by B K Stevens
She thrust her right hand forward, and I knocked it aside. “Cut it out!” I yelled.
She jumped back about three feet. “I’m sorry!” Her eyes were huge, almost like she was scared of me.
“No,” I said. “I wasn’t really yelling at you. I was showing you how you should yell, when you use the block.”
She still looked scared. “We’re not supposed to yell in school.”
“Speak firmly, then,” I said, getting impatient. “Firmly, and sort of loudly. Now, this is called a same-side block. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. That’s for balance. Good. The trick is you’ve gotta put your whole body into the block. And you don’t shove the arm aside. You slap it.”
“We’re not supposed to slap—”
“It’s not a hard slap. We’ll do it in slow motion. Stick your right hand in my face again.”
She stuck her hand out cautiously, not getting anywhere near my face.
I had to step forward. “Okay. Now, I’m pivoting slightly on my foot, I’m bringing my left hand up and keeping it open, and I’m making contact with your right arm right below your wrist—see?—and I’m slapping it aside. Meanwhile, I’m bringing my right hand back to my waist in a fist, so I’ll be ready with a counter-punch if you—”
“We’re not supposed to—”
“You won’t really punch. But bring your fist back anyway. It looks cool, like you’re ready for anything. And when I slap—when I make contact with your arm, I’ll say ‘cut it out,’ loud and firm. That gets my spirits up, and it intimidates you. Let’s try again.”
We kept going over it, speeding up each time. She started to get into it—I could see that. “Good,” I said. “Now you try. I’ll stick my hand in your face, and you block it.”
“Don’t go too fast.”
“I won’t. Here it comes.” Slowly, I brought my hand forward. “High five, Cassie,” I said, making my voice high-pitched and mocking.
She slapped my arm aside, harder than I’d expected. “Please don’t,” she said.
“Good,” I said. “Good pivot, good power, and you put your whole body into it. But don’t look away after the block—keep your eyes on me, to let me know you won’t back down. And ‘please don’t’ is too polite. Don’t ask me to stop—order me. Try again.”
She got better and stronger every time, yelling “stop it,” speeding up, moving forward, backing me clear across the yard until I nearly stumbled backward into the bushes. Her face got flushed, her eyes shone, and her voice got louder. She kept her eyes right on me, but I don’t think she was seeing me anymore. I think she was seeing those girls, feeling the anger she felt every time they picked on her, putting that anger into her blocks. The last time, she slapped my arm aside so hard it stung. “Grow up!” she yelled.
“Great,” I said. “You’ve got it down cold. And ‘grow up’ is perfect. It’s strong, and it lets those girls know what you think of them—it puts you in a superior position. Fantastic!”
“You think so?” She stepped back. Her face still glowed, but she’d started to look doubtful again. “But doing it with you is one thing. Doing it with those girls—I don’t know if I can. Whenever they come up to me, I feel so awful. I feel scared. I’ll probably forget what I’m supposed to do.”
“So we’ll keep practicing. Tonight, tomorrow, as long as it takes. Coach Colson always said you have to practice a move a thousand times before it’s yours. Then, when you need it, it comes back like instinct. Want to practice more after dinner?”
“Aren’t you going out? Don’t you have a date with Suzette?”
“I’m never going out with Suzette again. She’s not a nice person—I realized that last night. Anyhow, I blew an English test, and I’ve got a retest Monday. I should study.”
Cassie’s face turned wistful. “Maybe I could help. If you’ve got terms and titles and stuff to learn, I could make flashcards and quiz you. But if you don’t feel like it, that’s okay.”
I didn’t feel like it. Doing flashcard drills with Cassie isn’t my idea of a fun Saturday night. But maybe it’d help her. I’d been acting like the big martial arts expert, telling her what to do. Maybe she’d feel good about taking a turn being the one in charge. “Thanks. Ms. Nguyen gave us a study guide full of terms and titles. I’ll give it to you, and you can make cards. When we need a break from studying, we’ll practice the block. There’s something else. The bake sale’s tomorrow. Want to come with me and help?”
