Fireside
Page 14
“How is that any less weird than Bo?” asked AJ.
“You got me. Hey, listen, I thought after we finish with the school stuff today, we could go to the gym. I have to stay in training. Sixty throws a day, minimum. You might like the gym. Good pickup games of basketball, a pool. Great snack bar, too. What do you say?”
“Sounds okay.”
So much for trying to sweet-talk the kid. And honestly, Bo didn’t blame him for being unhappy and suspicious. Given the way Yolanda had misrepresented Bo to AJ, it was no wonder the boy didn’t trust him. To salve her own conscience, or perhaps to mollify her now-ex-husband, she’d led AJ to believe his biological father had never cared enough to want to see him, and that the presents and monthly checks were sent out of guilt. She’d characterized him as a ballplayer living the high life. That part, at least, had a grain of truth. He was a baseball player. If drinking and getting laid regularly constituted the high life, then yeah, he’d cop to that. What was omitted was the fact that, up until a couple of months ago, he’d earned next to nothing from baseball. The checks often represented his food budget for the week. Yet he’d never once considered stiffing AJ. Bo remembered what poverty was like, and he wouldn’t wish it on any kid.
No doubt the idea of a new school was contributing to AJ’s sullen mood.
Bo didn’t say anything, though, and he didn’t let AJ’s silence bother him. The boy was doing okay, considering everything he’d been through.
They turned down a freshly plowed street toward the town square, a bustling area of shops and restaurants and old-fashioned brick buildings. A few blocks later they arrived at their destination—Avalon Middle School. The moment the Z4 nosed into a visitor’s spot in the parking lot, Bo had the sensation that all the air had been sucked out of the car’s interior. The tension was that strong and palpable.
“It’s going to be—” He broke off, regrouped. No point in filling the kid’s head with platitudes. “Listen, we got no choice about this. The best thing you can do for your mother is toe the line, and that means going to school—”
AJ took a deep breath like a swimmer about to dive into frigid water, and pushed his way out of the car. At the main entrance, Bo identified them through the intercom and they were buzzed inside. A sign indicated that the main office was about halfway down the hall. It was a long, deserted hallway lined with lockers on one side and banners and announcements on the other. There was a flyer announcing a broomball tournament, a sport that was probably as foreign to AJ as kabuki theater. The classroom doors were shut, though he could see AJ’s nervous glance darting to the narrow glass windows as he sought a glimpse inside at the other students.
AJ’s pace quickened, as though he didn’t want to linger in the hall. His instincts proved correct, because a few seconds later, a bell shrilled through the hallway. Damn. Bo had forgotten that singular shriek of the school bell, but AJ clearly had not; he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to hunker down into his parka like a turtle into its shell. The floodgates burst open and students flowed in a churning mass from the classrooms.
Another thing Bo had forgotten—how god-awful loud kids tended to be. There was shouting, laughter, the stamping of feet. A few kids spotted Bo and gave him a wide berth; he was an adult. An interloper. Fewer still noticed AJ, but those who did stared holes through him. Watching them, Bo realized diversity was not a strong suit at this school. Amid the mostly-Anglo kids, AJ already looked like a misfit.
Battling the current of students flowing through the hallway, they made their way to the office. Though quieter than the corridor, the office was a hive of activity, with clerical workers at computer terminals, teachers checking their in-boxes, the school nurse dealing with two peaked-looking students. At the front counter, Bo waited for a few minutes. No one noticed them.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said to one of the women working at a computer.
Glancing up at him, she seemed harried and overworked, with wispy pale hair and an air of distraction. The sign on her desk identified her as Ms. Jensen, the attendance clerk. “Can I help you?”
He offered his best smile, the one that usually worked even on the crankiest of females. “Bo Crutcher,” he said, “and this is my son, AJ Martinez. I called earlier. I’m here to enroll him.”
The smile failed him. She pulled her mouth into a prune shape. Then she took out a clipboard and handed it to him. “You’ll need to fill out this release for his records. Date and sign it at the bottom.”
Her brusque manner irritated Bo. AJ didn’t seem surprised. Just subdued.
Bo had come prepared—Sophie had told him to bring all the documentation he had. He handed Mrs. Jensen a thick manila envelope. “Here’s his birth certificate, immunization record and latest progress report and contact information for his school. And an emergency guardianship form. He just moved here from Houston.”
She paged through the documents. “What’s the emergency?”
“His mother had to go away...temporarily.”
“How is that an emergency?”
“How is that your business?” Bo asked the question with a smile, but the question made his point.
She sniffed. “Proof of residency?”
“Right here.” He indicated the lease agreement he’d just signed with Mrs. van Dorn.
“Social security card?”
Bo turned to AJ. “You got one?”
AJ shook his head.
“Will mine do?” Bo asked, taking his from his wallet.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “He has thirty days. In this country, it’s standard.”
