13 to Life (9 page)

“Let’s play ball!” Derek roared, rallying us all from our
focused fascination. Coach echoed Derek’s sentiment with a fierce blow of his whistle.

I made it back to my position only when the game officially started, mysteries on my mind.

Basketball has always been a blur to me, whether I’m a hesitant member of the crowd or an unwilling player. I know (and usually remember) the basics: You can’t carry the ball when your feet are moving, you have to stay in bounds, and you can be aggressive, but you can’t smack your opposition around or blatantly trip them (although it happens all the time—refs
do
have only two eyes).

The game was like any other: I moved around and waved my arms in a simian sort of way, trying to keep up my class participation grade without actually touching a ball. My interest in trying in gym faded as soon as my curiosity about Pietr ratcheted up.

Derek did his best to help, dodging in front of me anytime a ball neared, like he was some white knight (albeit in polyester gym trunks). And every time he intercepted the ball (on my behalf), he smiled or winked at me. Although I knew I should be offended by his willingness to make me an unnecessary presence on the b-ball court, I didn’t mind. He had a brilliant smile. Even his teeth were perfect. He was paying attention to me—how could I complain?

But in the midst of all the chivalrous ball-handling, Pietr bumped into Derek. It wasn’t intentional—wasn’t a
foul—
but it set Derek off. Snagging the ball from Pietr, he leaned in and snapped, “What? You think you’re a bad-ass because you’ve got a
tattoo?
”

Derek body-checked Pietr with a force that would have sent anybody else onto the floor. Pietr wobbled but didn’t even
move his feet to compensate. His jaw jutted forward, and his eyebrows lowered menacingly. He bristled at the attack.

Coach never made the faintest
tweet
on his whistle.

A minute later Derek skidded across the gym floor. Pietr was almost motionless; the only parts of him moving were his hands as he methodically dribbled and passed the ball between them. I thought I saw him mouth the phrase “
That’s
why I’m a bad-ass” in Derek’s direction, but I couldn’t be sure. Derek thrust a fist out, pointed at Pietr, and Coach’s whistle blew like he’d witnessed a double homicide.

Pietr sat out the rest of the game. I was envious. And more than a little mystified.

I hit the locker room door with palms flat, shoving it open with a grunt. No need to shower—I’d barely done more than raise my hands and shift my weight from foot to foot the entire game. Sarah followed close behind me, probably planning our next conversation so she could insert as many fresh vocabulary words into it as possible. I didn’t mind; I liked listening to her enjoy words, especially considering what she’d suffered in June. She’d come a long way since then, and I was glad to be instrumental in her recovery effort.

But then, June had sucked for a bunch of us.

I popped open my lock and was pulling off my gym shirt when the note fluttered off my locker’s top shelf and headed for the floor. I couldn’t untangle my arms in time to yank it back in midair, so I watched, sickened, as it hit the floor. At Jenny’s perfectly pedicured feet. Size five.

As graceful as a ballerina, she swooped down and picked it up, crinkling her professionally sculpted nose at it before turning to Macie.

I didn’t know what to say. Or do. My heart stopped the moment she picked the note up off the grimy locker room floor. It was an old note—from my mom to me when I was headed off to what I had feared would be an extremely difficult day in third grade. I had found it again in July and carried it with me frequently. It was a touchstone most days—a lifeline others.

I knew it by heart, even the shapes of the letters. I thrust my hand out and said, “That’s mine.”

They snickered.

“Give it back . . . please.”

By then Sarah was beside me. She must’ve heard something in my voice. Something desperate.

Jenny and Macie smiled, knowing they didn’t need to read it. But that’s exactly why they did—out loud. I stood there in only my bra and gym shorts, more exposed than if I’d been naked.

“ ‘Sweetie Pie,’ ” Jenny began, her voice an even higher pitch than usual, “ ‘I know school can be tough sometimes’ ”—Macie pantomimed crying—“ ‘but you’re my little trooper. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. Forgive the kids that treat you badly. You’re better than that. I’ll always be proud of you. Love, Mama.’ ” Jenny was laughing so hard by the end of her overly dramatic reading she barely got the last words out.

