by John Coy
“Coaches often say that without checking the law.”
“What would be the next step?”
“We would have a lawyer send a letter to your school saying that the coach is leading team prayers, which courts have consistently said is unconstitutional, and ask them to inform us how they plan to ensure that the coach no longer leads religious activity with his team.”
“Do you do that a lot? Send letters, I mean?” Liam snaps the band and it bounces off his computer screen.
“Every day.”
“Who would the letter go to?”
“The principal and the superintendent of schools.”
“Would they be told who contacted you?”
“No, we don’t specify that,” Megan says firmly. “We don’t want you to get in trouble for doing what’s right.”
Liam turns in his chair and stares out the window at the gray sky. All the snow that coated the branches yesterday has fallen off. It’s up to him.
“Hello. Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” Liam stands up. He’s on the other side of the bridge now. “I know what I want to do.” He paces back and forth. “I want the letter sent.” It’s exciting to decide. Exciting, but scary.
During the second half of the game at Clasco, Liam’s thoughts jump around as he watches the action on the floor. Megan said they didn’t need to use his name, but it won’t be hard for Coach to figure it out.
It’s odd sitting on the bench knowing someone in Washington, D.C., is writing a letter about Coach Kloss. Liam’s done something that nobody else on the team knows about, something that they wouldn’t agree with.
The pep band plays loudly to fire up the crowd. Most bands, including Horizon’s, leave after halftime, but this one looks like they stay for the whole game. Maybe there isn’t anything else to do in Clasco on a snowy February night.
“Bergie.” Liam’s brought back by Coach’s voice. “Get in for Nielsen.”
Liam rips off his warm-ups.
“We’re getting killed on the boards,” Coach says. “Grab some rebounds.”
Liam checks in and jogs onto the court when the horn blows.
“You’ve got fifty-one.” Nielsen slaps his hand.
Liam lines up next to fifty-one, who’s a stocky guy with glasses. Liam has about two inches on him. The Clasco guard shoots his free throw, and Liam leans back to seal fifty-one. Liam fights to hold his position and the ball rolls off the rim. He taps it over to Drake. This guy is tough. No wonder Nielsen was having trouble.
When Liam sets up on offense, fifty-one uses his butt and hip to force him off the block. Liam pushes back, then pivots to set a screen for Pelke. Fifty-one sticks right with him. Back and forth they go, pushing and shoving. The refs aren’t calling much, so Liam digs in to hold his ground. Basketball’s a team game, but when a guy challenges you, it’s important to step up.
Liam pushes for position and tips the ball in for a basket.
“That’s the way to hustle.” Coach claps.
Fifty-one calls for the ball on a post up. He throws an elbow against Liam’s chest and gets called for the foul.
“Red ball.” The referee points.
“Way to battle.” Staley pulls Liam up.
On offense, Liam keeps moving so he’s difficult to box out. He squeezes past fifty-one, times his jump, and rips another rebound. He passes to Drake, who takes it hard to the hoop.
“Good work,” Drake says.
“Nice finish.” Liam runs downcourt with Drake. How strange. After having the letter sent, he feels more relaxed on the court.
Maybe it’s the calm before the storm.
17
You Owe Him
When Liam gets home from school on Wednesday, Dad’s gluing feathers on a paper plate at the dining room table.
“What’s that?”
“Ouuu. Ouuu.” Dad holds up an owl mask in front of his face.
“That’s an improvement, Dad.”
“Whooooo are yooooou to talk?” He pulls a feather off his ear. “The kids are going to go nuts for these.”
Liam sits down. Sometimes it’s strange to have a dad who’s a kindergarten teacher. “Dad, I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What?”
“Remember when I told you about Coach leading prayers at school?”
“Yes.” Dad glues the loose feather down.
“I called a woman in Washington, Megan, who said what Coach is doing is wrong. It’s unconstitutional. She sent a letter to Principal Craney about it.”
“Slow down.” Dad holds out his palms. “Who is Megan?”
“She works for Americans United for Separation of Church and State.”
“You did this on your own?” Dad frowns.
“Not on my own. Megan helped.”
“I understand that, but who told you to call her? Your mom?”
“No. I did it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about this?”
“I’m the one on the team.” Liam raises his voice. “I needed to do it.”
“Oh, Liam.” Dad rubs his forehead. “This is going to create a mess. People have strong feelings on this issue.”
Liam squeezes his hands under the table.
“You worked so hard to make varsity. You’ve been playing well and contributing to the team.” Dad shakes his head. “What’s going to happen now?”
“I don’t know.” Liam stands up.
“Have you told Coach Kloss about the letter?”
“No.”
“You owe him that.”
“Why?” Liam scowls.
“Because he’s your coach. He needs to know what’s coming.”
“You and Mom always tell me to stand up for what I believe. Then I do, and you’re still disappointed.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Liam.”
“I don’t think so.” He stomps upstairs.
When Liam checks e-mail, he’s thrilled to see Mackenzie’s name. It’s about time.
