“Nothing, really.”
“Your friend plays football too, right?”
“Yeah, Caleb.”
“What does he think of all this?”
“He told me I should do it. And he kind of told me I shouldn’t. He’s been a little unclear on the issue.”
“What about his friends?”
“I don’t really know. I haven’t asked him.”
“Any chance they’re a little afraid of you? I mean, let’s say you try out and you’re great. You could take a spot away from one of the guys. That would be tough to live down for a teenage boy—losing their spot to a girl.”
I laughed. “Yeah, they should be afraid.”
Beth laughed too. “Can I quote you on that?”
“What do you mean, like for the news? On TV?”
“This wouldn’t be on TV,” Beth said. “I also write stories for the Pilchuck Observer.”
I looked at Mom, who was charming an older couple. She had been talking to them the whole time Beth and I had been chatting. I realized how hard she was working and how badly she wanted to be mayor. Why couldn’t she look at me and see how badly I wanted to play football? “Sure,” I said to Beth, deciding it was time to speak up. “You can quote me.”
SATURDAY, JULY 9
“Dude, this has to stop.”
Aaron Parker pointed to a tweet on his phone. We were standing in front of the rec center, where Dobie and I had come to shoot hoops. Enough time had gone by since my argument with Dobie. We were over it.
@PilchuckObserver. The football girl has a message for the boys: Be afraid.
There was a link to an article.
I didn’t need to read the rest of it.
“Maybe she didn’t say it exactly like that,” I guessed. “Sometimes people’s words get twisted around in the media.”
Aaron didn’t buy it. “Listen, we have a chance to be really good this year. We don’t want her getting in the way of that.”
“How does one girl get in the way of anything?” I asked. “I mean, she might not even make the team.”
“It’s a distraction,” Aaron answered, sounding reasonable. “Coach says our job is to focus on winning football games. How are we supposed to do that if everyone’s talking about the football girl? You know, if her mom is the mayor, we’ll never get a new football stadium?”
“I guess,” I said. I thought about pointing out to Aaron that the only people distracted by Tessa were the people who didn’t want her on the team. But I also didn’t feel right arguing with him. I was the new guy. The rookie. Aaron was a big deal on the team, and I wanted to stay on his good side.
“So you’ll talk to her?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Aaron held out his fist. “You’re a champ, McCleary,” he said. “It’ll be better this way. She’ll find her own thing, and you’ll be on your way to the big time.” Then he left me alone.
I went inside, wondering if the big time meant the same thing to me that it did to Aaron. I had a feeling that for Aaron the big time was starting on varsity, winning games, district, state. I’d be a star. I’d get my picture in the paper, and Dad would frame the picture to hang on the wall in the shop to prove that the McCleary family tradition lived on. College coaches would call. It all sounded great. But I didn’t know if that was exactly what I wanted.
—
Late that night, I got up to go to the bathroom. The light was on in Charlie’s room. I hadn’t seen him for a week. I peeked inside. The bed was stripped. There were boxes stacked against the wall. Suddenly it hit home. This was really happening. Charlie was leaving. For a moment, I was actually afraid he was already gone.
I found Charlie in the kitchen spreading peanut butter on crackers and then popping them into his mouth one by one like it was the only thing he really wanted to do with his life.
“Eat much?” I asked.
Charlie swore. “You scared me,” he said.
“Why is all your stuff in boxes?”
“I’m out,” Charlie answered, like he’d given up. “I found a place in Spokane. I’m moving in next week. It’s faster than I thought, but I gotta do it. I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Today. Whatever time this makes it.”
I grabbed a handful of crackers, and Charlie passed me the peanut butter. After eating a few, I could see why he seemed so calm. Peanut butter slowed everything down. It was hard to get upset. Anyway, I knew there was no fighting this. Charlie was leaving.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said.
“You put the knife into the jar and then spread it across the cracker,” Charlie said with a straight face.
“Not that.” Then I told him about my conversation with Aaron.
“I don’t know, man,” Charlie said. “I feel like whatever I say is going to be wrong, because all I can say is what I would do, and I’m right less than half the time.”
“What would you do?”
“What are your options?”
“I guess I can either tell Tessa to give it up or I can let her do what she wants to do.”
Charlie laughed so hard, bits of cracker flew across the table. “Sorry, dude. But I think you just answered your own question.”
“What do you mean?”
“That first option is a joke. What do you think will happen if you tell Tessa to give it up?” Charlie put tell in air quotes. “I saw the tweet. She’s made it pretty clear she means business. I don’t think she’s going to let anyone talk her out of this now.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. She’d probably ignore me.”
“Right. So you really only have one option.”
“Let her do what she wants to do.”
“Pretty much, bro.”
That was not what I wanted to hear. I could see it from Tessa’s point of view, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I had hoped Charlie would tell me that, yeah, Tessa had a right to pursue her dream, but it wasn’t fair for her to do it at my expense. “What do I tell Aaron?”
