I

It’s September 5, the first day of school, and squirrelly freshmen are scurrying into the Swaying Palms High School auditorium. They tremble with fear as freshmen usually do, except for one. This unique newcomer is loner Carl Gordon. His gait is confident. In his years of middle school, he was a dedicated member of the Swaying Palms Middle School football team. First impressions as a freshman set the tone for the entire high school career. To Gordon, this is the right impression.

Gordon falls into the theater style seating. Nobody within three seats in any direction is near Carl. He prefers it this way. Unlike the popular jocks of most football teams, Carl Gordon keeps to himself. The loud sounds bother him, but not enough to make him get up and bark at anyone. He silently ignores the tumult and waits for the assembly to begin.

The subject of the assembly is extra-curricular activities. Football and baseball are the only ones that interest Carl. Unfortunately, he’s not spectacular at either and fears that he may not be able to get into a good college without some non-athletics. Of course, he didn’t think any of that up himself. Carl Gordon would have never thought that far into the future, but his parents coerced him into making up a “five year plan”. So now he sits in this semi-comfortable chair quickly scanning the displays. He is unable to seriously consider any display as he slowly drifts off into a daze.

As the assembly proceeds, Carl Gordon hears bits and pieces: Anti-Drug, Glee, Service, French, Anime, and the phrase “Great for College Applications!”. Gordon snaps back into the auditorium. The presentation is for Comserv. It’s a portmanteau of the words “Community” and “Service”. The teen giving the presentation is well groomed and blonde. His blue eyes are the brightest objects on the stage. His smile is welcoming but sends off signals of smugness to Carl. He squints hard to see the words on the presenter’s name tag. Finally he is able to see the words:

---Donald Drayton---

--Comserv President--

“Don’t think you’ll be slaves. It’s voluntary. I’ve been a member for four years and every minute has been worth it. It really is gratifying. I promise. And if you try it and realize that it’s not your thing, you can leave. I’m just asking each and everyone of you to give Comserv a shot,” Drayton rambles charismatically. “We’ll be in all lunch periods if you want to sign up. I hope to see you there.”

That day during lunch Carl meanders towards the Comserv table. The flawless President Drayton is sitting at the table along with a young insignificant looking boy and an attractive girl with a Nikon DSLR camera around her neck. According to the name tags, they are Arnold Morton and Marcella Bernstein. Arnold’s uneasy expression doesn’t change, but Marcella smiles sweetly up at Gordon. “Would you like to try out Comserv?” she asks robotically as if Drayton is practically feeding her the lines. Gordon nods and she slides a clipboard over to him. He puts down all the necessary information and leaves.

The commotion and stuffiness in the cafeteria begins to bother Carl and he walks outside to get some fresh air. He begins to explore this small part of the campus. Gordon rounds the corner and sees a small table setup against the brick wall. Behind the table is a tall suave looking guy with a taxi driving hat, a black vest, a white t-shirt, and long black pants. His swift hands quickly deal out three cards onto the table again and again. A nerdy freshman on the other side follows the cards with his eyes.

“That’s so easy,” the freshman muses. “Put down a twenty,” the tall kid orders as he puts down his own twenty dollar bill.

“But it’s so easy!”

“Listen, you little shit, I don’t care if it’s as easy as your mother after a few drinks, and believe me I know, put down a twenty. The smaller kid hesitantly shoves his hand into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a wallet. He pulls a twenty out of the tri-fold and throws it down. “Which one, eh?”

“So easy…,” the freshman repeats. He points at the center card. The tall kid flips over the card to reveal the Jack of Spades.

“Does that look like a Queen of Hearts?” The freshman shakes his head sheepishly back and forth. The older kid takes both twenties and forces them into his pocket. “Now get the hell out of here.” The little one scurries off and around the corner. Gordon approaches the table and is surprised that there is a name tag stuck to the smooth black vest.

----Conrad O’Brien----

--Comserv Treasurer--

“Lookin’ to lose some cash?” Conrad grins. Gordon shakes his head. “So they still do make smart freshmen, eh? So what do ya want?”

“Just getting fresh air,” Carl answers, which are his first words in this new school.

“Fair enough.” Carl begins to leave, but comes up with another question.

“So you’re in Comserv?” Carl asks in a surprised tone.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, I just joined and I don’t know. You don’t seem like the type.”

“Neither do you, kiddo.”

