by Tim Kehoe
“Whoa, slow down there, Fin, you’re going to choke,” Ben said.
“Dude, this is a good burger,” I said.
“Where did you say you were from again?” Mike asked.
“The East Coast,” I said.
“Didn’t they have cheeseburgers on the East Coast?” Scott asked.
“Not this good,” I said as I shoved the last piece of burger into my mouth.
“Oh, man! You guys should have seen Fin here with old man Nonnemacher.”
“What happened?” Ben asked.
“It was no big deal,” I said.
“Fin’s phone goes off in the middle of class and I swear I could see that vein in Nonnemacher’s forehead damn near pop.”
“Sweet,” Scott said.
“Yeah, but he took my phone.”
“Oh, harsh. Was it a nice one?” Ben asked.
“No. It was a piece of junk,” I said. “But now I’ve got to go buy another piece of junk. That’ll be, like, my third phone in a week.”
“Well, don’t bring the new one into Watson’s class. She took my iPhone last year, and I never got it back,” Scott said.
“Dude, I don’t think she can do that. That’s stealing,” Mike said.
“Well, she gave it back, but not to me,” Scott added.
“What are you talking about?” Mike asked.
“The old bag gave it to my old man and he kept it. He still uses it. And I paid for it!”
Mike and Ben practically fell off the bench laughing. I guess I didn’t find idiot fathers quite as funny.
“Hey, it’s Famous Amos!” a female voice said. “Move over, dork.”
The girl from the Piggly Wiggly was pushing Mike aside. Mike slid over and made room.
“What’s with you?” Mike asked.
“Hey, how are you doing?” I asked Trish.
Mike looked shocked. “Do you two know each other?”
“Sure do.” She didn’t offer Mike any further explanation.
“Trish, right?” I asked. But I didn’t need to ask; I could still see her name tag in my head.
“You’ve got a good memory, Amos.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
“How do you know my sister?” Mike asked.
“Your sister?”
“Yup. We’re twins. Can’t you see the resemblance?” Trish asked.
They looked nothing alike. Trish was gorgeous, in a dark and twisty kinda way, while Mike was, well, not dark and gorgeous.
“How do you know Finbar?” Mike asked again.
“What the heck is a Finbar?” Trish asked.
Before I realized what I was saying, I replied, “I’m a Finbar.”
Trish lifted her eyebrows and made some sort of noise.
“We met at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday,” I said.
“Oh.” Mike went back to eating his tater tots.
“Trish was telling me how much she loves the cheerleaders here in Galena,” I added.
“God. Don’t get her started,” Ben warned.
“What?” Trish asked innocently. “Look at them.” She pointed to a table full of platinum blondes. “They’re perfect. What’s not to love?”
I was still looking at the cheerleaders. Not a bad-looking one in the bunch. All but two had blond hair.
“You like them cheerleader types, Amos?” Trish asked.
“No,” I lied. “I’m just looking over at the table of football players. Do they always sit together?”
A group of huge guys were sitting at the table next to the cheerleaders. Their massive bodies dwarfed the lunch table.
“They do everything together,” Ben said. “The coach thinks it builds some sort of bond.”
“So what brings you to Galena, Amos?” Trish asked.
“My parents are in the military. They’re overseas, so I’m staying here with my aunt for the next year.”
“That’s cool,” Trish said. “I’d give anything to be overseas. Anywhere but this sewer.”
“Not a fan of Galena?” I asked.
“How could you be a fan of this pathetic place? That’s like asking if I’m a fan of pus-filled blisters. No one likes them, but sometimes you’re forced to tolerate them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
* * *
The afternoon classes were much easier. Mike had a desktop publishing class and the 3-D Computer Animation class. Computer animation was clearly his thing.
“How did you get that spear in his hands?” I said, looking over Mike’s shoulder at the scene he was creating.
“It just needs to sit farther down the z-axis than the outside of his hand.”
“Right,” I said as I looked at the bluish-black blob on my screen. Then I glanced back at Mike’s. “Shut up, man! Now your guy is walking?”
“Well, Fin, it is an animation class,” Mike said.
“For you, maybe.” I couldn’t draw a stick figure to save my life, and forget about making it walk.
I dragged my blob around the screen for the next fifty minutes while Mike’s character was hunting woolly mammoth. The bell finally rang, putting me out of my misery.
“You’re really good at that stuff,” I said as we walked out of the computer lab.
“Thanks,” Mike said. “Say, what are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing. I don’t know a soul in this town.”
“Do you want to come out to The Territories and hang out?”
“The Territories?”
“Yeah, it’s where we live. It’s a resort community thing just south of here. We’ve got horses and pools and stuff.”
“Cool,” I said. “How do I get there?”
Mike asked if I had a car. Now that my father was dead, I supposed I had technically inherited his many cars—including his red Ferrari. But it would be another four years before I would be old enough to drive it. Legally, anyway.
“No. Not here,” I replied.
“I’ll pick you up, then. You said your aunt runs Betty’s Bluff Inn, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. How about six thirty?” Mike asked.
“Sounds good.”
