The Outsider by Christopher J. Cronin - HTML preview

Branton Hockey Cruises Into Tournament for 11^th Straight Year
The Branton High Hockey team had its’ share of ups and downs this year. In what looked to be a promising season with newcomer and division scoring champ Danny Adams, Branton High oozed the potential to be a dominating force this year. However, internal grumblings, disciplinary issues, and academic issues plagued the team. Adams in particular was affected most by the drama that unfolded, nearly missing half the season due to the aforementioned reasons. Lacking the scoring punch and flair that Adams brought (41 goals, 9 assists), the team was forced to win its’ final two games to qualify for the tournament. Now, Branton, considered the dark horse of the tournament with a full and healthy squad, and what the town hopes devoid of problems, faces off Wednesday night against Wilton, the #2 seed. In accordance with the state athletics commission, the game will be played at a neutral site, Cheshire County Memorial Area, in Surrey. Game time is 8:00.

Prazicka did have one thing right; had I been there all season, we would be ranked hell of a lot higher than #19. I hoped Cooper and his crew noticed that the article made absolutely no mention of them; just to be sure, I made four photocopies, highlighted the important parts, then put one in each of their lockers, scrawled with the note: “See? I told you it was my team.”

Our two practices following the win over Bismarck were torture; no pucks, and nothing but the screech of Brimmer’s whistle. As much as I hated conditioning practices, they always came in handy when it came down to the final two minutes of an important game and you needed that last boost of energy. Granted it was something I would have elected to do at the start of the season, but I wasn’t the world’s greatest hockey coach like Brimmer.

Following our two conditioning practices, we had Saturday and Sunday off, followed by two light practices and shooting drills. Wednesday morning classes had a considerable buzz of both anticipation and worry; tournament time might as well be Christmas to any hockey fan in Massachusetts, but facing the powerhouse of Wilton filled the student body with nervous anxiety. Well-wishing teachers and concerned students made small talk in the hallway, flinging questions like “Are you worried?”, “Do you think you guys can win?”, “How many are you gonna score tonight?” I told anyone I engaged talked with not to worry because I guaranteed a win. I felt good, I had something to prove, and as much as my enjoyment of the season had been tarnished, I still wanted to play as long as I could.

The tension in the locker room could have been cut with a knife; nobody talked much, everyone had their headphones on, with closed eyes, imagining the outcome of the game. I didn’t hear much of Brimmer’s pre-game speech; I was too busy seeing myself bury goal after goal and upset the #2 seed. We gathered together in a moment of silence. Cooper, then Kallock, spoke in frenzied tones, trying to get us pissed off and hungry for blood. A “Marauders” chant ensued accompanied with whoops and shouts, then we headed to the battlefield.

Wilton’s warm-up song, “Papercut”, by Linkin’ Park was cranked to full volume, but the cheering of thousands of people overwhelmed the song. I stepped on the ice as the rock ballad exploded through the speakers, and goosebumps appeared all over my skin in response. The fans cheered and the photographers flashed pictures. Tags and I attempted small talk during warmups, much of it going unheard of because of the noise volume. All I could gather from the conversation was Tags’ amazement at the crowd turnout.

“It’s never been this packed before. I can’t believe it. This is absolutely crazy”, he yelled.
“I know, I love it!” I yelled back.
Warm-ups ended and the starting lines were announced. I zoned out during the announcement until I heard my name announced as starting on the left wing. I was startled, and Cooper was beside himself. I flashed him a coy grin, and he looked back with anger painted all over his face. I saw him get even madder when the crowd went nuts after my name was announced. Tough shit, Cooper. I told you it was my team.
Whenever my adrenaline gets pumping at the level it is, I feel almost superhuman. I’m a step ahead of everything, and I have a sixth sense that I can’t quite describe. My eyes were sharper, my ears more acute, my body a tightly-wound bomb just ready to explode when the time was right. The minute the game started, Wilton knew they were in trouble when I scooped the puck up off the faceoff, then kicked into fifth gear when I blew threw the amazed and flat-footed Wilton defensemen. Noticing the wide open eyes of the Wilton goalie, I knew he was thinking this was the last thing he wanted to face so early in the game. His hesitancy was well-observed by me, and I knew that every goalie is shaky until he handles a few routine shots. This wasn’t going to be routine. I came in with the puck on my forehand, coolly pulled it to my backhand, and neatly tucked it under the crossbar. The clock read 14:55: five seconds was all I need to put us ahead. The Branton side went crazy and high-fived each other. The Wilton side was painted with utter disbelief at the early goal. I pumped my fist and yelled, being swarmed by my excited but reluctant line mates Emerson and Gardiner. I could barely hear my goal announced as the roar of the crowd drowned out the scorekeeper.
