* * *
I sleep in my uniform, Battle Packs and all. It will make the morning routine easier, plus I’m needing a little Messi Magic right about now.
Tomorrow is game day. Also the day we give back our babies.
It’s only a bag of sugar, but I’ve grown unnervingly fond of Sugar Ray. I squeeze him, feeling him crinkle. After Slick tried to eat him, I taped him up so well he’s pretty much indestructible. Like Messi. Like… Dad?
I squeeze Sugar Ray to me and turn over on my side. Such a small thing I’ve never thought about before—being able to turn myself over. Maybe I could invent a sleeping-turning machine for Dad.
I hear the creak of my door and pretend to be asleep.
It’s Mom. She pulls my covers up and tucks my fleece blanket under my chin and even pats Sugar Ray. My blanket is two pieces of green-and-dark-gray fleece, tied together on all four sides. We made it together a few years ago when I liked sewing—when Mom had time for projects.
I’m not mad at her anymore. I see how hard she’s trying. Even now, when she’s so tired, she didn’t forget about me.
She lies by me for a few minutes. “I love you, buddy.”
Sometimes when she says this it almost feels like she’s saying “I’m sorry for everything.”
Me too.
* * *
During science Mr. Mann congratulates us on our parenting skills. Most of the class is relieved to be free of caring 24/7 for a bag of sugar. But my foot taps on the ground like a rabbit.
No one’s taking my baby.
“How many of you found caring for a ‘child,’ twenty-four hours a day, stressful?” Mr. Mann asks.
A couple of kids raise their hands.
“Be honest, how many of you forgot about your sugar babies a couple of times?”
More hands go up.
“Remember—” Slick starts.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Mr. Mann says. “No more stories of neglect.”
Only one “couple” failed, Mario and Sissy, after Mr. Mann found their sugar baby, Savage, propped up in a tree branch during recess while we played an epic game of four square.
“Time for lunch,” Mr. Mann says. “But before you walk—not run—to the cafeteria, say thank you to your sugar baby, for the experience he or she’s attempted to provide, and then place your baby on my desk.”
The whole class files forward and puts their baby on Mr. Mann’s desk. Except me.
There are some wistful good-byes.
But I can’t do it.
I cannot say good-bye.
I slip Sugar Ray into my backpack.
“Hey!” Slick says.
I whirl around.
I put a finger to my lips and growl through my teeth, “Not a word or I promise you this: You WILL regret it.”
Slick backs up. “Whoa, dude. Chill.”
I give him my most scary hairy eyeball. Coach would be proud.
When he runs to the lunchroom, Lucy and I quickly distribute Secret Psychs.
This is Slick’s:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Give me my jersey
Before I pound you
Okay, okay, that’s what I wanted to write. The only nice thing I could muster was: Good luck today! But I also include my last piece of gum, so I figure that’s good enough.
* * *
Sunapee is a home game so we have to get through the whole day before it’s time to get ready.
Cool: I’m no longer benched.
Uncool: I do not run out to meet the refs and the opposing team’s captain with Lucy.
Cool and uncool: Lucy captains on her own.
“Come on,” C.J. says. “Warm me up.”
Grateful for the job, I take a shot on goal.
“Ten on the ground, right and left,” C.J. says. I practice shooting with my left foot. The leather ball connects with my leather Battle Packs. My right leg plants, my left leg swings, all my leg muscles tightening and releasing, my abs and back twisting, adrenaline and endorphins coursing through my body. It feels so good, even though C.J. blocks it from hitting the net.
“Nice save,” I tell C.J. as he dives on the ground.
“Who gave me the note today?” Sam asks behind me.
The team buzzes, talking about their Secret Psychs.
“Love this energy today!” Coach yells.
That good energy carries us all the way through the game for a win!
Even without being captain, even without Dad at the game today, I actually feel happy.
Because oh yeah, I get to play FREAKIN’ SOCCER.
* * *
A week later that energy is still there as we take the field against Winnisquam Middle School. Our passes connect, teammates are talking on and off the field, and Benny gets a wicked corner kick goal.
We leave the field with another win, which puts us one step closer to the championship game.
Maybe it’s the endorphins again or another week of Secret Psychs or the humongous smile from Coach, but it feels like nothing can stop us now.
Bitter and Sweet
Now that you’ve melted my heart, will you go to the dance with me?
—JAIMES’S SUGGESTION. IS SHE FOR REAL?
“Are you going to ask Lucy to the dance?” Jaimes asks.
“We always go together—with Benny, too.”
Tonight I’m loading the dishes that Jaimes rinses. Dinner was Whitney’s turn: slightly burnt quesadillas that I helped her make, and a can of green beans, which was the last of our vegetables.
“What if Slick or Brady asks her?”
“No way.”
Jaimes raises her eyebrows. “Aren’t you the one who always says you have to fight for what you want?”
I frown. I am fighting for Lucy—to stay in Mudbury. But the thought of Slick asking Lucy to the dance does make my stomach feel weird.
“How would I even—”
Jaimes pounces. “Write a note on a little red heart and freeze it in the middle of an ice cube heart. Put it in her locker and it will begin to melt. Totally something Dad would do.”