“Awesome. Bring your swimsuit and maybe we’ll go up to the clubhouse. You never know, we might luck out and find Amanda and company up there.”
“Who’s Amanda and company?” I asked.
“The cheerleaders, silly.”
“Okay.” It looked like I had to shop for a swimsuit as well as a new phone.
I opened my notebook as I walked back toward the Pig. I had made a list of girls with long dark hair and light eyes who looked to be sixteen years old. There was the one girl in Nonnemacher’s Spanish class. There were three girls in Mike’s publishing class, two in his nutrition class, four in his math class, and four in his business ethics class. Not to mention the two brunettes at the cheerleader’s table. That was a total of about sixteen girls who fit the description of the girl in my dad’s book.
I managed to get most of their first names. But that was just for the girls I saw today. Essentially, just the girls in Mike’s classes. How many other girls might fit the bill who weren’t in his classes? And how was I going to check for green eyes? I was pretty sure I had freaked a couple of them out today with some extra-long stares. This wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d thought.
I headed back to the Pig and bought the exact same phone I had purchased on Saturday. But this time I would make sure to shut it off before I walked into Nonnemacher’s class. I also picked out a cheap red swimsuit, a box of crackers, a tub of spreadable port wine cheese, and two Mountain Dews. The bill was $62.43. That left me with only $120.59.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
* * *
I got back to Betty’s around a quarter to five and was shocked to see a police officer sitting with her at the table in the middle of the living room.
“Oh, there you are,” Betty said as I walked through the door. She seemed a little nervous.
I wondered if somehow they had fig
ured out who I was. Should I turn around and run? The cop was older and definitely overweight. I could easily outrun him.
“Are you enjoying Galena, Finbar?” Betty asked, still wearing a nervous look.
“I guess so,” I said as I started to back up. The cop looked at me. He was in his late sixties. He had his hand stretched out across the table, and Betty was examining his palm with a magnifying glass.
“Fantastic,” Betty said, and then they both looked back down at his palms.
The cop was just a customer. Thank goodness.
I walked up to the Second House and plugged in my new phone. It chirped to life. I pulled Emma’s number out and dialed. No answer. I left her a message to call me and I explained I had to get a new phone.
I sat on my futon until 6:30 p.m. and then headed downstairs. Betty and the cop were gone. I sat out on the front porch and Mike pulled up in an old black Honda at about a quarter to seven.
“Sorry I’m late, dude.”
“No worries,” I said.
“Did you bring your suit?” Mike asked.
“Yeah.”
“Cool,” Mike said as he peeled away from the curb.
“So, Fin, are you a Yankees fan, being from New York and all?”
“No. I’m from the East Coast, but I’ve never actually lived in New York City itself. I’m a Twins fan.”
“Oh, man!” Mike slammed on the brakes. “Dude, you’re gonna have to walk it. I can’t be letting no Twinkies fan in my car.”
“Ah, let me guess—you’re a White Sox guy?”
“Born and bred.”
“Sucks to be you this year,” I said.
Mike stepped on the gas again. “True that. Mauer smoked us right out of the playoffs.”
“Yes, he did.” I smiled.
“Did you see the game last night?”
“No. Betty doesn’t have a TV.”
“That sucks. I’d die. But your boys took it to New York pretty good,” Mike said.
I thought about the Yankees and my grandpa. He was a huge Yankees fan. I thought about his funeral. I hoped someone took care of it. I hoped it was nice.
We sat in silence as Mike drove down Highway 20. We passed field after field of cows and horses. Mike turned off the highway about ten miles south of town. A giant waterfall and a sign welcomed us to The Territories. Golf courses lined both sides of the road.
“Nice,” I said.
“Yeah, I like it here. We vacationed up here a couple of times when I was a kid,” Mike said. “After my parents got divorced, my mom wanted to get out of Chicago and live in the country. I like it all right, but Trish has never really accepted it.”
“The divorce or Galena?” I asked.
“Oh, she accepted the divorce. It’s Galena she hates.”
“I think I could get used to it. It’s gorgeous.”
“We get a lot of celebrities up here in the summer. Michael Jordan’s got a place here. But it’s dead all winter. After the leaves fall, that’s it for the year. There’s just a handful of people that live out here year-round.”
Mike pulled up to a large gate and pushed a button on the driver’s-side visor.
“This is your house?”
“Mi casa es su casa.”
“I told you, I took French and Italian,” I said.
Mike pulled in and parked next to a red beat-up Ford with an Illinois license plate that read SAME2U.
“Your sister’s car?”
“How did you ever guess?”
As we walked inside, Mike yelled, “I’m home.”
“Nice place,” I said.
“Thanks. Make yourself at home. I’m just going to grab my suit and some towels.”
I walked around looking at photos of Trish and Mike over the years.
“Fin, did you eat yet?” Mike called from down the hall.
“Not really,” I yelled back.
“Well, if you’re hungry we could grab something up at the clubhouse. They’ve got awesome burgers. I know how you like burgers.”
I thought about my tub of cheese getting warm in the Second House and yelled back, “Yeah, that would be—”
Trish walked out of nowhere, and I jumped.
“Yo, Amos.”
