Blaze (3 page)

“Any chance you saw that episode of
Law
& Order
where the guy seems all straitlaced, but meanwhile he’s killing college girls and throwing them into the Hudson?”

“I’m not sure, maybe?” Mark shrugs. “Sounds familiar.”

“Well, anyway, my dad played that guy. He’s pretty good. He’s been in a bunch of stuff.”

“Sounds cool. Much better than my dad, who could probably be the sicko throwing bodies into a river in real life. He’s a psycho. But at least he’s out of the picture.”

Mark says it like it’s no big deal, but I feel sad for him. An awkward silence settles around us.
Nothing
like
bringing
up
a
guy’s deadbeat dad to kill the mood
. When I glance back at the boys, I catch Josh give me a look of relief. At least he’s happy I’m blowing things with his coach.

“So,” Mark says finally, “what superhero would you want for a father?”

Happy for the topic change, I launch into geek-girl mode. “Well, my dad’s pretty cool already, but Captain America does have that hyper-honorable thing going on. Then there’s the Silver Surfer showing mercy at the cost of his own freedom, not to mention Daredevil and all his charity work…” Mark seems amused by my excitement, but I can’t turn it off. My alter ego
Virgin
Girl!
won’t let me shut up.

I’m working my way through the various incarnations of the X-Men, selecting the most awesome mutant powers, when Mark suddenly interrupts me. “HORSES!” he calls out in triumph. “One, two!”

“
AAAA-aaa!
” I wail and the boys emerge from their Sonic-trance to mock me.

“That’s…what is that? Thirrrrrrrty?” Mark sings, “I have thirrrty!”

“And how many do you have, Blaze?” Ajay asks. “Was it tweeenty-eeeight?” The entire minivan is suddenly filled with taunting boys, and I curse myself for allowing Mark to get me distracted.

“Okay, okay, simmer down back there,” he says. “The two of us were in the middle of a very serious conversation about superpowers.”

Josh says, “Nice strategy, Coach, getting her to talk about comics. But you should know you’ll never get her to stop now.”

“Aw, Josh, lay off your sis,” says Andrew. “And A-
jay
, would you mind controlling your bodily functions?” Groans fill Superturd as the boys pull their T-shirts over their noses, making sweaty cotton gas-masks.

“Man,” says Dylan. “I can taste that one!” Ajay smirks proudly, his thumbs still stabbing his DS.

I glance at Mark, sufficiently mortified to have him witness my pathetic world. Adolescent boys, video games, and fart jokes. Add to that my blatant comic book obsession, and you can see a few problems with the whole seduction scene I have happening in my minivan right now.

“So, if you could have any superpower…” Mark says, and I roll my eyes, thinking,
I’d turn back time, wear something a bit more girly today, and maybe ditch the sweaty gang of cretins behind us
.

“Marvel Girl is probably my favorite superhero. You know, the original Jean Grey?” I say. “But if I had to pick one power it would have to be flight. What about you?”

He thinks a moment and says, “I never really followed superheroes. What are some of my choices?”

“Oh, you don’t have to pick a particular hero.” I forget to hide my inner fangirl. “For instance, Ajay would be sort of like Magneto, with control over electromagnetic radiation to enhance his gaming abilities.” Ajay looks up from the DS to grin at me in the rearview mirror. “Dylan would shrink himself into a human fly. Like Ant Man, but without the cybernetic helmet for communicating with insects.” I laugh as, behind me, Dylan pretends to style his buzz-cut. “He wouldn’t want to get helmet-head.”

“Blaze thinks it’s so I can spy on the girls’ locker room.” Dylan leans forward, pushing his glasses up on his nose for emphasis. “But really, it’s only to consume fewer of the earth’s precious resources. I want to leave a smaller carbon footprint.”

“Yeah.” Josh laughs. “You’d love to leave your teeny carbon footprints all over Catherine Wiggan’s cleavage.”

Catherine Wiggan, aka Wiggles, is the school’s resident large-breasted slut, and I need to keep talking so Mark doesn’t get lost thinking of her. “Josh would, of course, have super speed,” I say. “Like Quicksilver or Flash.”

