by Sara Farizan
“Yeah, but why not get involved last year? Or you could sign the thing and be done with it?”
I opened the heavy wooden door leading to the dining hall. When Sean saw Elle behind a long folding table, collecting signatures with Stephanie and Noah, he busted out laughing.
“What did James Brown used to sing, Kevin? I know you’re old enough to remember. ‘This is a man’s world, but it wouldn’t be nothing without a woman or a girl’?”
“I personally liked his ditty ‘Living in America’ from Rocky IV.”
“The one where Rocky single-handedly ended the Cold War?”
“Ha! Well, yes, I suppose he did, Reggie. I suppose he did. God, I miss the eighties.”
“Bijan! Sean! Hello!” Stephanie said. Two sophomores signed the clipboard in front of Elle. Stephanie was right: Elle’s presence gave the campaign much-needed star quality.
“Glad to have your support, Beej!” Noah’s smile was a little too earnest. I wasn’t thrilled that he called me Beej. Sean and Marcus could, but from Noah, it felt forced.
“Happy to help. So long as we don’t get a mascot like G-Wiz,” I joked, unzipping my coat. Stephanie, Elle, and Noah didn’t react, so naturally I couldn’t help myself. I let the useless NBA trivia fly. “G-Wiz. He’s this weird blue alien thing for the Washington Wizards. He looks like Cookie Monster on drugs.”
“I know to which mascot you were referring,” Stephanie said. “Do you assume I don’t know about sports because I am female identified?”
“BANG! He did not see that one coming, Reggie!”
“No! I just . . . you, um . . . I think women are great! So great!” I hesitated when I saw Elle raise her eyebrows. She either found me entertaining or couldn’t believe I was rambling the way I was. Noah smirked. I was on my own. I really did not like that he’d called me Beej.
“To be fair, I don’t watch the NBA, but I did do my homework on mascots,” Stephanie said with a hint of a grin. “I’m more of a soccer fan. Have a seat next to Elle, please.”
“Yeah, Beej. Have a seat next to Elle,” Sean said. I could feel my ears burn as I sat down. I took off my coat, but it didn’t do much to cool me down. Sean signed the clipboard in front of Elle and me before he went to grab food.
“Hello again,” Elle said.
“Hi.” In my head I went through things I could say to impress her. You come to this cafeteria often? How’d you get so perfect? If you had to pick, which would you prefer, muffins for hands or pickles for toes? “Have you had much luck getting signatures yet?”
“Not really. It’s kind of disappointing, but I’m late to the Great Mascot Debate,” Elle said. “Thanks for doing this. I tried to convince my friends, but they said it’s a waste of time.”
“It’s no big thing.” I somehow managed to make eye contact. Her curly hair was in a half ponytail. When she looked at me with her big brown eyes, the inside of my chest felt like it was made of warm, gooey burnt marshmallows from campfire s’mores.
“Majidi has to stop staring at her before it gets creepy, Reggie.”
“Young fella hears you loud and clear. He is going to remember to blink and look away every so often.”
“How was the rest of the party?” I asked her, trying to play it cool.
“Erin and I left shortly after you did. Jessica stayed behind to argue with her on-again, off-again man-baby.” She scowled. “Sorry. I don’t know if Will’s your friend.”
“I don’t know him personally,” I answered. “But I’d like to think you and I are friends, so if you say he’s a man-baby, then he’s a man-baby.”
“Did Majidi just friend-zone himself?”
“Better to be in the friend zone than not in the game at all, Reggie. Let’s see if big fella can hang in there.”
“I loved your photo exhibit at last semester’s Arts Night,” I said, trying to change the subject. Sean had wanted to scope out the showcase to get an idea for his own show this semester, and I’d tagged along. “The picture of your grandmother on the beach was my favorite.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said. Her eyes lit up in surprise. “I didn’t know you were there.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that was rude. I mean, it was crowded, and I was so nervous to show my stuff—”
“It’s okay! I kind of blend in, in a crowd, especially here,” I joked. The hallowed halls of Granger had more kids who looked like Erin and Will walking in them than kids who looked like me or Elle. “Well, maybe I don’t blend in per se, but my photo is usually used in the admissions brochures,” I said. “So people are used to seeing me.”