I’d expected her to jump at it, but she smiled a quick little smile and looked away. “That’s okay. You’re already being really nice, by showing me the block and letting me make flashcards. I feel lots better. You don’t have to take me to the bake sale, too.”
I keep forgetting how smart she is. I felt like putting my arm around her shoulder, but maybe that’d be weird. “I’ve been a lousy big brother,” I said. “Haven’t I?”
She shrugged. “Cindy and Joanne have big brothers, too. You’re about typical.”
“That bad? Sorry.” This time, I did put my arm around her. “I’ll work on it.”
All evening, Cassie and I practiced the block, and she got good at it. She wanted to learn more, so I taught her a front kick. She got pretty good at that, too, and got excited, and said maybe she’d take tae kwon do—great idea, but I worried about how Mom and Dad would pay for it. She made flashcards and drilled me, and I picked things up faster than I’d expected. She said she’d make more flashcards, I promised to read all the assigned poems and stuff, and I started to think I might actually pass this test. Best of all, I showed her the packet Mr. Quinn gave me, and she zipped through it, churning out goals and objectives, finding ways to fill all the slots with tasks, plunking codes into little boxes. It was like a game to her—she enjoyed it. Then she went to bed, and I went to the kitchen to talk to Mom and Dad.
I started by being careful and ended up telling them a lot—nothing about Cassie, since I’d promised, but almost everything about me, even about going to Richmond twice, even about getting punched by Ted Ramsey and beat up by Bobby Davis. Mom said, “Goodness!” a lot, and Dad looked grim.
“When Davis came after you,” he said, “why didn’t you call 911?”
“I started to, after he’d forced us off the road. But he moved really quickly, and before I knew it, he was standing right next to the car, warning me not to call.”
“You should’ve called before Davis forced you off the road. You should’ve called the second you saw him. If anything like that happens again, will you?”
It wasn’t much to promise—he was right. “Definitely.”
“You should tell the police Davis attacked you and Berk,” Mom said. “That was a crime—you should report it. You should call Lieutenant Hill now.”
“He probably isn’t in this late.”
“Leave him a voice mail message. You have to call, Matt.”
I made the call. Like I’d predicted, he wasn’t in, so I left a message. On impulse, I told him about the fight club in Richmond, too, and said Bobby Davis might’ve once been Jefferson Davis Robert. Maybe that’d give Hill something to think about.
As soon as I hung up, Mom and Dad took turns lecturing me, telling me to be more careful, saying some things I’d done were too risky. They said it too many times, but that’s okay. If I ever have a son who does half the stupid stuff I’d done, I’ll probably lecture him even more. At least they didn’t say I had to stop trying to figure out why Coach had been killed or talk about never leaving the house again.
Dad stood up. “It’s almost midnight. We should get to bed. Matt, whatever happens, let us know. Even if you think we can’t help, tell us what’s going on. Okay?”
“I will,” I said. Whenever possible, I thought.
Thirty-one
Practically the whole town showed up for the bake sale. That included Lieutenant Hill.
Then I spotted Lieutenant Hill and poked Berk’s arm. “Look,” I said. “I bet he got my message and wants to talk to me.”
But when he got to our table, Hill pointed at Berk. “Widrig, right? Let’s see if you can back up his story. Foley, don’t go anywhere.”
What’d he think, that I’d skip town because I was guilty of reporting a crime? I watched them walk to the far end of the parking lot, watched Berk talking and gesturing while Hill, for once, took notes. Progress, I thought.
Mr. Carver, our assistant principal, came over to pay for some blueberry scones. “Wonderful turnout, Matt. It’s quite a tribute to Mr. Colson—and to you, for organizing everything so well.” He looked around the parking lot. “It’s a tribute to Ridgecrest, too. Not all communities would show so much support for a high-school fundraiser. I’ll miss this place.”
