Juice - Eric Walters [15]
I still didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say?
“Well?”
Slowly I nodded my head. “I’ll do it.”
He smiled broadly. “You won’t regret it!” he exclaimed.
I hoped he was right.
“I’ll arrange everything. We’ll start tomorrow. And what we talked about is between you and me. Don’t even talk to Coach about it except through me. Oh, and one more thing. We never use the word steroid again. It’s just juice. Special juice. Okay?”
Again I nodded. I felt like I was already questioning my decision, but how could I say no with all of those people depending on me, with my future depending on it? I had no choice but to try.
Chapter Eleven
I closed the door of the bathroom stall and pulled out the pills. Nine of them. Six white and three orange. I rolled them around in my hand. How could these little pills make such a difference? I didn’t know exactly how they worked, but I knew they did. The results were clear to be seen. In only four weeks I was pressing and lifting and moving more weight than I’d ever been able to do in my entire life.
I put all nine pills in my mouth, took a sip of water and swallowed them down. I didn’t like pills, but it was getting easier. That was good because the number of pills I was going to take was going to increase for another two weeks. It was called pyramiding. It involved starting with a low dose and building it up slowly for six weeks and then decreasing it every week for another six weeks until I stopped completely. Twelve weeks. That was the cycle. That wasn’t that much.
I was also taking three different types of steroids—I was stacking them. Stacking was supposed to be more effective than just using one type.
I left the stall and went out to wash my hands. I stood there and looked at myself in the mirror. I flexed my biceps. I couldn’t help but smile at my reflection. I was definitely bigger and more defined. That wasn’t just my imagination. It was in black and white, right up there on the Wall of Fame.
Almost as obvious was the red zit on my forehead. It looked like I was growing a horn. I had a couple of smaller ones on my neck, and one big one on my back. But I’d had pimples before. That didn’t mean it was a side effect of the juice. And even if it was, so what? I’d trade a couple of pimples for this extra power and potential.
I left the washroom and returned to the weight room. It was a buzz of activity. People were lifting, skipping, running on the treadmill. The TVs were all on—three different shows—none of them audible over the pounding beat of the sound system.
Caleb was sitting on the universal gym, resting between sets.
“You going home soon?” I asked over the music.
“Soon. You?”
“Leaving, but not going home. I have a shift at —” I stopped and spun around in reaction to some yelling. Two of the guys were exchanging angry words. Then one reached out and gave the other a push, and the first pushed back.
“Come on,” I said to Caleb. We ran over to get in between them. Out of nowhere, Tony rushed over and grabbed me by the arm.
“Leave ’em alone,” Tony said.
“What?”
“Leave ’em alone. Can’t be a pussycat in the weight room and a tiger on the field.”
“But —”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it get out of hand.”
The two guys kept pushing and yelling, and I was positive they were going to come to blows. Then they both turned and walked away.
“Not much of a fight,” Tony said.
“You sound disappointed,” Caleb said.
Tony shrugged and walked away.
“What was that all about?” Caleb asked.
“I don’t know what they were fighting about.”
“I don’t mean the fight. I mean Tony,” he said.
“He just wanted to let them work it out,” I said.
“Work it out or duke it out? If you ask me, he wanted them to come to blows.”
“He would have stopped them if that happened.”
“Before or after somebody got hurt?”
“Tony would have taken care of it,” I argued.
Caleb shook his head. “You got an awful lot of faith in that guy. Can we talk?”
“What do you think we’re doing?”
“Not here.” Caleb turned and walked away. I followed