The Boxer and the Spy Read online

  “That’s where they found him,” Abby said.

  Terry nodded. The beach looked no different than it had before Jason washed up onto it.

  “It doesn’t look any different,” Abby said.

  “Nope.”

  “It should,” Abby said. “You know?”

  Terry nodded.

  “He wanted to be a gardener,” Terry said.

  “I know,” Abby said.

  “So why would he be taking steroids?”

  “I remember Tammy Singer offered him some grass once,” Abby said. “He was, like, shocked.”

  “Yeah,” Terry said. “He wouldn’t drink. He didn’t smoke. He never got in trouble at school. And he’s taking ‘roids?”

  “I think he was gay,” Abby said.

  “Yeah, probably,” Terry said. “I know some gay guys are really into bodybuilding. But he wasn’t. He didn’t lift weights or anything. I don’t believe it that he was taking them.”

  “You can’t know that, Terry. There’s lots you don’t know about people. Everybody. You know? I mean Jason never said he was gay.”

  “But we all were pretty sure he was,” Terry said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he never said he was on ‘roids either,” Terry said. “But I’m pretty sure he wasn’t.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There was a note,” Abby said.

  “Yeah.”

  “They found steroids in his system.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe steroids do stuff we don’t know about.”

  Terry was silent looking at the blank sand, where the waves washed in and hesitated and slid back leaving the tracings of foam behind them.

  “We don’t really know much about steroids, do we?” he said after a while.

  “Not really,” Abby said.

  She was so pretty, he thought. And her dark hair always smelled so nice when he was close to her, and she always listened to him and looked at him as if what he said, and what he was, were the most important things possible.

  “Maybe it was a gay thing,” Abby said.

  “Taking steroids?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never heard that,” he said.

  “Me either,” Abby said. “You think maybe somebody did something to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe because he was gay,” Abby said.

  “Oh hell,” Terry said. “Who around here cares about that anymore?”

  “Some of the football players used to tease him.”

  “They tease everybody,” Terry said.

  “They don’t tease you,” Abby said.

  “That’s because they think I’m a boxer,” Terry said.

  “Well, you are.”

  “Not yet,” Terry said.

  “You do all that training.”

  “I’m learning,” Terry said.

  “I’d like to see you box sometime,” Abby said.

  “You can come to my next lesson, if you want.”

  “I’d love that,” Abby said.

  “Maybe George knows about steroids,” Terry said.

  CHAPTER 4

  William Dawes Regional was a four-year high school. Grades nine through twelve were gathered, this Friday morning, in the assembly hall to hear about Jason Green’s death. Mr. Bullard was at the podium. He was important. Not only was he the principal of the high school, he was also the superintendent of the district. To his right in a folding chair sat Mrs. Trent, the head of the Board of Selectmen.

  “This past week,” Mr. Bullard said, “one of our students, Jason Green, died tragically, an apparent suicide, induced by anabolic steroids. He was a fine student, and a fine boy. I’m sure many of you knew him. All of us mourn his loss. And all of us hope that his death will not be entirely in vain if it dissuades just one other young person from experimenting with a dangerous drug.”

  Mr. Bullard had very short graying hair. He was not so tall, but he was really wide. His suits never fit him right. They were always tight around his chest and upper arms, and it made the lapels sort of stick out. Everybody knew he had played football. And everyone knew he lifted weights. He was often in the weight room at school. Terry knew Mr. Bullard could bench-press more than four hundred pounds.

  “We know that this will trouble many of you,” Mr. Bullard said. “We have, therefore, arranged that Mr. Helmsley and several other counselors will be available to you, here in the auditorium, starting this afternoon and continuing until there is no further need.”

  While Bullard was talking, Terry watched Mrs. Trent. She had on a gray suit, and pearls around her neck, and a knee-length skirt. She was sort of famous in town. Her picture was always in the paper with some politician. Looking straight at Mr. Bullard, she sat with her legs crossed and her hands folded quietly in her lap.

  Not bad for an old broad, Terry thought.

  “With the cooperation of Mrs. Trent, the chairman of the Cabot Board of Selectmen, those needing further counseling will be referred to an approved therapist at no expense to the student.”

  Terry leaned over and whispered to Abby. “I wonder how you get to be an approved therapist,” he said.

  Abby giggled and whispered to Terry. “You probably have to tell Mr. Bullard how big and strong he looks.”

  “The tragic death of a fine young man is always troublesome,” Mr. Bullard said. “But the fact that the death may have been self-inflicted makes it even more troublesome. For each of us must ask himself, ‘How did I fail him? What could I have done to help him?’”

  Mr. Bullard’s voice had that big empty sound that so many people had when they gave speeches, Terry thought.

  The speeches went on for a while and then the students were dismissed for the day.

  As they walked out of the auditorium, Abby said, “Were you looking at Mrs. Trent?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s too old for you,” Abby said.

  “I know,” Terry said, “but she’s got pretty nice legs.”

  “So do I,” Abby said.

  “How would I know,” Terry said. “You wear jeans all the time, I never get to see them.”

