This is the "original novel" version of my Backstreet Boys fanfic Broken. I'm attempting to re-write it with the intent to possibly look into getting it published someday. That's a long way off though. Right now, I just want to see how far I get re-writing it as original fiction and see what the reaction is, so that's why I'm posting it as I go. Critiques are welcome!!

Just to explain, in this version, Nick is in high school, and he plays basketball instead of performing as a Backstreet Boy. The other Boys are in it as his friends, although, for the sake of keeping it "original fiction," I'm changing their names as follows:

Nick = Nick Harper
Brian = Logan Campbell
Kevin = Calvin Scott
AJ = JD Cleman
Howie = Ozzie O'Donnell

Aaron = Adam Harper
Leslie = Lisi Harper

The basic story will stay the same, but obviously some details have to change to de-Backstreet-ize it and give it more of a young adult novel feel. I'm completely re-writing it to make it the best it can be because I think the writing quality will be better this way, and I also think it will be easier in the long run than trying to edit the hell out of the fanfic. So it will seem totally different at the beginning, but I hope once I get into it, it will be recognizable as the same story.

Thanks in advance to anyone who reads and offers their critiques!

> Broken

Chapter 1

 

The metal bar felt cold in his sweaty palms.  Taking a moment to rub them off on his shorts, he reached for it again and gripped it tightly, finally hoisting it from its perch.  He lifted the barbell slowly, feeling the burn in his biceps as he completed the curl.  “One…” he chanted under his breath as he lowered the weight steadily, then brought it up again.  “Two…”

“What are you up to now, Harper?” asked a voice, as he completed his set.  Returning the barbell to its holder, Nick Harper exhaled, relieving the tension in his chest, and turned to his observer.

“Hundred,” he told Calvin Scott, captain of Sanctuary High School’s varsity basketball squad.  The number eased from his lips with pride.  Though he tried to act casual--as if curling a one-hundred pound barbell was hardly an accomplishment--inside, his heart was soaring with delight at having been noticed by the senior.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise.  For one thing, Calvin had been chosen as captain not because he was the best player on the team, but because he was the most encouraging, at least of the seniors.  A born leader, Calvin was going to be president someday--or at least that was what the guys liked to joke.  He really did have a flair for politics, though; he always knew just what to say and how to keep the team focused and united.  And unlike most of the other seniors, who got their kicks out of hazing the underclassmen, he was considerate to everyone, even the junior varsity players.

Midway through his sophomore year, Nick was in the latter group.  But a lot of people had started to sit up and take notice of him lately.  The Sanctuary Star, the local paper, had named him their “most promising player of the season” in an article that gushed, “At 6’1” and 180 lbs, with an impressive scoring average of 18 points per game, sophomore star Nick Harper is a force to be reckoned with.”  Granted, there was only one high school in the small town of Sanctuary and only twelve sophomores on the team with which to compete for the title, but even so, it was undeniably satisfying to be recognized in that way.

“That’s awesome.  Keep it up, man.”  Calvin’s hand clamped down firmly on Nick’s shoulder, giving it an encouraging shake before he walked away, towel thrown over his own shoulder, which was taut with muscle.  Calvin was practically the same size as Nick, but he could bench press a whole lot more.

Returning to his weights, Nick concentrated hard, throwing all of his effort and energy into his lifting.  With enough training, maybe he would one day be able to lift as much as Calvin.

 

#

    

His nightly workout in the high school weight room followed a rigorous practice with the team, and after both, Nick was exhausted.  His whole body ached with fatigue as he staggered out to his car, one of the few left in the darkening school lot.

He used the keyless entry to unlock the car and climbed in, tossing his gym bag and backpack haphazardly into the backseat.  Sliding lower in the smooth, leather seat, he leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed, inhaling the satisfying “new car” scent that permeated the interior.

The sleek, silver Jaguar XK convertible had been a gift for his sixteenth birthday, just two weeks prior, making him the envy of the sophomore class.  He had taken his driver’s test in style, the sports car’s engine purring like a kitten at his feet as he’d turned right, turned left, turned his wheels toward the curb while parking on a hill (laughable, as there really were no hills in Sanctuary), and parallel parked.  The examiner had seemed annoyed by the spoiled rich kid who had been given an $80,000 car before he’d been given a license, but he’d had no choice but to grant Nick the latter--he had passed every part of the test, fair and square.

Now Nick crammed his key into the ignition and revved the engine to life, instantly cranking up the volume on the radio.  Rock music blared from the speakers, the bass thumping, energizing him for the drive home.  Singing along to the familiar song, he careened out of the parking lot and set off along the quiet streets.

He lived in the Loch Lindsay Heights, a prominent neighborhood on the other side of town, five miles from the school.  As he maneuvered the car through the familiar, curving roads, he took in the sight of his neighbors’ houses, their lights blazing.  In a few homes, he could see families gathering for dinner through the large bay windows.  The scenes filled him with a craving for food and family.

But when he parked the car in his family’s three-car garage and loafed inside, he found himself in a dark kitchen, void of the golden light and hearty smells that streamed from other families’ kitchens, greeted by no one but his aging golden retriever, Nala, who hoisted herself onto her hind legs to lick his face.  He smiled, scratching her behind the ears, and let her out, then poured some dry food into her empty dish before getting his own dinner out of the freezer.

Taking the TV dinner out of its box, Nick felt an emptiness inside that he knew the bland, processed food would not fill.  He was sick to death of microwavable meals, and he was sick to death of coming home to a dark, desolate house every night.

But this was how it was.  His father was a lawyer, his mother a public relations director for a major manufacturing company, and while they made good money – enough to warrant an $80,000 gift for their son – the trade-off was that they were never around to enjoy the luxuries their lucrative salaries had purchased.

