Raiders Night by Robert Lipsyte Page A

sweat.
    â€œMatt!” Her hand was on the bruise over his ribs. He bit his lip. The pain chewed up his side. “That must hurt.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    â€œI’ve got something.” She was gone.
    He took a deep breath. Mistake. A sledgehammer banged his ribs.
    She was back with a small plastic jar. “Old family remedy. Just relax.”
    He tried to relax. When was the last time he totally relaxed with a girl? A soft hand glided over the bruise; the cream stung a little at first, then heat seeped into his skin. He let himself sink into the bed.
    â€œBetter?”
    â€œBetter.”
    â€œI want to make you feel good, Matt.” She kissed him.
    â€œYou do.”
    â€œI mean really. Not just, you know.”
    He felt the heat off her body like a dry bath. He stroked her smooth soft cheek. They took in each other’s breaths. It was very peaceful. He could feel all thoughts drain out of his mind.
    â€œMatt? I lied to you,” she said. He couldn’t see her features clearly in the bedroom. “I live here with my mom. She’s a night inventory manager for Wal-Mart. I work there, too. My dad walked out on us after his big birthday party. We had to sell the house.”
    â€œMust be tough.”
    â€œEverybody’s got problems.” She spread more cream on the bruise. The pain faded. “Your dad’s a piece of work, too.”
    â€œNo kidding.” He felt safe here with her.
    â€œYou stand up to him. I love how you protect your brother.”
    Safe but a little scared, too. Can she see inside me? “Junie’s a good kid.”
    â€œIs Junie his real name?”
    â€œJunior. He was named after Dad, but I think Dad’s sorry now.”
    â€œThat’s so sad. Everything’s on you.” Her other hand stroked his face. “All that pressure and you’re still so strong, so steady. Most people would be druggies.”
    He laughed at that. “If you don’t call steroids and Vicodin drugs. For starters.” Why was he telling her this?
    â€œIsn’t that dangerous, the steroids?”
    â€œNot if you’re careful. I got somebody helping me, knows what he’s doing. Steroids are healing drugs. I can work out harder and repair muscle faster.” He’d never talked so freely to a girl before. It felt good. “It’s not like I’m doing coke or crank. These are prescription drugs.”
    â€œWhat about side effects?”
    â€œYou got to pay the price if you want to make it.”
    â€œMake it?”
    â€œDivision One. Maybe the pros.” Definitely the pros, but you don’t want to jinx it.
    â€œIs that what you want to be, a pro football player?”
    â€œSound crazy to you?”
    â€œNo. I wanted to sing at the Metropolitan Opera.”
    â€œWanted?” This felt so easy, so warm. Too easy, too warm. WYA. He didn’t feel sexy. He felt…happy.
    â€œI had to stop taking lessons after Dad split. It’s very expensive. There’s a lot of travel to workshops and teachers, voice, diction, repertoire. And you’re not even sure until you’re in your thirties that you have a chance.”
    â€œThat’s when most football players hang it up.”
    She laughed. “I’ll take over the spotlight when you’re finished with it.”
    â€œYou have a beautiful voice.”
    â€œThank you.” She started rubbing in cream again.
    He pushed the jar away and pulled her close.
    Something was wrong. He wasn’t hard.
    Never happened before. Was it the Vics? After the game, he’d popped one, another with a beer before he drove to Sarah’s. Another beer at Terri’s. Was that enough to lose a woodie? Vics and brew don’t mix.
    â€œSorry, I—”
    â€œIt happens.”
    â€œNot to me.”
    â€œSometimes it happens”—she sounded dreamy—“when you’re with someone you really want. Someone you