“He almost does already,” Mark says, dipping the bill of his hat to Josh.

Josh lifts his chin. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Andrew here won’t participate because he thinks wishing for superpowers is pointless.” I scan for cows as I continue. “Although once, when we were totally lost, he did say he’d like the power to communicate with global positioning satellites.”

Mark laughs. “That would be the game against the Timberwolves that we almost had to forfeit?”

“We made it on time.” I pout.

“Barely.”

“Well, I forgot Ajay’s inhaler that day and had to go back for it
just
in
case
, so we got a late start.”

Mark turns around and looks at Ajay. “You need an inhaler?”

Ajay just shrugs as he bows over his DS.

“Ajay!” I shoot. “You never told your coach you have asthma?” Ajay is tall for thirteen, and to look at him you’d never guess he’s asthmatic, but he must have a complex or something because he hates when anyone brings it up. I’m pretty furious he hasn’t even mentioned his condition to Mark. “What if you had an episode and I wasn’t around?”

“Aw, come on, Blaze!” Ajay hunches down further. “I haven’t used the inhaler for almost a year now. Besides, you’re always around.” He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Where else you gonna be?”

I cringe at that. We’re far enough along in the season for Mark to have noticed I don’t exactly have a life of my own, but honestly, I don’t need Ajay pointing it out. I sigh and tell Mark, “So,
anyway
, that’s the gang. You pick and choose whatever superpower suits your needs.”

As I wait for Mark’s answer, I watch the fields on either side of us thinking,
not
even
a
single
stinking
chicken.
We’re close to home, and the game officially ends at my first drop off, which is Ajay. I can’t lose at Cows. Especially when Mark’s only been playing for the ride home.

I get the flash of an idea just as he says, “Well, if I had to choose only one superpower I suppose…” I turn to look at him and am startled by how light his gray eyes are, “it would have to be the power to heal.”

I swerve a bit and turn my attention back to the road. “Healing? Really?” For the first time, wanting to fly seems like a selfish, self-serving superpower. I want to change my choice to healing too. To help others. But honestly, deep down, I still really want to fly.

Mark shrugs. “Maybe that could free you up from lugging around Ajay’s inhaler.”

I smile from the inside out as Andrew calls, “Hey, Blaze, where you going? You dropping coach off first or something?”

I see the other boy’s heads shoot up collectively. Josh says, “I know exactly what she’s doing.”

Dylan gives a wolf-whistle. “Looking for a little alone time with the coach, Blaze?” And I make a mental note to murder him later.

Josh leans forward. “Not that.” He eyes Mark warily.

“No way,” says Ajay as all the boys look out the front windshield. “Coach, you should probably know…”

Pressing my foot on the gas, I coax Superturd to hurry its plump minivan ass up. I strain forward against my seatbelt.

“I can’t believe she’s resorting to this,” Dylan says excitedly.

“What is it?” Mark asks, “Another farm?” He scoots to the front of his seat, ready to claim another herd. “I think I remember someone having emus down this way. Do emus count?”

“No Coach, you gotta listen,” Ajay says, but I cut him off.

“What Ajay is trying to say is… GRAVEYARD!” I call out in victory. “Sorry, Mark, your herd is dead.”

“What the—” Mark looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Oh, I killed your herd,” I explain lightly. “Whoever claims a graveyard first can wipe out someone else’s animals. Did I not mention that rule?”

“We tried to warn you, dude,” says Ajay. “She’s super-competitive.”

“Hey, no fair,” Mark says. “I didn’t even know.”

“Take it up with the committee, my friend,” I say. “Boys? Can we get a ruling on that play?”

“Blaze wins again,” Dylan says. “But you really almost had her, Coach.”

“That’s the closest anyone’s ever come,” says Josh, eyeing me skeptically.

Mark laughs. “Okay then, I’d like to declare a rematch.” He aims his gray eyes my way. “Any chance I can grab a ride for the Aliquippa game next week? I’m saving up to get a new tranny for my pickup.” I can’t believe he wants to ride with me again. He goes on, “I caught a ride with Mrs. Schmidt this morning, and I still feel queasy from the smell of all those orange wedges.” Mrs. Schmidt takes her role as soccer mom very seriously and is always armed with an orange wedge or a Dixie cup of Gatorade at the slightest hint of parching.

