Rule #9

by Sheri Duff

  #

  Stallions win in overtime, 31–28. The game was a good matchup. But even though we won, I know my dad will make sure the defense runs on Monday. Too many holes allowed the other team’s offense to score points, which caused our offense to have to fight harder. It doesn’t matter how many more points illuminated our side of the scoreboard. My dad will argue that that only means our offensive line succeeded and our defense needs to pull their heads out of their asses.

  Coaches make men out of boys. It’s high school football, not a rec league anymore. If you play, you put your big boy pants on—that’s what my dad says. They go in as boys their freshman year, and by the time they’re sophomores, they grow up—a little anyway. And, from my perspective, that’s a good thing. I like them strong. There’s a reason I’ve never dated a freshman.

  I don’t like away games. The players ride home on the bus. It’s not an option. The players can’t ride home with friends, for obvious safety reasons. If they ride with their parents, they’re teased. And there isn’t room on the bus for anyone but the players, coaches, and trainers. Not that I want to ride on that stinky bus. A single nasty gym bag smells like a meadow of flowers compared to the dozens of bags the bus carries back to Pine Gulch.

  Vianna catches a ride back with Andrew’s girlfriend after the game. They are meeting up with Andrew and Hunter for a late movie. Lily drops Benny, Alicia, and me off at my dad’s house. I don’t even go inside.

  “Don’t say out too late, hijita,” Benny says as I walk to my car on the other side of the garage. Benny has ignored my warning about wasting time organizing because my father will only mess it up, and continues to keep the space clean. I think he stays out here because that is where he has all the good food hidden.

  “Papi,” Alicia says in a whisper while she crosses her eyes.

  “What?” Benny arches his back so he looks taller than his five foot, six inches. “She shouldn’t stay out too late. She’s only in high school.”

  Alicia slips her arm through her father’s. “Massie knows her curfew. She doesn’t need you bossing her, too.” She looks at me. “Have fun.” Then I hear her whisper, “Why are you calling her hijita?”

  Sting. I never even considered that she would want to keep me away from her dad. What comes around really does go around, and now I’m getting mine.

  Edna and I hit the pavement. I’m picking up Jack from the school. The bus pulls out of the parking lot as I pull in. Perfect timing. Most of the players have their cars at the school. I, along with half a dozen parents, sit in line, waiting for the players without cars. A woman with sleek, jet-black hair waits next to the bench in front of the school. Her lips are red like the hotrod parked in the student section; she sucks smoke from her cigarette.

  She’s old enough to be a mom but dresses like a teenager, kind of. Her outfit doesn’t work for her. Her jeans are skintight, her heels are too high, and her shirt is too low at the top and too high at the bottom. She’s got to be cold even with that awful fur thing she’s wearing. I feel sorry for the kid who belongs to her.

  Jack finally exits the building and the woman stands. She wiggles her ass toward him. Oh, no. It’s like a grown-up version of Sidney.

  Jack freezes and looks around. I can’t tell if he’s trying to escape or what. Regardless, it’s too late. She slides her arm through his. He pulls the cigarette out of her mouth and stomps on it, then holds her arm and walks her quickly to my car.

  Jack opens the door. “I’ll sit in back. Get in, Mama.” He piles into the rear of my car with his stinky bag. I don’t say anything. He barely fits. His legs press against his chest. “Mama, get in!” It’s almost cute how his Southern accent explodes. But the desperation in his voice rips at my heart.

  The woman he calls Mama surveys the grounds of the school. “This is real nice. Your daddy seen this place?”

  “Mama. Get. In. The car.” His face is panicked. I feel horrible for him. His choice A is to persuade this woman into my car so we can hightail it out of the parking lot, and his choice B is to find a ride from one of the other football players and risk more students and faculty seeing her.

  “Okay, baby, okay.” She obeys, and then eyes me. “Oh.” She pauses. “This is your girlfriend?” She inspects every part of my body like she’s grading a cow. And, trust me, I’m not choice beef in her eyes. Sidney would impress her more.

  “Yes, Mama, this is my girlfriend. Massie.”

  “Honey, I can help you with your makeup and clothes…even though you don’t have enough on top to shake a stick at.” She actually points at my chest.

  “Mama. Stop.” His head slams against the front seat. “Where you staying?”

  “I got a room at a motel in the next town over. It’s too expensive to stay here. I was thinking…” She pauses. “…I could stay with you and your daddy.” She looks hopeful. “Is that nasty wife of his is still in Kentucky? Are they having issues yet?”

  “Daddy’s in Afghanistan,” he says. Jack won’t even look at me.

  “Billy left me. So I’m a free woman now. We can go get my stuff. I didn’t bring much. Can I stay with you?”

  “Did he hurt you?” His voice shakes.

  “Not bad, sugar. I’m okay. You can’t do anything. I can’t have you going back to jail for me. Your daddy would be.”

  “Mama. Stop. Now.”

  “Who you staying with?” she asks.

  “Lily, Mama, I’m living with her until Daddy gets back. Then he and Sissy will move up here together.”

  “Sissy,” she hisses, and then looks out her window. “What kind of name is that for a stepmother? Stepmothers are horrible creatures. Didn’t the Disney channel teach you anything?”

  Jack calls his stepmom Sissy. Her real name is Sally. Everyone else calls her Sis. Jack calls her Sissy because he doesn’t like the name Sis. After Jack came into the picture, Lily started calling her mom Sissy, too. When Jack and Lily speak of this woman, their eyes light up. Jack’s eyes aren’t lighting up for his mother.

  “Mama, we’re taking you to the motel. You can’t stay with me.”

  This woman caresses the dash of my car. “Did your daddy get you this car? Is he single?” She rolls down the window. Pulls out a cigarette and fires it up.

  “Mama,” he yanks it out of her mouth and tosses it out the window. Crap, he could start a fire. I keep my mouth shut. “Massie, take us to my house.”

  “Boy, where are your manners?”

  “Please, Massie.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “That’s what he said, Massie, listen to the boy.” Wow. I’m relieved this isn’t the woman I need to impress.

  When we get to Jack’s house, his mom—I never found out her name—can’t jump out of my car fast enough. She lights a cigarette the second her heels hit the cement. She moves quickly to the front door. Jack races toward his mom without saying goodbye. I sit wondering what the hell happened.