Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game Read online

  Katie Ashley

  Copyright 2013 Katie Ashley Productions

  Smashwords Edition

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  Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

  ***

  I would have never written this book without the loss of one of my students. Cooper Newsome—you were taken far too soon, and while you were far from the character who became Jake Nelson, your tragic loss planted the seed for this novel. And for Lindsey Norrell—whose sweet smile could light up a room and is sure to be lighting up heaven now. This book is in loving memory of you both.

  And special gratitude to all the students of Liberty, Creekland, and Adairsville Middle Schools along with Creekview, LaFayette, and Cass High Schools who touched my life in so many ways. Although writing was my dream since childhood, I know being a teacher was what God called me to do for eleven and a half years. The lessons you taught me, the laughter you brought me, and the tears we shed together will live bright in my memory for all my life. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope God richly blesses you all the days of your life.

  And finally to the memories of Travis Appling and David Wheeler—the Cherokee High Class of 97’ was never the same without you guys. All these years later, we still desperately feel your loss and like the Kenny Chesney song, we wonder who you’d be today.

  ***

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter-Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  ***

  As I slowly drifted back into consciousness, my knee jerked upward, banging against the desk. “SHIT!” flashed like neon in my mind, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from escaping out my mouth. Instead, I peered around the room, trying to gage whether the noise alerted anybody to my nap.

  Nope. The coast was clear. Everyone else in the classroom looked stoned or spaced out. Mr. Jones, a man who was a cross between Clay Aiken and Pee Wee Herman, was perched on his stool in the front of the room, droning on and on about the evils of Big Brother in 1984.

  I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling. Jesus, the man must have a screw loose. I mean, it was the first day back after Spring Break and what was he doing? Lecturing.

  What a dumbass.

  I could have assured Mr. Jones that no one gave a flying shit about George Orwell. Half the class was still hung over from the previous week’s antics. Even the usual goody two shoes wore expressions of pure boredom as their pens hung in midair over their notebooks.

  I ran a hand through my dark hair, hoping to smooth down some of the places that looked like “desk hair’ where I’d been napping. My mouth felt the way I imagined a moldy gym sock would taste, so I rifled through my pockets to find a piece of gum. I chewed on it as I glanced down at my cell phone. No new messages.

  Where the hell is Jake? I couldn’t help wondering. Jake Nelson was the biggest douchebag I’ve ever known. He was the prankster who always gave Freshman swirlies in the toilets or shanked them, leaving them bare-assed and humiliated in front of the entire school. He was the illiterate jock who always wanted to copy off your homework or cheat off your test. He was the idiot who could never hold his alcohol and always ended up puking in the back seat of your car before slurring an “I looove you, man!” Yeah, he was all those things and more.

  Most of all he was my best friend.

  Our friendship was cemented in kindergarten. That’s when Jake decided to duct tape me to my chair before recess. There’s a saying in the South that “Duct tape’ll fix anything.” Yeah, I’m a living testament to that. It will certainly render a five year old captive to a plastic chair until hostage negotiators—or your teacher—comes to the rescue. Once the tape was removed, along with the first layer of my epidermis, I had a new friend.

  Years later, the story of how we met was one of Jake's favorite stories to tell. Usually it was right after some hot as hell girl asked about that distorted patch of skin on my right arm where hair refused to grow because the follicles had been damaged by duct-tape.

  "What happened?" she'd ask, eyes wide with compassion as she traced the area playfully with a finger. They always hoped for a good story – I'd been burned in a fire trying to save the neighbor's newborn baby, or it was from the time I skidded out on my motorcycle trying to outrun the State Troopers. But like the true douchebag he was, Jake always shot that fantasy down within seconds.

  "Dude," he'd say, sloshing his beer out of the cheap plastic cup that seemed permanently attached to his hand from Friday night til Sunday morning.

  "Jake…" I’d begin, my eyes pleading with him to drop it and not go there for the hundredth time.

  "Get this. I duct taped him to his chair when we were five."

  "Jake, shut the fuck up!"

  Ignoring me, Jake would snicker. "He like, practically pissed himself he was so scared when Mrs. Cook ripped that shit off."

  I rolled my eyes thinking about him. He was supposed to get home from his grandparent’s farm late last night, but instead, he’d sent me a text around ten saying he was blowing off the first day back and would be home around three if I wanted to hang out after school. It was ironic that Jake, the unofficial King of Partying, spent his Spring Break off chillin’ in the mountains among rolling pastures filled with steaming cow patties rather than hitting the sandy white beaches and orgies of Panama City or Daytona. Of course, he always managed to raise some hell while he was away or take advantage of some hillbilly girl high off moonshine.

  The last time I’d heard from him was around eight this morning when he’d sent me a cryptic text during first period that read I fucked up. She’s gonna be pissed! I took it to mean he’d done something stupid to piss his mom off. But after my last few Dude, WTF? texts had gone unanswered, I was seriously beginning to think he was in major trouble—like blue lights and handcuffs trouble.

  Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom.

  “Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Jones answered impatiently, clearly pissed that the powers that be had dared to interrupt his literary ramblings.

  “We need Noah Sullivan to Administrative Services, please.”

  At the sound of my name, I shot upright in my chair, straightening my slouching posture. Administrative Services? Once again, SHIT! flashed in my mind as I frantically tried to figure out what I’d done wrong.

  “I’ll send him up,” Mr. Jones replied, giving me a disapproving look.

  Without a word, I gathered up my books and left the room. Part of me was thrilled to be
spared one more minute of British Lit, but at the same time, I was a little concerned that I’d been summoned to administration.

  Out in the hallway, I ran into my cousin, Alex. He raised his dark eyebrows at me. “You got called up too?”

  I nodded. “What do you think is up?”

  Alex shrugged while his dark eyes twinkled. “Beats the shit outta me. I’m just stoked to be getting outta AP Government right now!”

  I laughed. “Tell me about it. Jones is on one of his freakin’ tirades again.”

  “Damn, I gotta sit through that shit next period,” Alex moaned, and then he shuddered. “Having Brit Lit with Jones the last period of the day blows.”

  Before we could get to the administrators’ suite, Mr. Elliot, one of the assistant principals, rerouted us to the auditorium. When Alex and I strolled through the double doors, there were twenty or so kids scattered throughout the first three rows. I noticed immediately that they were some of Creekview’s A-crowd of popularity—football and basketball players, cheerleaders. It was most of the “crew”, so to speak, that Jake and I hung out with on a daily basis.

  Dr. Blake, the principal, and three counselors stood solemnly at the edge of the stage.

  “Damn. Must be something pretty serious,” Alex murmured.

  “I’m so whipping Jake’s ass if this has anything to do with us skipping out on Friday,” I hissed.

  Since most of the “the crew” had different plans for our week off, Jake had thrown what he called a Pre-Break Binge on the Friday we got out of school. When it was just us, he’d called it his “Going Out of Partying Party” since he claimed to be turning over a new leaf. I didn’t believe him for one minute, but I let him think I did. Jake always had a way of coming up with these bat-shit crazy ideas that seemed cool to him in the moment, but in the end, he’d always abandon them. He struggled with the follow through.

  So, we’d basically all skipped school right after lunch and went over to his house. By three, the party was completely out of hand with drunken beer pong, half-naked people, and one fist fight. Luckily, everyone spilt before Jake’s parents got home at six.

  Alex and I slid into a seat on the front row. The Homecoming Queen and reigning Ice Princess, Avery Moore, glanced up at me and smiled. “Hey,” she whispered.

  “Hi.”

  “Where’s Jake?”

  I shrugged. “On his way home from the mountains I guess.”

  Dr. Blake interrupted our conversation by clearing her throat. She then took a tentative step forward. “I’ve just been informed of some very distressing news,” she began.

  I cringed. I didn’t know how in the hell she’d gotten wind of the Pre Spring Break Binge, but by the look on her face, she had the goods on all of us. Great, I was going to be in deep shit at school but even worse at home when my mom found out.

  Dr. Blake stared down at the auditorium tile for a few minutes, trying to gain her composure. Finally, she glanced back up at us. “In this age of technology, it’s hard to keep news of this kind a secret for long. Since we were only notified thirty minutes ago, the counselors and I have tried to find the easiest and least detrimental way to tell you all. Sadly, there’s not a strategic plan in place that we can follow when something like this happens.” Dr. Blake drew in a ragged breath. “More than anything, I wish that there was an easier way for you to find out—that there had been time to call your parents and families to have them here to temper the tragic news by comforting you all.”

  Hmm, okay, maybe this wasn’t about the Spring Break Binge. Furrowing my brows, I turned to Alex who shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “What happened Dr. Blake?” Avery demanded from my other side.

  Chewing her bottom lip, Dr. Blake’s gaze flickered to one of the counselors who bobbed their head. “I regret to inform you that Jake Nelson was killed this afternoon.”

  A collective gasp of pure horror rang throughout the auditorium. I jolted back in my seat like I’d been shot with a taser gun. An icy feeling pricked and stung its way over my body like I’d never experienced before in my life, causing me to shudder. Jake was…dead. No, no, no! Someone had to be fucking with us. Guys like Jake didn’t die.

  Like in some freaky outta body experience, I heard my voice croak, “What the fuck?”

  Dr. Blake glanced over at me. Instead of riding my ass for cussing, she just gave me a sad look. Slowly, I found my voice again. “Are you positive it was Jake? I mean, he’s not even in town, so it might not have been him. I mean, when did it happen? Where did it happen?” The questions seemed to continuously fumble out, and I began to wonder if I should clap my hand over my mouth to stop them.