“I’m just in it for the…”

“Resume.”

“Right.

“Me too. Plus I get to handle a shit load of cash. The name’s Conrad. Most people call me Conman. It’s a hell of a surprise that they even let me work with the cash. I bet they have their suspicions. It’s that president, Drayton that they should be watchin’.”

“Why? He seems nice enough.”

“It’s a façade. I’ve known the kid for years. He’s a slimy little prick and if you get too close to him you’ll end up like that sophomore, Morton. Don’t stick with me either. I’m a bad influence and I know it. Run along and I’ll see you ’round.” As Gordon walks away, he hears the flick of a cigarette lighter.

II

Carl Gordon groans under his breath as he sluggishly walks up the stairs towards Mrs. Vasio’s room, the Comserv advisor. The freshman nudges open the door and enters. Donald is the first person he sees. The president is leaning against a podium. A young woman, presumably Mrs. Vasio, is working diligently at her desk. Arnold Morton is sitting patiently nearby to Drayton. Like a few other members, Marcella is sitting at one of the desks with her camera. As Carl walks into the room, Marcella takes notice, smiles, and invites him over. Not stopping to think, Carl wanders over to the attractive junior and sits down.

“So, first meeting… Carl?” She asks. He nods. “You don’t talk much, do you?” He shakes his head. “Why not?” He shrugs. Shse nervously chuckles. “It’s fine. Really. Some people just don’t.” For the first time in the classroom, Carl turns to study her physical features. He notices that she’s beautiful and much more so than any freshmen in his classes. He scolds himself in his head for not talking. Carl frantically attempts to come up with something to say.

“Where’s Conrad?” Carl finally spits out.

“Oh? It speaks! I’m just kidding… You know Conrad already? I think he’s in the bathroom. He’s always late to these things.”

“I can go get him if you want,” Carl offers.

“It’s really not that important. He’s just a treasurer,” she laughs. He smiles too.

“I kind of have to go anyway.” Carl immediately regrets saying that. He knows he has disclosed something way too personal and it’s just going to weird Marcella out. He’s screwing this up. Goddamn, he shouldn’t have talked. Marcella interrupts his worried thoughts.

“Ha, when you got to go…,” she smiles. He rises from his chair and begins to walk towards the door. “Carl!” He turns around without delay. A bright invasive flash momentarily stuns him. When his eyes begin to function again, he sees the camera lens in his face. Marcella rotates the device and looks at the screen. “That’s a good one,” she grins. He shakes his head in an attempt to stop himself from seeing spots and leaves the room. Carl quickly paces up the hallway and enters the bathroom. He immediately hears voices.

“Listen you little shit. That cash better find its way into my hand pronto,” a familiar voice orders.

“I’m trying, Conrad, I’m trying!” A second voice pleads. Carl hears the thump of a fist against a body and the sound of a body hitting the tile floor. The second voice cries in pain. As Carl enters the main area of the bathroom, he nearly collides with Conrad O’Brien.

“Oh, you, Carter right?”

“Carl.”

“Yeah.” The fallen boy groans in the background. “Don’t mind him. The little shit bet on a home game last year and still hasn’t paid up.

“Football?”

“Yeah, that means it’s almost been a year. Right, Tom?” The boy moans in an affirmative tone. Conrad slides past Carl and makes his way towards the Comserv meeting. He quickly urinates and heads in the same direction as Conrad. Carl enters the room and sits next to Marcella once again. She shows him the picture she took of him previously. It’s extremely unflattering and it captures a genuine look of surprise. Carl, being a good sport, quietly laughs it off.

“Okay, now that Conrad has finally decided to show up…” Drayton spitefully growls, “… we can start the meeting. First off, I’d like to welcome the incoming freshmen. Welcome to Comserv. I’m sure you’ll have a spectacular time in your four years in not only Comserv, but the entire Swaying Palms establishment. Now, the first order of business in our tradition of selling refreshments at the football games. Does anyone know when the first game is?”

“September 18th,” Carl answers.

“Are you a player?” Arnold Morton suddenly asks. He raises his eyebrow in disbelief. Carl nods. “A little small, aren’t you?” Morton cackles.

“Hey, you shit faced brownnoser!” Conrad yells. Mrs. Vasio looks up at these harsh words. “Don’t fuck with my man, Carter, here. You’re even punier than him and you’re older. I bet Carter could take you down with the greatest of ease.” Arnold scoffs at Conrad’s words.

