Split Decision by Todd Hafer

Pounding his double-cheeseburger-size fists against his locker when he couldn’t remember his combination on the first day back from Christmas break.
    “Chop,” Cody said softly as his dripping friend approached, a beach towel wrapped around his waist, “we need to talk. Let’s head to the Double D.”

    “I’m worried about you, Chop,” Cody began, nibbling on a french fry. “This year, it seems like your temper has gotten the better of you sometimes. I mean, is everything okay? Something bugging you?”
    Chop snorted. “Aw, don’t worry about me, little brother. I can handle my business. You just take care of you. I’m a fierce competitor; you know that.”
    Cody let out a long, slow sigh. “Chop, it’s more than just the temper thing. You’ve also been acting kind of weird. I’ve noticed … Okay, I don’t know how else to say this. Are you, uh, on something?”
    Chop narrowed his eyes. This was the way he looked at his sports foes. It was also the way he looked at Alston when the two of them squared off. Cody couldn’t remember “The Look” ever being leveled at him. And now, he wondered if he would ever be able to forget it.
    “Code,” Chop began slowly, “you’re my best friend. You’re my boy. That’s the only reason you’re still conscious right now. But you need to hear this—leave it alone.”
    The urge to back away and get out of the Dairy Delight pulled at Cody like an electromagnet. He fought against the force and looked at his friend. “I can’t, Chop,” he said sadly.
    “Why not?” came the response.
    “Because you’re my best friend, too. And I know something’s up. What are you now—220…225?”
    “Oh, so that’s it.” Chop slid out of the booth and rose to his feet. “You’re jealous that I’m gettin’ all swole. Don’t look all shocked like that; I’m just keepin’ it real. Feel this, Co—I can’t help it if you’re a skinny white boy. Maybe if you wailed on your biceps and pecs the way I do—”
    Cody stood and thrust his palm toward Chop’s face. “Come on, give it a rest. It’s me you’re talking to.” He scanned his friend from torso to toes. “You’re telling me that’s all natural, huh? Those bottles and tubes in your locker? That’s all on the up-and-up? For real?”
    Cody saw his friend lower his gaze, as if he were trying to read his T-shirt.
    “It says ‘Go against the Flow,’” Cody offered helpfully. “And that little drawing? That’s a Jesus fish.”
    “I know what it is,” Chop muttered. “And I don’t owe you any explanation. Besides, if you think I’m dirty, maybe you’re not the friend I thought you were.”
    Cody jumped on the sentence like it was a fumble. “If I wasn’t your friend, I’d just let you keep playing Russian roulette with your body. I wouldn’t stand up to you. But I am your friend. And if you’re doing what I fear you’re doing, it’s dangerous—not to mention illegal.”
    Pork Chop arched his eyebrows. “Hey, the supps I take are legal—pretty much.”
    Cody heard himself gasp incredulously. “Pretty much legal? Is that the same as ‘pretty much not pregnant’ or something? Chop, something is either legal or it’s not.”
    Chop shook his head defiantly. “You don’t understand, dawg. You don’t understand the pressure that’s on me. To be like Doug. You know what it’s like to grow up in Doug Porter’s shadow—Doug Porter’s white shadow? Dawg, I was being compared to him when I was still in grade school. I gotta be a beast out there. Everybody’s lookin’ to test me, to take my head off. Because that’s the ultimate coup—to bust up DP’s little brother.
    “And besides, maybe you don’t get it—pretty much all the football linemen, all the track weight men, are on something. How am I supposed to compete with them? What am I supposed to do, Cody? I’m a freshman who’s expected to compete at the varsity level, and compete well. Most everybody else can come up through the