Leverage by Joshua C. Cohen

them.
    A camera flashes in my eyes.
    â€œGood one,” Terrence says, then turns around, aims his camera into the room, and fires again. The room strobes. “Guaranteed, I’ll have some great shots once the drinking gets in high gear. Might make the trophy page on my site.”
    â€œWhat site?” I ask.
    â€œGreatest hits and misses,” he says. “All the good stuff. Need a secret code to get to the page, though. Can’t have some of it getting out there, you know what I mean.” Terrence aims his camera at the butt of a girl I think is named Heidi. The camera flashes.
    â€œDamn, she’s sweet!” Terrence sucks in his breath sharply, then slaps my arm with the back of his hand. “You play your cards right, I’ll let you take a peek at the site. Course you don’t play your cards right, you may be the star of your very own what-were-they-thinking page,” he says, laughing more to himself than me, like he’s in on his own personal joke. He throws his arm around my neck and holds up the camera to point at the two of us and it flashes, so I’m blind for a few seconds. When I get my eyes back, he’s showing me the camera screen. There’s Terrence, mouth open in laughter, teeth gleaming, having the greatest time, and there’s me looking like I just got pulled into a mug shot.
    â€œI’ll come back after you’ve had a few more drinks,” Terrence either promises or threatens, wearing his big grin. “See if we can actually capture you with a smile on your face.”
    And then he’s off, moving into the grooving bodies, camera flashing away, leaving me alone on the stool, watching.
    â€œKurt, get over here,” Scott shouts over the music. He stumbles over and grabs my arm, towing me behind him toward one of the girl groups I’ve watched for the last hour. At least Studblatz’s basement is dark and noisy, all the better to hide my scars and stutter. I let my hair fall against my jaw, covering it.
    â€œHello, ladies.” Scott inserts himself into the center of the girl ring. They giggle as if he’s done something brilliant. I wonder what that’s like, to have that level of charm. Scott sips at his drink and twirls around for all of them to admire. They cheer. He can do no wrong. I stand outside the circle until Scott reaches out of the group and grabs my arm and tugs me into the center next to him. We are the bull’s-eye of attention. I look down at my feet.
    â€œI don’t know if all you ladies have personally met our new star,” Scott shouts over the music. “Coach recruited him,” he continues. “You believe that? That’s how good my man here is. Coach stole him from Lincoln.”
    â€œWow,” one girl shouts back. I imagine her rolling her eyes, but when I chance a peek at her, she’s staring right back at me, the drink straw between her teeth while she winds the other end around her finger.
    â€œThat’s right,” Scott keeps hollering. “He’s a terror on the field but just a gentle, misunderstood beast off it.” Scott slaps my back. The girls titter. “Ladies, introduce yourselves to the man who’s going to lead us all the way to a state championship.”
    â€œReally?” another girl asks, sounding genuinely curious, making it a record for the number of girls I’ve met who show any interest in the game. This girl keeps watching me. She takes a sip from her drink, then purses her lips while her eyes wander all over me in a way that causes springs to tighten throughout my body. She steps up to me and grabs the thumb of my hand and then laces her fingers between mine.
    â€œMy, what big hands you have, Mr. Wolf,” the girl says, batting her eyes. She has to have seen my scars but ... it doesn’t seem ... she doesn’t seem to mind. She leans in until her bare stomach brushes the zipper of my jeans.
    â€œYou’ve got