“You too? Gee, I wonder why,” she said with a sigh. “They put a picture of me and Erin in our squash uniforms on the school’s home page.”
“That’s because you two are so photogenic.” I paused a moment, realizing I maybe shouldn’t have said that. “There’s a photo of me in the admissions packet looking through a microscope. We weren’t even using the microscopes that day in lab, but the photographer guy asked me to look into it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, I loved your exhibition.”
“Thank you. It took a while to get the photo the way I wanted it. My grandmother kept posing for a glamour shot. I had to explain that I wanted her to look more natural.”
“Well, I thought it was great. She must have been very proud of you.”
“They’re locking eyes!”
“Majidi is trying to connect. . . .”
“Hey, Beej,” Marcus said as he walked up to our table. “I didn’t know you were a part of this whole thing.”
“Oh! Time-out called by Marcus Silva. You hate to see that, Reggie.”
“I’m, uh, helping out today,” I said, fidgeting in my chair. I could feel Elle shift in her seat too.
“What are you going to change the mascot to, exactly?” Marcus asked Stephanie. He leaned over and bumped my fist.
“That is yet to be determined,” Stephanie said. “Ideally, the student body will be involved in choosing something nonviolent and culturally sensitive.”
Marcus nodded and then picked up the pen and signed. “I hope you’ll want my input when the time comes. No Bobcats. I feel like everyone is a Bobcat these days,” he said before he walked away.
“That’s a big-time name on the list,” I said to the table as I pointed to Marcus’s signature. “I mean, when guys see his name on the page, I’m sure they’ll sign on.”
Stephanie was beaming, but Elle didn’t look so convinced. She was more in tune with Marcus’s social circle than I was.
***
As lunch went on, we got eleven more signatures. Most people didn’t even bother looking at our table. My history teacher, Ms. McCrea, came over to sign, but the teachers who walked in with her booked it to the lunch trays. Either they were in a rush or they were very aware that private-school teachers couldn’t get tenure and didn’t want to rock the boat over a mascot.
“I really admire all of you for sticking with this,” Ms. McCrea said. She was wearing a floral-print skirt that went all the way to the ground. I worried she might trip on it, but she never did.
Ms. McCrea was a pretty decent history teacher, as well as the dean of students, but if you wanted to kill time in class, all you had to do was ask her about her year volunteering abroad after college. She’d eat up the whole class talking about her experience in Bolivia like she was the only American to ever visit there. Sean was always the biggest perpetrator of said strategy, especially on days when he had a quiz in another class and wanted to slyly check his index cards while she prattled on.
“Bijan, you had a tremendous game on Friday! I had no idea you played,” Ms. McCrea said. I suppose she didn’t catch many JV games.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yes, we’re excited to have an athlete step up for the cause,” Noah said. He didn’t sound excited. He sounded irritated. “H
opefully his participation will influence some of his fellow student athletes. Right, Stephanie?”
“Translation: Why else would you have this jock help us? At least, that’s the vibe I’m picking up, Kevin.”
“Ms. McCrea says her goodbyes, and we’re back to the starting lineup. It’s been a pretty slow lunch, and the shot clock is ticking.”
Erin, Drew, Will, and Jessica strolled into the cafeteria. Will’s arm was draped over Jessica’s shoulder, so I guess they were on again. Drew was holding hands with Erin, but she let go of him and walked up to Elle.
“How’s it going?” Erin looked at the half-empty paper in front of us.
“You guys got nothing else to do?” Will asked.
“It was either this or listen to you talk about your stats from last week’s game again,” Elle said, placing her chin in her hand. Jessica winced.
“You love it,” Will said with a laugh. Then he turned to me. “How’d you get roped into this?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. The truth was, I didn’t really care either way what the mascot was, but I couldn’t say that with Elle sitting next to me and not sound like an insensitive jerk.