“Hey,” I said, trying not to look like a complete loser. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I have that effect,” she said. “What are you doing?”
Mike walked in carrying a gym bag. “Hey, Trish. Want to come up to the clubhouse with us?”
“Are you serious?”
“Come on, I’m trying to show Fin here a good time.”
“I’ll pass. No offense, Fin, but I can’t stand the people up there.”
“You can’t stand the people anywhere,” Mike said.
“Not anywhere in this hick town,” she replied.
Trish disappeared back down the hallway, and we hopped in Mike’s car and drove up and down hills for what seemed like miles.
“This is a huge neighborhood,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s like seventy thousand acres. It’s got three golf courses, horses, swimming pools . . . The Territories even has its own police force. Well, rent-a-cops.”
We pulled up to a large chalet-style building on top of a hill. The parking lot was almost empty.
“Sorry, dude, looks like a quiet night. That’s too bad—I was hoping to introduce you to some ladies.”
“No worries.”
Mike and I had dinner in the club’s bar. I had a cheeseburger. I hoped it would be as good as the one at school. And it was. Better, even. Then we shot a couple games of pool. Mike insisted on playing for cash. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea but, fortunately for me, Mike sucked at pool, and my cash supply was back over $200 by the time we finished.
“Do you want to go for a dip?”
“Sure. Why not.”
Mike led the way to the men’s locker room. We put our suits on and walked out to a massive indoor pool. There were four guys and two girls sitting on the far edge of the pool. The guys were huge. Football players, I guessed.
“Ah, man,” Mike whispered.
“What?”
“Duane and his buddies. They don’t usually come out here.”
“Do they live in The Territories?” I asked.
“No way! They’re townies. Amanda lives out here, though.”
“Which one is Amanda?” I asked.
“The smoking hot one sitting next to Duane.”
That didn’t help. Both girls were smoking hot. And both were sitting next to the biggest of the four guys. I assumed he was Duane.
“Is Amanda the blonde or the brunette?” I asked.
“The blonde,” Mike said. “The brunette is a new girl named Bailey.”
I set my towel down on the table and tried to look relaxed. I turned my back to the football players.
“We can’t leave, Mike,” I said. “They’ve already seen us.”
Mike started to say something, but I knew it was too late. I could already hear Duane yelling something across the pool. I hated guys like Duane. And I had met many Duanes over the years. Thick-headed, slow-talking Neanderthals who lived to show off for their buddies. And over the years, I found there was only one way to deal with guys like Duane. I hoped I was wrong, but I had a strong feeling tonight wouldn’t end well. For Duane, at least.
He was yelling something across the pool. His voice was echoing. I could only make out some of the words. But I was certain I heard the words “new buddy” and “girlfriend.”
Mike yelled something back and now Duane was walking to us.
“What did you say, Windy?” Duane yelled back.
“Wendy?” I asked.
“Windy. That’s what he calls us—Trish and me. Because we’re from Chicago.”
Now Duane was a few feet away.
“Oh, I get it, windy. Like the Windy City,” I said.
“Who’s your girlfriend?” Duane asked without looking in my direction. The brunette, Bailey,
was now halfheartedly trying to call Duane off.
“Duane!” Bailey called. “Duane, get back here before I get bored and go home.”
Before I could stop him, I heard Mike say, “Finbar is new to Galena.”
Oh god, that was the worst thing he could say. Not only was I the new guy, which meant Duane would probably feel like he had to challenge me, especially in front of girls, but to make matters worse, my name was Finbar. That combo was certain death. I knew guys like Duane and he wasn’t going to let that go. Ever. God, I hated my fake name.
Duane was now looking at me.
“Finbar? What kind of girly name is Finbar?” he asked.
“Irish,” I said. “And I agree, it is a bad name.”
“A girly name.” He repeated.
I looked Duane up and down. I was a big guy, for a twelve-year-old, but Duane was a monster. A beast.
“Hey, man. We don’t want any trouble. This is my first day here. I’m just hanging out,” I said.
But I knew that wouldn’t work. Duane had a look of shock on his face. I was certain he wasn’t used to anyone actually responding to his comments.
“I’m leaving, Duane,” Bailey yelled as she pulled her Blackhawks sweatshirt over her swimsuit.
I glanced at Amanda. She was still sitting with Duane’s buddies. She seemed to be enjoying the show.
“Look,” I said to Duane, “I don’t want to upset you, and this is a really big pool.” I motioned with my hands to indicate that the pool was truly massive. “How about Mike and I hang out here for a little bit”—I motioned to a small section of the shallow end—“and you guys use the rest of the pool. We’re not staying long,” I added.
“We’re using the entire pool now,” Duane said loud enough for his buddies to hear. “You girls can use it after we’re done.”
I looked over at Mike. He looked absolutely terrified. I’d been in this situation more times than I could remember. Every school had a guy like Duane. Sometimes several guys like Duane. And they always had to screw with the new guy.
My mom had encouraged me to be the “smarter man” and walk away. Which now seemed funny, given her occupation. But walking away never worked. In fact, it got worse 100 percent of the time. My dad understood that.