  “I’m so very sorry, Noah, but I was notified by Jake’s father.” She drew in a deep breath before she continued. “It seems that Jake and some of his friends were hanging out, shooting at cans when a bullet ricocheted—”

  “Jake was shot?” I demanded. In my mind, I pictured a group of hillbilly vigilantes or the Dixie Mafia taking him out.

  Dr. Blake’s expression became pained. “No—it seems he was sitting on his grandfather’s tractor when the bullet ricocheted off a tree, hitting the fuel tank.”

  At the realization of Jake’s fiery end, I fought the bile rising in my throat. I pinched my eyes shut and willed myself not to blow chunks on the auditorium floor. Jake had been blown up. Jesus, that was too horrible to even imagine. A car accident was one thing, but to be blown up…fuck, that was gruesome. The girls around me gasped, and some began crying. Avery reached out and grabbed my hand in hers. She started doing this horrible hiccupping, hyperventilating cry. Her frantic eyes met mine. Momentarily my own grief and potential freak-out were forgotten as I focused on the fact Avery was seriously about to lose her shit.

  Without a word between us, I got up and led her out of the auditorium. Alex followed close on my heels. We stood out into the hallway. Mr. Elliot saw the state Avery was in. He motioned us inside the counseling suite across the hall.

  Presley Patterson was already inside with several of her friends. Presley was Avery’s rival in everything from popularity to, most importantly, Jake. But it wasn’t her personality that necessarily made her popular or notorious at Creekview. It was the fact she slept around.

  Through her tears, Avery shot Presley one of her icy stares. In retaliation, Presley jerked her chin up and wiped the tears from her blue eyes.

  I steered Avery over to one of the chairs. The minute she sat down she buried her head on the table and began sobbing uncontrollably. Her tiny frame shook so hard I was afraid she might break under the strain. It wasn’t long before an eerie and unnerving chorus of wailing echoed off the walls of the room. As the lone guys in the room, Alex and I glanced at each other. Neither one of us really knew what to do.

  We stared helplessly at Mr. Santos, the head counselor, but he was useless. He’d spent years immersed in the business side of high school counseling. Where Little Johnny was going to college and what Little Susie needed on her SAT to get into Brown. I think the man was dried up of any shred of psychobabble spin. He did manage to pat Avery on the back and say, “There, there, honey.”

  Geez, what an asshat!

  At that moment, the most random memory I could fathom wormed its way into my mind, cloaking me with its intensity. When I was ten, I’d gone on a camping trip with Jake and his family. We’d picnicked by some waterfalls, and after lunch, we started messing around in the water. Somehow I managed to step in a mammoth hole in the rocks. Within seconds, I got tangled up in some willowy weeds, and I couldn’t break free of their viselike grip.

  When I realized I was trapped and would likely drown, panic crept from my chest up through my throat. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I could see sunlight breaking through the surface of the water as I flailed and jerked around.

  Suddenly, an arm grabbed hold of my t-shirt and pulled me forward. Coughing and sputtering, I tried clearing my eyes to see my savior while expecting nothing short of miraculous like Jes
us himself standing there with arms outstretched.

  But it was just Jake.

  He was ashen and trembling worse than me. As I sputtered and vomited up water, he did something so unexpected I almost fell back in the water.

  He hugged me. Not just a quick, “Hey, man, you okay?” kinda hug. It was a full on bear hug that took my breath. “Jake,” I’d wheezed. “Can’t breathe!”

  When he’d released me, there were tears in his eyes. “I-I thought you were dead.” He shook his head wildly back and forth. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again!”

  I was so taken back by his emotion that I could only nod my head. At the sound of voices behind us, he quickly wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “If you tell anyone I was crying, I’ll beat the shit outta you!” he’d warned.

  Since I knew Jake would do it, I’d kept silent all these years. I’d never told anyone.

  But now closed in that tiny room with the girls all sobbing around me, I felt the same panic of impending death. I was under the surface of the water again, and I couldn’t breathe. Even when I tried sucking in air, my chest constricted, and I felt like I was slowly suffocating. My eyes honed in on the door—my one escape from the churning sea of grief and loss enveloping me.

  Without another thought, I bolted from my seat. I ignored my name being called over and over as I sprinted out the office and then burst through the double doors leading out of the school. I didn’t stop until I ran around the side of the building. I gulped in the air the same way as if I were breaking the surface of water. I bent double, trying to calm myself of the emotions coursing through me. My hands on my knees trembled against my jeans, and I realized then my entire boy was jerking all over. Jesus, Noah would you get a grip? I could almost hear Jake’s voice echoing through my head. “Dude, quit acting like a total pussy!”

  As I stood there trying desperately to steady myself, a realization washed over me. This time I didn’t bother fighting the bile rising in my throat. Instead, I heaved the entire contents of the cafeteria’s shitty lunch onto the emerald grass. Over and over again, I threw up as if I were trying to purge myself of the dark feelings overtaking me.