Sarah ran to get Coach. I thought later she knew before I did what was coming next and evacuated. Sarah was not keen on violence.

“Give the note back,” I said.

“Geeeeez,” Jenny said, turning back to Macie and blatantly disregarding my request. “Do you think she was ever dumb enough to believe it?”

“What part?” Macie asked, rubbing her chin in fake speculation. “The part about being able to do
anything?
”

Jenny grinned. “No. That her mama ever
loved
her.” She turned to face me, her eyes beyond cold, lips hard. “Because
that’s
not what I heard. I heard she was on her way out of Junction.
For good.
”

“Didn’t get far,” Macie added slyly.

I glanced toward the door.
Where the hell was Coach?

“No, didn’t get far at all,” Jenny chided, her face going soft and deceptively innocent.

I tried to hear my mother’s voice in my head, the reassuring
phrases she’d say, like, “They’re mean because they’re jealous of you, honey. You have to have compassion for them. Their mamas should have taught them better.
Forgive them
.”

But all I heard was my pulse pounding in my ears. And then Jenny held the note up, fingers positioned to tear it in half.

I snapped.

I honestly don’t recall how it happened. One minute I was standing there. Taking it. I remembered moving forward. . . . The next minute I had my mother’s note back and Coach had me under one arm—Sarah shoving my gym shirt back over my head and gently guiding my rage-stiffened arms through the sleeves.

Coach muttered something about girls only fighting girls in Jell-O wrestling, and Amber dashed off to fetch the nurse.

I glimpsed Macie and Jenny on the floor, holding their faces and crying as I was toted out the locker room door and toward the office, bloody but victorious.

“Can’t go around hitting people, J-bird,” Coach muttered. He set me on my feet outside the locker room door and, holding my shoulders, turned me to face the office. “I know your mom—”

I spun back, throwing enough hate from my eyes to silence the affable Coach Mac. “You
don’t
know.”

Someone approached, but they kept their distance, never interrupting, although I felt eyes travel the length of my body and come to rest again on my face. Somehow I knew without looking it was Pietr.

Coach rubbed his broad forehead, the sudden turn of events surely setting his brain ablaze. “J-bird,” he said in a tone I’d never heard him take before, “I know you’re struggling. You’re right—I don’t totally get it. I never lived it. But you’ve gotta keep it together. You can’t just attack somebody. . . .” He shook his head.

Sarah came and held my hand, stroking my arm in an attempt to numb me into a stupor.

I shook free of her grip, only more irritated. “I—”

Coach Mac turned me around once again to face the hallway leading to the office—and judgment. “You threw the first punch, J-bird. You
never
throw the first punch.”

I chewed my lower lip. What would it mean, a fight with cheerleaders—the rich girls? Wasn’t Macie’s mom on the school board and always busy cutting general arts funding to provide professional choreographers for the cheerleading squad? Jenny and Macie were powerful enough, but their moms . . .

My head ached. My high school records were supposed to be my ticket
out
of Junction, not the start of a police record that would block me from attending the college I really wanted.

I heard Sarah speaking softly. With her I knew Pietr kept pace. Didn’t he know to ask one of the girls to get his schedule back? Surely one of them would eagerly guide him around school. He didn’t need to follow me like some puppy. I forced my eyes to the floor, unwilling to meet his own accidentally. I wondered why what he might think of me mattered but my stomach clenched at the thought he’d think less of me.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. I needed to formulate a defense, not get weak-kneed over some guy. Man, I wished I had my worry stone. I’d be rubbing it to a high gloss, attempting to calm myself.

The nurse rushed past us, scowling at me as Amber begged her to hurry. She carried a cooler, probably full of ice and bandages. I needed to remember to buy her a few new pens. Although that probably wouldn’t change what she thought of me now. Unintentional pen thief was one thing. Bludgeoner of cheerleaders was definitely another.

My stomach swished uncomfortably. Not only could this
get me a criminal record, it could get my family sued. I had finally done it, I realized, passing through the office doors—I had ruined what was left of my family’s future.