Although we had the early lead, Wilton rebounded as good teams do, and dominated the rest of the period. Kline was sharp despite the offensive onslaught, turning away five or six point blank shots that our overwhelmed defense couldn’t prevent. I got double-teamed the rest of the period, but that didn’t stop me; I put us up 2-0 in the last ten seconds when Gardiner dug up some hockey skill and hit me with a beautiful tape-to-tape saucer pass, which I buried between the pads of the Wilton goalie. Up 2-0 after one period is never a comfort zone for any team; one quick goal by Wilton could easily change the tempo of the game. Brimmer must have bought a new coaching guide because he stressed the point during the intermission.
“As long as we keep pressuring, prevent the point blank shots, and stay out of the penalty box, we’ll win this game. The next goal is crucial”, he said. I caught Cooper glowering at me from the corner of my eye during Brimmer’s speech. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
Kallock must have been completely oblivious to Brimmer’s speech during the intermission as he committed two penalties in the second period. The score would have been knotted up at 2 had I not scored a shorthanded goal at the 12:53 mark, allowing us to hold on to an undeserved lead. Three goals in two periods was a good feeling to have, but after the third goal, Wilton did everyting in their power to prevent me from the touching the puck. They succeeded by not letting the puck leave our zone. Brimmer was extremely critical of the lack of discipline exhibited during the period, singling out Kallock and nearly reducing him to tears when he called him an “incompetent idiot”. Although Kallock deserved it and Brimmer had a right to call him that, it was still completely and unnecessarily uncalled for. Being singled out like that would make anyone feel like they’re under the microscope, causing them to play scared and hesitant. The last thing this team needed was to have one of the starting defenseman playing scared.
As time quickly wound down in the third period, it was easy to tell that no side wanted to make a blind pass or a stupid play and change the course of the game. Kallock and Cooper must have had the same thing for dinner that night because after a Wilton player handed Cooper his head on a platter, Cooper slashed him in the back of the legs, putting us down a man. A good team capitalizes on chances like this and Wilton wasted no time setting up their powerplay, putting a man at the far post, and tapping it into a wide open net to tie the score at three with a little over two minutes left to play. The black and red monster became visibly hushed as the air of excitement vanished after the Wilton goal.
Brimmer called a timeout with a deadly 1:30 showing on the clock. Any team that scored right now would undoubtedly win the game. Brimmer had us huddle together as he outlined the plan of attack. “Okay, I want Adams, McDougall, Gardiner, Kallock, and Anderson out there. Make sure you cover your men at the face-off, and Adams, since you’re weakside winger, you need to pick up the shooter at the top of the circle. This is a must. Bring it in! Let’s be the first underdog of the tournament.”
We skated to our end after the “Marauders” chant, and a chilly silence enveloped the rink. Both throngs of fans knew that this was a critical face-off. Wilton already had the advantage with the draw being in our zone; we were faced with desperation and nervousness of having the puck so deep in our zone with very little time left. Gardiner choked on the draw and the Wilton defenseman won the puck back to the shooter at the top of the faceoff circle. The puck was drawn back so quick that I couldn’t reach the shooter in time, and he let off a booming slapshot that was followed by a dull thud after a save by the right pad of Kline. I watched the play unfold as I kept a wary eye on the defenseman I was covering. Wilton set up deep in our zone and their center cradled the puck behind our net, waiting for someone on our team to blow their cover and leave an open shooter. The seconds slowly ticked away until the scorekeeper boomed, “One minute left in the period, one minute”. The Wilton skaters frantically scrambled around our zone trying to shake the coverage while Branton fought tooth and nail to maintain coverage.
