by Rob Buyea
Mrs. Magenta’s hand flew to her mouth the way I’d seen it happen before. Her eyes turned glassy. What had Coach said that had made her do that?
“Yes, visiting hour can be special, too,” she repeated. “But I’m afraid the school won’t be able to arrange for a bus to get us here. They’ll never approve that.”
“Our parents can drive us,” I was quick to say. “It wouldn’t have to be everyone. Just the Recruits. The others could still come after school.”
“It’s settled, then,” Coach said. “We’ll see you after practice from now on.”
Mrs. Magenta smiled.
I was already thinking about Mrs. Woods. She was always here in the evenings. Natalie would be so excited when she found out what had just happened. Now we’d be able to start getting everyone together for visiting hour. It was like Coach had said, good things happen to people who work hard, and the Recruits had been working hard.
Keeping all these secrets seemed harmless at first, but now it was beginning to bite back. Gav was mad at me, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d missed his first-ever game, and on top of that I’d given him no warning or explanation why. To make matters worse, it sounded like he was incredible in the first quarter, leading the team to their only touchdown, but then he never stepped onto the field after that. Trevor and Mark played a lot, but not Gav. That made no sense, and I was dying to ask him what was going on, but I couldn’t. I already knew his answer: If you care so much, why didn’t you come to my game?
So instead of talking, we spent the week with silence growing between us. My silence was full of explanations and truths, and his was full of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. We’d gone down this road the year before (after Natalie had entered the picture and she and I had become friends when Gav couldn’t stand her), and I’d hated it then. I couldn’t do it again. Keeping quiet and avoiding each other was just making it worse. But Gav wasn’t going to cave and start talking. And why should he? I was the one who’d messed up. I needed to break the silence.
I had myself ready to do it. I’d visualized the event like it was the bars or vault, but things went wrong before I even got to my approach.
At first I was so mad at Randi for not coming to my game that I swore I was never talking to her again. Just seeing her made the anger boil inside me. I’d gone to both of her stupid gymnastics meets, and then she blew off my game like it was nothing. She hadn’t even said sorry. It didn’t make sense. The Randi I knew wouldn’t do that. And then it hit me. I coulda kicked myself. I wasn’t mad at her anymore. I was mad at me. Something had to be going on, but she wasn’t talking. Neither one of us was, and that had to change. I needed to tell someone about football ’cause it only kept getting worse. I needed my best friend. And she needed me. I was putting an end to this. Enough with the secrets.
I was hanging out in the cafeteria before the start of school, waiting for everybody else to show up. When she got there, I was gonna say something to Randi about the way I’d been acting, but she didn’t give me the chance. She never even sat down. She dropped her bag and ran to the bathroom first thing. Her bag was sitting next to our table, where it shoulda been safely out of the way, but “safely out of the way” didn’t exist with Scott.
The kid came waltzing into the cafeteria with his nose buried in his notebook. Naturally, he tripped on her bag. His arms and legs went flailing in all directions. By some miracle he managed to land sprawled out on our table instead of on his face. Randi’s bag tumbled across the floor and spilled open.
“Way to go, Junior,” I said.
“I didn’t see it.”
“No kidding. Believe it or not, it’s hard to see where you’re going when you’ve got your face in a book.”
“I’m studying plays. I’ve got a good one,” he said.
I got down on the ground and started picking up Randi’s things. That was when I saw the picture.
Knowing that Kyle could be writing to me, I made sure I was the one to get the mail after school. If Mom saw a letter for me, she would start asking questions. Go ahead, call me paranoid, but it’s a good thing I was playing it careful, because Kyle’s first letter showed up soon after camp. I didn’t have any news for him yet. How was he so fast?
I hid the envelope in my bag and didn’t open it until I was in my room later that night, after Mom had gone to bed. It wasn’t much of a letter. More of a note, really. It was what he’d sent with his note that made my heart thump like it did before my routines. This was the only one I could find, part of his note said. Will keep looking for more.
He’d included two pictures. One of his dorky wallet-size school photos—the kind you have too many of and don’t know what to do with—and the heart-thumping one of him and his dad that looked like it had been taken after a wrestling event recently. I didn’t even know if Mom had any pictures of my father still in the house, but if she did, then this was a picture I could compare it to. It was time to start digging.
I hid Kyle’s note and pictures in my bag, where Mom wouldn’t mistakenly find them. She didn’t, but Gav did—and I didn’t even know it.
The picture was of some kid—a guy!—named Kyle. There wasn’t any Kyle at our school, so Randi musta met him somewhere else. This wasn’t just some guy! Last weekend was crazy, I had time to read. That was why she hadn’t been at my game. She’d been with her boyfriend! I knew there was a lot that Randi wasn’t telling me, but I didn’t see this coming. What a traitor! Anger surged through my veins like it did when I was with Coach Holmes. I crammed the papers back in her bag and split.
“Where’re you going?” Scott called.
I was out of there. If Randi had a new guy, that was fine by me, but I wasn’t gonna waste my time with her.