The door closed behind Coach and he nudged me toward a chair. Through the office’s thick plate-glass windows I saw Pietr. Watching me. His eyes were a dazzling blue, shining with concern.

Well. At least I hadn’t given him something as big as a deadly fall to worry about. My irresponsibility seemed small compared to his at the nursing home. I turned away from him in a huff but occasionally peeked in his direction out of the corners of my eyes.

Sarah grabbed him by the arm and pointed back toward their next class, saying something. He shook his head and pointed to the clock in the hall outside the office. I turned slightly in my seat so I could have a better (but still relatively inconspicuous) view. Sarah pulled out her cell phone, pointed to its face, and said something else. She had to be talking about being late to class. Pietr looked at me. I pretended I wasn’t watching the argument outside.

I caught another glimpse as Pietr shrugged at her, turning the
opposite
direction he was supposed to go. He took off. . . .

Sarah threw her hands into the air and stomped away, headed to the class Pietr should have been attending, too.
Where the heck did he think he was going? Why?

I crossed my arms, listening halfheartedly to Coach still yammering to Vice Principal Perlson. Alone with my thoughts, I felt desperately uncomfortable.

My temper cooled waiting in the office. I had retrieved my mom’s note—intact—and was missing a quiz in science. Working hard to maintain some shred of optimism, I thought things could have been worse.

Vice Principal Perlson listened as Coach glossed over things. The VP responded in his rich island accent, flexing his dark hands. I listened to every word he said—not because he spoke so melodically it was tough imagining my fate was in his hands, but because I always admitted to having a fascination with anyone not from here.

And everything about VP Perlson was a reminder that he wasn’t a Junction native. I hoped that would work in my favor, praying a more worldly view would give him better insight into my circumstances. Without me having to explain them while Mr. Maloy took notes and nodded sadly. Again.

Perlson shot me one of his most disappointed looks before disappearing into his office with Coach following behind.

He shamed me with a single look. Probably a prerequisite of being a VP. Or maybe it was some sort of weird voodoo power he had.

I outright refused to consider it was because I cared what he thought of me. He was part of an exchange program, a temporary member of Junction society. He’d probably leave Junction at the end of the year—like anyone with any degree of common sense.

I ran my finger along the edge of Mom’s note. She’d had plenty of common sense. But Junction had a way of sapping that, and the will, out of a person. It was like a slow drain on your ability to be both human and humane. I wouldn’t have blamed her for wanting to leave. But I knew that wasn’t where she was headed the evening of the accident.

Dammit.
I felt tears pushing along my eyelashes. I blinked them back, frustrated at my momentary weakness. I tucked the note into my shorts and tapped my sneakers. I needed a sound defense to get out of this mess.

And I didn’t want to play the insanity card—even though it would probably be accepted without anyone batting an eye.
That was probably the worst, that they expected me to fall totally apart—waited and watched for it—and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let it go. If the whole fight in the locker room were evidence of some psychotic break, they would excuse it. Maybe even murmur knowingly. But I knew that although I had snapped, I hadn’t broken. I wouldn’t. And not broken equaled no break.
Dammit.

What could I say to fix things? I leaned over, studying my fingernails and thinking about the few options I had. I was lost in thought; time slipped by.

The office door wheezed open. I saw sneakers. Stylish sneakers—not like my “weekly special” ones gotten from the store that advised you to pay less with its company name. My eyes wandered from the shoes up to the person wearing them.

“Hey.” Derek handed me my stuff from gym.

I blushed. “Hey,” I echoed lamely.

“So I hear Jenny and Macie really pissed you off.” He sat down in the chair next to me.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a bit of an oversimplification.”

“You’re painfully honest, you know?”

I sat silent at what sounded like a reprimand.

His hand rested on my knee.
My bare knee
. My body tingled and my brain stuttered. I struggled to keep breathing and looked at him, wondering how long someone could go without breathing before losing consciousness. “Don’t say much to them,” he advised. “Let me do the talking.”

I blinked dumbly and had the good sense to follow it up with a quick nod.

“Good.” He removed his hand, and my lungs started pumping again. I sighed before I could stop myself. He smiled. “I’m good at this sort of thing,” he promised.