Nick did, but sometimes he longed for the sense of family that existed in other homes and had always been lacking in his.  He wished there was someone other than a dog here whom he could tell how he had curled a hundred pounds after practice that day, someone who would actually care.  But the only ones here were his younger siblings, probably shut away in their own rooms as always, and he knew they wouldn’t care.  They were settled into their own evening routines, his little brother Adam playing video games, his sister Lisi doing whatever it was she did alone in her room, and so he fell back into his, heating up his dinner and scarfing it in front of the TV while he caught up on college basketball scores.

After dinner, Leah called, as she always did, and his loneliness was quickly forgotten.  Talking to his girlfriend always helped with that.  In fact, he had found that to be the best part of having a girlfriend, especially one as clingy as Leah – he always had someone to talk to and hang out with.  It didn’t matter that they really had nothing in common, aside from school and sports – Leah was a cheerleader for the basketball team.  They had each other, and that was the important thing.

He talked to Leah for a solid half-hour, then started his math homework.  The geometry was agonizing, and when he realized with dismay that he had no idea how to do the proofs he had been assigned, he lowered his head to his textbook and closed his eyes, willing the assignment to just go away.

 

#

    

It did seem to go away… for awhile.  But all that really happened was that he fell asleep and slept like a rock, waking up at seven a.m. the next morning with a mechanical pencil still in hand, the point of his compass dangerously close to his eye, and a big red crease on his cheek from the edge of the book.

Groaning, he slammed the book shut and stood up from his desk chair.  He grimaced as he stretched his arms above his head; his entire body felt stiff and sore.  Maybe he hadn’t stretched well enough before and after yesterday’s workout… but more than likely, it was because he’d slept in a chair.

“Idiot,” Nick mumbled to himself, carefully stepping over piles of dirty laundry and the contents of his backpack as he navigated a path to his dresser.  He made a face at himself in the mirror, taking in the unpleasant sight of his puffy blue eyes, the mark on his flushed cheek, and his greasy blonde hair, plastered to his head in places and sticking straight out in others.  Jerking his fingers through one particularly unruly tuft of it, he realized a shower was his only hope of attaining an acceptable appearance for school that morning.

He staggered into the shower and turned the hot water on full blast.  It scalded his skin, but felt good on his sore muscles, and as he shampooed his hair rigorously and scrubbed down his body, he started to feel better.

Within the hour, he had dropped Adam and Lisi off at Sanctuary Grade School, where Adam was in the third grade and Lisi the sixth, and was trekking across the high school parking lot.

Leah was waiting for him at his locker when he arrived, like she did everyday.  She didn’t just stand there like everyone else; she full-out posed.  Leaning, seemingly casually, against the metal locker, she had her legs crossed, one over the other, and her head slightly cocked so that her long, blonde hair cascaded over her eyes.

Leah wasn’t just beautiful; she knew she was beautiful.  Everyone else knew it too, and even those who despised her could not deny it.  She had the perfect body, slender and leggy, with just enough meat on her bones to give her curves in all the right places.  Her skin was constantly tan, thanks to the tanning beds at the local spa, and her hair was always sleek and shiny.  The other guys on the basketball team had reached the consensus that Nick had to be the luckiest guy in Sanctuary for winning her over.

Nick tended to agree.  He’d had a crush on Leah ever since the fifth grade, which was the first year he’d really taken notice of girls at all.  But Leah had been pretty since before then.  Of course, back then, he had been a head shorter than her and scrawny, with a little boy’s body and voice.  It was not until he’d hit his growth spurt and dominated his eighth grade basketball team that she had taken notice of him.  They’d had an on-again, off-again sort of relationship ever since.

But this year, it was on.  They had been dating exclusively ever since Homecoming.  He was sure that the article in the Star and his new Jag helped keep it that way, but just as Leah enjoyed the status of dating “the most promising player of the season,” Nick relished in the attention he got for scoring the hottest cheerleader on the JV squad.  Theirs was not only a relationship; it was a partnership.

“Morning, Nicky,” Leah cooed in the baby voice she reserved for him, taking his face in her petite hands and kissing him firmly on the lips.  He could taste her tangerine lip gloss when he pulled away, wiping his mouth.

Remembering that his geometry homework had gone unfinished the night before, he replied hastily, “Hey, babe.  Listen, I can’t hang around; I gotta try and finish my stupid proofs before third period.  I can’t afford to miss out on anymore homework points.”

“Aww, why didn’t you come over last night?  I could have helped you with your proofs,” offered Leah, pressing her lips into a pout.

Nick had tried that once, but Leah had proven to be even worse at math than he was, though she didn’t seem to realize or care. “I need to do this on my own,” he insisted.  “I’ll catch you at lunch, alright?”

He pulled her into a quick hug, nudging her to the side so that he could get into his locker, then left her pouting as he hurried off to class.

 

#

    

The school day seemed endless.  Though Nick had slept close to seven hours the night before, his sleep had no doubt been restless--thanks to the desk chair--and he found himself fighting exhaustion, willing his eyes to stay open through eight long periods.

When at last Mr. Matthews, his history teacher, flipped off the overhead projector and said, “See you tomorrow,” Nick was out the door before the final bell even rang.  He dumped his books in his locker and headed straight for the gym, hoping basketball practice would wake him up.

 

#

    

He played well in practice that day, which was not unusual.  Sports had always come easier to Nick than school.  The only reason he even tried at his classes anymore was because bad grades would get him suspended from the team.

Near the end of practice, as the players were running their sprints up and down the gym floor, the varsity head coach came in.  He joined Coach Thomas, the JV coach, on the sidelines, and the two spoke in low voices, while watching the boys run.  Nick, his curiosity piqued by their body language, watched them too, out of the corner of his eye, and nearly collided with his teammate Rob.

“Harper!” barked Coach Thomas suddenly and waved him over.