I looked up, stunned. “You’ll miss it? You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’ve accepted a position at a school in Roanoke. Bigger school, new challenges. Dr. Lombardo decided there’s no need for a formal announcement.”
“Lots of people will be disappointed,” I said. “We were all hoping you’d be the next principal.”
He laughed but didn’t sound amused. “Not exactly. Take care, Matt.”
Damn, I thought. If he’s not the new principal, who is?
That’s when Lieutenant Hill and Berk came back. “All right,” Hill said. “You two have your stories straight. It could all be lies, but at least you’re telling the same lies. Why didn’t you report this alleged attack sooner?”
“We didn’t think you’d listen,” I said. “Every time we try to talk to you, you threaten us.”
“I’ve never threatened you. I gave you good advice. It still stands. Mind your own business. This thing with Davis—if it really happened—should’ve shown you it’s not smart to bother people with stupid questions.”
“We never asked Davis questions,” Berk said. “He said he’d promised someone he’d make us stop. Are you gonna find out who he’d promised?”
Hill shook his head. “Still telling me how to do my job, huh? And what’s this business about Jefferson Davis Roberts? How’d you find out about him?”
“I’d heard stories,” I said, “and I was looking through old yearbooks. Later, we found this in an old newspaper.” I took out my folded-up picture of Roberts. “To me, that looks like Davis.”
Hill barely glanced at it. “Not to me. And if Davis was Roberts, he’d be afraid to come back here.”
“I don’t think Davis is afraid of much these days,” I said. “And he probably figured no one would recognize him after all this time, especially since he’s dyed his hair and built his body up so much. Guess he was right.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize Davis,” Berk said. “You spent a long time questioning him, looking him right in the face.”
That made Hill flush. “Do I look like someone who goes to track meets? I never met Roberts in person. And by the time I went to his house to arrest him, he’d disappeared. Sneaky bastard.” He picked the picture up and stared at it. “Anyhow, I don’t think for one minute Davis and Roberts are the same person. You’re good at coming up with crazy theories, but you got no proof.”
“You could probably find proof,” I said, “if you questioned Davis. Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. When I found the picture of Roberts, I was looking for pictures of Ted Ramsey. He and Roberts were at Ridgecrest High at the same time. Maybe they knew each other.”
“More crazy theories,” Hill said, and walked off. But he took the picture of Roberts with him.
I turned to Berk. “He asked about what happened with Davis?”
“Yeah, and about the fight club. He made me go over everything ten times, probably hoping I’d mess up and contradict something you’d said. I didn’t.”
I wanted to talk more, but people kept bringing us things they wanted to buy, and we had to focus on making change. Finally, Suzette came over, got a folding chair, set it down close to mine, and kissed my cheek.
“Sorry I’m a little late.” She was almost an hour late. She plunked down a plate of brownies. “My mother was too hungover to come today—so what else is new?—but she sent these. Don’t eat one by mistake. Hi, Berk.”
He nodded but kept his face blank. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about Suzette, so all he knew was we’d gone out again Friday. And with her kissing me in public, he probably figured we were a couple.
“I can’t believe how many people showed up,” she said. “I guess I did a really good job on publicity, huh? Look—there’s Ashley Vaughn. Everybody says she’ll be head cheerleader next year. And there’s Ken Mulligan, and—oh, look! There’s Carolyn Olson! And Paul’s with her! Carolyn! Over here!”
Suzette stood up and waved. Carolyn waved back, said something to Paul, and tugged on his arm, pulling him toward us. He didn’t look happy, but he came.
Suzette gave Carolyn a big hug. “It’s great to see you! Oh, my God! I love that sweater!”
“Thanks.” Carolyn smiled at her, then at me. “Now, why am I not surprised to see you two together? I’ve been hearing lots of talk about you. Quite the hot new couple, aren’t you?”
