All Lined Up

Chapter 20 Dallas

It’s never a good thing when you walk into your dorm lobby and there are swarms of people in groups talking hurriedly and staring at their phones. That should have been the first thing to tip me off.

I hear people whispering about the football team behind me before class starts, but I try not to listen because in my gut, I’m terrified someone saw Carson coming out of my room. Surely that wouldn’t cause this kind of buzz. I mean, he’s not even a starter, and it’s not like we did anything crazy scandalous in public.

But our dorm does have windows, and sits directly across from another dorm. I can’t remember if I had the blinds closed or not. But surely . . . surely that’s still not big enough news to have the campus going this nuts.

I get my answer when my phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Stell with a link to a Twitter post.

Under my desk, I follow the link, and my jaw drops.

There’s a slightly blurry picture of Levi in handcuffs, being placed into the back of a police car.

Levi Abrams, @RuskUniversity’s star quarterback, arrested. #theregoestheseason

People are posting theories—everything from drugs to prostitution to murder. Other rival universities have picked up the thread, and it’s been retweeted hundreds of thousands of times.

Holy crap. No wonder everyone is whispering. We have a game on Saturday, the first true conference game and potentially our biggest game of the season just because it’s with the Dragons, our rivals. It’s a home game, and people always turn out in huge numbers. Even during the school’s worst seasons, that game is always a big deal.

And Levi . . . what the hell did he do?

After class lets out, I try calling Carson, then Dad, then Carson again.

I text and call for the entire ten minutes that it takes me to walk to the fine arts building.

Finally, as my dance professor, Annaiss, calls us to our positions at the barre, my phone vibrates.

It’s from Dad.

Can’t talk. Come by my office after your

classes are over, and I’ll fill you in on

what I can.

Shit. That doesn’t sound good. Surely if it were all some stupid misunderstanding, he’d be able to just say that.

I’m distracted, but Annaiss doesn’t say anything. Everyone is distracted. Every time we line up on one side of the room to take turns doing different passes or combinations, the whispers begin.

No one tries to ask me anything. I don’t know if it’s common knowledge everywhere that Levi and I dated, or just on the team. Whether they’re considerate or clueless, I’m glad for it.

I don’t like the guy. I’ve not made that a secret to anyone, Levi included. We barely spoke at all during the four months between when we broke up and he graduated. And I pretty much avoid him at all costs.

But once upon a time, I think I loved him. It’s hard to tell now. There are too many other messy feelings clinging to those memories, but until he broke up with me, I had thought we’d end up together. Everyone thought we would. We talked about college, and what I would do if and when he got a scholarship. We even talked about what would happen beyond that . . . if he went pro. I don’t necessarily think that’s an option for him anymore (especially not with whatever was going on today), but back then things looked like they were heading that direction.

Then he got hurt. Not on the field, but on the court. Like a lot of the guys at our school, Levi did pretty much every sport. And when he fractured his ankle playing basketball, everything kind of changed. He had surgery, and the recovery time was minimal. Just six to eight weeks. But it was enough to jeopardize his negotiations with a lot of the universities that had approached him.

He still got a scholarship with Rusk, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And we fought more and more. Over everything. Other girls. Other guys. My dad. Sex.

Mostly we fought about sex.

I don’t know whether he always had that bitterness and arrogance in him or if it bled out of the dismantling of all of our plans, but I’d like to believe that he didn’t completely fool me. I’d like to believe that the boy I originally fell for was just as sweet and genuine as I remember him being.

But if that’s true . . . it’s crazy to think that one tiny event can derail your entire life, derail who you are. If he’d sat out of basketball that year, would we still be together? Would we both even be at Rusk? Would dad have let me go to school out of state if I was going with Levi?

What if?

I could waste a lifetime thinking about what-ifs, and that’s all I would ever have—hypotheticals and hopes pinned on a plan that crumbles when dragged into reality.