Nick jogged toward him with a feeling of trepidation, anticipating a lecture about focusing on what he was doing.  He could hear it now.  “Practice is just as important as the game.  I don’t care whether we’re running plays or sprints; I want to see 100% effort in everything you do.”

He decided it would be best to apologize right from the start.  “Sorry, Coach,” he panted, leaning over to catch his breath, his hands on his knees.

“Sorry?  What are you sorry for?”  The coach looked at him in confusion.  Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Listen, Nick, how would you feel about playing varsity for the rest of the season?”

It took a few seconds for Nick to realize that he was about to be rewarded, not scolded.  Blinking in surprise, he had to ask, “What?  Play varsity?”

“We’ve only got three more games before the playoffs start,” spoke up Mr. Gundermann, the varsity coach.  “I think we’ve got a good shot in the playoffs this year, and I could use all the talent I can get.  So what do you say?  You up for dressing varsity?”

Nick couldn’t believe it.  It was not every year that a sophomore was asked to play on the varsity team, and here Coach was, asking him.  “Sure, Coach, yeah!  I mean, of course!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.

 They arranged for him to begin practicing with the varsity squad the very next day.  By the time practice was over, everyone else on the sophomore team knew, and Nick returned to the locker room amid of barrage of good-natured ribbing.

“You know the only reason they want you is so they can trade you for Campbell and get some height on the team,” snickered Rob, swatting Nick with his towel.

“Why didn’t they ask you then?” Nick retorted, swatting his beefy friend back.  Rob Bane was nearly as tall as Nick, but heavier set.  He had muscle behind his shot, but not much speed, which hindered him on the court.  He didn’t take kindly to digs about his playing ability, though, just as Nick didn’t like people making fun of his friend Logan.

Logan Campbell had been Nick’s best friend for most of his life, ever since the two had played on the same pee-wee basketball team.  At five-foot-seven, he may have been short for a basketball player, but what he lacked in stature, Logan made up for in skills.  He was the fastest junior on the varsity squad, and he had an excellent shot.  He couldn’t dunk, but he could sink a free-throw every time out.  As far as Nick was concerned, Logan was a far better player than Rob could ever hope to be.  This was probably why Rob felt the need to take jabs at him.

“You comin’ to the weight room?” asked Rob, ignoring Nick’s question.

Nick had actually planned to skip weight training and go straight home to catch up on homework and sleep.  But now that he was going to be playing varsity, he wanted to make a good impression and show that he was dedicated.  So he nodded and followed Rob to the weight room, where most of the varsity players worked out after practice.

Logan was already there, doing curls with a set of dumbbells.  “Hey, heard you’re gonna be playin’ with the big boys now,” he greeted Nick with a wide grin, his Southern twang as thick as ever.  He’d been living here in Sanctuary, Illinois for most of his life now, but he’d never lost his Kentucky accent.  His whole family still had it, and it was as pronounced as it had been when they’d first moved north.

Logan was first cousin to Calvin Scott, the would-be president varsity captain--his father was Calvin’s mother’s brother.  When Calvin’s dad died, Mr. Campbell had moved his family up from Kentucky to help his sister take care of Calvin and his brothers, and they’d never left.  That was a good thing for Nick, as Logan was like the big brother he’d never had.

“You should come over for dinner tonight,” offered Logan as they lifted together.  “Mom’ll be so happy about you playin’ varsity.”

He seemed just as excited as Nick was.  Nick smiled.  “Sure, as long as she won’t mind.”

“You kidding?  She loves you!  You know you’re welcome over anytime.”

Nick knew.  Just as Logan’s dad had become a second father to Calvin after his own dad had passed, Logan’s mother was like a second mom to Nick.  He’d spent the night at the Campbells’ house so many times, she even called him her third son.

With the promise of a home-cooked meal awaiting them, the two cut their workout short and headed to Logan’s house in Nick’s Jaguar.  Logan had his own car, but as it was roughly the equivalent of a tin can on wheels, he opted to ride with Nick whenever possible.  And of course, Nick never minded giving rides.

He pulled the Jag into the gravel driveway of the familiar house Logan’s family had lived in ever since they’d moved to Sanctuary.  It was an older home, built in the ranch style of the 1970s, and although it was small, it was well-maintained.

Logan’s mother met them at the door.  “Nick!” she cried, holding the storm door open for him to come in and pulling him into a big hug.  Becky Campbell was a good foot shorter than him now, but her hugs were powerful.  She squeezed him tight and then chirped, with her sweet, Southern lilt, “How ya been?”

“Great,” said Nick, who was feeling exceptionally great now, all thoughts of sleep and worries of unfinished homework forgotten.  “Guess what.”

“What?” Becky returned, her tone matching his in enthusiasm.

“I get to dress varsity for the rest of the season.”

Becky gasped. “Get out!”  She let out a girlish squeal, her eyes sparkling with delight as she pulled him back for another squeeze.  “That’s wonderful news, sweetheart; I am so proud of you!”

Nick smiled, a blush rising in his cheeks.  He rarely heard such words of praise at home, which made Becky’s enthusiasm mean the world to him.

“Well, come on in and help me set the table.  It’ll be nice to have a full dinner table again!” Becky chattered as she bustled into the kitchen, Logan and Nick tagging along behind.  They set the table, and Nick sat down in the place typically reserved for Logan’s older brother, who was away at college.  Logan’s father Ron joined them, and as they passed the dishes Becky had prepared, they chatted about school and basketball and the upcoming NCAA finals.

The meal was nothing fancy, just meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn, but to Nick, it all tasted wonderful.  And the conversation that flowed between this close-knit family, so different from his own, made the dinner even better.

When his plate was scraped clean, Nick leaned back into his chair to digest, full of home-cooked food and dreams of playing varsity, and in that moment, he felt like life couldn’t get much better.

> Broken

Chapter 2

    

For the rest of the week, all Nick could think of was basketball. By Friday, his stomach was a jumble of nerves at the promise of playing in his first varsity game that night.

