Golden Boy Chains

"Carter! Carter! Carter!"

The crowd's chant thundered across the field as Jamie Carter sprinted down the sideline, football tucked safely under his arm. His legs pumped faster, lungs burning, as he dodged the last defender and crossed into the end zone.

Touchdown.

His friends swarmed him, slapping his helmet and shouting praise. Coach Peters blew his whistle, marking the end of practice, but his smile showed how pleased he was with the team's star captain.

"That's how it's done!" Coach yelled to the other players. "Watch and learn from Carter!"

Jamie pulled off his helmet, his brown hair damp with sweat, and forced a smile. The same smile he always wore when people were watching. The smile that said, "I'm Jamie Carter, football hero, and life is perfect."

But inside, the smile felt like a mask that grew heavier every day.

"Killer run, man!" Ryan Mitchell ran up, holding his hand up for a high-five.

Jamie slapped Ryan's hand but said nothing. Lately, being around Ryan made Jamie uncomfortable. Ryan had changed since becoming a player on the team—not in a good way.

"Party at my place Friday after the game," Ryan said. "My parents are out of town."

"I've got family stuff," Jamie lied. The thought of another party with the same people doing the same things made him want to scream.

Ryan's smile faded. "Family stuff? Since when do you miss post-game celebrations?"

"Since now," Jamie said, heading toward the locker room. He needed room, needed to breathe without everyone watching his every move.

"Whatever, man," Ryan called after him. "Don't go all soft on us!"

The changing room was empty when Jamie entered. Most players were still on the field, listening to Coach's closing instructions. Jamie welcomed the moment alone. He sat heavily on the bench, letting his shoulders slump for the first time that day.

On the wall across from him hung a framed picture of last year's championship team. In the middle stood Jamie, holding the trophy high, his father's arm around his shoulders. His father's face beamed with pride—the same look he'd worn when Jamie was made team captain as a junior, the youngest in school history.

"Just like your old man," his father had said that day. "A born leader."

Jamie sighed and opened his locker. Inside the door, hidden from view, was a picture he'd taken of the mountains during last summer's camping trip. The morning light had turned the peaks gold and purple, and Jamie had woken early just to catch that moment. His father hadn't understood why Jamie would wake up at 5 AM to "take pictures of rocks," but those quiet minutes alone with his camera had felt more real than all the football games combined.

The locker room door banged open as players began coming in. Jamie quickly closed his locker and put his game face back on—wide smile, confident stance, the golden boy everyone expected.

"Carter!" Coach Peters called from the hallway. "My office, five minutes."

Jamie nodded, wondering what Coach wanted. Had he noticed Jamie's distraction during practice? Had his father called again to check on his performance?

While changing out of his gear, Jamie half-listened to his friends' conversations. The standard talk about girls, classes they were failing, weekend plans. Nothing that interested him much anymore.

Then Ryan's voice cut through the noise. "So we're set for after school? The freak won't know what hit them."

Jamie's hands froze in the act of tying his shoes.

"Isn't that a bit much?" someone asked. Jamie identified the voice as Drew, a sophomore linebacker.

"What, are you scared?" Ryan laughed. "The weirdo needs to learn their place. No one disrespects me in front of the whole library."

"But scissors? That's—"

"Just to scare them," Ryan interrupted. "We'll just cut up some of those stupid pictures. Maybe give them a haircut if they don't cry too much."

Jamie felt sick. He knew exactly who they were talking about—the quiet kid with the notebook who always sat alone. Jamie had noticed them in the halls, head down, trying to be invisible. He didn't know their name, but he'd seen their face light up once when looking at art on the classroom walls. It was the kind of genuine emotion Jamie rarely saw at this school—definitely not the fake smiles he and his "friends" wore.

"Carter! Now!" Coach called again.

Jamie stood, his mind racing. Should he say something? Tell Coach what Ryan was planning? But then what? Ryan would deny everything, and Jamie would become an outsider on his own team. His father would be upset. The school would turn against their star player.

The weight of everyone's demands pressed down on Jamie's shoulders as he walked to Coach's office.

"Close the door," Coach said, not looking up from his notebook.

Jamie did as told, then sat in the hard plastic chair across from Coach's desk. The office walls were covered with team photos, newspaper clippings, and inspirational quotes about success and sacrifice.

"Your father called me," Coach said finally, looking up.