  “Take my word,” Abby said.

  Terry grinned at her.

  “For the moment,” he said.

  CHAPTER 5

  When Terry brought Abby into the boxing room, George smiled at her and said, “Fight fan?”

  “More a Terry fan,” she said. “Is it okay if I watch?”

  “Sure,” George said.

  He nodded at one of the two folding chairs in the room. Abby sat. Terry went through his warm-ups with the medicine ball, then taped his hands and held them out while George slid the big sixteen-ounce gloves onto them and tightened the Velcro closures.

  “Okay, Novak,” George said. “Let’s see what you got.”

  They stood. Terry took his stance.

  “We’re going to shadowbox a little,” George said to Abby. “Just let him get loose.”

  Abby smiled. George smiled back.

  She’s so amazing, Terry thought. It’s like she’s not even a kid. Fifteen years old and charms everybody’s butt off.

  “Two lefts and a right to the body,” George said.

  Terry did it.

  “Two lefts to the head, right to the body,” George said.

  Terry did it.

  “See how he keep his feet under him,” George said. “Always got the left foot forward, always keep the spacing when he moving around?”

  Abby nodded.

  “Left to the body, right to the head,” George said.

  Terry did it.

  “Keep it close in to the body,” George said. “Turn your hip in. You’re all torqued up after the left, let the right cross come out of that.”

  George showed him. It was always amazing to Terry how smooth and precise George’s boxing moves were. And how awkward his own felt by comparison. George put on the punch mitts.

>   “Don’t hit anybody with these,” George said to Abby. “Just give him a chance to punch a moving target.”

  With the big padded mitts for targets, George moved around Terry, telling him combinations. Sometimes when Terry landed a good punch, it would make a satisfying pop.

  “You hear that pop,” George told Abby. “You know he land a good punch.”

  They moved around the small room, Terry’s punches popping into the mitt.

  “Now some bobbing,” George said. “Stick with the left, bob under my punch, right to the body.”

  Terry jabbed George’s left mitt with his own left, ducked under the half-circle sweep of George’s left punch mitt, and turned a right hook into George’s right mitt, held at body level.

  “Again,” George said.

  They did it again. And again. Terry was breathing hard and he could feel the sweat soaking through his gray T-shirt.

  “Okay,” George said. “Left jab, bob, right to the head.”

  Terry did it. The jab slid off the edge of George’s mitt. Terry stepped back in disgust.

  “They can’t all be winners,” George said.

  Terry nodded. He was very aware that Abby was in the room.

  “Try it again,” George said.

  Terry tried it again and got two satisfying pops. He was breathing very hard.

  “Again,” George said.

  Left jab. Bob. Right cross.

  “Again.”

  Left jab. Bob. Right cross. Terry was gasping.

  “Round’s over,” George said. “Take a seat.”

  Terry sat down next to Abby. She smiled at him.

  “I didn’t realize,” she said, “how hard it is.”

  “Hard ... for ... me,” Terry said.

  “Hard for anybody,” George said. “Bobbing and weaving take a lot of energy.”

  “It must be much harder if somebody is really trying to hit you,” Abby said.

  “Is,” George said. “So you don’t fight until you got all this grooved.”

  “But someday you have your first fight, if you’re going to be a boxer,” Abby said.

  “You be scared,” George said. “Everybody be scared. Once you got technique, fighting pretty much ‘bout controlling fear.”

  “But ... I mean that sounds right ... but there you are and some man is running at you trying to hit you. How ... ?”

  “You keep your feet under you, you keep your stance, you try keep him off with your jab while you figure out what you gonna do. He charging at you and swinging wild, pretty soon he gonna open himself up, or he gonna run out of gas. That be your chance.”

  “Could you do that, Terry?” Abby said.

  “I ... don’t ... know.”

  “Not yet,” George said. “I believe he got a cool enough head. But he ain’t got enough training. Can’t be thinking about it then. Got to be muscle memory. And you got to be able to trust it. Be a while ‘fore we get there.”

  Terry’s breathing had calmed.

  “But we will,” Terry said.

  “Starting now,” George said. “Ding ding. Round two.”

  CHAPTER 6

  After his session, as he was doing his stretching, Terry said to George, “You ever take steroids?”

  George shook his head.

  “Used to pop a few NoDoz,” George said.

  “You know about steroids?” Terry said.

  “‘Nuff to know I don’t want you messin’ with them,” George said.

  “I won‘t,” Terry said. “Can they make you crazy?”

  “Don’t really know,” George said. “Hear a lotta talk about them, don’t know how much is fact.”

  “You know anybody takes them?”

  “Sure.”

  “Does it make any of them crazy?”

  “Some of them already crazy,” George said. “Why you want to know?”

  “Kid I know committed suicide from taking steroids,” Terry said.

  “Oh,” George said, “yeah. Read about that kid. You know him?”

  “Yeah,” Terry said. “And I don’t think he was taking steroids.”

  George nodded and didn’t say anything.

  “Why would anyone take them?” Abby said. “If they’re supposed to be so awful?”

