear. Things like girls. Specifically, Olivia Romero, who, according to them, had nice boobs and smelled like watermelon. Her boobs seemed to be more of a talking point than the way she smelled, which was curious because, for me, the watermelon scent was far more intriguing. Was she born smelling like a watermelon? Or did she use some sort of scented hair or skin product to achieve it? If so, where did she buy it?
At the time, I thought my lack of interest in Olivia’s boobs was because I was ten, and as Nathan took pleasure in explaining to me regularly, my balls hadn’t dropped. I was confident that when they did, I’d start liking girls just as much as Nathan and Sev did.
At that time in my life, I was pretty sure Nathan was the best person in the entire world, and my goal was to be exactly like him when I grew up. He was steady and calm, and he had a tolerant smile he reserved just for me. One that required him to press his lips together, curling them down at the corners for a fraction of a second before they turned up.
Everyone in town knew he was my brother. Everyone. During the school year, he walked me to school every day and hardly ever complained about it. He waited for me at the end of the day as well, bag slung over one shoulder, one eye squinted against the glare of the sun. Sometimes he’d ask how my day had been, and if I said anything about anyone upsetting me, he’d go quiet. He’d bob his head as I spoke and tell me not to worry about it, but the sinews in his neck would tense and take a while to relax.
A lot of the time, most of the time in fact, the issue I was having would resolve itself. It would be there one day, a dark, unpleasant mass that upset me, and gone thenext. It would be like it never happened. Like it didn’t exist. Like it was a figment of my imagination.
On some level, I knew Nathan took care of things for me. I must have, surely, but it wasn’t a conscious knowing. I thought life had a way of working out. That good things happened to good people. I certainly didn’t see myself as a rat or even as someone who needed others to fight my battles for me. I thought it was normal. Something all brothers did.
I was intrigued by Sev from the beginning. Nathan was different around him, and not in a good way. Until Nathan met Sev at our local hockey club, he’d always had a group of friends, three or four guys he was tight with, instead of one best friend. That summer, he hardly saw anyone else. He hung out with Sev at our house or in town.
He and Sev talked a lot. Heads drawn together, voices lowered. It was annoying and meant I had to spend a lot of my time ducking behind the bookshelf in the hallway near Nathan’s bedroom door to hear what they were saying.
It was the first time I ever felt excluded by Nathan.
I hated it with all my heart.
When Sev left in the evenings, Nathan would go back to being his usual self. He’d try to make up for beingdistant during the day by offering to do things he knew I loved.
“Come on, Tee, let’s make slime. I’ll get the glue.”
“No, thanks,” I’d say without looking at him. He would have to work harder than that to get back on my good side. “I’m ten. I don’t like making slime anymore.”
It wasn’t completely true. I did still like making slime. A few summers back, it had been my favorite activity of all time. I liked making it with Nathan, especially because he didn’t mind the mess in the kitchen like my mom did, but my nose was severely out of joint. I’d started to suspect it was Nathan, more than Sev, who didn’t want me around when they hung out. I had no idea why. I hadn’t done anything embarrassing around them. I was sure of it. I was aware by then that Sev was someone Nate wanted to impress, so I hardly talked in his presence to avoid saying the wrong thing. All I did was listen and nod.
Most of what they talked about was repetitive, and the subject matter wasn’t especially interesting to me, yet I hung on every word from my post behind the bookshelf. They made the same jokes over and over and laughed harder each time. They talked about people I knew, and some I’d never met. Some of it went over my head, but now and again, something would pique my interest.
One afternoon in early August, I heard Nate say something about me that I couldn’t quite make out. Before I had time to decide whether I was upset that he was talking about me, Sev replied, “Mm. He’s not that bad. He’s a neat little guy in some ways.”
I couldn’t believe my ears—Sev thought I wasn’t that bad! I was so elated that I slumped back against the wall and my cheeks heated in pleasure. Even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t what he meant, for the rest of the summer, I stood in front of the long mirror in my room and straightened my clothes and smoothed my hair extra carefully before going downstairs, on the off chance that was the kind of neat he’d meant.