Too bad going to classes didn’t help. I sat behind my desk just getting madder all morning long. I wanted nothing to do with even seeing her, so I skipped lunch. I hid in the bathroom, and then I wandered the halls. I’m not sure how or why, but I wound up at Magenta’s room. She was busy showing tangrams to her math class, but that didn’t stop her from dropping everything and rushing into the hall the second she spotted me outside her door.
“Gavin, what’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”
I shrugged. That was the only answer I could give her.
“Oh, Gavin.” She gave me a quick hug, and it didn’t even bother me. “Tell you what, you can come and sit in the back of my class until you have to go, but do you have any other free periods today?”
“I have study hall during sixth period,” I said.
“That’s perfect. My class will be at specials during that time. Come back then, okay?”
I nodded.
“Good. C’mon.”
I followed her into the classroom and took a seat where she pointed. I pulled out my journal and sketched quietly until it was time for me to go. And then I went back during sixth period like she’d said.
“Gavin, I normally work on my art during this time. Would that be all right with you? You’re welcome to join me.”
“That sounds great,” I said.
Magenta put on some soft music and got set up at her easel, and I sat down with my journal. She painted while I sketched. Working side by side with her made my art feel more serious, and I liked that. The best thing Magenta did, though, was not ask me what was wrong. She was smart enough to know that if I wanted to talk about something, then I’d talk about it. And that wasn’t happening right then. Maybe later. But I did have a couple of questions for her. It took me most of the period, but I finally got the nerve to ask.
“Mrs. Magenta,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Do you think there’s any chance that I could maybe…keep coming here for my study hall?”
She smiled. “I’d like that. Let me see what I can do.”
I sighed. Magenta was the best. I really
wanted to ask her about the quarterback towel Coach had given me, but I couldn’t find the courage. It seemed like the longer you waited to talk about something, the harder it got to ever bring it up, sorta like with me and Randi. Magenta and Woods had gone so long not communicating that they had a concrete wall between them. The only way I knew to break it down was to get them together so that they could start hammering away.
“We’re about out of time,” Magenta said. “I need to go and get my class from specials.”
“Okay.” I packed up my stuff, and then I asked her one more question. “Mrs. Magenta, what’re you doing after school?”
NATALIE KURTSMAN
ASPIRING LAWYER
Kurtsman Law Offices
BRIEF #9
Early October: Poker Face
I remembered Mother telling me the single most important rule—the cardinal rule—for a trial lawyer: the poker face. No matter the circumstances, you must never let the jury see you rattled, not even by a sudden drastic turn of events. It was imperative to remain composed and appear to be in control.
It was one thing to hear Mother tell me these things, but it was quite another to put her advice into practice. The truth is, one can read, listen, and study about such things all their life but never actually master how to apply that knowledge. So how, then, does one learn the poker face? In my case it was by getting thrown into the fire. Much like the kid who gets tossed into the pool and has no choice but to swim.
We convened for our first official newspaper meeting in Mrs. Yazmire’s classroom after school. I’d gotten the okay from her before she’d gone out on maternity leave. Our meeting was advertised on the morning announcements, and I had even hung a few posters throughout the hallways, but the only students who attended were the Recruits—minus Gavin.
Admittedly, I was slightly disappointed by the low turnout, but I remained optimistic. We could always gain additional people by publishing an exciting product—and I could personally guarantee that our newspaper would be nothing short of amazing, because I was in charge.
It was Gavin’s absence that annoyed me. I’d gone to his stinky football game, and he couldn’t be bothered to attend our newspaper meeting? He knew how important this was to our overall mission. So much for a pact.
Natalie, he must have a good reason for not being here, I thought.
He’d better.
“Hi, Mrs. Woods!” Scott cheered when our former teacher walked in. He actually ran up and hugged her. We laughed, and I forgot all about being peeved. What can I say; it was Scott.
Mrs. Woods hugged him back. She was genuinely happy to see us. And she was genuinely surprised by who arrived next; so was I, though I didn’t show it. I carried on as if nothing monumental had occurred, but let me be clear, the chain of events that followed made everything else possible.
Gavin finally showed up—and Mrs. Magenta was with him! Instantly the room went silent. This, of course, was not us acting normal. On the contrary, our frozen bodies and stunned expressions were dead giveaways that we were onto them.
Poker face, Natalie! Do something!
“Hi, Gavin,” I said. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. I see you’ve gone and recruited Mrs. Magenta to give us a hand. Great thinking. Thank you for coming to the first meeting of the newly resurrected school paper, Mrs. Magenta.”
She smiled at me, but there was no such exchange of pleasantries between her and Mrs. Woods. We had finally cleared a major obstacle and brought mother and daughter together. Now the hard work was just beginning.
“Okay, everyone, listen up,” I continued. “Our mission is simple: we’re going to create the best newspaper Lake View Middle School has ever known—”
“What’s it called?” Scott interrupted.