“I’d take oranges over the smell of Ajay’s ass any day,” says Josh.

“We can drive you,” I say, feeling a bit queasy myself. “You guys may manage to whip Aliquippa, but I wouldn’t count on you ever beating me at Cows.”

“We’ll have to see about that.” Mark flashes me a grin that gives me tingles, as though Superturd’s seat-warmers are suddenly functioning again. Like Mark’s super-healing-power wish is already working magic on my minivan.

“I still think we should host ourselves a little coed soirée,” says Josh, pronouncing
soirée
in his fake-snooty voice. “My friends would love to rub shoulders with your friends.”

“Ick!” I shudder as I serve dinner for the two of us. “I can imagine Dylan trying to rub more than shoulders. Amanda might think his pathetic boob obsession is cute, but Terri would probably clock him.”

“Dylan’s a big talker, but you know he’s completely intimidated by girls.” Josh waggles his eyebrows. “
Especially
seventeen-year-old girls who are totally hot.”

“Aaaaand, there’s reason number one-hundred-thirty-
seven
why my friends and your friends will never comingle.” I stab at the mound of spaghetti on my plate. It’s a little mushy, since I was distracted by my social studies homework and overcooked the pasta again. I tried to jazz up the canned sauce with a little oregano and the overall effect is… well, edible anyway. “We are
not
having a party this weekend. Period.”

“Come on, Blaze, how often do we get a chance to have an unsupervised par-tay? We could make history among our peers.”

I scowl. “We get the chance about every other weekend, and who will care about us making history if Mom comes home from the hospital and murders us? She’d totally know how to make it look like an accident, too, ever think of that?” Mom has an overnight shift twice a month, so Josh and I have this discussion fairly often.

“I’m just saying—you’ll be a total hero with the guys if you hook us up with a little face-to-face time with your friends.”

“Don’t you mean face-to-breast time?” I laugh at my own joke as we hear Mom’s Subaru pull into the driveway.

“Very funny,” Josh deadpans. “We will discuss these party plans later.”

“Or, I could just go ahead and tell Mom your scheme and kill the idea right now,” I say. “You know she won’t go for it.”

“She might. I just think sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Josh waves his arms and shushes me as Mom turns the doorknob. As if I’d really aggravate her mood right after work by ratting out his plans.

“Hey guys,” Mom says with fake chipperness. Her pale-blue hospital scrubs drape from her bowed shoulders. “You made dinner? Aw, Blaze, you’re the best.” A brief smile fights its way through her weariness, “I don’t know…”

“Know what you’d do without me,” I finish for her, rolling my eyes. “I know. Why don’t you go change, and I’ll make you a plate. Then you can tell us all about the lives you saved today.” Mom’s a physician’s assistant and works ridiculous hours in the emergency room. She doesn’t talk much about what happens during her shifts, other than to say it isn’t at all like those TV shows where everybody on staff is sleeping around with everybody else.
She
wishes
. But Josh and I don’t need her to say anything to tell she’s had a rough day. Judging by the airbags under her eyes, I’d guess somebody died today. Maybe even someone who wasn’t all that old or sick.

“Rough shift?” I ask as I serve her spaghetti.

“It was fine. I’m just glad it’s over.”

The three of us eat in silence a few moments, our mouths cemented shut with starch.

“I saw Dad on television today,” Josh reports. “He was playing a corpse on a rerun of one of those
CSI
s. The New York one, I think.”

“How nice for him. Playing dead.” Mom’s smile stays locked behind her mask of weariness. “Sounds like he finally found his true calling. Oh, and Blaze? That reminds me. I got a text from your father the other day asking if you’d take an inventory of those big boxes of comics he… left.”

My heart starts beating faster. Does this mean he’s coming back to get them? When Dad first
ZAPPED!
off to New York to become an actor, I was Josh’s age and Mom promised he’d be back in a month or so. She said Dad would get “all this nonsense” out of his system and come home to his old sales job at Electronics Empire. And to us.