Now he got it—the attitude, the suspicion. This woman had made up her mind about AJ, tried and convicted him, knowing nothing more than the kid’s name. “In this country, it’s mandatory for a kid to go to school,” he said.
“Does he speak English?” she asked. “Because the ESL classes meet on a different campus—”
“Lemme check on that,” said Bo. “Yo, AJ, ¿habla inglés?”
“Dunno. Is that what they speak in this country?” AJ asked quietly but pointedly.
Mrs. Jensen pruned her mouth at him, then studied the paperwork they’d brought. “This isn’t certified,” she said, handling the birth certificate as though it smelled bad.
“It’s a certificate,” Bo said. “Doesn’t that mean it’s certified?”
“I need a certified certificate. Not a hospital certificate. Not a mother or souvenir copy. A certified certificate. He cannot be enrolled until I have that, along with the records from his previous school. And I can’t send for the records until you complete this form.” She indicated the pages on the clipboard.
“I’ll be quick, ma’am,” Bo said, filling out the form. He bit his tongue. He knew if he let go of it, he’d be in big trouble. But he couldn’t help himself. As he handed over the clipboard, he said, “I know you must be in a hurry to get to your doctor appointment.”
The woman scowled. “I don’t have a doctor’s appointment.”
“Really? You might need one, ma’am.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, to do something about that stick.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. That stick. You know, the one you got stuck up your ass. You’ll be a lot happier once that’s removed. Come on, AJ. Let’s go.”
The hallway had cleared out by then. “You shouldn’t have said that,” AJ whispered.
“It was totally worth it,” Bo said, feeling the first flicker of camaraderie with him. “Did you see her face?”
At the end of the hall, by the exit, a janitor was swabbing snow and slush with a mop. It didn’t escape Bo that this was the only Hispanic person they’d seen all morning. Glancing at AJ, he guessed that the boy had noticed this, too.
He said nothing, but checked the
new-student brochure. “Looks like we’ve got to pick up some school supplies for you,” he said, adding it to his list of errands. As he planned out the things they had to do before AJ started school, Bo finally had to acknowledge that his life had just gotten immeasurably more complicated. Suddenly finding himself in charge of a boy was not quite the same as rescuing a kitten or getting a goldfish. Here was somebody depending on him, twenty-four/seven. His life was not All About Bo Crutcher anymore.
People juggled work and family all the time, he reminded himself. He’d never thought about just how they did, though.
Before the phone call from Yolanda, he was happily immersed in his career. The preseason agreement with the Yankees was the answer to every dream he’d ever had, yet he hesitated to explain to AJ exactly what it was going to mean in practical terms. A major-league career was all-consuming, and the three-ring circus was about to begin. Bo was supposed to hit the road soon, heading down to Virginia for the annual rookie development program, known as Fame School.
He didn’t relish telling AJ. The boy had already been ripped from his mother. And although Bo wasn’t any kind of father, he was all the kid had, for the moment, anyway. He suspected AJ might not warm up to the idea that Bo, too, had to go away, regardless of the reason. He kept rehearsing ways to explain the situation, but there was really no good way to say it—except to say it.
Tonight, then. At dinner, Bo would explain about the Yankees contract, and how he had to go away for the rookie development program.
Which would probably go over like a fart in church.
* * *
“Now what?” AJ asked peevishly, buckling his seat belt. He felt totally freaked out. Enrolling in school was huge. It seemed to take him even further away from his mom.
“How about we have a little fun this afternoon? Let’s head to the gym.”
“That’s your idea of fun?”
“We could always go back to the school, bug the attendance clerk some more.”
AJ knew what Bo was up to. He was trying to keep him from being homesick for his mom. It kind of worked. A little bit, sometimes.
“I know what you’re doing,” AJ said.
“I’m glad you do,” Bo said with laughter in his voice. “Because most days, I haven’t got a clue.”
“I mean, I know what you’re doing with me. You’re trying to make me like it here by doing all this fun stuff with me.”
“Oh, busted,” Bo said. “So is it working?”
“Maybe a little bit. Sometimes.”
“Nothing’s going to keep you from missing your mom, AJ. That doesn’t mean you have to suffer every second she’s away. It doesn’t help her, and she wouldn’t want you to be miserable. Agreed?”
He shrugged, looked out the window. It was weird how he was already getting used to the small town. Probably because there was so little to it—Main Street and the town square, the city park at the lakeshore, the train station.
Bo turned into the parking lot of the big barnlike building that housed the sports complex. School was out for the day, and kids were hanging around. It made AJ miss his cholos back home. They never went to a gym or anything. There was no money for that. AJ thought about all the flyers given out at school—Sign up for Youth Soccer! Little League tryouts next week! Swim Team starts soon!—that had never made it home. His mom’s reaction was always the same: “It’s a lot of money, chico tierno...” By second grade, he’d learned to leave the flyers in the trash.