Suddenly, out of my peripheral vision, my defenseman wasn’t there anymore. He was a foot in front of me, and his center, seeing a fleeting opportunity, tried to force the pass to him. I was lazy in my coverage, and if the defenseman got off a clean shot, the traffic in front of the net could make it hard for Kline to pick up the shot. As the defenseman lowered his stick to receive the pass, the puck hit a rut and jumped over his stick. I immediately put the brakes on and used my last ounce of energy to reverse my direction and chase the puck down. The other Wilton defenseman headed straight for the puck, hoping to reach it before I did. I got there a split second ahead of him, tipped it forward and skated as hard as I could. The Branton side cheered at seeing the partial breakaway. As I skated ahead I felt the Wilton defenseman’s stick poking at the back of my legs and arms, trying to force me to mishandle the puck. The puck never settled cleanly after I tipped it forward, and with the defenseman poking and hacking me, it took every ounce of concentration to maintain control.
Time slowed considerably as I bore down on the Wilton goalie. He too noticed the fluttering puck and made a last second decision to dive at the puck in attempts to knock it away from me. I knew what he was going to do, and as he dove, I ripped my arm away from the defenseman’s stick and took a desperate swipe at the puck. The Wilton goalie smashed into my knees and took out his own defenseman in the process. I flipped head over heels and hit the ice just as the Branton crowd erupted. As I lay sprawled face down on the ice, I saw the puck lying motionless in the back of the net. I raised my arms as Anderson and McDougall pounced on me. My knees hurt, I was out of breath, but I scored, making it all worthwhile. 4-3, 37 seconds left. Wilton called a timeout to go over a last-ditch effort while Brimmer gathered us around and told us what we needed to do. I sat on the bench, chest heaving in and out to force air into my lungs.
The play resumed while I sat on the bench, and a tense 37 seconds came to an end as Anderson flipped the puck out of our zone as the buzzer sounded. The Branton side erupted, countered with shell-shocked faces on the Wilton side. The team smothered Kline, who finished with 40 saves, and saluted the fans as we lined up for the handshake. I headed off the ice and was immediately surrounded by reporters. Prazicka was the first to speak up.
“Danny, rumor has it that you were guaranteeing a win tonight. You made good on your guarantee and had a hell of a game. What was going through your mind prior to the game?”
I shrugged indifferently. “Well, there wasn’t much going through my mind actually. I tired not to think too much about the game. I just wanted to go out and play it like any other game.”
An unfamiliar face then spoke up. “Mike Arnolds, Cheshire County Gazette. What were you thinking when you saw the goalie dive out to pokecheck the puck away?”
“I knew it was gonna be the make or break moment. He definitely made the right decision. The puck wasn’t sitting cleanly and he knew that I wouldn’t be able to get a solid shot off. Fortunately, I got the bounce.”
I was about to field another question when Brimmer came out of the locker room and told me to come inside. The reporters thanked me and I was preparing to hear another “My coaching won the game” speech from Brimmer. I waited for him to finish before I got undressed, then picked up my bag and boarded the bus to Branton High.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we were greeted by an orchestra of car horns and a good portion of the student body. We stepped off the bus to greet friends and parents. As I gathered my belongings and headed to my car, Meghan came running over and jumped on me. She kissed me on the cheek and marveled about the game I played, then asked me if I was giving anybody a ride home.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Feel like changing your mind?” she asked.
“I can make an exception”, and winked at her.
“Great. I told my dad I would get a ride home from one of my friends. So we can’t be out too long.”
“You got it.”
I put my bag in my car and she hopped in the passenger seat. She ducked out of sight so her dad wouldn’t see her, she said. As I turned the key, I saw Mr. Cooper and his son in an animated, heated discussion, probably about why he wasn’t on the ice for the last few minutes of the game. Ten minutes later we were parked at the lighthouse. She didn’t waste any time getting dressed, nor did I. It was short, intense sex, and I had her back within a half hour after leaving the parking lot. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared into the house. As I put my car in reverse, I could have sworn I saw curtains by the front door part ever so slightly. Maybe I was just freaking out because this was a girl I shouldn’t be involved with at all. Regardless, it was a great night. Four goal game, getting laid after. What could be better?