It’s nearly four o’clock when my last class lets out. Normally that would be right in the middle of Dad’s practice, but he didn’t give me a specific time to come by, and I’ve been going crazy reading all the theories online. Most of the theories now are focused on drugs, but the specifics all vary.

Annaiss stops me before I go. She’s in her early thirties, the youngest professor on staff, and though she doesn’t have as much experience as most of the other professors, she at least feels a little less out of touch with the real-world business of dance than the rest. She has thick, glossy black hair and exotic eyes that are soft as she looks at me.

“Are you all right, Dallas?”

Maybe she’s not as oblivious as I thought.

“Yeah, just distracted, I guess.”

“You know you can come talk to me about anything. Dance related or otherwise. My office is on the second floor.”

God, I must look a wreck if she’s this concerned.

“Thanks, Annaiss. I’ll keep that in mind.” I still feel a little weird calling a professor by her first name, but she insists.

She lets me go after that, and in a daze I change out of my dance attire into jeans and street shoes.

When I get to the athletic complex, the parking lot is filled with cars, but the halls are oddly silent. I step into the weight room, and it’s completely empty, weights left out, clearly strewn about from an interrupted workout.

I step through the door that leads to the film room and Dad’s office. It also apparently leads to the locker room, because the door is propped open, and I see the team sitting at their cubbies. Still. Somber. Silent. A smattering of coaches are walking around the room, carrying papers and looking busy.

I look for Carson, but I don’t see him.

I don’t see Levi either, but I didn’t expect to.

The office door is closed, and I knock.

A different coach opens the door. One I don’t know.

I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to stay in touch with my dad since school started. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I have no idea how he’s settling in here.

“I, um, I’m Coach Cole’s daughter. Do you think I could talk to him?”

“He’s in his office, but he said you might be coming by. Come on in.”

The coach is young, maybe thirty, with sandy blond hair. He holds out a hand and says, “I’m Coach Oscar. Most everyone calls me Oz.”

I shake it, feeling strangely . . . adult.

“Dallas,” I reply. “Like the Cowboys. Unfortunately.”

He laughs. So do the two other coaches sitting around the office, which is more like a conference room now that I look at it.

He points to a door on the far side of the room that I didn’t notice last time I was here. “There’s your dad’s office.”

I cross the room, nodding to the other coaches, and knock on the door. Dad takes a while to answer, and I stand there awkwardly, not sure if I should ignore the coaches behind me or talk to them or what. Luckily, I’m saved by the turning of the doorknob. Dad opens the door an inch, and then when he sees it’s me, he opens it wide.

“Come in, Dallas. We were just about finished.”

I freeze as Carson looks over his shoulder at me. He’s sitting in one of the chairs in front of Dad’s desk, and when he sees me his blank expression cracks just enough to reveal the worry and stress lurking beneath.

I almost reach for him.

“Hey,” I say before I can stop myself. Quickly, I redirect my gaze to Dad, hoping he’ll think that was for him.

I shouldn’t have worried. Dad doesn’t notice.

“Carson, why don’t you stop by and talk to Oz on your way out. He’ll make sure you get set up with a solid tutor and anything else you need.”

The faintest blush runs across his cheeks, and he ducks his head.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes meet mine briefly on the way out, and I can tell . . . things just got significantly more complicated.

The door clicks closed, and Dad slumps into his seat. He looks . . . sad.

With his eyes closed, he leans his elbows on his desk and runs a hand through his hair. It’s going gray at the temples. When did that happen? He looks older, too. There are lines on his face and hands that I can’t recall ever seeing before.

Has this job or this thing with Levi taken that much out of him or have I just not really looked at him for that long?

I stay silent, knowing instinctively that he needs it. This is probably the first quiet moment he’s had since Levi was arrested.

Again, I’m struck not just by how much older he feels, but how much older I feel, too.

“What have you heard?” he asks finally.

I clear my throat. “Nothing concrete. I saw the pictures. People are talking, but no one knows for sure what happened.”