“Mr. O’Brien, watch your language please,” Vasio asks timidly.

“Sure thing, toots,” Conrad winks.

“Anyway, we will need volunteers to work the stand.”

“I can’t,” Gordon say.

“That doesn’t look very good, being a new recruit and all,” Drayton sighs.

“Carter’s on the football team. Tell me how the hell he’s going to sell little chocolate fudge brownies and get touchdowns at the same time. Well, Drayton?”

“Can you go five minutes without starting a fight?” Arnold snaps.

“Blow me, munchkin,” Conrad snarls while extending his middle finger at the sophomore. Arnold is taken aback and quickly quiets himself.

“I apologize, Carl.”

“Carter,” Conrad mistakenly corrects.

“Carl!” The freshman footballer yells out. Marcella starts to laugh.

“Who can actually participate?” Drayton continues. All of the officers and some other members raise their hands. President Drayton scans over the raised hands and his smile flips when he sees that Conrad can make it.

“It’s okay, Carl. You can go to the next event,” Marcella whispers.

“I know.” Drayton begins to speak again, but Carl begins to doze off like in the extra curricular assembly. He is woken up by Marcella at the end of the meeting.

“Hey, sleepy, you’re going to miss the bus home,” Marcella warns him. Carl grins at the fact that she is the first person he sees as his eyelids separate. As he and Marcella walk down to the bus, Donald catches up.

“Carl, can I speak to you for a moment?” he calls from behind them. He looks at Marcella. “You can go,” he says smugly.

“Yeah, Donald?”

“Call me Don. Listen, I don’t want to make assumptions, and this might be a little out of line on my part. I’m concerned for you. I see you hanging around with Conrad and you guys seem to be friends already. Watch the company you keep. Conrad O’Brien is bad news.”

“I know, Don.”

“No. Really bad news. If you hang around with him, I promise, by the end of the year you will end up in cuffs. I don’t want to see that happen to you. If it were my choice, he wouldn’t be allowed in Comserv.”

“Why is he?”

“He’s good with cash. He knows how to keep it straight. He knows when something is a scam. Just last year a battered woman’s shelter asked for our help. They were moving. We moved all the equipment and whatnot into moving trucks and we were about to give them a hefty donation. Conrad’s senses kicked in. He had asked about the things they do all night. The crew made up fake stories about cases they had had in the past. Conrad knew they were phony. He convinced me just in time to withhold the donation. Unfortunately, the men had made it up the road already. We called the cops and the guys were caught an hour later in Orlando. You can’t con the Conman.”

“Fair enough. I’m not like that though. Conrad and I get along, that’s it,” As Carl was about to round the corner, Donald spoke up again.

“And stay away from Marcie. You don’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell, kid.” Carl ignored him and continued down to the buses.

III

It’s September 18th and Carl Gordon, a previously inconspicuous freshman, is about to put himself into the spotlight. He sits alone on a bench in the boys’ locker room in a muscle shirt and his boxers. His shoulder pads, helmet, and uniform lie huddled at his feet. He struggles to come up with a reason why he was put onto the Varsity team. Finally he settles with the realization that the seniors really suck at football. “Are you naked?” a feminine voice calls from the doorway. He peers over his shoulder to find Marcella peeking in through the locker room door. She lets herself into the room and shuts the door.

“Oh, hey,” he greets, completely forgetting that he’s in his boxers.

“I just wanted to wish you luck,” she tells him.

“Oh, thanks.”

“I’ll be at the concession stand if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Nervous?”

“A little. I try not to think about it too much.”

“Well, if this helps, you look great in plaid,” she winks, hinting at his underwear. Carl’s jaw falls open and his face transforms into a mortified crimson. He quickly pulls his pants over himself. She begins to laugh uncontrollably. She wishes him luck one last time and leaves. Carl quickly suits up and goes through the door as well. He hears voices down the hallway and decides to check out what’s going on.

“Swaying Palms or Collier County?” Conrad’s voice echoes.

“One hundred on Collier,” a foreign voice answers. Carl rounds the corner and finds Conrad and his table used to scam kids in that one card game. There’s a young boy, maybe a sophomore on the other side of the table handing Conrad a green bill with Ben Franklin’s picture. The boy promptly leaves.