Okay, so he probably wouldn’t get much actual playing time, if any.  He may have been starting power forward on the sophomore team, but on varsity, he would just be a back-up for starting senior Doug Richmond, one of the best players on the team.  Barring injury, the only way Nick would get into the game was if the Sanctuary Sharks found themselves with a commanding lead over their opponents.  But as they would be facing their biggest rivals in the conference, the Lincoln Ridge Copperheads, the chances of a big lead were slim.  It would likely be a close game.

The excitement caused Nick to wake up early, early enough to catch his parents before they left for work.  He found them in the kitchen, fixing their coffee.  His father, tall and blonde like Nick, also shared his sweet tooth and liked to doctor his coffee up with milk and cream and sugar, to the point where it was light brown instead of black.  His mother, her dyed blonde hair pulled into a tight French twist at the back of her head, drank hers almost black, with only a bit of cream.

“Morning,” he greeted them, boosting himself onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

His mother turned, arching one perfectly-plucked eyebrow.  “You’re up early.”

Nick shrugged.  “Couldn’t sleep anymore.  Got the big game tonight--are you guys coming?” 

His parents may not have been around much during the day, but they came to see him play whenever possible.  Basketball was important to the Harper family.  His father had also played in high school, though never with as much talent as Nick showed, and his mother had cheered.  They had been high school sweethearts who dated for years before marrying after college, and Nick suspected that high school basketball games held a lot of good memories for them.  They had pushed him into the sport when he was young, paying for him to play in the top junior leagues in the area, buying him the best shoes and equipment, hoping all along that he would make something of himself.  A decade later, their efforts were paying off.  Rex and Lynn Harper took great pride in being the parents of Sanctuary’s “most promising player of the season.”

“Of course we’re coming,” answered his father with a broad grin, playfully slugging Nick in the shoulder.  “My son playing varsity?  Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Alright… cool.”  Cool… that was how Nick played it, not wanting to seem too eager, too excited, too anxious for their approval.  He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal to be dressing for his first varsity game, like he didn’t care whether or not they showed up to watch.   

But it was, and he did.

He thought about it the whole way to school… about the possibility of playing in the big game, with his parents rooting him on in the stands, and Leah cheering from the sidelines…

The fantasy carried him all the way through the school day, interrupted only when his teachers called on him, or when his friends talked to him, or when the lunch lady snarled, “Two milks is twenty-five cents extra!”  Nick just smiled, slapped the quarter for his extra milk into her hand, and went on daydreaming about the game.

After school, he stuck around for the team meeting and meal, and at five o’clock, instead of heading into the locker room to change into his jersey and warm-up gear with the other sophomores, he stayed behind the varsity squad.

It felt strange to sit in the bleachers next to Logan and watch his team warm up and start their game without him.  A part of him still itched to be out there on the court with Rob and his other teammates, running their plays, scoring points.  He wouldn’t be doing any of that in the varsity game.

But no matter.  He reminded himself that, for the rest of this season, he’d sit on the bench and pay his dues to the varsity squad, and next year, it would be his time to shine.

The JVs won without him, although it was close, and the varsity game was even closer.  The scores stayed within five points of each other the entire game, with the Sanctuary Sharks never pulling more than a couple of shots ahead of the Copperheads.  A few times, when the Sharks did have a four-point lead and Doug Richmond was getting tired, Nick was allowed to check in and play in his place.  But as soon as the Lincoln Ridge team started scoring, there would be Richmond again, clapping Nick on the shoulder and sending him back to the bench.

At the end of the game, Richmond’s jersey was drenched, and Nick’s was completely dry, but it didn’t matter.  Sanctuary had won by a mere two points, and that was all that counted.

In the locker room, amid the high-fives and adrenaline-fueled recap of the game, Richmond said, “Yo, Harper!  Kacey’s having a party over at her place tonight; we’re all headin’ over there after this.  You wanna come?”

Kacey Aldrich was Doug’s girlfriend; she lived in Nick’s subdivision, across the lake.  She was the kind of girl whose parents had too much money and gave her too much freedom, and her parties were legendary among the Sanctuary High crowd.  “Sure,” replied Nick, glad to have been invited and eager to be included.  “Sounds good.”

He met up with Leah outside the locker room.  She was thrilled with the idea of going to Kacey’s party, and so they left her tiny Dodge Neon in the parking lot as they sped away in Nick’s Jaguar.

 

#

    

The Loch Lindsay Heights subdivision was the butt of many jokes in Sanctuary.  It was the wealthiest neighborhood in town, home to Sanctuary’s richest and most prominent, and it was named for Robert Lindsay, the developer, who had envisioned the neatly-arranged spiral of mansions, all built around his man-made lake.  Lindsay had died several years ago, but people still laughed at his pretentiousness in calling the lake a “loch,” as a tribute to his Scottish roots, and naming it after himself.  “Home to the only Scottish loch in Illinois” was their joking tourist slogan for Sanctuary.

Of course, with the title “Loch” came a lake monster, and the Loch Lindsay monster, otherwise known as “Linds,” had been legend in Sanctuary ever since the lake’s creation.  No one really believed in her, but little kids liked to scare themselves with the idea of her while out swimming and boating in the summer.  They said she resembled some sort of prehistoric shark, to explain Sanctuary High’s mascot, which otherwise made no sense at all, since Sanctuary was at least three states away from the nearest ocean.

There were no mythical mountains to explain the addition of “Heights” to the name of the subdivision; Sanctuary didn’t even have hills.  That was another joke.  The truth was, it had been added because it sounded good, because it sounded wealthy.  Outsiders quipped that the only “heights” in the subdivision were the towering, two- or three-story mansions.

The houses all looked basically the same:  slate roof, light gray siding, gray brick façade, and as many windows as possible.  The layouts differed slightly, but only the addresses and the people who lived there separated one home from the next.