“That’s so silly!” Suzette said, and giggled, looping her hand around my arm. “We’re just friends—right, Matt?” She cast an adoring look at me.
I wouldn’t turn my head to look at her. “Yes,” I said. God, I hated this.
Carolyn laughed. “A man of few words—just like my tough guy.” She punched Paul’s arm playfully. “Right, tough guy?”
“Whatever you say.” Paul smiled at her before turning to me. “I heard you had a shiner the other day.”
I shrugged. “Martial arts mishap. No big deal.”
“You know who really got beat up?” Suzette said. “That witch-girl, Marie Ramsey. Megan says her mother caught her doing a satanic ritual and let her have it.”
“I heard her brother caught her in bed with one of her mother’s boyfriends,” Carolyn said, “and did a number on both of them. She’s such a slut, just like her big sister. Runs in the family, I guess.”
Did Paul cringe when Carolyn referred to Nina? I thought so. I hoped so. Carolyn’s like Suzette, I realized. Pretty, bubbly, vicious.
They chattered for a few minutes, until Paul sighed. “Come on, Carolyn. Pick out what you want, and let’s go.”
Carolyn punched his arm again. “I don’t want anything. All those calories—I never eat stuff like this. You two be good, now!”
Neither of them had said a word to Berk. Suzette waved goodbye, then gave me a flirty look. “So, are you’re finished helping your father with whatever it was? You could come over tonight, and we can finally have that ice cream.”
“I’ve still got that test to study for.” The hell with this, I thought. “I’ll have to study every chance I get now, because my father’s gonna need my help while he gets his handyman business going.”
“Handyman business? Isn’t he vice president at Edson?”
“He was never vice president. He used to be a general contractor, but he quit. Now he’s doing odd jobs—fixing toilets, cleaning septic tanks. It’s
hard making a living that way, so I’ll be helping him on weekends. Lots of afternoons and evenings during the week, too.”
She looked shocked. “What about basketball?”
I let out a sigh. “I hope I can squeeze it in. Plus did you hear about the huge fire at Wendy’s World? That’s where my mom works—or worked. There was major damage—it may not re-open. She could lose her job, too. I hope we don’t have to sell our house and my mom’s car. As for college—we’ll see.”
She stared at the table. I could almost hear the little gears and wheels in her brain cranking, adjusting to new information. She stood up. “Can you guys handle things? Megan’s here. I should say hi.” She sprinted off.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” Berk said. He looked stricken—he’d stopped feeling sorry for himself. “I didn’t realize things were so rough.”
“They’re not.” I tossed two quarters into the cash box and took one of Mrs. Link’s brownies. Suzette had said her mother baked lousy brownies, so I was determined to eat one, as my own dumb way of proving I didn’t believe anything Suzette said. “It’ll take a while before my dad’s business gets going, but I won’t have to help him all the time. And no way am I giving up basketball, and I should be okay for college.”
“You said you might have to sell your house and your mom’s car.”
“No, I said I hoped we wouldn’t have to. I bet we won’t.” I bit into the brownie. Damn. Suzette hadn’t lied about this. “I figured if Suzette knew my dad doesn’t have a regular job and my mom might be out of work, if she thought I couldn’t take her out and spend money on her, she’d take off. Guess I was right.”
“I don’t get it. I thought she really liked you.”
“Berk, she doesn’t even know me. We’ve gone out twice, and we haven’t spent one minute talking about anything real. I think the only reason she wanted to go out with me is because Ryan Carter already has a girlfriend.”
“Ryan Carter? What’s he got to do with it?”
I downed some orange soda to wash away the burned chocolate taste. “He’ll probably be captain of the football team next year. He’s not available, so Suzette settled for me. I think she wanted to date a senior next year, a team captain. Then she could lord it over her girlfriends, be a big deal at homecoming, go to senior prom, all that. After prom, she’d probably dump me, go after a junior who looked like a good bet for team captain, get to be a big deal all over again. I decided to speed things up.”