Problem is, he never did.

He hasn’t been to the house in almost four years. Not that I can blame him for staying away, what with Mom freaking out and threatening to have him arrested for trespassing the last time he was here.

It seems like a lifetime ago. I was so young. Thirteen. Hadn’t even gotten my visit from the booby fairy yet. Dad showed up spontaneously to take us out for goofy golf and ice cream. He drove seven hours and 400 miles from New York to spend a little time with his children. Mom looked so happy. This was back when we were all still hoping he’d give up his acting dreams and come back home to be a salesman again. Dad has sold nearly everything, from cars to fresh preserves to copy paper, and Mom used to say he could sell snow to an Eskimo.

When he invited her to come along that day, it looked like she considered it before shaking her head. “No, maybe next visit. You should spend time with your son and daughter.”

Dad grinned at her as he put an arm around each of our shoulders. “Exactly what I plan to do.” And Mom actually smiled back. I remember nine-year-old Josh sucking in his breath and privately grabbing my arm in excitement. Because he’d seen what I’d seen. Mom and Dad were getting back together, right there in front of us.

I remember Josh and Dad and I having such a fun afternoon our heads could’ve exploded. We joked and clowned around so much we got about the worst-ever miniature golf scores. Then, we got big waffle cones of exotic-flavored ice cream from King Cone and sat down to eat them at a nearby picnic table. I even remember Josh taking a big risk by ordering peanut-butter-and-jelly ice cream and Dad letting him toss it for plain vanilla when he got a taste of how bad it was. It was a pretty-darn-near-perfect day with our dad.

Too bad it was the last one.

When he brought us home, he and Mom started off with the friendly talking we’d hoped for, but things took an ugly turn fast. Dad’s big mistake was telling Mom that our day had actually been good for his acting career, since he was up for a big role in a sitcom pilot. He’d be playing the father to two children, aged about nine and thirteen.

“They’re even a boy and a girl, although in the show, the boy’s the oldest,” he told Mom happily, not noticing the way the vein in her temple pulsed. “My agent thinks I have a pretty good shot at the role. And then, if the show gets picked up, I’ll really be on my way.” He seemed so proud, I physically hurt for him since I knew Mom was already twisting the coincidence into something ugly. She was silent for a full three minutes, and I pictured her wrestling with an inner rage. My mind begged her to let it go.

“So you mean to tell me you haven’t seen your children for nearly five months,” she started off quiet and grew progressively louder, “and you were finally motivated to take the drive to see them, not because you felt guilty for neglecting them? Or even out of some sense of duty? No!” By that point Mom’s neck veins were popping. “This day of playing ‘loving dad’ was all for research for a
stupid
role for a
stupid
TV show that will be
STUPID
?”

As she shouted her final “stupid” I hustled Josh upstairs and blasted my stereo. But we could still hear scraps of threats delivered in her crazy-Mom voice. “…five minutes to disappear… trespassing… never come back…” and finally, “calling the police…” which must’ve gotten Dad’s butt moving, since the next things we heard were the
SLAM!
of the front door and the
VROOM!
of the Oldsmobile he’d borrowed peeling out of the driveway.

That was four years ago. We totally still have a relationship with our dad, talking over the phone here and there and meeting at Mema’s house in Ohio that one time, but he has never once come back to take us to eat ice cream and play goofy golf and laugh so hard we can’t even hold a club straight.

Shrugging off ghosts of the past, I project fake casualness as I ask Mom, “So, did Dad say why he needs a list of the comics?”

She pauses, chewing her spaghetti slowly, as she gives me that poor-abandoned-girl-with-the-shitty-father look that I hate. I hold up my palm, “Never mind, okay? Just let him know I’ll get it done. Mind if I’m excused?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Mom says. “I’ll clean up when I’m done.”

“No, you’re tired from your shift.” I stand up as Josh studies his plate. “I’m just going up to my room to chat with Terri and Amanda. I’ll come back down to clean up in a little while.”