At close to ten o’clock on a Friday night, as Nick drove Leah through the Heights, most of the windows were starting to dim, but the Aldrich house was blazing.  Nick had to park on the street in front of the next-door neighbor’s house, for the driveway was already packed.  When he got out of the car, he could already hear the music.

“Kacey throws the best parties,” Leah gushed, stepping out onto the curb.  She had changed out of her cheerleading uniform into a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut top, and her stiletto-heeled boots clicked sharply against the sidewalk as she led the way up to the house.

“Harper!  Come on in,” Doug Richmond greeted Nick at the door, as he walked in with Leah.  “You guys want a drink?”

“We’d love a couple of them,” Leah jumped in, flashing her flirty smile at Doug.  “Please.”

“You got it.”  Doug disappeared into the crowd that had gathered in the Aldrich house and returned a few minutes later with two plastic cups sloshing with beer.

“Thanks,” said Leah as she took hers.  Nick nodded.  He took a slow sip of his.  He’d never really drank beer before, but everyone around him had a red cup in hand, and he told himself it was no big deal.  One beer wasn’t going to kill him.  It wouldn’t even make him drunk.

He’d never seen Leah drink either, but as she led him around the party, stopping to talk to people they knew, she nursed her beer as if it felt perfectly natural there in her hand.  “Hey, there’s Calvin!”  Leah motioned to the tall, dark-haired captain of the basketball team.  Calvin, Nick noticed, did not have a cup in his hand.  “Is he still going out with that girl Kristin?  You know, the one who does all the musicals?”

“I dunno; I think so,” replied Nick, who didn’t really care who Calvin Scott was going out with.

Across the room, Calvin saw Leah pointing, said something to the guy he was talking to, and strode over to them.  “Hey guys, what’s up?”

“Oh, not much.  Great party, huh?”  There was the flirty smile again, as Leah tossed her bangs out of her eyes.

“You bet.”  Calvin’s smile was only brief, and it faded as he leaned closer to Nick.  “You better watch it with the beer, Harper,” he said, keeping his voice low.  “You know if you get caught drinking, you’ll be suspended… maybe even kicked off the team.”

Nick swallowed, but then he looked around again at all of the other basketball players with red cups, Doug Richmond among them, and said, “I know, but who’s gonna get caught?  Everybody’s drinking, and it ain’t like they’re gonna kick us all off the team.  They wouldn’t have a team left.”

Calvin’s green eyes were sharp, warning.  “Maybe not, but that’s not to say they won’t choose someone to make an example out of.”  He looked like he wanted to say more, but he shrugged instead.  “Just be smart, alright, Harper?” he muttered, as he walked away.

Once he was gone, Nick took another swig of his beer, but it didn’t have the same effect.  It was warm, and suddenly, it tasted like backwash.  Its appeal seemed to have faded.

Nick shook his head after Calvin.  Be smart, he had said.  Calvin was smart.  Calvin was a good guy.  He could be here, at this party, as cool as the rest of the team, but not drink.   Nick wished he had that kind of confidence.  He wished he wasn’t stuck in Doug Richmond’s shadow.

Next year, he told himself.  Next year, Doug Richmond will be playing college ball, and I’ll be a starting forward.

Still, he didn’t drink anymore after that, using the fact that he had to drive Leah home as an excuse, and it was a good thing, for by the time he dragged Leah away from the party, she could hardly walk straight.  Giggling, she weaved from side to side, her heels clunking unevenly against the pavement, as he walked alongside her, prepared to catch her if she tripped.  “I’m fine!” she insisted, when he tried to put his arm around her, swatting him away.

But in the car, she was all over him.  “Leah,” he protested, as she kissed his face, his neck.  “We gotta go.  It’s late.  I need to get you home.”

“Why?” she giggled.  “You know I don’t have a curfew.  My mom won’t know if I’m home or not.”

“Well, mine might.”  Nick thought of his mother, either sleeping off the exhaustion of a long day or still up, typing away on her computer, probably not thinking about him either way.  Then he thought of Leah’s, dancing all night at the strip club a town over to earn her living, while her daughter did whatever she felt like.  Leah claimed to love the freedom, but sometimes, Nick felt sorry for her.  Leah’s mom would never make it to a Friday night basketball game to see her cheer.

“Just tell her you were hanging out with the team… you know, celebrating.  Bonding with your new teammates.  She’ll eat it up.”  Leah, even in her intoxicated state, was brilliantly manipulative.  Nick knew she was right.  His parents wouldn’t care how late he got home, as long as he could use basketball to justify it.

“Fine,” he mumbled, his voice soon muffled by her lips.  As they made out in the car, there in front of the neighbor’s dark house, Nick’s mind raced with possibilities.  He thought of starting up the car and driving to the public beach, where people who didn’t have houses right on the lakefront went to swim.  Because it closed after dark, it was the perfect place to bring your date to make out.

But then he looked at Leah, between her eager, sloppy kisses, and remembered how much she’d had to drink.  If they went to the beach and were caught by the cops out patrolling, the fact that she was sixteen and drunk would be hard to hide.  She could be kicked off the cheerleading squad.

He remembered Calvin’s warning.  “You better watch it….  Be smart, Harper.”  He knew he couldn’t take the risk, for both their sakes.  Groaning, he pulled away.

“What’s up?” Leah complained, trying to pull him back across the center console of the car.  “Don’t stop now.”

“We have to,” Nick forced himself to say.  “C’mon, Leah, we both gotta get home.”

“Ugh… fine,” she huffed, pulling her hands off of him and crossing her arms over her chest.  She turned towards the window, not bothering to put on her seatbelt, as he found his keys and crammed them into the ignition.  Easing the car away from the curb, he drove out of the Heights in silence.