“Hey, Carter! Come to bet on the game?”

“No. I’m in it.”

“And? What? Do you not have confidence in yourself, kid?”

“Well… I’m only a freshman.”

“So what? It’s all in the technique. Here I’ll show you something. It’s a little dirty, but it works. If someone’s covering you and you’re waiting for a pass, you quickly go in front of the kid and when the pigskin lands in your hands you jerk your elbow backwards as if the ball forced you to. You elbow the fucker in the stomach and knock the wind out of him. The refs almost never see it.”

“Uh… I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Trust me. Collier’s tough. You’ll need it.”

“Uh, thanks?” Carl quickly escapes from the area and heads towards where the team is meeting. As the coach talks, Carl dozes off as he often does and before he knows it, the whole team is walking onto the field.

“Gordon, on the bench,” the coach orders. Carl groans as he takes his place on the bench. He can see the Comserv members far away on the side of the hill at a table with various foods laid out. He becomes focused on the female figure among the group. Suddenly he snaps back into the game as one of his fellow teammates comes sliding across the grass in front of him. He was taken out by one of Collier County’s biggest and is now writhing in pain on the ground. The fallen teammate is junior Ed Danser. He’s large, but not fat. During practice, Ed had always been a fun kid. Most of the other players were upper classmen supremacists.

“Shit!” He squeals, elongating the vowel in the word. A few men come and heave Ed up onto a stretcher. They carry Ed away and a junior next to Carl is substituted. Within seconds of the resume of the game, Carl is focusing back onto the Comserv table. Out of his peripherals, something catches his eye. It’s senior Garth Johnson. Carl hadn’t seen him go down, but he can now see Garth lying motion less in the dirt. The same men take the senior away as well.

The game begins to pick up as Carl sees points being added to the Home side of the scoreboard. Carl never had really cared if he won or lost. Sometimes he just wanted to play, but more often it was more for attention. He liked to be praised. The freshman lets his head drop down and he dozes off. Every now and then he half hears the blowing of whistles and the cheering of crowds.

“Gordon!” Carl’s ears twitch a little at the sound of his name. “Gordon!” He’s not sure if he heard his name. “Gordon!” His head shoots back up. The voice is the coach. He looks to his right and left. He’s alone on the bench. “Gordon, everyone’s down. We need to put you in. We only have five minutes left.”

“Huh?”

“Get the hell in the game!”

“Oh!” Carl picks up his helmet and rushes to accompany his teammates. He glances up at the scoreboard. It’s eighteen to twenty and Collier’s winning. On the first throw, Carl runs vigorously to the end zone waiting for a pass. He looks back towards the quarterback, who is focusing on the seniors and juniors of the team. He should’ve known that he’d be ignored. Freshmen don’t get passes, they get tackled.

The quarterback throws the pass to a senior, but a Collier kid intercepts it and heads down the field. Luckily, one of the Swaying Palms seniors tackles the player with the ball. When Swaying Palms has possession again, Carl rashly calls everybody in. “What the fuck do you want, freshie?” the senior quarterback barks.

“Hear me out. Throw me the ball, I’m fast. I can get it down the field.”

“Fuck you. We’re doing one of Johnny’s plays.” The crowd breaks apart and they get in formation. The quarterback yells “Hike!” and he initiates the play. It fails miserably and they reform. “Gordon, do you really think you can do this?” Carl nods. “Fine. What do we have left to lose?” As soon as the play starts Carl sprints across the field. The biggest Collier kid that took out Ed takes notice of Carl’s ambitious running. He pursues Carl to the end zone.

“What are you going to do, you little shit? How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?” he bellows. The kid is too big. He gets in front of Carl and the freshman can barely see his teammates. He thinks hard about what to do. He knows that if he misses this touchdown, he’ll never get a pass again. Thinking quickly, he runs in front of the behemoth and hopes that the quarterback will throw the pass. Surprisingly, the senior throws the ball in a perfect spiral. The big player behind him chuckles. He decides that he will wait until Carl catches it so that he can jump on him and simultaneously humiliate him.

