Fancy Pants (52 page)
* * *
On the opposite side of Wynette, Teddy and Skeet sat next to each otheron a slatted wooden bench, the mulberry trees overhead shielding them
from the summer sun. They sat quietly, neither of them having any need
to talk. Skeet gazed off down the gently rolling slope of grass, and
Teddy sipped at the dregs
of his Coke. He was wearing his favorite pair
of camouflage pants belted low on his hips, along with a baseball hat
sporting an American flag. A No Nukes button occupied a place of honor
in the exact center of his Aggies T-shirt.
Teddy thought that this summer in Wynette had been about the best time
in his life. He had a bike here, which he couldn't have in New York,
and him and his dad had built this neat solar collector in the back
yard. Still, he missed some of his friends and he didn't absolutely
hate the idea of going back to New York in a few weeks. Miss Pearson
had given him an A on the social studies project he'd done on
immigration. She said the story he'd written about how his mom had come
to this country and everything that had happened to her once she got
here was the most interesting student report she had ever read. And his
gifted teacher next year was the nicest one in the whole school. Also,
there were lots of museums and stuff in New York that he wanted to show
his dad.
"You about ready?" Skeet said, getting up from the bench where they had
been sitting.
"I guess." Teddy noisily drained the last of his Coke and then got up
to toss the empty cup into the trash can. "I don't see why we have to
make such a secret out of this," he grumbled. "If this wasn't such a
big secret, we could come here more often."
"Never you mind," Skeet replied, shielding his eyes to look down the
grassy slope toward the first green. "We'll tell your dad about this
when / decide we're going to tell him and not before."
Teddy loved coming out on the golf course with Skeet, so he didn't
argue. He took the three-wood from
a bag of old clubs that Skeet had
cut down for him. After drying the palms of his hands on the legs of
his pants, he set up the ball, enjoying its perfect balance on the red
wooden tee. As he took his stance, he gazed down the grassy slope
toward the distant green. It looked so pretty sitting there, all
sparkly with sunlight. Maybe it was because he was a city kid, but he
loved golf courses. He took a little sniff of
clean air, balanced
himself, and swung.
The club head hit the ball with a satisfying thwack.
"How was it?" Teddy asked, peering down the fairway.
"About a hundred and eighty yards," Skeet said, chuckling. "I never saw
a little kid hit a ball so far."
Teddy was aggravated. "It's not a big deal, Skeet. I don't know why you
always make such a big deal
out of it. Hitting a golf ball is easy.
It's not like trying to catch a football or hit a baseball or something
really hard like that. Anybody can hit a golf ball."
Skeet didn't say anything. He was carrying Teddy's clubs down the
fairway and he was laughing too
hard to talk.
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