A God in Carver (Carver High #1) Page 3

“Am I required to interact with him?” I ask Mr. Lawrence.

  “Tatum, meet your editor, Angel Ivy.”

  “Angel?” I ask, taking a moment to look over his band shirt that’s covered in holes, his black skinny jeans and his purple hi-tops.

  “It’s beautiful, right? I mean, I may not look the part but like Mom always says, I’m an angel sent to her directly from heaven.”

  I ignore his smart ass and ask Mr. Lawrence, “So what does that mean, that he’s my editor?”

  “Basically I’m your boss. You’re my bitch.”

  “Excuse me,” I say, my head snapping in his direction.

  “Jesus, you’re making me sound like a total jerk.” He pauses to run his hand through his hair. “Everyone here is my bitch. Not just the females. I’m just staying – you do what I tell you.”

  “Alright. That’s enough, Angel,” Mr. Lawrence tells him sternly before telling me, “He comes up with the assignments and, pending my approval, hands them down to you and your fellow writers. That’s it.”

  “Well,” Angel says, rubbing his chin. “I think you’re understating my importance here. If Tatum’s work is not… let’s say… up to my standards then I do have the power to make her re-write it. If it’s genuine crap I can take her off of writing all together and make her my gopher, like William over there,” he gestures to a kid by the printers who’s loading paper into the machines.

  “Okay,” I tell Mr. Lawrence. “I think you left out a few crucial details in you little negotiation. I’m not doing this if I have to deal with him,” I say, walking back over to the desk where I left my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I head back to his desk and grab my schedule change slip.

  “As editor, you’re going to have to pick up the slack in the sports department,” Mr. Lawrence tells Angel. “And you,” he says, directing his attention my way, “are not only going to have to read Dorian Gray in the next week, but Moby Dick as well.”

  “Oh, man,” Angel says, shaking his head and laughing. “Seven hundred pages. About a whale. I barely made it through that one and I have 4.5 GPA, just for the record.”

  Damn. If that’s the case, I’m going to fail Mr. Lawrence’s class. How hard can it be to interview a bunch of jocks? But I’m not backing down to this cocky geek. “Why can’t you get anyone to cover sports?” I ask Angel.

  “Max,” Angel says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to an obese kid with a black eye, “asked Reggie Norris if it was true that the receiver for the Bangles outran him by two hundred yards last season,” he says, laughing.

  “He didn’t.” I’m ashamed to say I know that, but if there is one thing Reggie makes clear it’s that he has the most rushing yards of any high school receiver in the state.

  “No, he didn’t. Max had his facts wrong and got a black eye because of it. Which is why this is a good move – sending a girl in there. I mean, it’s possible he’ll kick your ass if you ask the wrong question, but unlikely seeing as your man has twenty pounds on him. And hell, I’m betting all those guys are willing to give you all the spare moments they have.” He takes a moment to run his eyes up and down my body and I manage to restrain the strong desire I have to knee him in the balls.

  “I believe that’s your job now. I’d rather read Moby Dick than take orders from you.” I turn around and walk towards the door.

  “Wait,” Angel calls out and I manage to suppress my smile before turning to him. He’s shaking his head in defeat. “I’ll give you your assignments, even write out all the questions for you. You just have to get them answered. That’s it. I’ve got the rest covered.”

  I give him a closed lip smile. “You’ve got yourself a sports writer.”

  Angel smiles hugely and holds out his hand for me to shake. “No.” I tell him flatly. He runs his hand through his hair instead before walking away.

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Mr. Lawrence tells me. “He’s a talented kid and I need him.”

  “As long as he stays away from me, we’ll be fine.”

  Mr. Lawrence blows out a long breath then heads to the other students.

  I take a seat at a station and pull out my Algebra book. I managed to get an extension from Mrs. Doyle without any strings attached. I’m still working on my first problem when Angel comes over and invades my space. “I need these question answered by tomorrow,” he says, slapping down a sheet of paper before walking away.

  I pick it up and read it over. I can’t help but laugh out loud. I look at Angel when he turns his confused face to mine. He clearly gave me these questions because he thinks I care about football and Brandon and I’ll be offended.

  Clearly, he doesn’t know me.

  4

  “Excuse me boys,” I say with a big smile on my face as I interrupt the football team in the locker room after practice. The cat calls and whistling start immediately. I take it all in stride, in fact I stretch my arm up the locker I’m leaned against so that my shirt rises, exposing my stomach from my hips to the bottom of my ribs. “I’m here as a writer for The Carver Observer and I have important business to conduct with,” I pause and consult my page of questions that Angel gave me pretending that I’m not fully aware which one of these testosterone-filled boys I’m here to see. “Brandon Eastman. Star quarterback for the almighty Carver Cougars.” The locker room fills, once again, with cat calls. I drop my paper and give the boys a big smile, my eyes searching out Brandon in the crowd. They pass over Nash who is smiling with amusement and punches Brandon in the shoulder.

  Brandon stands and walks over to me. “Hey, Tatum. Congratulations on making the paper. Why don’t you head out to the hall and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I don’t mind waiting,” I tell him. “Get that dirty uniform off then we’ll get started.”