“What does the note say?”
Jaimes pauses dramatically. “ ‘Now that you’ve melted my heart, will you go to the dance with me?’ ”
I can feel my face turn warm.
Jaimes smiles. “I’m brilliant, right?”
“It will melt all over her locker and Mr. T will pummel me.”
“Hmmm. How about honey? Something like ‘Honey Bee, will you buzz buzz buzz over to the dance with me?’ ”
“Not in a million years.”
Verity the nurse pokes her head around the corner as she prepares to leave. “It is pretty brilliant. See you tomorrow bright and early!” she says, walking out the door.
“I like her,” Jaimes says. “Do you?”
“Sure.”
“Anyway, my idea is Gucci golden. Lucy will melt in your arms.”
I make a face even though melting in my arms doesn’t sound so bad.
Mom and Dad walk into the kitchen. She helps him sit in the wheelchair, adjusts his head, puts his feet up, and tucks a rolled blanket under his elbow.
“Mom, Jaimes and I can go to the grocery store if you want.” It’s the first time since our big fight I’ve spoken to her directly.
Jaimes and Mom couldn’t look more surprised than if I had turned into the Easter Bunny.
“Such a nice offer,” Mom says. “But I’d love to go and spend time with you.”
Jaimes lowers her voice and hands me the last plate. “You should also apologize. And not a lame, mumbled, unintelligible eighth-grade-boy apology. Like a real one.”
In response, I flick Jaimes on the leg with a dishrag.
Mom steers me toward the front door before Jaimes can retaliate.
I know I owe Mom an apology.
I’m thinking of what to say on the way out when she takes a phone call.
“Oh no, we’re doing fine,” Mom says.
; “But if someone wants to clean the bathroom…,” Jaimes yells from the kitchen, “that’s awesome!”
“Meals?” Mom hesitates. “Well…”
We all pounce. “SAY YES!”
“I’ll let you know,” she says before hanging up.
“That was Mrs. Ho,” Mom says.
“Dumplings for life!” I yell, fist-pumping the sky.
“You should let her help,” Dad says.
“A good captain knows when to delegate,” I say sweetly.
“That’s why you cooked tonight,” Mom says, totally not getting it.
Meanwhile Roma has climbed into Dad’s lap to read a story. “I’ve become very smart in first grade,” she says, looking up at Dad. “And in second grade I’ll be smarter and in third grade I’ll be even this smart! Right, Dad?” She holds out her arms wide. Dad nods but begins to swallow hard.
Whitney skips over and begins to rub Dad’s head. “Can you buy popcorn?”
I almost say Dad can’t eat popcorn except now it doesn’t matter. Now Dad only drinks his food.
Mom walks back to Dad, puts his face in her hands, and plants a big kiss on his forehead. “Love you. Maybe don’t eat or drink anything while I’m gone?”
“ ’Cause Dad could choke and die?” Roma asks.
“Can I watch Sugar Ray?” Whitney asks. I notice she’s doing what I’ve been doing: distracting Roma from her obsession with death. She shares a room with Roma. I wonder how many conversations and worries Whitney’s had that I don’t even know about.
“Thanks,” I say, even though the assignment is over and no one needs to watch Sugar Ray. “He’s on the couch.”
“For five bucks. I want to buy a violin.”
“What? No! I’m saving up for Slick to give me his jersey.”
“You’re what?” Mom asks.
“Nothing.”
“Fifty percent possession of Sugar Ray, then,” Whitney says.
Luckily, Mom and I escape to the van without me making any promises to Whitney.
“I need deodorant,” I say, because I still haven’t figured my apology out yet.
“Write it on the list,” Mom says, tossing it over to me. It’s a well-known fact that Mom won’t remember anything if it isn’t on the list.
I smell my pits. “Do you think I’ll smell more when I get pit hair?”
“Definitely.”
“Everyone in eighth grade has armpit hair except me.”
“No they don’t.”
“Yes!”
“How do you even know that? Do you guys say ‘Show me your armpit hair’?” She pulls into the supermarket.
“We just know—we see it. Even Moses has it.”
“He’s a big kid,” Mom says. “Anyway, Moses has other things to deal with.”
True.
When we get there she walks briskly into the supermarket like it’s a mountain she’s about to summit.
“You know, Mom, it’s more fun at the grocery store if you enjoy the food. I mean, look at all these awesome bags of chips.” I point hopefully to the toasty cheddar variety.
“Go get your chips,” Mom says.
I practically cartwheel down the aisle.
Dad was way more fun to go grocery shopping with. He loves food and cooking. And when we went shopping he’d always throw in cookies and other “junk” Mom has banned from our diet because it’s not good “brain food.”
After I find the chips, I wander into the all-natural homeopathic and vitamin aisle. One of the packages catches my eye—“improves brain function by stimulating the growth of new neural pathways.” I take it.
“Look!” I say when I see Mom. “New neurons is what Dad needs.”
She reads the label, looks at me.
“It’s worth a try.”
“Golden, I will buy this for your father. But look at me. This is not going to be the miracle cure. You do know that, right?”
I nod half-heartedly.