Jamie's stomach tightened. "About what?"

"Scouts from State University are coming to Friday's game. Your dad wants to make sure you're ready."

Of course he did. Jamie's father had played for State before blowing out his knee junior year. Ever since Jamie could walk, his father had talked about him living the dream that injury had taken.

"I'm ready," Jamie said immediately.

Coach studied him, eyes narrowing. "Are you? Your head seems somewhere else lately. The team follows your lead, Carter. If you're distracted, they're distracted."

"I'm fine," Jamie insisted, the lie familiar on his tongue.

"You don't sound fine. Problems at home? Girl trouble?"

Jamie shook his head. How could he explain that he was drowning under the weight of being "Jamie Carter, football star" when he didn't even know who Jamie Carter really was anymore?

"Just tired," Jamie said instead. "I'll be better."

Coach nodded, pleased with this answer. "Get some rest tonight. I need you at one hundred percent tomorrow."

Jamie stood, eager to leave. As he reached for the door, Coach added, "Your father was the best captain I ever had until you. Don't let either of us down."

The words followed Jamie like a shadow as he left the change room. The halls were nearly empty now, most students gone for the day. Through the windows, Jamie could see the practice field where a few players still stayed, tossing a ball around.

Ryan wasn't among them.

Jamie checked the time on his phone: 4:15. If Ryan and his friends had stayed after school to "teach someone a lesson," they'd be doing it now.

Without choosing consciously, Jamie's feet carried him toward the back of the school. He told himself he was just going to his car in the student lot. He told himself it wasn't his problem what Ryan did. He told himself a lot of things as he pushed open the rear exit doors and stepped outside.

The late afternoon sun slanted across the campus, making everything golden. Jamie scanned the area, seeing nothing odd. Maybe Ryan had been all talk. Maybe—

Then he saw them—four figures on the abandoned field behind the school. Three standing, one backing away. Even from a distance, Jamie recognized Ryan's swagger as he moved forward, something glinting in his hand.

Jamie's heart beat. This was the time. Walk away and stay the golden boy everyone loved, or step in and become...what? A enemy to his team? Someone who cared about a kid he didn't even know?

For a wild second, Jamie pictured what would happen if he turned away. He'd go home. His father would ask about practice. He'd lie and say it was great. Friday would come, and he'd play an amazing game for the scouts. He'd go to State on a full scholarship. His future would unfold exactly as everyone had planned for him.

And he'd always remember this moment when he'd chosen that future over doing what he knew was right.

Jamie took a deep breath, dropped his gym bag on the ground, and began to run toward the field. With each step, something inside him shifted—as if a door long shut was creaking open, letting in air and light.

Ryan had the kid cornered now. Jamie could see the terror on their face as they clutched a bag to their chest like a shield. Ryan raised the scissors, saying something Jamie couldn't hear.

Jamie ran faster, heart pounding against his ribs. For the first time in years, he wasn't running because his father expected it or because Coach ordered it or because the crowd cheered for it.

He was running because someone needed help, and he was tired of trying not to see.

"Ryan!" Jamie yelled when he was close enough. "Stop!"

Four heads turned in his direction. Ryan's face showed shock, then confusion, then anger.

"Carter? What are you doing here?"

Jamie didn't slow down until he stood between Ryan and the kid with the sketchbook. He could feel them shaking behind him.

"What am I doing?" Jamie said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. "What are you doing? Four against one with scissors? That's not cool."

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you care about some art freak? This isn't your business."

"I'm making it my business," Jamie said, surprised at the steel in his own voice.

For a moment, no one moved. Jamie was aware of everything at once—the sweat cooling on his skin, the faint smell of grass and dirt, the weight of Ryan's glare, and the presence of the person behind him, still shaking but holding their ground.

Then Ryan laughed, but the sound had no fun in it. "Wow. Golden boy's got a soft spot. Cute." He took a step closer, dropping his voice so only Jamie could hear. "Walk away now, and we can pretend this never happened."

Jamie didn't move.

"You're choosing some nobody over your teammates?" Ryan hissed. "Over your friends?"

The question hung in the air between them. Three years of team dinners, victory parties, and shared secrets weighed against this single moment of truth.

Jamie looked Ryan straight in the eyes and said the words that would change everything:

"If this is who my friends are, maybe I need new ones."