A few minutes later, the tires of his Jag were crunching over the gravel of Leah’s driveway.  Nick shifted the car into park and looked up at the house.  A tiny, two-bedroom ranch, it appeared dark and lonely.  He felt bad letting her go in there alone, but he knew she did it every night.  “You okay?” he asked, turning towards her.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.  “Call me tomorrow.”  Without kissing him goodbye, she climbed clumsily out of the car and stumbled up the driveway in her stiletto boots.

In the glow of his headlights, he watched her fumble in her purse for her house key, unlock the front door, and let herself in.  Then he backed out of the driveway and headed for home, feeling overwhelmingly let down.

> Broken

Author’s Note:  To spare myself and all of you the confusion of doing it later, I've gone ahead and changed the Boys' names in the story.  If you get confused, check out the Author's Note - I listed the names there.  Also, I have done some minor revisions on the first two chapters and reposted them, so if you notice any inconsistencies, it's probably because I've changed something earlier in the story.  I apologize for this, but this is definitely a work in progress, so thanks for understanding!  Please leave comments or ask questions in a review if there's something that doesn't seem right or is confusing to you.  Thanks!

 

Chapter 3

 

Nick’s sour mood didn’t last long.  By Monday, the whole school was buzzing with news that would set his spirits soaring.

“Did you hear?” Leah hissed when he met her at his locker Monday morning, her brown eyes dancing.

“Hear what?”

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head.  “Hear what?  Are you kidding?  Doug Richmond got busted by the cops on his way home from Kacey’s house Friday night.  DUI, underage drinking, and they found a bag of pot in his car!  Can you believe it?  He’ll be suspended at least three games, which might as well be the rest of the season if we don’t make the playoffs, and who knows how this will affect his college prospects.”  She shook her head, blonde hair flying.  “But that’s not important.  The big thing is, this means you’ll be starting forward tomorrow night!”

She said this all very rapidly, and for a moment, Nick could only blink, taking it all in.  At first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.  Doug Richmond, off the team?  He, starting forward for the game tomorrow?

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious!  Be excited, Nicky!  This is awesome news!” Leah gushed.

“I am excited!  I’m… wow!  I’m starting forward?”

“You’re starting forward, baby!  I’m so proud of you.”  Beaming, Leah leaned forward and stood on her tip-toes to kiss his lips.  “And just wait till your parents hear,” she added, as she pulled away.

Nick felt a broad grin stretch across his face.  He couldn’t wait to tell them.

 

#

 

The news was confirmed at practice after school that day:  Nick would be taking Doug’s position as starting power forward for the away game the following night.

Nick felt sorry for Doug, who had messed up and was now paying the price, but sympathy for his teammate did not dampen his spirits.  In the thrill of knowing that he would be on the starting lineup tomorrow, Nick played exceptionally well in practice, making nearly every lay-up and free throw he attempted.  He felt in sync with his teammates when it came to running plays, and if the practice was any indicator of their performance in the game tomorrow, the Sanctuary Sharks were sure to give the Metacomet Cardinals some stiff competition.

By the time practice let out, Nick was exhausted.  His left leg, which normally held his weight while he pivoted, ached as he drove himself home, stopping at the drive-thru of the Dairy Queen on his way.  He knew his parents wouldn’t be home this early on a Monday night, with a whole week’s worth of work ahead of them, so he ordered himself a burger and fries for dinner.

At home, he fed Nala and limped upstairs with his crinkled bag of fast food to relax before starting on his homework.  He had just flopped onto his unmade bed when a pair of footsteps came storming up the hall, and his sister Lisi leaped into the room.

“I knew I smelled fries!” she hissed, her accusing eyes finding his Dairy Queen sack.  “Didn’t think to get any for me and Adam, by chance, did you?”

Nick immediately felt guilty; he hadn’t even thought of his sister and brother.  Offering a sheepish smile, he shrugged and said, “I didn’t have enough cash on me.  Sorry.  There’s stuff in the fridge.”

“Nothing good!” Lisi whined, stamping her foot.  “You suck!”  And she stormed away again.

Nick sighed, rolling his eyes after her.  Living with Lisi was like being in the midst of a tornado.  She was eleven years old, in the middle of a growth spurt, hormonal, dramatic.  Her moods were completely unpredictable, and he liked to stay out of her path.

Just as he heard her bedroom door slam, another door open, and a second pair of footsteps came down the hall.  These were lighter, less angry, and Nick wasn’t surprised to see his younger brother Adam standing in his doorway when he looked up.  He smiled.  “Hey, Adam.”

“You’re home!  Why’s Lisi yelling?”

Nick shrugged.  “Got me.  That’s just what girls her age do.  They yell.”  Grinning at his brother’s bemused expression, he patted a spot on the bed.  “C’mere, you want some fries?  Just don’t tell Lisi,” he added, as Adam scrambled onto the bed next to him.

In some ways, Adam was like a tornado too, but only because he was a typical nine-year-old boy--messy and full of boundless energy.  He could be loud and destructive, but Nick much preferred hanging out with him to Lisi.  Lisi didn’t like to shoot hoops or play video games; she spent most of her time alone in her room, singing along to her CDs and messing around on her computer.  Adam, though, was always up for playing with his big brother.

“You owe me a rematch!” he shouted once they’d polished off the fries, jumping off the bed to put one of Nick’s racing games into the video game console.  “You’re gonna eat my dust this time!”

Nick laughed.  “Oh, we’ll see about that.”  Picking up his controller, he got into position in front of the TV.  “Just one game, though, okay?  I’ve got a lot of homework, and I can’t afford to slack… not if I wanna start in the game tomorrow.”

Adam turned his eyes away from the video game to look at him.  “You’re starting tomorrow?”

“Yep.  The usual starter, Richmond, got himself into some trouble this weekend and can’t play for at least three games, so I get to take his spot.”