The ball falls gracefully into Carl’s arms. The force jerks Carl’s elbow backwards and he jabs the colossus into the stomach. The senior groans painfully and Carl takes off running into the end zone. He laughs as he crosses the threshold into the zone. Even though he’s far away, he can see that his teammates are stunned. He looks at the scoreboard: twenty seconds left. The other guys cheer as he joins them for the kickoff. The quarterback kicks to the disgruntled Collier students. One catches it and begins to barrel down the field. He narrowly avoids each Swaying Palms player except for Carl. Carl Gordon is Swaying Palms’s last defense. “Aw, fuck it,” he says under his breath and charges the Collier student. Carl pushes the kid back, but he is subsequently knocked down. The encounter delays the kid just long enough to steal the touchdown away from Collier County. The buzzer sounds, but Carl doesn’t hear it. He blacks out completely.

“Carl. Carl. You awake yet?” That’s the first thing he hears as he awakens. Marcella is leaning over his bed in the nurse’s office.

“You should bring him to the hospital. I think he’s got a broken leg,” he hears the nurse telling his parents.

“Carl. We’re going to take you, okay?” his father tells him, approaching his bed.

“Could you just give me a few minutes?” Carl beseeches. His father nods and his parents leave the room. “Did I scare you?” Carl asks Marcella once his parents are gone.

“Yes! Carl Gordon, don’t you ever do that again!”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” he says, looking down at his leg. “Do you think it was worth it?”

“Yes! Did you see that play? You kicked their asses. Those kids are going to be talking about you for weeks!” The door clicks open and a figure enters. It’s Conrad. He enthusiastically points his finger at the bedridden freshman.

“Somebody owes me an apology,” Conrad says.

“Huh?”

“I gave you advice and you blew me off. You totally used it though! And what did it get you? You won the fucking game!”

“Yeah… I guess I did.”

“Okay, just wanted to make that clear, Carter. I’ve got some gloating to do to the losing betters.” Conrad begins to leave.

“Con?” Marcella stops him.

“Yeah, Marcie?”

“What do you do with all the cash you get from scamming people?”

“Nothing. Y’know. What does any other kid do with cash my age? Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, right?” All three of them laugh. Conrad leaves. The girl picks up her camera and snaps a shot of Carl in bed.

“Did you have to take a picture of me like this?” Marcella glances over towards the diligently working nurse. She leans down and kisses Carl. Carl is stunned into silence.

“Nice game, tiger,” she winks and leaves the nurse’s office.

The next school day Carl arrives on crutches. Marcella makes sure that she’s the first to sign the cast on Carl’s leg. She signs it and looks up at him. “Carl… Conrad counted the earnings. We’re not sure yet, but we’re definitely missing money from the other night’s game. We barely made a profit.”

“You think somebody stole cash?”

“Could be, but it’s really not your problem to deal with. Don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll take care of it. See you later.”

IV.

Days turn into weeks as Carl lives his life on auto pilot. The only time he changes from this routine is when he’s with Marcella. He earns average grades as he sleeps through most of his classes. He was unable to go back to football by the end of the season due to his injury. He never really did care for school and now he’s struggling to come up with an example of him caring about football.

Months after that game, Carl finds himself in the February Comserv meeting. He had gone to events over the last few months. They weren’t too bad as long as Marcella was there to keep him company. A few times she was unable to make it and Carl suffered. During those, he would meander from being alone to hanging out with Conrad which disgusted Drayton and Morton.

The disappearance of money at the game wasn’t an isolated incident. It had happened at several other sports games and bake sales and is starting to seriously distress Donald and Mrs. Vasio. That is the subject of this particular meeting.

“Here’s the deal, Comserv members. We have a lot of money unaccounted for. We don’t know where it’s going. It’s even disappearing when we’re not doing events. I don’t know how this is happening,” Mrs. Vasio recaps.

“I have an idea. Hear me out, members,” Drayton speaks up, “The only person that has the key to the lock box… is Conrad. I can’t vouch for the money disappearing during events, but I would bet money on it that Conrad is…”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Drayton?” Conrad bellows as he throws his chair backward.

“Donald and I have discussed this and we’ve decided that there’s no other explanation. We’re handing this matter over to the police,” Mrs. Vasio tells him.

“You have got to be kidding me.” The door knob clicks. A tall muscular police officer walks in.

“Mr. O’Brien, please come with me. We need to talk,” the officer orders. Conrad obliges, but he’s visibly infuriated.

“You all are going to regret this. Once I’m gone, the money is still going to disappear and you’ll all be like ‘Aw shit, we should’ve never blamed Conrad’.” The officer and Conrad walk out of the classroom.