From: Mackenzie Kost
To: Liam Bergstrom
Date: February 9
Subject: crazy busy
liam,
crazy busy. last weekend went to avignon. u know the song sur le pont d’avignon? sur le pont d’avignon, on y danse, tout en rond. fyi it means on the bridge in avignon, everyone is dancing in a circle. did that saturday. sang the song on the bridge and everyone danced crazy together. almost fell off. lol! went shopping in the old center of town and bought a tiny leather purse. cute. almost walked out of the store without paying but the shop owner chased after us. :-)
what are u doin? how is horizon? i feel so out of it here. c’est la vie.
<3
lyl
kenz
x o x o
She is so out of it. Telling him about some stupid song and showing off her French. She’s got money for a purse, but not for a calling card. The whole thing sucks, and he doesn’t feel like writing back.
He hears the garage door opening and then the mumble of voices in the kitchen. Dad’s probably telling Mom what happened. He clicks on YouTube and watches a girl taking off her clothes while she dances on a table. She’s hot and a good dancer, but it still surprises him that people post videos like that for everybody to see. What if you were her boyfriend? How would you feel about guys sitting in their bedrooms watching her dance around in her underwear?
Mom’s coming up the stairs, so he clicks out of YouTube.
“Liam.” She knocks. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
“I am so proud.” She rushes in and gives him a hug, which sends the chair spinning.
“Okay, Mom.”
“That was a brave move and I admire you for it. Change doesn’t happen when people sit back and wait. It comes from people with the courage to step forward and act. You did that and I’m proud of you.”
“Dad wasn’t pleased.”
“Don’t worry about that.” She brushes her hair
back. “He knows all those people at school and how they talk. Let them talk. They should be talking about this. A coach leading prayers at school—that’s worthy of discussion.”
Mom rambles on about constitutional principles, the Bill of Rights, and the intent of the Founding Fathers. She and Dad are completely different. Sometimes it would be nice if they were a little more alike. Sometimes it would be nice if she slowed down to ask him how he’s doing.
“Are you ready to go?” She checks her watch.
“Where?”
“Church. The Romanos’ presentation on their year at that orphanage in Mexico. I told you yesterday.”
“I forgot.”
“They’re serving dinner. Tacos and quesadillas.”
“I don’t want to go.” He slouches down in his chair.
“You like Mexican food. It will be fun. Anne said they’ve got terrific pictures of Chichen Itza.”
“No, I’ve got homework. I’ll stay here.”
“Suit yourself. There’s some meat loaf leftover in the fridge. We shouldn’t be late.” She looks around. “Liam, this room is a disaster. It wouldn’t kill you to pick up a few things.”
Liam spins around in his chair. A night alone sounds good. He can go back to watching that girl dance.
18
Dead Wrong
Liam wakes to a massive headache on Thursday. He staggers from his bed to turn off the alarm and immediately goes back to lie down. The pain moves up steadily from the back of his neck and locks his head in a throbbing trap.
He doesn’t want to go to school. He’d like to be someplace far away, like on a beach in Florida. Another gray day. It’s been gray for an entire week now. Not a single glimpse of sun. Instead, a heavy cloud hangs over everything and doesn’t move. He’s had enough. It’s like living in a cave.
He curls up in a ball under his duvet and feels the thumping of his headache. Dizzy scratches against the dresser, wanting him up. The headache isn’t going away on its own. He needs some Advil to crack the pain.
On the counter he finds a note.
Liam,
I’m at a breakfast meeting downtown and Dad’s at an All-Staff.
See you after practice.
Love, Mom
P.S. A ship in a harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.
Dizzy meows like crazy, so he shakes food into her bowl. She snarfs it down quickly and meows strangely. She gags twice and pukes up on the floor. Disgusting. She bends down and starts to eat it. He pushes her away and wipes it up with paper towels. Chunky, warm, cat vomit. Nice way to start the day.
He washes his hands and looks in the mirror. Yikes. Bloodshot eyes squint back. He shakes out two Advil and downs them with water. He squeezes cream from the tube the dermatologist gave him and rubs it on the rash on his finger.
Back in his room, he checks his computer. Another e-mail from Mackenzie. Two in two days.
From: Mackenzie Kost
To: Liam Bergstrom
Date: February 10
Subject: sorry
liam,
hard to write so straight to the point. we should see other people. sorry to break up by email but that’s how its gotta be. u didn’t do anything wrong. please don’t take this personally. still friends?
lyl
kenz
What? He stares at the screen. The liar. Going out with Jean-Baptiste behind his back.
He grabs the picture of her from his desk and slams it to the floor. Glass shatters and he picks through the pieces to pull the photo out. He rips her face. Again and again and again until the pieces are so small, he can’t rip anymore. He walks to the bathroom and flushes the bits down the toilet.
Don’t take it personally? He’s the only other person affected by her decision. Of course he takes it personally.
Still friends? No. Of course not. After this. Never.
He rereads the e-mail as if he’ll find some new clue. He’s been an idiot. She wasn’t committed to him the way he was to her. He should be committed for being so stupid.
He holds his head in his hands and his headache pounds. He feels like he’s shrinking.
He’s never going to make the mistake of going out with anybody ever again.