I received a million accolades in school the next day. I just smiled politely and thanked each well-wisher, soaking up the glory of being a hockey stud. We were scheduled to have a light practice today, which is exactly what we needed after a game like last night. After practice I headed home, took a quick shower, and collapsed on my bed for a nap before homework. Ten minutes into my nap, my mother came and woke me up.
“Danny, wake up.”
“Huh?”
“I need you to wake up and come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“The police are here to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I dunno, they wouldn’t tell me.”
I walked downstairs and saw two uniformed officers sitting on the couch.
“Danny, take a seat.” I sat. “I’m Officer McDonald, this is Officer Conley.”
I nodded.
“Were you with Meghan Cooper last night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have relations?”
“Yes.”
“Was it consensual?”
“Of course.”
“She seems to believe it wasn’t. She called the station in hysterics last night, claiming she’d been raped.”
“What! Are you kidding me? It was 100% consensual!”
“Regardless, when a girl calls and rape is mentioned, we must investigate it.”
“You have gotta be kidding me.”
“Unfortunately, we’re not. We’re gonna have to take a statement. It’s standard protocol. We’ll give you a ride to the station.”
My mother stood there, awestruck, then teary-eyed.
“We’ll call you when it’s time”, Officer Conley said.
My mother nodded, choking back tears.
I got dressed and reluctantly headed to the police car, fuming. That bitch was all over me. My peripheral vision was tinged with red. I started to shake, and my hair stood up on end. My mind started to race, replaying the night. Did her dad put her up to this? Did he see me drop her off? A black hole began to form in my stomach, and I began to shake violently and break out into a cold sweat. The black hole in my stomach grew larger. Everything turned red. Then I threw up all over the back of the police car.
Conley piped up. “Guilt, is that Danny boy?” McDonald laughed.
“Lying, fucking, conniving bitch.”
“Yeah, Danny, that’s what all rapists say.”
“I’m no fuckin rapist.”
“We’ll let the evidence speak for itself.”
After reaching the police station, I was pulled out of the car and led inside. “This way, rapist.”
“Fuck you.”
Conley pushed me into a brick wall. “Watch your mouth. Rapist.”
I was forced into a cold, all metal chair in a gray bricked room with no windows. I gave a brief statement to Cooper’s minions, who then called my mother to pick me up.
While I waited for my mother, I sat in a cell, wallowing in my own pity. Every emotion that I experienced throughout the course of the hockey season didn’t hold a candle to the emotions I was experiencing now. I was in disbelief. I just couldn’t fathom why everyone would risk so much, like dignity, careers, and self-respect just to screw over someone who was better at a sport than their own kid. People usually act this way over money, not over a spot on a Division C hockey team. It was simply ridiculous and unbelievable; I was also stricken with curiosity as to why the parents in this town would manipulate their children and fill their heads with dreams that would never come true. My mother arrived at the station, and the cops proceeded to tell her that I wasn’t to leave the area and was being released on my own recognizance.
The ride home was torturous and awkward.
“Please don’t tell me it’s true, Danny.”
“Mom, it’s not. I know you’re ashamed of the sex, but it was consensual. I wore a condom. We’ve been doing this since the season started. Everyone knows. Think about it, Mom. Her claims have no backing. It’s her word against mine.”
My mother had a hard time putting out words through her sobs.
“I hope it works out, Danny. I know you’re a good boy. You wouldn’t do something like this.”
“I know it will work out, Mom. I don’t know why she is saying this. It was consensual…” I trailed off and didn’t say a word the rest of the ride.
I simply did not want to go to school on Friday, but my mother forced me to go. I begged and pleaded, but she was still upset and disgusted with me. Forcing me to go to school only to be scrutinized and talked about seemed like an adequate punishment according to my mother. To add insult to injury, there was a pep rally specifically for the hockey team in the afternoon. I already knew I was off the team and didn’t need to hear it from Brimmer.
I arrived at school midway through second period and left amidst the crowd of students heading to the pep rally. I didn’t even know what to think anymore. The only one to speak to me the entire day was Tags, apologizing for the situation, but stating his belief that he knew it was a bogus charge and that he’ll testify on my behalf. In addition to that, he said he confronted Cooper, called him a fucking coward, and told him that if I didn’t kick the shit out him, he was going to. I’d never seen Tags so pissed.
