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.