“Tell him whatever you want,” Charlie said. “Tell him you tried but she wouldn’t listen. Tell him it’s a free country. Tell him if he hates the idea of having a girl on the team, he should try a new sport himself.”
“Ha! He’ll love that.”
“Look, here’s all I can say. When we were talking on that camping trip, you were juiced. I could see it. This girl matters to you. I’ve never seen you so lovestruck over football.”
“I’m not lovestruck,” I said.
Charlie held his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “Little bit.”
We munched on crackers without saying anything for a few minutes. Eventually Charlie went to the fridge and came back with a carton of milk, which we passed back and forth without using glasses.
“Mom would kill us,” I said.
“This is easier,” Charlie answered. “I think I’m going to like living alone.”
“How do you know you’re doing the right thing?” I asked. “What if this doesn’t work out?”
“There’s always a chance it won’t work if I go,” Charlie said. “But there’s a hundred percent chance it won’t work if I don’t.”
“You know I suck at math,” I said.
“My gut says go,” Charlie said. “Is that better?”
“Can I come with you?”
“Man, that would be great,” Charlie said with a smile. “The McCleary brothers staying up all night eating peanut butter and crackers. Too bad I won’t be able to afford cable.”
“I’m staying,” I said.
Charlie raised the milk carton. “Cheers, man. I’m gonna miss you. I’ll be home to visit before you know it.”
WEDNESDAY, JULY 13
There was a blank permission slip for football camp folded in a book on my desk. I’d picked it up at the rec center so I could give it to Mom to sign when I finally found the nerve to ask her. I had to move fast, though. Football camp started in a few days.
I figured if I did enough to get Mom elected mayor, she might do me a favor and let me go to football camp.
“Isn’t the election in November?” Marina asked.
“Jane says she has to make an early impression,” I said, drawing out Mom’s name like it belonged to someone very important.
Marina and I worked the bridge for most of the morning. We’d lean over the rail and wave, and whenever a car honked, we’d jump up and down. I’m sure we looked loopy, but it was fun, even though we weren’t getting paid and my eyebrows were melting off my face. When the heat got too intense, we sat in the shade and gulped water.
“So, what else is new?” Marina asked, like she had something on her mind.
“Have I been unpleasant?” I blurted. It wasn’t something I’d planned to ask. But it was suddenly something I had to know.
“Define unpleasant,” Marina said carefully.
“Selfish. Mean. Murderous.”
“I wouldn’t say you’ve been mean.”
“Just selfish and murderous?”
“Maybe a little bit selfish,” Marina answered. “But I forgive you. You seem remorseful.”
“I am sorry,” I said, looking at Marina. “I guess I’ve been thinking about myself a lot this summer.”
“Well, that is the definition of selfish.”
“I wish I could snap my fingers and everything complicated going on in my life would disappear and it would all be normal and boring.”
“Liar,” said Marina.
“Okay, but I am sorry,” I repeated.
“Don’t feel bad. You just have a wicked case of Caleb fever.”
“Marina!”
“He fried your brain, Tessa. You can plead insanity.”
“You’re a liar!” I said, laughing and yelling at the same time. “That boy did not fry this girl’s brain.”
“Then what’s the whole football thing about?”
“I’ll tell you as long as you swear this is just two girls talking about football, okay? No boys.”
“No boys,” Marina promised.
“I can still see the ball coming toward me,” I said.
Marina buried her head in her hands. “Oh, why did I ask?”
“Give me a chance to finish,” I told Marina. “It’s not about one play. It was, at first. Now it’s like…Have you ever gone to a restaurant and you knew you wanted the fish taco, until someone said ‘You should get the fish taco,’ and suddenly you didn’t want the fish taco at all? You wanted the burger. That’s how I feel. People have always been telling me to order the fish tacos, and now I am finally ordering the burger I want because, screw them, it’s my life.”
“What if you order the burger and you don’t like it, and then it’s too late because the fish tacos are all gone?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. And anyway, it’s a little late now,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I showed Marina the “be afraid” tweet. “I kind of threw it down. Publicly.”
“I saw it,” Marina said. “But I promise I didn’t retweet it. I was afraid.”
“So am I,” I said.
“What do you mean? The tweet was quoting what you said.”
“But what if you’re right? What if I choose football and it’s all wrong and I can’t go back?”
Marina shrugged. “What if you choose cross-country and you spend the rest of high school wondering what would have happened if you had chosen football?”
I didn’t have any answers. All I could think was that life would be simpler if I had never touched a football. Still, it felt good to really talk with Marina. I was doing something I wanted to do, not to please someone else. Before we left, I took a picture of us on the bridge and sent it to Lexie with a note.
Marina says she really forgives me. Do you?
Lexie wrote back.
Do I have a choice?
