Initiation by Phil M. Williams Page B

line with you.”
    They grabbed plates of pulled pork, corn, and fries from the lunch lady and placed the heaped platters on their trays.
    Justin smirked at Carter. A large M was shaved into the side of his pale head. “I heard you had fun on Saturday.”
    Carter was blank-faced. “It was all right.”
    “All right?” Justin said with a frown. “I heard you fucked Amber all night.”
    “It’s none of your business.”
    Justin cackled. “Did she keep those cowboy boots on?”
    Carter shook his head, his mouth turned down.
    “That body’s bangin’ too, all tan and shit.”
    “You’re holding the line, young man,” the elderly cashier said.
    Justin turned toward the cashier and closed the gap. He paid for his meal, took his tray off the counter, and moved behind her. The elderly woman took Carter’s money while Justin mimed having sex with her from behind. Laughter broke out among the kids behind Carter. She turned around and found Justin standing still.
    She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
    Justin gave her a bright white smile. “Just waiting for my friend, ma’am.”
    “Go sit down,” she said.
    Justin left as Carter took his change. He scanned the hall for potential dining places. He saw Dwayne, Kevin Lewis, Michael Townsend and other black football players sitting together, with a handful of black girls interspersed. A table of white football players was on the opposite side of the cafeteria. Zach, Noah, and Luke sat among them, with white girls interspersed. There was a table of boys with black clothing and studded belts, with chains slung from their belt loops to their pockets. There were tables of girls ranked in terms of attractiveness. There were tables with Asian girls, Latino boys, and every other racial, ethnic, and gender divide imaginable. I wish Devin was in my lunch period.
    One person sat by herself. Sarah was in a corner, a brown paper bag in front of her. She was sipping from a thermos with one hand, the other holding open a paperback. Despite the differences between the cliques and cultures, most of the kids were similar in their dress, their speech, and their mannerisms. Sarah was the outlier. She looked like she belonged in a café, sipping coffee in some famous European city.
    Carter balanced his tray and paced over.
    “May I join you, Madam?” he said in his portentous voice.
    She glanced up from her book. “Why yes, my good sir,” she replied.
    Carter placed his tray in front of her and sat down.
    She scrunched up her face. “How can you eat that crap?”
    Carter shrugged, picked up a fry, and shoved it into his mouth. “What are you reading?” he mumbled, his mouth full.
    She flipped the cover of the tattered text. “ All The President’s Men by Bernstein and Woodward.”
    “What’s that about?”
    “You don’t know who Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein are?”
    “Should I?”
    “Well of course. They were the Washington Post journalists that broke the Watergate scandal. You think football requires courage. Politicians are snakes.”
    A hand touched Carter’s shoulder. He turned around to Amber’s pouting face. “I thought we were gonna have lunch together,” she said.
    Carter raised his eyebrows. “You never said –”
    “You don’t mind if I borrow my boyfriend , do you?” Amber said to Sarah, her smile dripping with artificial sweetener. Carter’s eyes widened at the word “boyfriend”.
    “By all means,” Sarah said.
    “Come on, sweetie,” Amber said, tugging on his T-shirt.
    Carter stood and grabbed his tray. “I’ll see you later?” he asked Sarah.
    Sarah smirked. “I don’t know, are you allowed?”
    * * *
    Carter and The North Potomac Marauders took a knee on the dusty practice field in front of Coach Cowan. The players had their helmets off exposing their young faces, some marked with acne, many more with red marks on their foreheads. They had disheveled hair that was wet with sweat. Coach Cowan took off his hat and wiped his brow.