As soon as he walks into English, Mrs. Stabenow pulls him aside. “Principal Craney wants to see you immediately.” She looks at him over the top of her glasses like she’s trying to figure out why.
Liam feels a knot in his stomach as he walks past the trophy cases, the gold glory protected behind glass. Mackenzie’s e-mail and now this. What a nightmare.
He checks in with Ms. Ayres, the secretary. “He’s expecting you,” she says grimly.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Craney waves the letter as soon as he sees Liam.
“What?” Liam stands in front of the desk. Craney’s a huge guy with a buzz cut. He used to be the football coach. Liam’s intimidated already.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Craney points to one of two leather chairs. “Sit down.”
Liam does as he’s told and inhales the scent of fresh leather. Craney must have gotten new furniture.
“Were you the one who talked with this…” Craney peers at the letter. “Americans United for Separation of Church and State outfit?”
Liam considers denying it. How would Craney know? But he can’t lie if he’s angry with Coach for lying.
“Yes, sir,” he says softly. He squeezes his hands so Craney won’t see them shaking.
“The last thing we need is outsiders telling us how to run our school.” Craney pounds his desk. “This group is from Washington, D.C. What do they know about Horizon? Do they understand how we do things here?”
Liam doesn’t think he’s supposed to respond, so he focuses on the goalpost lamp at the corner of Craney’s desk and tries to hold still.
Craney looks at the letter and grimaces. “I’m going to be forced to conduct an investigation and interview people.” He taps his finger on the paper. “Expect to be called back here next week.”
“Yes, sir.”
Craney sets his glasses on the desk and rubs his forehead. “Does your dad know about this?”
“Yes.”
“I went to school with him and we played basketball together. He knows this isn’t how we do things here.” Craney points to the door. “Get out.”
Bringing up Dad is a low blow. It wasn’t his decision. He’s not involved. Liam hurries down the hall, trying to get as far away from Craney as he can.
After school, Liam walks into the locker room with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He opens his locker and takes clothes off the hooks. He shoves his shoes, his socks, his ankle braces, and dirty jock in the bag. He throws in his shampoo, deodorant, comb, and cologne. He folds his jerseys and shorts neatly on the bench.
He looks around the room: all the sweat, the blood, the jammed fingers and twisted ankles. He takes his lock from the locker, clicks it closed, and tosses it in his bag.
He runs his hand across the top shelf of the locker. Nothing. He peels off the tape with his name, crumples it, and throws it in the trash. He takes one last look at the empty locker. He closes it, slings his bag over his shoulder, and grabs the folded shirts and shorts. He knocks on Coach’s door.
“Come in.”
“Coach, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the letter in advance.”
“Sit down, Bergstrom,” Coach says. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Liam sets his bag down and sits in the metal chair.
“I’m disappointed. Very disappointed.” Coach rubs his chin. “You let me down. You let the team down. Most importantly, you let yourself down.”
Liam looks into Coach’s blue-gray eyes and waits for more.
“The team is greater than the individual,” Coach says. “As a member of a team, it’s necessary to focus on the good of the group. You didn’t do that. You put yourself first. You thought you were better, more important. What you did was wrong, dead wron
g.”
“I don’t see it that way.” Liam stands and feels surprisingly clear. He doesn’t have to listen to this. He sets the clothes on Coach’s desk. “I quit.”
19
Half-Closed Eye
Liam gets in the car and drives. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He just drives. For the first time in years, he doesn’t have practice or a game on a Thursday in February. For the first time in years, he’s not on a team. He can do whatever he wants. But what?
He drives west past the turnoff to his house. He winds down the hill to the Kakabikans River and hits the brakes. Three deer stand still in the middle of the road. The buck has a ten-point rack that would make a fine trophy during hunting season. All three are bony with matted fur. It’s been a hard winter—sharp cold and deep snow. Tough for them to find food.
The doe and the yearling bound up the hill to the west, while the buck crashes through brush below. Liam pulls the car to the shoulder and turns off the engine. He watches the spot where the buck disappeared behind the trees but nothing stirs.
He’s off the team. So why doesn’t he feel better? When he talked to Megan, he was excited. But that’s all evaporated.
Mackenzie and basketball—the two most important things in his life—are both gone. He takes off his glove and examines the white blister of the burn. It looks like a half-closed eye. Or half-opened, depending on how you look at it.
The river makes icy curves among the bare trees. Liam gets out and crunches snow as he steps downhill into the ravine. He follows the twists and turns of the ice, looking for signs of the buck. He picks up a smooth black stone that’s lying on a stump. How did that get here? Maybe it washed up in a spring flood. He cleans sand off the stone and puts it in his pocket.
A flash of brown to his left makes him turn. The buck looks out from behind a clump of bushes twenty yards away. Liam stares back and tries not to move. He holds the buck’s gaze and concentrates on not blinking. As large as the buck is, his eyes make him look vulnerable.
A grain truck roars by on the bridge and the spell is broken. The buck turns his head and bounds up the hill. Liam digs his boots into the snow to keep from slipping as he climbs back to the car.