Mom gives me a grateful look. “You’re the best, sweetie, I just don’t know…”

But I’m halfway up the stairs and can’t hear the rest of her worn mantra. She really does appreciate all the help I give her. Besides, it’s not like I have a ton of social offers waiting for me anyway.

TerriAngel445
: Going to game tonight?

AmandaSweetie68
: or mall?

Okay, okay. So maybe I have a few social offers. Terri and Amanda are my friends. That is, to the extent that my role as the eternal chauffeur to the gang of Soccer Cretins allows me time for friends. Fortunately, the two of them were locked in before Superturd became my BFF.

Growing up in the country, if you can ride your bike to a girl’s house and that girl also happens to be in your grade,
BOOM!
You have yourself a best friend.

The summer before fourth grade, Terri moved into a house about a half-mile away, and even though there are five girls in her family and the odds were in my favor that one of them would be my age, it still felt like a miracle when we met. I finally had somebody I could visit whenever I wanted without begging Mom and Dad for a ride.

Becoming friends with Terri took some adjusting, since she’s a little bold. For instance, she’s never been shy about asking for my stuff. She’ll say in one breath, “Oooh, I love that lipgloss—can I have it?” But then, I suppose living with four sisters makes a girl aggressive with beauty care items in a way the rest of us will never understand. I usually give her what she asks for and figure it’s better than a friend who steals stuff behind your back. Plus, like I said, she is just a bike ride away.

Then, later that same year, lightning struck again when Amanda moved in. She’s even more of a contrast than Terri: only child, rich overprotective parents, and she lives at the end of a ritzy cul-de-sac. But that ritzy cul-de-sac happens to be halfway between my house and Terri’s, so you can see how obviously tight the three of us have been ever since.

We don’t actually have tons in common, so our trio grew much less exclusive when we reached high school. But then I got my minivan license and started playing soccer mom, and most of my other friends gave up on hanging out with me all together. Even Amanda and Terri are sick of my excuses. They’re not going to be happy I’m staying in again tonight.

TerriAngel445
: Blaze? Hello? Earth to Blaze

AmandaSweetie68
: i c u online!!

Stalling, I use my index finger to wipe the thin film of dust off my laptop screen. It was a gift from Dad. It’s his old one, but it’s still in great shape and has plenty of memory and I love it.

TerriAngel445
: BLAZE!!!

Blazefire22
: No need to shout. Mom needs my help. Sorry can’t come out to play

AmandaSweetie68
: come on! u never do anything

TerriAngel445
: Bet if we were kiddie soccer players, you’d come hang with us.

Blazefire22
: I’ll have you know, there was a post-pubescent boy riding in my minivan today. A certain coach for the Wolverines :)

AmandaSweetie68
: u had mark alone in ur car?

TerriAngel445
: !!!

Blazefire22
: Well, if you don’t count the four boys in the back and call my smelly minivan a car—then, yes, Mark and I were totally alone in my car.

AmandaSweetie68
: 4 boys in the back is Wiggles style—lol did u c the latest? http://catherinewigglesisaslut.com

TerriAngel445
: that girl has zero shame

AmandaSweetie68
: slut

Blazefire22
: I saw the link. Nice and skanky. Now can we get back to my gossip?

TerriAngel445
: Why would you let Mark the Shark in your van?

AmandaSweetie68
: right ter, he’s so f-ing hot, how cld she stand it?

TerriAngel445
: That boy is such a manwhore

Blazefire22
: We actually had a pretty good time.

TerriAngel445
: Please don’t tell us you played one of those stupid driving games like the time you dragged me to Josh’s practice.

I picture the day Terri spent an entire half-hour drive sitting shotgun and growling with annoyance every few minutes as the boys and I played a particularly aggressive round of Alphabet. I don’t think she’d approve of my introducing Mark to the exciting and competitive game of Cows.

Blazefire22
: Well.… .

AmandaSweetie68
: omg you didnt! u r such a geek! it’s okay, lol, he prob thought it was cute. u r so lucky u r blonde

TerriAngel445
: You didn’t go into one of your comic lovin’ nerd-fest monologoues did you?