“Do you think he did it?” Marcella whispers to Carl.

“I have no clue. Just drop it,” Carl says glumly. Carl places his head down into his folded arms and ignores the meeting taking place. When it’s over, Carl goes outside by himself and heads to the bathroom. He doesn’t have to use the toilet so he merely stands in front of the sink washing his face. The cold water on his face is relaxing. Through the mirror he sees a figure approach from behind.

It’s Drayton, sneaking up as usual. “Carl… what did I tell you about Conrad?”

“I know.”

“I just hope it’s not too late for you. You aren’t mixed up with all of this are you?”

“No. I have nothing to do with the disappearance of the cash.”

“Also… what else did I tell you back in September?”

“Huh?”

“Stay away from Marcella. You’re a freshman. It’s not right.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Drayton?”

“Picked up some language from O’Brien, eh? Stop trying to fuck her.”

“You’re a sick bastard. Conrad was right about you. Get away from me,” Carl growls. The Comserv president walks out of the bathroom. Carl meets Marcella outside.

“Something wrong?” she immediately asks.

“Nothing…,” Carl lies.

“There is something. Don’t lie to me, Carl Gordon. I always know,” she laughs.

“It’s Drayton. He’s suspicious. He keeps… never mind.”

“What?”

“He tells me to stay away from you.”

“Huh?”

“He says a freshman and a junior shouldn’t be together… Even though we aren’t.”

“C’mon, Carl, everyone assumes we are. Haha.”

“Yeah.”

“Y’wanna?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

“It’s official.”

“Get it in writing,” she chuckles. “Oh, wait. I forgot something in the bathroom. Go down without me. I’ll meet you there. Carl nods and leaves. She goes down the opposite stairwell. At the bottom, she begins to hear male voices. She curiously follows them into a secluded hallway. She switches on the recording mode and presses record.

“Got the sluts?” A first voice asks.

“Yeah, I got a few that can stay during Spring Break,” a younger and higher pitched voice responds.

“And the dealer?”

“He’s connecting us with his supplier. We’ll have enough, Don.” Marcella quietly gasps at this. Donald Drayton is the first voice, which makes the second likely to be Arnold Morton. Suddenly, a silhouette rounds the corner. It’s Arnold.

“Uh oh,” Marcella begins to run down the hallway. Arnold catches up and tackles her to the ground. Her DSLR camera falls to the floor. The broken fragments of the lens scatter all over the floor.

“What are we going to do with her?” Arnold calls back to Drayton.

“Grab her. Put the bitch in my car,” Drayton orders. Marcella tries to scream, but fails.

“Marcie?” Carl’s voice echoes through the halls. By the time he finds her camera, no other evidence is there. He picks up the camera and quickly scans through the recorded video. He sprints out into the parking lot. He nearly collides with a pissed off looking Conrad.

“They’re suspending me. I can’t fucking…”

“Conrad, we have to get to your car now,” Carl interrupts and begins to run. “Come on! I’ll explain on the way.” Both boys sprint to the student parking lot in time to see Drayton’s BMW speed out of the lot. “They kidnapped Marcella. They’re running some kind of drug and prostitution ring for spring break.

“No fucking way,” Conrad says, stunned, while he starts his car. Conrad’s Mustang flies out of the lot in the same direction as the BMW. In the rush hour commute, Conrad can barely see the high end sports car through the traffic. However, he can see enough to tell where the car is going. They covertly follow the BMW for about fifteen minutes before they turn onto an obscure dirt road. The two pursuers sit outside the entrance to the road for five minutes so that Drayton and Morton don’t know they’re being followed. After that short time, they speed down the makeshift road and stop a quarter mile before the beach house ahead.

“We can’t let them see the car,” Carl warns him. As Conrad begins to get out of the car. “No. You have to be available for a quick getaway.” “Christ, Carter, you think too much. Whatever. Your funeral.” Carl sprints down the rest of the road and silently nudges open the door to the beach house. In the den to the house, he sees a lot of drug paraphernalia: pipes, bongs, syringes, and other unidentifiable objects. As he enters the kitchen, he immediately sees Arnold Morton at the sink washing blood off of his hands.