“Awesome, dude!” Adam whooped, bouncing on the bed.  Once he’d calmed himself down, he asked, “What’d Doug Richmond do, anyway?”

Nick smiled; Adam had taken it upon himself to memorize the whole Sanctuary High basketball roster.  “Nothing you need to know about.  C’mon, let’s play.”

They played their race, and because his life seemed so perfect that night, Nick showed mercy and let Adam win the rematch.  It was a close race; he tried not to make it obvious.  Adam bought it and boasted the whole way back to his own room.  “We’re gonna have a re-re-match, buddy, on Wednesday!  You and me!” Nick shouted after him, trying to sound as threatening as possible.  He heard Adam’s cackling laughter, and he smiled, as he reached for his backpack to get out his homework.

He had a lot of studying to do for chemistry – Mr. Lutz had hinted there would be a pop quiz on balancing equations tomorrow – but he wasn’t going to let it overwhelm him tonight.

Life was too good.

 

#

 

Tuesday’s chemistry class did indeed contain a quiz, and fifty minutes later, Nick stumbled out of the lab with his head swimming.  He really had tried to study the night before, but had awoken around midnight with an imprint of the periodic table on his right cheek.  Not that it would have made much difference--he just didn’t understand chemistry.

“Man, that was a rough quiz, wasn’t it?” a raspy voice said behind him, and Nick turned to find that he was being followed by JD Cleman.  “That balancing equations stuff makes my head just kill.”

Nick offered a wry smile at JD.  “Yeah, I know; I don’t get it either.”

It suddenly struck him as odd that even though he and JD walked the same path everyday, from chemistry to their next period, choir, they never usually talked.  JD was a sophomore, like him, but he associated with a completely different crowd, a strange mix of theater geeks, music freaks, artsy-farts, and emo kids.  He and his friends were the kind of people who dressed in black and wore sunglasses even indoors, who wrote angsty poetry and played in garage bands and worked on the plays at school.  They were “too cool” for team sports; usually, they stuck their noses up at jocks like Nick.

“Don’t forget, we’re meeting in the auditorium today,” said JD, as Nick’s feet carried him automatically towards the choir room.  “Got a concert Thursday, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”  Nick pivoted, following JD down a different hall, one that led to the auditorium and gymnasium.

Most of the choir was already assembled on the risers onstage when Nick and JD walked into the auditorium.  They found their places, Nick squeezing into the baritone section, which stretched across the middle of the third row, while JD, whose singing range went higher than his gravely speaking voice, stopped right in front of Nick with the other tenors.  Logan, also a tenor, stood to JD’s right, and Calvin, a bass, stood behind Nick.  They were the only two basketball players in choir, besides Nick, and they both started talking to him at once.

“Ya nervous about tonight?” Logan asked with an elfin grin, at the same time Calvin said, in his calm, even tone, “I hope you’re not freaking yourself out thinking about tonight.  You’ll play great if you just keep your head clear and leave your nerves at the door.”

Nick chuckled.  “I’m alright.  I just can’t wait to get out there.  I wish it was a home game; that bus ride is gonna be torture.”

“Eh, Metacomet’s not that far.  It’s just on the other side of Riverstead,” Calvin pointed out.  “I don’t mind the bus; it’s a chance to collect your thoughts… you know, get in the zone.”

“Hah-ummmmmmmm…”  Logan pretended to meditate, closing his eyes and humming loudly.  After a few seconds, he opened one eye just a crack to see if Calvin was glaring at him yet.

“Perfect--the humming tells me we’re ready to start warming up!” a clear voice projected above all of the talking (and Logan’s “meditating”), and Nick looked up to see their choir director, Mr. Keyes, standing at his podium.  Logan whipped around to face forward, and instantly, the stage fell silent.  “Excellent,” said Mr. Keyes.  “Let’s begin with a few simple arpeggios.  Do, mi, sol, mi, do.”  He sang a demonstration, moving his hand up and down to follow the progression of notes.  Their pianist accompanied him, and the choir instantly joined in.  “Do, mi, sol, mi, do…”

“Up a half step.”

“Do, mi, sol, mi, do…”

Nick felt his voice clear out and warm up as he repeated the progression.  Though he didn’t readily admit it, he liked choir.  Whenever one of the guys on the JV team gave him a hard time about it, he told them he was only taking it for a fine arts credit on his transcript--“You know, for college and stuff”--but really, it was because of his elementary school music teacher.

Miss MacAndrew.  She was young and pretty, fresh and enthusiastic.  She sang like a bird, her voice trilling across the music room as she taught her students about rhythm and pitch, dead composers and old styles of music.  She’d taught him how to play the recorder in fourth grade and told him in fifth that he had a great voice and a natural flair for music.  “You should definitely join chorus next year,” she’d advised, and so he had.  Until then, no one had ever told Nick he was good at anything, besides sports.

Sometimes he felt out of place in choir, but at least he had Logan, and even Calvin.  And if Calvin Scott, captain of the varsity basketball team, could sing in choir without shame, then Nick didn’t think anyone had a right to get on his case about it.

He could hear Calvin’s deep, mellow voice in his ear as they completed the warm-up runs, Mr. Keyes cutting them off neatly.

“Now, as you know, we have a concert on Thursday night, seven p.m.  I need you to be here, in your robes, at six-thirty.  We’ll meet in the choir room.  Please be on time, so that…”

As Mr. Keyes went on with his speech, Nick started to tune him out.  Mr. Keyes was known for being long-winded and saying things more often than they needed to be said.  Still, he was a great choir director.  He liked to joke about his name, “Keyes,” which was pronounced like the keys of a piano.  It was rumored that he had changed his last name to fit his profession, but Nick didn’t think that was true.  If it was, why wouldn’t he have spelled it the right way?