She tosses it into the cart, stockpiled like we’ve had a huge food shortage—oh yeah, we have.
Mom’s quiet on the way home, recovering after a record-breaking whiplash Olympic-speed grocery shopping sprint.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She glances at me.
“For what happened. For the fight. For what I said to you on the bus.”
She turns onto a road that definitely does not go past our house. “I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you well enough for the wheelchair.”
I look out the window. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
Mom pats my leg. “I know. Golden, that’s life. Things break, dreams crumble, teammates lick your mouth guards.”
“Drool,” I say. “He drooled on it.”
Mom laughs loudly. “Yeah. That’s gross.”
“You think… I could be captain again?” I ask hopefully.
She smiles. “I don’t know, Golden. But doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”
A second chance. Does my team think that?
“You know what a lot of people say about Barcelona?” Mom says, driving even farther away from our house. “They think Messi is the whole team. He’s not. You can take any of them out of the mix and guess what? The game goes on. Life does too.”
I furiously start rubbing at my eyes, then punch my seat. I didn’t know I could feel so sad and angry at the same time. “Life’s not going to go on without Dad.”
Mom pulls into the parking lot of our favorite doughnut shop, Rollin’ in the Dough. She turns off the ignition as we sit in the dark. “It’s okay to be sad, Golden. It’s good to cry.” Her voice breaks.
“Mom?”
She furiously wipes tears away from her face before mine can start falling. “I’m fine. I’m just… so tired.”
And suddenly I feel we’ve switched places. If she’s falling apart, I can’t.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say awkwardly, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Anyway,” I go on, wanting her to smile. “Weren’t we talking about soccer? The greatest topic in the world? And me being captain?”
“Yeah.” She sniffs. “That’s right.”
“How about you sleep in tomorrow?”
She finally laughs, her eyes shiny. “You are such a good boy.”
Embarrassed, I ask, “Doughnut?”
“You know it.”
Inside, we breathe in the sweet smells of warm fried dough. My stomach clenches and my salivary glands start wetting my mouth. And wouldn’t you know? The girl behind the counter gives us a dozen for free because once upon a time, Dad was her soccer coach. “He was the best,” she says.
“Still is,” Mom and I say at the same time.
“Jinx!”
In the car she takes a bite and chews with her eyes closed. “Sometimes I really miss eating doughnuts.” She takes another bite. “So good.”
“Doughnuts should be on the dinner menu once a week.”
“Poor Dad,” she says. “Can’t eat these anymore.”
“How about a doughnut smoothie?”
She nods. “Golden, tell me. What’s your contingency plan?”
“Contingency?”
“What if you don’t get what you want, Golden? What if Dad isn’t going to get better?”
“Not an option.”
“It should always be an option.”
I give just a little bit. “I’ll think about it.”
But I don’t tell her about my deal with God.
I’ll take Dad exactly the way he is right now, remember? The downhill just needs to stop.
I don’t tell her about my deal with Dad.
You don’t give up on me and I don’t give up on you.
Ten minutes later Mom pulls into the driveway.
“Oh no,” I say.
“What?”
“The For Sale sign,” I whisper. “It’s gone.”
“Sometimes people wait to sell until spring if the house doesn’t sell right away.”
This news perks me up, just a little.
Mom pulls into our driveway and pops the trunk. I’m beginning to get out of the van when I suddenly see a large dark shadow lurking outside my door.
I yell so loudly the shadow jumps back and yells, “Woah!”
The Dark Lord. Lurking around in the dark.
Mom runs to my side of the car holding an armful of groceries. “Golden?”
“So sorry to scare you,” George says. “Can I talk to Golden for a minute?”
I get out of the car and face him while Mom goes inside. He looks even more evil in the dark—the whites of his eyes and his teeth glow. My heart beats hard in my chest, making me feel short of breath. I hear a meow, see the glowing eyes of Curtis Meowfield. Would he protect me or eat my dead carcass?
The Dark Lord folds his arms and stares down at me. I gulp and back into the car.
“The sign and the new numbers on the mailbox?” he says, raising his bushy eyebrows.
I shake my head.
“Okay. So you’re telling me you don’t know the sign is gone.”
“I didn’t…”
“And I just replaced the numbers—you were with me.”
I open my mouth.
“Golden, I’m sorry, but if you remove them again, or take the sign again, I’ll have no choice but to tell your parents.”
“I didn’t—”
He squeezes my shoulder like he’s trying to be friendly for Mom’s benefit, who’s coming back outside.
“Golden, we’re going to sell the house. I need this job and I really want Lucy and her mom to come. I’m not forcing them. We want to be a family and we want to stay together. And you can come visit anytime!” He actually sounds sincere, but I’m not buying it.
We’re Lucy’s family. And I will never visit the Dark Lord in this lifetime.
“So, please,” he says. “Please stop sabotaging us.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but then it occurs to me. Lucy! It must have been her. She’s finally taking action! I won’t rat her out. We’re a team. We’ve always been a team. This guy can’t break that up.
I suppress a smile. His eyes narrow.
“Are we… good?” Mom asks, coming up beside me.
“I hope so,” he says. “Let me help you with the groceries.”
Ten Thousand Tries Page 17