“Here we are,” Bo announced. “The Arthur Rey Gymnasium and Aquatic Center. Sophie loaned me some of Max’s gym shorts for you. We might be able to find some swim trunks in the lost and found.”
“I’m not swimming,” AJ said, folding his arms across his middle.
“Not right away, you aren’t,” Bo said. “We’re going to have a game of one-on-one first.”
“Forget it.”
“Fine. You can sit on the bench while I find a pick-up game.”
AJ hesitated. “See? This is what I hate. I only get two choices and they both suck.”
Just for a second, hurt flashed across Bo’s face. AJ wished he hadn’t seen it. He wished he hadn’t caused it. He wished he wasn’t starting to care whether or not Bo’s feelings were hurt. “Why do you keep trying to turn me into someone I’m not?” he lashed out.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
AJ scowled. “You want me to be athletic like you. I’m not like that. I’m not cool and I’m not athletic.”
“Let me tell you something,” Bo said. “The only thing wrong with you is your attitude. You know I’m right.” He killed the engine and turned to face AJ. “When I was in junior high, I was like every other kid in Texas. I wanted to go out for football. I would’ve made it, too. But at tryouts, the coach sent me home.”
“Why? Weren’t you any good?”
“I was okay. And sure, I could have played football. But the coach took me aside and said I even had a decent shot at a football scholarship at one of the smaller schools.”
“So why did he reject you?”
“Because he wanted more for me. And he didn’t want me getting hurt. See, playing football, I’d end up with injuries, maybe one that would end up doing permanent damage. Or keeping me from playing a sport I’m a lot better at.”
“Like baseball.”
“Uh-huh. But, man, I was humiliated. Back then, I didn’t understand what a huge favor they were doing me.”
“I still don’t want to put on gym clothes. And I really don’t want to put on swim trunks. People will think I’m a freak.”
“I’m not going to force you to put on anything.” Bo got out of the car and grabbed a gym bag from the trunk. He leaned way down into the car. “You can either follow me...or freeze. Your choice.”
AJ got out and slammed the door.
“And something else,” Bo said as they headed inside. “You wouldn’t worry so much about what people think of you if you knew how little they did.”
In the locker room, they changed into gym clothes. AJ wore a large gray T-shirt and some long shorts that were too big. He felt like a total dweeb, but nobody paid him much attention. The basketball court was busy with people who were totally focused on playing. The court was filled with the sounds of thumping basketballs and shoes squeaking on polished wood. Bo grabbed a ball and effortlessly dribbled it in a circle around himself, then passed it to AJ.
He put up his hands to protect himself, stopping the ball. “I suck at this,” he said.
“Naw, you just need some practice.” Bo got out another ball and demonstrated some dribbling techniques. “Loose,” he said. “Loose and easy. Treat the ball like it’s a dinner roll, hot out of the oven. You barely need to touch it.”
The advice worked pretty well. They practiced dribbling and passing. Bo didn’t seem too concerned about shooting hoops, which was fine with AJ since he’d probably end up missing anyway.
“Quit thinking so much,” Bo said.
“How can you tell I’m thinking?”
“It makes you slow and stiff.”
“So how do I stop?”
The ball flew straight at his face, fast and hard. He plucked it out of the air and bounce-passed it back to Bo.
“Like that,” Bo said with a grin. “You let your reflexes take over. Give your brain a rest.”
AJ didn’t understand why the technique worked, but it did. Pretty soon, he was dribbling and feinting like a real player. Weird. No one had ever bothered to show him how to play a sport before. His stepdad always used to be busy, and his mother didn’t really know any sports. Bo kind of led him into practicing shots. AJ missed more than he made, but he sank a few.
“You’re quick study,” Bo said.
AJ glanced at the clock. To his amazement, an hour had gone by. He was drenched in sweat, and so was Bo.
“No fair,” AJ protested.
“Life’s not fair. Deal with it.”
AJ was determined to win, but he was hopeless against Bo. That didn’t stop him from trying. He feinted and spun around, tried shot after shot and made some headway, but in the end, Bo reached a winning twenty-one long before AJ.
“Don’t take it too hard,” Bo said, tossing him the ball to put away. “Nobody beats me at games. Ever.”
“Good to know.”
Two kids had come in and were watching him. He figured they’d start snickering or whispering about him but instead, they came over when Bo waved at them.
“Hey,” one of them called. “How about a game?”
AJ checked with Bo, who nodded. “Go ahead. I’m going to get some water.”
The game with the other kids went okay. He didn’t win but he held his own. After a short while, they were all as hot and sweaty as AJ. The boys told him their names were Shane and Lehigh. They went to the middle school. And both of them knew who Bo Crutcher was. AJ wondered if that meant Bo was famous.
“Let’s go jump in the pool,” Shane suggested.
“Yeah,” said Lehigh. “Come on, AJ.”
“I don’t have my trunks.”
“Just wear those,” Bo said, indicating his long nylon shorts. He’d been watching from the sidelines, guzzling water from a plastic bottle.