“… from the top.”  Nick’s mind was yanked back to the auditorium, as Mr. Keyes’ started conducting, his crisp arm motions setting the tempo for Mrs. Hall, the pianist, who started beating out the accompaniment for their first song, an African spiritual.  This one had choreography, complete with swaying and clapping, and Nick found it amusing because the town of Sanctuary was about as diverse as a bowl of white jelly beans.  A bunch of white kids with no rhythm, trying to clap and stomp along to an old slave song?  He hoped no one from Riverstead’s west side came to the concert on Thursday--it would be a disgrace to their heritage.

Then again, it didn’t look too bad from Nick’s vantage point.  In front of him, JD Cleman moved pretty well for a guy who loathed sports.  At least he had rhythm.  And he was flanked by two of the biggest cornballs in the whole choir:  Logan on his right, who sang music like this every Sunday in his church choir, and Ozzie O’Donnell on his left, who was just… well, a cornball.  But at least they, like JD, could sway in the right direction and clap on the right beat.

That was not true of everyone, even after months of practice, and just looking at some of them watch their feet instead of Mr. Keyes threw Nick off as well.  He stumbled a little, as the choir swayed right, trying to get back on the beat.  Then, as the choir swayed left, his knee buckled.

There was no room on the riser to catch himself and nothing but shoulders to break his fall.  He toppled forward, right onto Ozzie O’Donnell, who was about half his size.  Like a Domino, Ozzie was pushed off his riser onto the stage, where there was a gap.  Normally, Amy Robinson stood there, but she had gone upstage to sing her solo, and so Ozzie fell face-first onto the floor, and Nick landed practically on top of him.

The singing stopped; a buzz of concerned voices took its place.  Mr. Keyes cut off the piano and hurried over.  “Gentlemen, are you okay?” he asked, bending down.  “What happened?”

Nick scrambled up, mortified.  He tested his weight on his left knee, which had given out on him just moments ago.  It seemed alright now, although it was throbbing.  His whole body was throbbing.  Red-faced, he shook his head and mumbled, “I don’t know.  My knee just sort of… buckled.  I’m sorry, dude--are you okay?”

Ozzie was sitting up, holding his face.  Nick could see blood squeezing between his fingers, which were cupped over his nose.  Great, I probably broke his nose, he thought miserably.  Way to go, Harper.  He hoped this wasn’t any indication of how the game was going to play out later.

“I’ll be alright,” Ozzie attempted to say, his voice shaky and higher-pitched than usual, but Mr. Keyes shook his head.

“You need to go to the nurse, Mr. O’Donnell; she’ll get you cleaned up.  Can you stand?”  When Ozzie got to his feet, the choir director looked right at Nick and said, “Why don’t you walk him down, Mr. Harper?  It might do you some good to lie down for a few minutes.”

As Nick led Ozzie off the stage, he could hear Mr. Keyes lecturing the choir about not locking their knees when they were on the risers.  “Great… he thinks I fainted,” he muttered on the way out of the auditorium, feeling his face flush even redder.

“Are you sure you didn’t?”  Ozzie’s voice sounded funny; he was now pinching his nose to keep the blood from spattering.

“I didn’t faint,” Nick snapped, sounding more defensive than he had intended.  Softening his tone, he added, “I dunno what happened.  Like I said, my knee just gave out on me.  I didn’t have it locked either.”

Ozzie attempted to nod, keeping his head tipped back.  Nick felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.  “I’m really sorry for falling on you,” he added.

“It’s okay.  I’ll be fine.”

They reached the nurse’s office.  Ms. Chambley was taking a girl’s temperature, but when she looked up and saw Ozzie’s face, she said, “Oh my!” and pulled the thermometer out of the girl’s ear.  “I’ll be right back, hon,” she promised, as she grabbed some gauze and ushered Ozzie into a chair.  “Here… tip your head back, and hold this gauze to it for right now.  I’ll get you some ice,” she instructed in her soothing voice.  To Nick, she asked, “You boys weren’t fighting, were you?”  He saw her eyes pan down his body and knew what she was thinking:  wouldn’t be much of a fair fight, Nick Harper beating up Ozzie O’Donnell.

He shook his head.  “We fell off the risers in choir,” was his brief explanation.  He found that he didn’t want to stick around for any more questions about his knee, so he glanced over at Ozzie and said, “Hope your nose is okay, man.”  Then he turned and left the nurse’s office, acting as if he’d only been there as Ozzie’s escort.

His knee felt okay on the walk back to the auditorium, just a little sore, a little shaky.  He would wrap it for the game tonight if he had to, and it would be fine.  It had to be, because nothing was going to mess up his chance to shine.

 

#

 

“So is O’Donnell’s nose okay?” Nick asked Logan on the bus later.  “He never did make it back to choir.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.  Not broken.  He showed up for American Lit.”

“Oh, good.  I woulda felt bad if I’d broken the guy’s nose, ya know?”

Logan offered a brief smile.  “So what happened, anyway?  Did ya miss the riser?”  His tone was teasing.

“I dunno,” muttered Nick.  “It doesn’t matter now.  I mean, as long as O’Donnell’s okay.”  He ran his hand over his knee, feeling the wrap he’d borrowed from Rob beneath his jeans.  He’d looked his knee over before he’d put the wrap on it, and it appeared to be okay.  A little swollen, maybe, but that wouldn’t keep him from playing tonight.  He figured he had just twisted it falling off the risers.  No big deal.

“As long as you’re okay too, Mr. Starting Forward.”  Logan gave Nick a playful jab in the ribs.  “Wouldn’t want a simple choir mishap to end your varsity career before it even started.”

Nick laughed, his spirits lightening.  He looked out the window as they crossed the Illinois River, its gray waters sparkling in the evening sunlight.  Jutting above the horizon was the city skyline of downtown Riverstead, and to the west lay the small suburb of Metacomet, where the sun was sure to set on a Sanctuary victory.