“It’d be cool to change things up. Maybe have a lion or a grizzly on the uniform,” I said, spreading my hand across my chest. “As long as the animal isn’t packing, of course.”
“How much would that cost?” Drew asked. “To change everything?”
I looked at Stephanie for an answer, but she only blinked at him. I think she was as shocked as I was that she didn’t have a response.
“We, uh, haven’t gotten to that in our proposal yet,” Noah mumbled.
“I see,” Drew said. “So you haven’t gotten an estimate for what a new paint job would cost for the gym, the hallways, the ice hockey rink? You haven’t thought about how much it might cost to buy new uniforms for all the sports teams, change all the school’s merchandise, how much the school would have to spring for a new PR campaign instead of spending that money on teachers or financial aid? What do you think that’d do for the school’s costs? Maybe hike tuition a bit?”
“We could have a bake sale?” Noah offered.
Drew’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. “Sorry about your shoes,” he said to Stephanie before he walked off.
Will let go of Jessica’s shoulder. “I’m so hungry, babe,” he declared. “You can stay or whatever, but I’m starving. See you later.” He jogged off too. Jessica huffed as she watched him go and then turned to direct her ire at those of us at the table.
“I don’t get why you want to change the mascot,” Jessica said to Elle.
“I’m not crazy about wearing a colonial soldier carrying a gun on my jersey every time I go to a match,” Elle said.
“Don’t you like the sense of tradition?” Jessica responded. “It’s commemorating those who fought in the Revolutionary War.”
“The Granger School wasn’t even around during the Revolutionary War,” Elle said. “Plus, what does war have to do with my education?”
“If we sign it, will you come grab lunch with us?” Erin was asking Elle, but she was staring down Stephanie.
“Lunch is almost over. I don’t see why not,” Stephanie said, meeting Erin’s eyes. It looked like they were about to fight again, but Erin broke the staring contest and signed the clipboard in front of Stephanie. She sauntered into the dining hall, with Jessica following her.
“I’ll see you all later. Let me know how else I can help,” Elle said to Stephanie as she stood. Then there were three of us.
“It’s all right if you want to go too,” Noah told me. He obviously wanted to be alone with Stephanie.
“Hey, I’m happy to stay on as long as you need,” I said.
Before Stephanie could respond, Coach Johnson approached our table. He was wearing his classroom outfit: slacks with a button-down shirt and tie. He kind of reminded me of Coach Gregg Popovich of the San Antonio Spurs, but with a little more meat around his midsection and in his face. “Just the man I was looking for,” he said to me. “I got something to talk to you about.”
“Coach Johnson, will you sign our petition?” Stephanie asked. Coach looked at the clipboard briefly, then backed away, shaking his head. “Maybe some other time. Mind if I borrow B for a minute?”
“By all means,” Stephanie said politely. I got up and followed Coach over to the end of the faculty lunch table, where he gestured for me to sit across from him. Ms. McCrea sat at the end with other teachers and waved at me.
“How you doing, son? Did you get anything to eat?”
“Uh, no, I was going to grab a bagel or something.” It wasn’t lost on me that he still hadn’t said my name.
“I’ll write you a note for your next class so you can get something more substantial,” Coach said. “That was a hell of a game you played for us on Friday.”
“Thanks. It was really great to be out there.”
“Do you think you could play like that for the rest of the season? As an official member of the varsity squad?”
“For real? Well, yeah, I’d love to! I mean, if it’s okay with Coach Matthews.” I didn’t want to leave Sean and the rest of JV team high and dry.
“Ah, their season’s pretty much done anyway. We need you for these next two weeks. It’s playoff time, and, well, I don’t need to tell you this, but with Donaldson out, you’ve seen how the team isn’t quite itself right now.”
“Yeah, I’d love to play! Thanks.”
Coach Johnson extended his hand for me to shake. “Glad to hear it. You play like you did on Friday and we should be all set to win the New England tourney.” His grip tightened. “But you’ve got to listen to me on the court. You can’t make stuff up as you go, like with that last play on Friday. Understand?”