Dad straightens up, sliding his chair closer to the desk, and suddenly he looks all business again. When he starts talking, I get the feeling that he’s said this speech several times today. “Earlier today, Levi was arrested when he attempted to sell marijuana and other pharmaceutical drugs to an undercover police officer.”

“He what?”

That . . . that didn’t sound anything like Levi. The old one or the new one. Sure, he partied, but what reason could he possibly have to sell drugs?

“I know.” Dad sighs. “It gets worse. When the police executed a search warrant on his apartment, they found more drugs, including anabolic steroids and HGH.”

“HGH?” It sounded familiar, and as soon as Dad opened his mouth to answer, I remembered. “Human growth hormone?”

Dad nods.

“Was he taking it?”

“We’re not certain yet. It appears likely. Along with the vials, they found syringes, both used and new. We think that might have been why he was selling the other drugs in the first place. HGH is an expensive habit.”

“That’s crazy. Why would he do something so stupid?”

I’ve heard of athletes, dancers included, taking the stuff to get over injuries quickly. But supposedly there are all kinds of possible side effects. Serious ones.

“When people are desperate, it distorts their view of the world, of what’s right and what’s smart. If you’re desperate enough, it will distort who you are in addition to what you see.”

“I can’t . . . ” I shake my head, not knowing where I am even going with the sentence. I don’t know a lot of things in that moment.

“Dallas, I don’t want to ask this, but I know that you and Levi are close. I need you to tell me that you didn’t know about this, that you weren’t around him or drugs or anything else he was involved in.”

“No! Dad . . . no.” I want to be angry that he could even think that of me, but mostly I’m too shocked. “Levi and I are not close, Dad. We haven’t been since before he graduated high school.”

“I know you guys had a rough breakup, but when I started this year, he led me to believe that you two were past that. That you were friends.”

I scoff, and I feel so sick that I have to stand up and walk around and just breathe.

“We are not friends. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve spoken in the last few years. Dad . . . I hate him. I don’t know any other way to put it . . . ” Angry tears swim in my eyes, and panic paints Dad’s face. “There are things you don’t know . . . that I never want you to know. But suffice it to say, I hate him.”

I can tell Dad wants to ask despite my assurances. His knuckles turn white as he grips the desk, and I can see the confusion and frustration battling in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What? That your favorite player turned out to be an awful human being? That the guy you called son the entire time we were dating is an asshole, and I wish we’d never met?”

“Dallas,” Dad’s voice is sharp.

“I’ve earned the right to call him that, Dad. Trust me. God, even now you’re defending him.”

“I’m not defending him.” There’s the stern, angry Dad I know. He’s the one I know how to talk to. “Clearly, there are many aspects to his character that I didn’t see, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me that he hurt you.”

“Gee, Dad. I thought you would have picked up on that by yourself. What with all the crying and general misery.”

“That’s not fair. You kept to yourself. You never talk to me. And I was—”

“Busy, I know. Trust me, I know.”

Dad looks almost hurt. For a second.

“I was going to say that I was trying to respect your space. I thought if you’d wanted me to know, you would have told me.”

“Well, you got that part right.”

“Damn it, Dallas. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m trying here.”

“Too little, too late, Dad. It’s been years, and honestly, it’s not a conversation you really want to have. Just . . . don’t accuse me of doing drugs with him or wherever this conversation was heading. I’m not giving you another reason to call me irresponsible or to tell me I’m not ready to be an adult. Because whether you like it or not, I am one.” I think of just how drastically Levi has changed since the moment I first met him. He was sweet and shy and so good to me. “I’ve realized something . . . We don’t get to know what’s going to happen to us. And anything can come along and ruin our plans, change our world, change us. I’ve given in to you on so many things because I just keep telling myself that I have time. But I can’t keep planning for a future that might never come. That’s not living.”

For the first time in my entire life, Dad doesn’t have an immediate counterargument. He just asks, “So what are you going to do?”

I make this weird noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob because, ironically enough . . . I don’t know.