“I don’t know yet, so start thinking about names. We also need to decide on our various roles—”
“What various roles?” Scott interrupted again.
I didn’t mind; I was glad he was excited. “Well, for example, we’ll need a sports reporter,” I said.
“That’s me!” Scott cried. “That’s me!”
We laughed. “Okay,” I said, “you’ve got the job. We also need someone to add art. I thought you might agree to that, Gavin. And maybe Mrs. Magenta can help you?”
They nodded.
“We’ll also need a photographer and more writers,” I continued. “I’ll be responsible for taking your work and formatting and editing the final paper. Of course, I’ll also write an editorial for each edition. And Mrs. Woods will be here to assist whoever needs it and to help with getting the copies made when we go to print.”
Once I got all of that out of my mouth, I realized how ambitious it sounded, and maybe daunting, but Scott’s excitement overruled any of our concerns.
“I’m going to write the best sports report ever!” Scott cried. “And it’s going to help Gavin and me win the team.”
“Win the team?” I repeated.
“Never mind,” Gavin said, nipping that in the bud. He gave Scott a look that meant, Zip it.
Whatever. I didn’t have time to worry about any of that, because we needed to proceed. “Does anyone else have ideas about what we can include in our first edition?”
“Maybe a story about our after-school program with Mrs. Magenta?” Trevor suggested.
“Super idea,” Scott said.
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Woods agreed.
I would’ve replied, but I couldn’t get my mouth to say anything. I settled for smiling and nodding.
By the end of our first meeting, we had a plan, and we had a deadline established. Most important, we had Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta in the same place at the same time. Now we just had to get them together more often. Easier said than done, but we’d managed this much, so there was hope for us yet.
Seventh grade finally got into a routine after the first month of school, and that was a good thing because I do better with routines. My deluxe clipboard was holding all the papers my teachers kept passing out, even though I didn’t need them. I read that stuff once and had it memorized. Classes were easy, but that was a good thing, too, because that meant I got to put my energy and attention on more important matters, like Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta, football, and my sports article—nothing was easy about those projects.
Fixing the relationship between Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta was turning out to be the hardest puzzle I’d ever worked on. And even though Mr. Allen had agreed to let us start visiting the Senior Center after practice, that didn’t fix football. I was happy that I wasn’t missing practice, but practice still stunk.
Coach kept giving Gavin and me the same advice: win the team. We were trying, but it wasn’t making a difference.
“I never said it would happen overnight,” Coach said. “You’re not quitters, are you?”
We shook our heads.
“Boys, some things in life are worth fighting for.”
“What did you have to fight for?” I asked him.
Gavin elbowed me. “That’s kinda personal,” he whispered.
I didn’t mean to be nosey, but I wanted to know.
“I’m fighting now, Junior….I’m fighting now.”
Grandpa squeezed my shoulder. I wished Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta could’ve heard Coach talking. I wanted to solve their family puzzle now more than ever.
Coach’s words stuck with us, and we kept fighting, but Gavin still wasn’t seeing the field and Coach Holmes never wanted my stats and analysis. And that was too bad. I could’ve told him not to run the option against the Knights because Nicky didn’t know how to carry out the fake. He got hit and fumbled. The Knights recovered the ball, and we lost. I could’ve told Coach Holmes not to run that bootleg play to the left like he had against the Hornets—the one that cost us the game. We’d had a man open down the field, but Nicky can’t
run to his left and still throw. After winning our opening game, we’d dropped five in a row, and we hadn’t managed a touchdown since Gavin’s pass to Mark.
Coach Holmes blamed everything on poor blocking, but that wasn’t true, and the other guys on the field knew it. Maybe Gavin and I weren’t winning the team, but Coach Holmes was losing them. And so was Nicky. I heard it in the locker room.
“It was the same garbage last year,” one returning player grumbled.
“I’d hoped it’d be better this season, but it’s even worse,” said another. And I saw it during practice when Nicky was on the ground and no one bothered to help him up.
That was the stat I wanted to give Coach Holmes. That was the one I wanted to put in my newspaper article, but I couldn’t. Being a sports reporter was hard.
I’d never struggled to say what I thought before. Just the opposite. I blurted stuff out and realized my mistake afterward. But with writing, I got to see my words and erase them before they were printed, so that kept me from saying what I maybe shouldn’t. It also kept me from getting much written. My article was due to Natalie at the end of the following week, and I still didn’t know what to write. I wanted to do something that would make Coach Holmes happy, so that he might give Gavin and me a chance, but the only thing I could think of was a feature on Nicky, and I couldn’t come up with that many fake sentences.
It was a nice change on Monday when practice wasn’t all about Nicky. Instead Coach Holmes was making a huge fuss about it being Spirit Week. “You boys need to lead the charge. I expect all of you to be participating. Tomorrow is face paint day. That means I expect to see all of you with your faces prettied up. If you don’t have face paint, use your mother’s makeup. No excuses. Spirit Week needs to get all the students fired up. We’ve got a big game Friday night. Here. Under the lights.”