Juice by Eric Walters

protested.
    My mother looked like she was going to burst into tears. Suddenly she turned around and ran up the stairs. I started after her and then stopped. What had I done?
    I spun around and, without realizing what I was doing, smashed my fist against the wall. The plaster exploded and my hand disappeared into the wall! I pulled my hand out and punched the wall again and again and again, until it was pocked with holes, the powder from the plaster floating through the air.
    I slumped to the ground. My hand was sore and the knuckles were cut. I could see it starting to swell up.
    What had I done? My stomach heaved violently and I thought I was going to throw up. I stumbled to my feet. My legs were all rubbery and I staggered toward the bathroom. I pushed open the door and dropped down to my knees in front of the toilet. I started to vomit long and hard.
    As my stomach settled, my head began to spin. How could I have yelled at that woman like that? It was like I was insane—the look on my mother’s face, the holes in the wall— holes like my father had made that last night before he left. This was all so unbelievable. How could I have done any of this? There was only one answer. It had to be the juice. I’d read about it. Mood swings and anger problems, like those guys fighting today. Roid rage.
    I crawled across the floor and opened the cupboard under the sink. I dug into the back. There in the far corner, hidden inside an old gym bag, was my stash. I pulled out the bottle. It contained the rest of the steroids for the next eight weeks. I opened the top. I had to get rid of them. I held the open bottle over the toilet. All I had to do was dump them and they’d be gone. That’s all I had to do.
    I sat there on the cold floor, the bottle balanced in my hand, thinking of what it would mean. Who would I disappoint if I flushed them away? Who would I disappoint if I didn’t? I just sat there, thinking. I didn’t have an answer.

Chapter Thirteen
    I was startled out of my sleep by a ringing phone. I rolled off the sofa and onto my feet. I’d fallen asleep watching TV. The TV was off. That meant my mother had turned it off. She must have seen the holes in the wall. She knew what I’d done. I felt so ashamed. That was why I hadn’t wanted to see her or talk to her. What was I going to say to her?
    The phone kept ringing. I ran to pick it up.
    â€œHello,” I said.
    â€œHey, Moose, you just get up?” It was Caleb.
    â€œJust this second.”
    â€œThat’s what I figured because you didn’t answer the first few times you were called.”
    â€œYou called me earlier?”
    â€œMe and Mrs. Perkins. When she couldn’t get you, she asked if I’d keep trying.”
    â€œMrs. Perkins called me?”
    â€œShe called everybody on the team.”
    â€œWhy would she be calling people? Isn’t she off for the summer?” Mrs. Perkins was the school secretary.
    â€œShe was calling to set up a meeting. She said Coach wanted everybody to meet in the weight room at ten.”
    â€œWhy would there be a meeting?”
    â€œShe didn’t tell and I didn’t ask. You got just enough time to get yourself ready and get there.”
    â€œWhat do you think it’s about?” I asked.
    â€œProbably wants to tell us some more little sayings and make us work harder. Maybe hand out some steroids.”
    â€œDon’t joke about that,” I said.
    â€œWho’s joking? You okay?”
    â€œI’m fine!” I snapped and then instantly regretted my angry tone. He was just worried about me. Heck, I was worried about me. Maybe I should tell Caleb what was happening.
    â€œSo I’ll see you there,” Caleb said.
    â€œSure. Thanks for calling.”
    I put the phone down. I didn’t know what this meeting was about, but I felt uneasy, more than uneasy. I looked at my hand. It was swollen and painful to the touch. What an idiot I