“Yeah, sure thing, Coach,” I said. He released my hand. He took out a pad of paper and pen to write me a note so I could show up late to next period.
“We’re going to need you to focus. Best not to waste your time on any political movements or whatever is going on over there,” he said, nodding in Stephanie’s direction. “How do you spell your last name, again?”
“M-A-J-I-D-I.”
“That an Irish name?” He handed me the slip with a laugh. “Shouldn’t be too hard to fit that on a varsity jacket. Welcome to the team, kid. See you at practice this afternoon.”
He stood up and patted me on the shoulder before he left the cafeteria. I wasn’t so hungry anymore.
CHAPTER FOUR
“All right, choose your guys,” Coach Johnson ordered as he tugged at his belt buckle. We’d been through the new plays and done our layup drills. Now Coach had decided to have us scrimmage, shirts versus skins.
As varsity cocaptains, Marcus and Todd were in charge of choosing teams. Marcus, team shirt, had first pick. Before he even said anything, Drew took a step forward.
“Beej,” Marcus said, pointing at me.
“Present?” I said. Had he called me before Drew?
“Let’s go.” Marcus waved me over. I jogged to half-court, then turned to face the rest of the team. Drew’s look of confusion quickly dissolved into a scowl. Will, who stood next to him, whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said didn’t help Drew’s mood.
“Drew,” Todd called. Drew stared daggers at me as he walked over. He took off his shirt and tossed it to the sidelines. Some girls from the varsity squash team catcalled as they ran on the track above us. I hoped Elle wasn’t one of them, because if Drew was the kind of guy she liked, I needed to hit the free weights. Dude was jacked, all sinewy. He had muscles I wasn’t sure human beings were supposed to have. The rest of the lineup was assembled with no surprises.
My team started with the ball. Drew didn’t even bother to guard me. He gave me lots of space around the arc. Marcus threw me a hard chest pass. I made a shot so pretty that he cl
apped his hands before we ran back on defense.
“And . . . BANG! He gets the three!”
“What makes Majidi so dynamic is his ability to make three-point shots when Granger needs him to.”
“Good thing he had lots of practice shooting by himself on weekends, Kevin. Who needs a girlfriend when you’ve got basketball?”
“Nice shot, Beej!” Marcus bellowed.
“Will Thompson inbounds to Drew Young, who brings the ball downcourt. Our young buck Majidi is all over him like Gold Bond on Shaq’s chest!”
“But not to be undone, Drew whips it over to Towering Todd for an easy layup.”
“It looks like it’s the battle of the shooting guards, Kev!”
I followed Drew until a ton of bricks slammed into my shoulder and I spilled onto the floor. The whistle blew. Will leaned over me, grinning, obviously pleased with his work.
“You got to be prepared for anything, newbie,” Will said.
“That kind of crap isn’t going to fly come game time, Thompson,” Coach yelled.
Will shrugged. “Just toughening him up.”
The skins scored. I pushed myself up and inbounded the ball to Marcus. He looked down the floor to map out his options—until Drew decided to guard him, that is. Watching them play one-on-one was like watching two dance partners perform their greatest hits. The rest of us on the court stopped running around. This was personal. They knew each other’s every move, every intention; knew every reason why they played.
But Marcus wasn’t giving the ball to anyone. He tripped Drew up with a nasty crossover. Drew slipped and fell forward onto his knees.
“Marcus Silva is on a tear today!”
“I hope Drew Young has the phone number of a good orthopedist. He’s going to need it if he keeps falling for Silva’s ankle-breakers.”
Marcus drove to the hoop for an easy layup and scooped up his own rebound. He passed to Drew with a nod.
Drew slammed the ball down in frustration.
“Young surges full steam ahead, trying to shake off that embarrassment as best he can.”
“Embarrassment is right, Kevin. I mean . . . he fell for that crossover hook, line, and sinker.”