He wiped his sweaty hands on his mesh shorts and took a deep breath to calm
himself. If he got caught, it would end his high school football career, cost him a
chance at a college scholarship, and his parents would be pissed. Those factors
were outweighed by the fact that he was a full two tenths of a second slower in the
40 than his backup, and that meant if he didn't pick it up, he'd be riding the bench
this season.
The glass doors were looming in front of him as he approached the dealer. His
hands left sweaty imprints as he pushed the doors open and tried to casually walk
inside. His heart pounded as if it were up to him to make the last-second play to
win the big game. He smiled to those he knew, which, thanks to being such a small
town, was practically everyone. Did they all know what he was about to do?
The locker room was just ahead of him now. This was it. He put his hand in his
pocket and felt for the cash he'd stolen out of his mom's and dad's wallets over the
last couple of weeks. He'd had to empty his piggy bank and save up his allowances
for a month, but if this worked, it would be worth it. He'd be faster, stronger, and
maybe even Mr. Football in Kentucky. A scholarship to a Division I school would
make everything perfect. Even his parents couldn't get mad about taking a couple
hundred from them if he was going to be on ESPN every Saturday.
"Hey, man."
"What's up?"
"You got the five hundred?"
"Yup."
He pulled out the cash and handed it to him. His eyes darted around the
momentarily empty locker room. Someone could walk in at any minute, but his
dealer was as calm as could be counting out the cash. Shouldn't he hurry and give
him the stuff before the police barged in?
"Here you go kid. Ten cc's three times a week." He caught the small, black duffle
bag and nodded his head toward his dealer before he walked as fast as he could out
of there.
He managed to get home before his parents got back from work, but his little
sister was already home and would be a problem. If only he had a lock on the door.
He moved his desk chair over to his door and shoved it under the doorknob. It
would have to work. If Cindy knew he was home, she'd come running in, wanting
to play or talk about the gossip going on in cheerleading camp. God, little sisters
were a trial.
He placed the duffle on his bed and slowly unzipped it. Inside were a handful of
diabetic syringes and a small glass bottle with a black rubber stopper. Pulling off
the orange cap on the needle, he slowly poked it through the rubber stopper and
measured out ten cc's. He dropped the bottle back into the bag and pulled down his
shorts. He heard the garage door open and knew his parents were home. He had to
hurry. Would he feel stronger by tomorrow? Would he be like Spiderman? He
envisioned himself as the best football player in the country, shredding defenses
and scoring every time the ball was in his hands. He'd be a hero.
He grabbed the skin at his waist between his thumb and middle finger. This was it.
The needle met resistance as he pressed it against his skin. It pricked, and he
winced as he pushed it through his skin. His thumb pushed the plunger down, and
he watched the drug that would change his life enter his body.
"Honey! Dinner!"
"Coming, Mom."