  George smiled.

  “They may be,” George said. “But everything you hear ain’t for sure so.”

  “You mean you don’t think they’re bad?” Terry said.

  “I mean I don’t know,” George said. “That the point. People say they bad, but you know lotta people take them, and they don’t seem bad. Say you a fighter. Or a football player, or whatever, and you competing against people who take steroids? And it make them bigger and stronger and faster than you? And you keep losing your fights, or you gonna get cut from the football team? And fighting or football, or whatever, is all you know how to do?”

  Terry nodded.

  “Maybe you take the chance,” Terry said.

  “Maybe you do.”

  “You said you never took them,” Abby said.

  “Wasn’t around so much when I was fighting,” George said. “By the time they was popular, I didn’t have no need for them.”

  “You think you would have taken them?” Abby said.

  “I give you a pill that would make you stay beautiful and popular all your life,” George said. “You take it?”

  “She don’t need it,” Terry said.

  “That’s right, but do she know it?” George said.

  Abby smiled.

  My God, look at that! Terry thought.

  “Do you think you might have a pill like that with you?” she said.

  The three of them laughed.

  “How old are you, girl?” George said.

  “Fifteen,” Abby said.

  “Goin’ on thirty-five,” George said.

  “You don’t want me messing with ‘roids,” Terry said.

  “‘Cause you don’t know,” George said.

  “I could look on the Internet,” Terry said.

  “Uh-huh,” George said, “and you could stop people on the street and ask them.”

  “You don’t trust the Web?”

  “People get a chance to go on free and say anything they want to? Gonna get a lot of crap on there. ‘Scuse me, Abby.”

  “Oh I say ‘crap’ all the time,” Abby said.

  George grinned at her.

  “Hard not to,” he said.

  “So how do you find out about stuff like steroids?” Terry said.

  “Medical folks, I guess,” George said. “Don’t know much ‘bout that. What I know is, until you know what you taking, and why, don’t take it.”

  “I heard it could give you acne,” Terry said, “and maybe stunt your growth, and maybe mess up your sex life.”

  “Uh-oh,” Abby said.

  Terry stared at her.

  “What are you uh-ohing about?” he said. “We don’t have a sex life.”

  “Yet,” Abby said.

  Terry’s face felt a little hot, as if maybe he was blushing. The feeling that he might be blushing made him blush more.

  “I guess I won’t go there,” he said.

  Abby winked at George. And as they left, they could hear George chuckling to himself.

  Wow, Terry thought. Wow!

  CHAPTER 7

  During free period, Terry went to the health center on the first floor of the high school. The woman at the reception desk had long gray hair and small round glasses with gold-colored frames.

  “My name is Terry Novak,” he said. “I’d like to see the nurse.”

  “You have a pass?”

  “No ma‘am, I’m just looking for information.”

  “Have to have a pass signed by a teacher or guidance counselor,” the receptionist woman said, “to see the nurse.”

  “I’m not sick or anything,” Terry said. “I just need to ask her about steroids.”

  “Not without a pass,” the receptionist said. “School regulation.”


  “How ‘bout if I got bitten by a rattlesnake,” Terry said. “I still need a pass?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, young man,” the receptionist said.

  “Wouldn’t do much good,” Terry murmured, mostly to himself.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, yes ma‘am, thank you ma’am.”

  “This is not an information booth, young man.”

  “I can see that,” Terry said.

  After the end of classes, Terry went down to the library and began to read in the newspaper files everything he could find about the death of Jason Green. He had left a note, probably typed and printed out on one of the computers in the school library. The note said simply that he was filled with ideas and feelings that he could no longer bear, and it was time to say good-bye. At the end of the note it said, “I love you all,” and his name, typed, not written. He had been in the water for maybe a day, according to the coroner’s office, and his system showed traces of steroids. As he read the accounts in the newspaper files, Terry realized suddenly that nobody at the coroner’s office actually said the steroids caused his suicide. The newspaper stories all sounded as if that’s what happened, and Mr. Bullard had sounded as if that was what happened, but the cops didn’t actually say so, and neither did the medical examiner’s office.

  Tank lumbered into the library, saw Terry, and came over and sat down beside him.

  “Whaddya doing?” he said, looking at the newspaper files.

  “I’m reading about Jason.”

  “Man, you’re really into that, aren’t you?”

  “I liked Jason.”

  “Yeah,” Tank said. “He was okay. I think he was gay. You?”

  “Yeah,” Terry said. “I thought so.”

  “He ever say?”

  “Not to me,” Terry said.

  “You didn’t care?”

  Terry shook his head.

  “I didn’t care,” he said.

  Tank nodded.

  “Couple guys on the team are using steroids,” he said.

  “Football players?”

  “Yeah. I won’t tell their names,” Tank said. “But they look good, and they told me it really helps.”

  “No bad symptoms?” Terry said.

  “They say no.”

  “They know anything about Jason using them?” Terry said.

  “Nope. They kind of laughed when I asked.”

  “Where do they get ‘roids?” Terry said.