“Damn bitch bit me…,” he complains to himself. Carl is relieved that it’s not Marcella’s blood. He reaches for and clutches a rolling pin off of the counter. The brave freshman sneaks up behind and raises the pin above his head. He crashes the cooking utensil hard against Morton’s head, immediately immobilizing the sophomore. He hears footsteps upstairs and soundlessly creeps up the stairs outside of the bedroom. He sees a tied up Marcella on a big comfortable looking chair. Drayton is pouring a glass of wine nearby. He turns and splashes the wine into Marcella’s face. She squeals as he pours another glass of wine. When finished, he leaves her alone in the room. Marcella’s eyes light up when she sees Carl in the doorway. He rushes over to the chair and begins to untie her.

“Don’t think I won’t kill the both of you,” Drayton’s voice comes from the other doorway. Carl turns to face him. Donald Drayton is brandishing a large kitchen knife in his hand. Like back in September during the football game, Carl blindly charges at his enemy. This time, the enemy is actually an enemy and is extremely dangerous. Drayton slashes at him with the knife, but Carl dodges it. Carl Gordon attacks Drayton’s waist and brings him to the ground. The fall forces the knife out of Donald’s hand. Drayton pushes the freshman off of him and heads for the knife. Carl recovers and grabs Donald by the nape of his shirt and throws him into the nearby dresser. The senior falls to his hands and knees. Carl punts Don’s face like a football, which flips the Comserv president onto his back. He groans and tries to retrieve the knife once again.

Carl uses both hands to heave the senior into the air by his neck. He throws him onto the bed and Don violently smacks his skull on the headboard. He reaches to his right and opens the nightstand. Carl suddenly finds himself deaf as a gunshot rings through the house. The mirror behind him shatters and he ducks. He looks back to Donald who is now wielding a Colt revolver. Carl raises his hands into the air. “What is all this shit?” Carl demands.

“A genius plan. Kids pay cash to come here. Get high. Get smashed. Get laid. Any teenager’s dream.”

“So this is what rich kids use their money for?”

“I didn’t use any of my father’s money for this.”

“Then where…. Oh… you got it from Comserv, didn’t you?”

“It was so easy to frame that loud mouthed piece of shit. I stole his key between events, took what I needed, and gave it back without the dunce realizing it.”

“Why? You were president. Why did you abandon your responsibility?”

“I was president because of this. Do you think I really needed scholarships for college?”

“You really think you’ll get away with this?”

“I have the gun, don’t I?” Boom. Another shot goes off and fractures the wall behind Drayton. He dives to the floor to avoid anymore gunfire. Standing in the door is Conrad O’Brien. He fires another shot into the area where Drayton dove. A groan affirms that the bullet met its target. Donald suddenly stands up and erratically fires at the con man. Conrad falls back through a spray of blood. While Donald is distracted, Carl grabs a wooden chair and smashes it over the degenerate president’s head. Don drops to the ground unconscious.

Carl quickly unties the historian and grabs a nearby landline phone. The freshman goes to check on his fallen friend. He’s bleeding profusely and is barely conscious. “Conrad! Talk to me!”

“Carter… y’know the money…I…I… scammed from p…people?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s in a bank account. The account information is in th… the glove box in my c…car. Donate it all to C…Comserv. That’s wh…what… I’ve been saving u…up for. I didn’t steal the cash. I love helping people… It’s why I j…jo…joined Comserv.”

“I know, Con. You can donate it yourself.”

“Please trace my phone call. We’re at a beach house in the middle of nowhere. We’ve got a kid here with multiple gunshot wounds. Please. Come fast. Please. Please. Please. You have to come now. There’s drugs here,” Carl overhears Marcella talking to the police. He looks back to Conrad. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavily. Suddenly he stops breathing and Carl gasps.

“No…,” Carl cries.

V.

The next twenty four hours are a complete blur to Carl. Marcella’s video tape helps to back up the story that he gives to the police and is allowed to leave the police station. Donald Drayton and Arnold Morton cannot however. He doesn’t go to school the next day and neither does Marcella. She knocks on his door early in the morning and they spend the day simply sitting on the couch silently.

A few days later, at Conrad’s funeral, the two are sitting together again. Marcella is sobbing into some Kleenex. Carl cries silent tears that drip off of his cheeks and onto his black suit. He pulls Marcella close to him in an attempt to console her. After their fun loving friend is lowered into the ground, they walk away together holding hands. The next day they must return to their lives without Conrad O’Brien. They will face a sea of sad faces at school and in the mirror as well.