Granted this was a “he said, she said” case, but nonetheless, whatever the outcome, it would follow me forever. That afternoon, I crawled into bed, turned my lights, and cried myself to sleep. I woke up around 8:00 that night after my cell phone rang, feeling even worse than when I went to sleep.
Groggily, I answered. “Hello?”
“Danny?” The voice on the other end was sobbing.
“Yeah, it’s Danny.”
“It’s…it’s…Meghan.”
“Why the fuck are you calling me?”
“I wanna talk. Danny, please listen to what I have to say. Please.”
I hung up, curtly calling her a bitch and told her to never call me again. Even if she wanted to explain herself, I didn’t wanna hear it. I didn’t wanna talk to anybody, I didn’t wanna see anybody, and I sure as hell didn’t wanna hear what she had to say. I felt my stomach rumble, and remembered that I hadn’t eaten in forever, so I went downstairs to fix something to eat. I found some ham and cheese in the fridge, made an enormous sandwich, and took residence up in the living room, planning to watch TV the rest of the night. I stumbled across the weather channel just in time to see a giant storm front moving to the area. “It’s gonna be a doozy” the weatherman promised, stating that nearly three feet of snow is expected to fall over the course of the next four days. How could I miss this, I thought, then quickly realized I missed it because I was being falsely accused of rape. Oh, forgetful me. I hoped that it would snow enough that school would be cancelled for a few days and I wouldn’t have to endure the whispers and pariah status I was currently residing in. After three hours of the History Channel and some new big words to add to my vocabulary, I decided to turn in.
I was freefalling against a darkly lit sky, and before I could blink, I splashed into a raging river, but the water was red, like transparent liquid Jell-O. Surfacing and gasping for air, I saw a ladder leading out of the river about a half mile downstream. I started to swim, more so out of fear than anything else, but the water felt heavy against my body and I winded very easily. I dove underneath the surface hoping to fare better. As I felt my lungs were about to burst, I swam towards the surface to get air. Something grabbed my left leg, and I kicked relentlessly to try and fend off whatever was holding on to me. I spun around and saw Kallock grabbing my leg, smiling ghoulishly, and without the need to resurface for air. We struggled briefly and I fought him off, then he disappeared from sight as I swam away. I heard my name called and looked to my right, and a flotation device was thrown into the river. As I reached it, it turned into a rock and sank quickly, and I was unable to let go until I was nearly at the bottom. I wriggled myself away from it and floated slowly to the top. I reached the ladder, painfully and breathlessly climbing to the top. At the last step, I look up and see Cooper’s face peering down at me, followed by his foot pushing me off the ladder and back into the river. This process was repeated at nearly every ladder I climbed and every flotation device I came across. As I helplessly struggled in the river, I saw the faces of everyone involved in ruining my life since I arrived in Branton, and none were willing to help me out of the river. All held stone-cold, murderous faces, walking briskly alongside the banks of the river, making sure I didn’t get out. The river continued endlessly with no end in sight, except for a faint blue light which seemed an eternity away.
I jerked up wildly out of my sleep, panting heavily, sweating, and ironically thirsty. I didn’t need Jimbo to tell me what this dream meant; the blue light, however, I couldn’t seem to figure out. Did it symbolize Central? Or something else? Did it maybe hint a return to Central for me, or were the blue lights a reminder of my current troubles?
I woke up Saturday to a blizzard. My mother told me that a foot of snow had fallen already after only two hours. She went food shopping Friday night after hearing the weather reports talk about blinding snow and terrible driving conditions. I clicked on the news and saw some weatherman state the obvious about how terrible it was outside. No shit, Sherlock. I wondered if the game tonight would get pushed back to Wednesday since it was so bad outside. If it worsened, a game cancellation was imminent, just prolonging the inevitable end of the season for Cooper and the goon squad. By the time 6:00 rolled around, nearly two feet had fallen and it was snowing harder than before. Updated weather reports showed that the storm front had barely moved since last night, and that the worst was yet to come since what we were experiencing was only the outer portion of the storm. The hours passed and the snow kept falling. Monday classes were cancelled, Tuesday classes followed suit, and Wednesday classes were cancelled at the last minute. The storm eventually subsided Wednesday night after dumping four and a half feet of snow on the area. Everything reopened and classes resumed Thursday at Branton High. I doubted anyone had forgotten about the rumors of rape that circulated throughout the school the week before, and that doubt was reaffirmed by averted gazes and hushed whispers.