  He looks at me blankly.

  “Go on. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “That’s right, sexy, but I can show you something you can’t even fathom,” Reggie says, standing up and grabbing a hold of his junk.

  Coach Mason comes out then and asks me what I’m doing in the boy’s locker room.

  “Journalism assignment,” I tell him. “I need your quarterback for a few minutes.”

  He comes over and grabs a hold of my elbow, escorting me into his office. “You can wait in here,” he tells me with annoyance before slamming the door shut. I take a seat behind Coach Mason’s desk, checking out all the awards and trophies behind it. Carver’s won nine out of the last ten state championships. It’s the only thing this town has to be proud of which is why all these boys, especially the starters, are treated like celebrities.

  Fifteen minutes later, Brandon comes in freshly showered, smelling like soap. He gives me a big smile and takes the seat across from me.

  “You ready?” I ask him as I make my way to the chair next to his, taking out my tape recorder and setting it on the small table between us.

  “Sure,” he says, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable.

  I hit record before leaning towards him and looking him in the eyes. “Okay, Mr. Brandon Eastman. Is it true that over a dozen universities have offered you full rides if you agree to play football for them?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t been keeping count, but yeah, I get a lot of offers and most of them include a full athletic scholarship.”

  “Can I ask what you GPA is?”

  “I’m a B student. Last year I believe it was a 3.0. This year I’m hoping to raise it.”

  “Are you aware that in order for a student to get a full academic scholarship their GPA must exceed a perfect 4.0?”

  Brandon laughs. “I’m sure that’s true, Tatum. But I’m not looking to get an academic scholarship. We all have different gifts. Mine clearly is not in the books department. I have to work my ass off just to get B’s.”

  “So are you saying that you do your own school work? Are you trying to tell me that Summer or one of the spirit girls don’t give you a little help
?”

  Brandon shakes his head in confusion. “Where are you going with this interview?”

  “I’m taking a different approach. As you know, sports aren’t really my thing so I thought I’d put a little spin on it. Does it make you uncomfortable to think about the less than ethical side of this game that you and everyone else in this town worships?”

  “No, it doesn’t. But if that’s the angle you’re taking than I’m probably not the man you want to be talking to. I do my own schoolwork. If I didn’t, my grades might be a little higher. And yes, I’m counting on my ability to throw a ball to get me out of this town, and not my brains.”

  “So you think it’s okay for a school, and an entire town for that matter, to place more importance on a guy like you who, as you said can throw a ball, then on a guy or girl who could… let’s say… cure cancer some day?”

  “What are you suggesting? That Carver should have a parade celebrating the kids who score high on their SAT’s? That the town should gather around desks on Friday nights to watch kids solve math problems?” he asks, laughing at the ridiculousness of the idea.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I don’t know. That would be a question for Mayor O’Dell.”

  “I’m guessing it’s because there’s not enough funding for academics and they don’t have a booster club raising thousands of dollars for them. How do you feel about that?”

  “Again, not my area of expertise. Maybe you should try the head of the school board?”

  “So basically what you’re saying, Brandon, is that you are willing to ignore all of the injustices that go along with playing football even though you sometimes take it upon yourself to point out to other citizens in Carver the errors of their ways according to your church-going ways? Do you know that pride, wrath, greed and lust are all deadly sins and all traits that you proud sons of Carver display every time you set foot on that field?”

  “Why do I feel like you’re taking this interview personally? If you have issues with me, with us, I’d be happy to talk to you about them, Tatum. In fact, I’d love to talk to you. Like we used to, without a tape recorder sitting between us and without the guise of an interview.”

  I look at him now. Like really look at him. Maybe because his tone just then reminds me of the Brandon I used to know. He wasn’t always so polite and agreeable. I see the spark in his dark eyes like I used to. His severe eyebrows dip together and creases form on his forehead. His angular jaw is set tight.

  “Maybe I am taking this personally, Brandon, but it’s not about us. It’s about this town that is so ignorant it thinks football is something to boast about.”

  “Are you asking for a comment on that statement?”

  “Do you have one?”

  “I think football in Carver is about community. I think it brings this town together and gives us a common interest. I think it’s good for business. I think it’s good for the school. I don’t see anything wrong with celebrating the fact that Coach Mason has grown this program into something we can all be proud of.”

  “That’s beautiful, Brandon. Really, really, beautiful. So, what interest do you have outside of football and Summer Brooks?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I’m writing a profile on you. Everyone knows that you play football. Everyone knows you and Summer are the golden couple of Carver High. What else do you care about besides football and your girlfriend?” I smile sweetly just to piss him off.

  He leans into me; his friendly eyes turning dark. His eyebrows dropping and his jaw tensing. “You’ve known me since I was five. Why don’t you answer that question?”

  “I couldn’t say, Brandon. That was a long time ago.”

