Fadeaway by E. Vickers (sight word readers TXT) 📕

“If you need help—” I start, but Jake cuts me off with a laugh that sounds like it’s been sucked dry of any happiness at all.

“I’m kind of past that point, you know? But thanks. And good luck with your stuff.” He nods at the practice book, but maybe at the two of us. He looks right at me. “I really mean that.”

I watch him leave. I can’t help it. When you care about somebody that much for that long, it doesn’t just go away. But already the feelings I had a few weeks ago have begun to change, and the voice in me whispers, That’s not your load to carry anymore.

Except I can’t seem to leave it behind so easily. Even after practice, when I’m working through more integrals at my kitchen table, my eyes search out the ones and fours, rearranging them into the red fourteen at the top of Jake’s test.

I knew he was struggling, but I had no idea how much. It makes me wonder what else I missed just because it wasn’t in bold red marker right in front of me.

Tell us about the night Jake Foster disappeared.

I don’t think I can tell you anything you don’t already know. He played the game. He pretty much won the game. Nobody expected us to beat Pine Valley, but we did. He did.

Did you see anything out of the ordinary that night? Anything worth looking into?

[Pause.]

No, sir.

You hesitated before you answered that, son. And you sure seem nervous.

I am nervous. I’ve never been questioned by the police before.

There was a party at your house after the game. Did Jake come?

No. Everybody kept texting him, but he never showed up.

Why not?

I wish I knew.

Were you and Jake friends? Would you use that word?

Yeah, we were friends.

Was there ever any conflict between you?

Every day. Three sports and camps all summer—we were each other’s best competition. And competition means conflict. Tackling, guarding, striking each other out.

Did it ever bother you that your dad gave so much time and attention to Jake? That Jake was a better ballplayer than you?

Nope. But thank you for bringing that up. [Sighs.] I’m sorry. That’s not me. I don’t know how to act in these situations.

Apology accepted. Anything you and Jake competed over outside of sports?

[Clears throat.] No, sir.

What about Daphne Sharp?

She’s a person, not a trophy. She’d walk away from both of us if we ever forgot that.

Okay, not “competition.” But the original question was about conflict, right? You two have any conflict that involved Daphne Sharp? Maybe even the night Jake disappeared?

Like I said, he never came to the party.

But she was there before the game, wasn’t she? In the training room with Jake? Even though she’s your girlfriend?

Look, up until this year, nobody would have dreamed of coming between Jake and Daphne. But senior year, he’s been different. Kind of checked out, kind of an ass. To be honest, he didn’t deserve her anymore—and he’s the one who broke up with her. We all cared about her, you know? She deserved to be with somebody who treated her the way Jake had before. I didn’t even realize I wanted that person to be me until it was.

Understood. So here’s the question: Did you see Jake or hear from him at any point after the game?

I saw him driving away with Kolt.

Away from where?

Away from his house.

After the game?

Yes.

But you said you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary that night.

That’s right. Nothing out of the ordinary. What I saw was Jake driving away from his own house with his best friend.

You sure about that?

[Pause.]

Wait, didn’t Kolt already tell you about that?

I’ll work that out with Mr. Martin, but you’re sure you saw the two of them driving away together?

Yes, sir.

What time was this?

Around midnight.

Why were you at Jake’s house?

Because I was worried about him.

You were worried? All on your own? Nobody put you up to it?

[Pause.]

Yes. It was my idea.

So you drove to Jake’s house and saw him leaving with Kolt. Did you speak to either of them?

No, sir.

When was the last time you actually spoke to Jake?

Besides on-the-court stuff during the game?

Yes.

I…I can’t remember.

Let’s try that one more time, bearing in mind that we have a witness that says he overheard you talking to Jake right before warm-ups. What were the last words you said to Jake then? Before you shoved him into the wall and walked away?

[Pause.]

“I hate you, Foster. I freaking hate you.”

Freshman ball was fun and games, but we knew things were going to change sophomore year. On the first day of tryouts, everybody worked out together so Coach could “see the big picture.” After almost three hours of busting our guts, he shouted at me and Kolt and Jake to get dressed and come to his office.

I figured Kolt and Jake were more nervous than I was, but not by much. Yeah, he was my dad, but by then it felt a lot more normal to call him “Coach.” (When two-thirds of the people in your household are named Seth Cooper, you’ve got to find a work-around.) Plus, it wasn’t like we even interacted that much at home or discussed any subject other than basketball. And at the gym, he definitely treated me like any other player.

When the three of us had changed and made our way to his office, Coach got right down to business. “You boys busy tomorrow after school?”

We shook our heads.

“Well, then, you think you could stay for varsity tryouts?”

We all nodded together, like Ashland High bobbleheads.

Every once in a while, there would be one or two standout sophomores that made varsity, but I couldn’t remember a time when there had been three.

Coach came around the desk, his gaze bouncing between us like he was playing pinball. Even by his standards, he was pretty wound up. “Okay, then. Get some rest, and be ready to work a hell of a lot harder tomorrow than you