As I opened my locker Thursday morning, I saw a folded piece of paper lying on top of my books. It was addressed simply “Danny”. I had a feeling it was from Meghan, and I’m sure it was gonna be some long note explaining the situation. Instead, two short sentences were hastily scrawled: “Sorry Danny. Blood is thicker than water.” I ripped the paper into a thousand pieces and let it flutter to the floor. That bitch. Rather than lose my cool and hunt Cooper down and kick the shit out of him, I decided to extend my unexpected vacation. I closed my locker and went home.
I didn’t care if my mom knew I skipped school or not. If she knew what was running through my head at the moment I read that note, she would have been relieved that I decided to come home. Being in a quiet home by myself allowed me time to think. If I had feelings for Meghan, it would have added to my misery, but since she was an easy lay, it made the situation ironically more tolerable. Either she was forced to frame me by Cooper and her father, or she did it all on her own. I didn’t understand what she had to gain by putting herself through the process. I was out of options; I had let Cooper best me at this game, and it pissed me off. A whole lot.
I didn’t go straight to my locker on Friday morning. Instead, I tracked down Cooper, threw him against his locker, causing the entire hallway to turn and stare. Leaning in real close, I whispered, “If you’re as tough as you think you are, prove it. 9:00 tonight. You’ll know where to find me.” I raised my voice slightly and said, “If you’re a real man, you’ll come alone.”
Trying to act tough in front of the crowd, he sneered, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t wanna miss your funeral.” I would let him think he was tough for the next twelve hours or so, because after that, he’ll wanna move to a Buddhist community where they abhor fighting. I had lost my season, and I wanted to make sure Cooper lost his; he wouldn’t be able to play with broken arms and legs. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it being early March and chilly, the circumstances seemed to call for it.
I made it a point to raise my voice when I told Cooper to come alone, because rather than risk his popularity with the school and show up with his friends, he wanted to prove he was a tough guy and could take me on his own. He had something to prove after getting beaten up handily twice over. I knew the entire hallway heard me, but I lowered my voice enough prior to that so they wouldn’t know what time we were throwing down. Any student could infer where it was gonna happen, but it being a Friday night and cold, most would take solace in a warm house party with a cold beer. I hoped, at least. I didn’t want a big production.
I was edgy all afternoon, and after my mom repeatedly asked, “What’s the matter?”, I finally snapped and yelled, “Nothing is bothering me. Alright?” She recoiled at the sudden flash of anger and left me alone the rest of the day. At 8:30 I came bounding down the stairs, determined, dressed for the cold, and ready to whoop some ass. My mother looked over her shoulder and asked, “Where are you going?"
“To settle a score.” Before she could say anything, I was out of the house, in the car, and speeding down the street. I saw her open the door and call to me as I made a right out of our street. She tried calling my cell phone and rather than explain anything to her, I shut it off and threw it in my back seat. Nervousness and wonder racked my body and filled me with one major question: Would he come alone? I called his pride into question in front of the school, and if he had any balls, he would honor his promise to come alone.
I had fought so many times in the past that this fight shouldn’t have bothered me, but I had my reservations. In the city, it was always a fair fight; it was your crew against theirs, man for man. Nobody ever jumped in a fight to make it uneven. There was an unwritten code about street fighting; I didn’t know if the same rules applied here. If it didn’t, I was screwed. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed Cooper wouldn’t show up by himself; he was too much of a coward to do so. Only engaging in fights when you outnumber your opponent seemed like the Branton motto. Branton was a town full of cowards, from Brimmer and Mr. Cooper at the top to arrogant fucks like Cooper and the goon squad.
I saw headlights creep across the pavement as Cooper’s car pulled in. A light snow began to fall and my breathing quickened, the condensed breath obscuring my vision. The moment of truth had come. When I saw the driver’s side door open and a single head appear, for a split second I thought he held true to his word. That thought was shattered when the rest of the doors opened and the goon squad exited the car. At the moment, I cursed my hard-headedness for actually believing he would show up alone. I wanted it to happen so bad that I let it cloud my rational thought. Now, in the bitter cold and