  “Well let me remind you. The two of us used to go fishing every Saturday. I still do that, so you can put fishing on your list. I spent more than one evening sitting around at your kitchen table playing cards with you, waiting up ‘till your mama got home ‘cause you were scared of the dark. I still like to play cards. I also seem to remember all of us, including you and Summer, playing football in my yard, and yeah, I still like to play ball with my friends. And on Sundays I always got extra copies of my bible study because when I got home from church, you were always waiting on my front porch with your bible ‘cause your mama didn’t bring you to service. I didn’t really love wasting my Sunday afternoons that way, but I did it for you. That hasn’t changed much either. I still do my bible study every Sunday, not because I enjoy it, but because it’s a habit I can’t seem to break.”

  I clear my throat and look at my notes that I veered from after the academic questions. I wasn’t expecting that reaction. On Sunday I got the feeling he was judging me and trying to save my soul, but now it feels like he actually misses the life we used to have. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t think at all as a matter of fact.

  I consult the last question on my sheet. “Brandon Eastman, do you consider yourself a god? Are you worthy of the worship you receive every Friday night?” I ask the question, then finally bring my eyes back to his.

  His are piercing mine. His face is tense with anger. He’s still leaning too close to me. “Yes, Tatum Austin. I am a god. This town should drop to their knees, fold their hands and pray to me because I’m the only one who can save them and this ignorant town and bring them the state championship. Is that what you want to hear? Huh?” He’s standing now. And kind of shouting.

  The door to Coach Mason’s office opens. “Is everything okay in here?”

  “Everything is perfect, Coach,” Brandon tells him before throwing a searing glare my way and storming out the door.

  I stutter a laugh. I don’t know if it’s amusement or shock… I don’t know if what just happened was good or bad… but, holy hell, something definitely just went down.

  5

  “You’re a half hour late,” Corey yells at me through the employee bathroom door as I change into my ridiculously tight referee shirt, short shorts, striped knee socks and tennis shoes. Every day but Sunday I, and the other waitresses at The End Zone, get to dress like sexy athletes. Lucky us.

  “I know. I had to do an interview for the school paper. I’ll stay late,” I tell her, opening the door and rushing past her.

  “The school paper? Aiming high, huh Austin?” Corey graduated two years ago along with Talley. All the pretty girls who stay behind in Carver make their living working as waitresses or dancers. I only got this job because Corey is Tally’s best friend and she cut me a break. But I don’t consider myself lucky to be one of them. By the time they hit their thirties they better have a backup plan because job opportunities for women who have no skills and whose best days in the looks department are long gone, are nonexistent. That’s usually when they all turn into someone like my mom, still trying to push their goods on some useless man.

  “Someday I’m gonna be a Pulitzer Prize winner for investigative journalism. I’m starting my career with the Carver Cougars,” I tell her, sarcastically.

  “I wouldn’t mind doing some investigating of my own. Dear Lord, I swear that didn’t make them like that when I was in school.”

  “You are so pathetic,” I tell Corey as I look over my table assignment and grab my order pad.

  “There’s a boy waiting for you at table seven,” she yells out to me as I head to the floor. I’m hoping its Nash and I’m beyond disappointed when I see Angel waiting for me with a big smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What kind of greeting is that? Aren’t you supposed to be at my beck and call, trying to make sure I’m satisfied?”

  “Are you going to order some food or not?”

  “Can I get a water?”

  “No, you cannot get a water. You’re taking up valuable real-estate and I need the tips. Order some food or go.”

  He peers down at the menu. “Twelve dollars for a cheeseburger?”

  “You’re paying for the view. Is that what you want - a cheeseburger?”
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  “Can I order off the kid’s menu?”

  “Are you twelve or under?”

  “Sure.”

  “Please leave,” I tell him, turning around.

  “Wait. I’ll get the dinner salad with ranch on the side. And that glass of water.”

  “Perfect,” I tell him, not turning back around as I head to check on my other tables before heading to the back of the house.

  “Tally and I, and probably your mom, are heading to Broncos after her shift’s done. What do you say, you up for it?” Corey asks as I throw together Angel’s salad, making sure to put every purple piece of cabbage I can find in it.

  “I might be. I’m having a hell of a day.”

  “It’s ladies night. Two for one. Not that you ever have to buy your own drinks.”

  “I think I’ve got the ladies night schedule down by now, but thanks for reminding me,” I tell her.

  “You need to lighten up, girl. Your living your glory days. What I wouldn’t give to be back in that high school being drooled over all day long instead of working at this piece of shit place.”

  “If these are my glory days I might as well kill myself now.”

  “Oh, please. Cry me a river. You’ve got the hottest boy to come through Carver in the last decade in your bed every night. They don’t grown boys like him just anywhere… I don’t think you know how lucky you are to be living in a town like this.”

  I roll my eyes. “If hot boys were all I wanted then, yes, I’d be lucky to live in a town like this. But sadly, I would give just about anything to get out of here.”

  She cocks her hip and assess me. “Do you really mean that?”

  “I know it’s a shocking concept, but yes, I do.”

  “Listen, Tally and Trish would kill me if they knew I was saying this to you, but if that’s what you really want I could probably help you. I’ve got a cousin who is a modeling agent in L.A. I bet if I took a few pictures of you and sent them to him he could hook you up with some jobs out there.”

  I turn and look at her. “I’m trying to do something with my life besides be pretty. I don’t think modeling is my ticket out of here.”