It was late in the evening on the day Charlie officially moved out. I was in the living room, flipping through one of Charlie’s old playbooks, when Dad walked in with two ice cream sandwiches.
“You want one?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
We ate in silence for a few moments.
“How you doing?” he asked me at last.
“Good,” I said. “I guess.”
“I miss him too,” Dad replied. “You know that, right?”
I couldn’t honestly tell him that I did. I think he knew it. He exhaled, a little sadly, and said, “Yeah. I can see how it looked. I lost my patience. You get ideas about choices you want someone to make, and you forget whose choices they are.” Dad looked me in the eye. “The truth is, I’m proud of your brother for believing in himself. He’s going to be great at whatever he does. And so are you, Caleb. Your job now is to have some fun, play hard, and do your homework.” He smiled. “I reversed the order.”
“Can we visit him?” I asked.
“You bet,” Dad said. “I’d like that.”
—
The text from Aaron Parker came about an hour later.
Outside in five. Let’s have some fun.
It was a little past nine. The house was quiet. Luke was at a friend’s house. Mom and Dad were upstairs watching a movie. They would probably fall asleep without coming out of their room. They would never know I was gone. I grabbed a sweatshirt and headed out.
Aaron was on the corner with Dobie and a big dude who introduced himself as Ox.
“The best offensive linemen in Pilchuck,” Aaron said.
We all slapped hands.
I tried to make eye contact with Dobie, but he was looking down or at Aaron. I wondered if Aaron had texted Dobie right before me, or if they had planned this together. I noticed that Aaron and Dobie were each clutching large brown paper bags in their hands, which also seemed odd.
“So, what are we doing?” I asked.
“We’re going to play a game,” Aaron answered. “It’s called ‘blind as a bat.’ Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous.”
“How come it’s just us?” I asked.
“Too many people draws a crowd,” Aaron explained.
“Okay,” I said. “What do we do?”
Ox looked at me. “Not we, freshman. You.”
“We’ve all done it,” Aaron assured me.
“Cool,” I said, feeling pretty relaxed. It was obviously a tradition. And, besides, what could be worse than jumping off the Verlot Street bridge? “What do I do?”
“You two are going to complete three simple challenges,” Aaron explained. “First, climb the fence at Boardman Park. Second, hit a baseball.”
That doesn’t sound too hard, I thought.
“Wearing these,” Ox said, holding out two dark hoods.
Aaron gestured to the hoods. “Put them on.”
A second later the world went black.
“Ready?” Aaron asked.
“Ready,” Dobie replied.
“Yeah,” I said as they began to lead me down the street. “Hey, what’s the third thing?”
“Just a delivery,” Aaron replied. “Relax,” he added. “This will be fun. I promise.”
Aaron and Ox made Dobie and me make up raps about each other as we walked. Something about the way Dobie rhymed McCleary with smeary and teary made us all crack up. Then they all busted on me because I couldn’t think of anything that rhymed with Dobie. We were laughing so hard, I forgot I was blindfolded. I was stoked about having friends like these in high school.
After a few blocks, I could tell we were in Boardman Park. There was no mistaking the smell of the grass and the sounds of the swings creaking in the breeze.
“Reach out,” Aaron ordered.
I stuck my hands out and felt the cool metal of the fence that ran along the
first-base line of the ball field.
“Start climbing,” Ox said.
Scaling the fence in the dark was not especially scary or hard, even if I couldn’t see anything. It shook a little, especially with the two of us climbing side by side. And I had to find my balance at the top before I swung my legs over and started down. Above me I heard the sound of Dobie’s pants ripping, which killed Aaron and Ox and almost made me fall. Otherwise it was easy. We were back on the ground in less than a minute.
One down. Two to go.
Hitting a baseball in the dark was harder.
Ox pitched from the mound. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” I said. I heard the sound of his foot dragging across the dirt, then swung a couple of seconds later. Whiff. The ball smacked the backboard. Aaron and Ox laughed.
“Little early,” Aaron said.
I didn’t make contact on the next three either. According to Aaron I was too high, too low, then too late. I got a piece of the fifth pitch, which meant I was getting the timing. After three more tries, I finally made solid contact, slapping a ball toward the right side of the infield—at least that was what it felt like. Dobie went next, taking about as long as I did to knock out a legitimate hit.
Two down. One to go.
“Nicely done, boys,” Aaron said. “You guys have legitimate talent. It’s going to be great having you on the team.”
“Thanks, man,” I replied, trying to hold on to the memory of this so I could share it with Charlie. He’d eat this up.
“What’s next?” Dobie asked.
“This way,” Ox said.
After another ten minutes of walking and rapping, I was pretty turned around. But my gut told me we were back on my street. The cracks in the sidewalk felt familiar. We stopped, and Aaron shoved what felt like one of the paper bags into my hands. Whatever was in it was soft and not very heavy. I wasn’t sweating it. This night was too great to worry about anything.
The Football Girl Page 10