Girl Meets Boy (4 page)

All of which meant that no matter which way I turned, it was going to be the wrong way. It didn’t matter whether I tried to fight and got beat up, or ran away from the fight and was called a coward. How could it get worse than this?

But it did. Charlie Wagon, Auley’s main henchman, leaned over and stuck his face in mine. “What’s the matter, Nosebug?” he said. “You scared uh us?”

Just then, from behind him, I heard a
whoof.
It was the sound someone makes when they take an elbow in the gut. Then there was a
thump
as a body fell on the floor. Charlie turned around and looked up. The only person in school taller than Auley stood looking down at him. Auley wasn’t looking back. He was doing a great imitation of a fish out of water flopping for air.

“I am SO sorry,” Nancy Whitepath said. She turned to the teacher who stood in the first row of kids surrounding us. “Mr. McReady, I just came around the corner here and accidentally hit poor Auley right in the tummy with my elbow.”

She reached down for Auley’s arm. “Let me help you up.” She yanked, apparently not noticing she was standing on his sleeve. “Ooops!” she said. “I am so clumsy. Now I’ve torn your shirt.”

By now, Auley was crawling away from her large hands.

“Okay, everybody,” Mr. McReady said. He held up his hands. “Move on. Nothing to see here.”

I may be wrong, but it seemed as if he was trying not to laugh.

I slipped around the corner, wishing I could just vanish from sight permanently. Not only had I not fought back, proving to
everyone that I was still nothing but a pathetic little insect, I’d been rescued by a girl. And not just any girl at that, but the one girl I really liked, something I was finally admitting to myself at the moment when I felt like my life was over. There was no way that Nancy Whitepath would ever feel anything more than pity for a wimp like me, right?

I blame the Starbreak Movie Theater for my newfound warrior-princess attitude. No, I don’t mean Indian princess, long and leggy, with the flowing black hair à la Malibu Pocahontas. And no, I don’t mean the Lady Warriors, that’s my b-ball team.

Funny, though, when you think about it, on account of how in the movies, it’s always the so-called warrior men who are riding off, painted like clowns, screaming like banshees, and raising Westy wild hell while the women are doing what, exactly? Sitting around? Trying to decide what to mush into the blue dumplings or watching reruns of
The Real World: Choctaw Nation?

Not that we were watching a Western. Nope, it was some martial arts flick with men screaming, “
Aiiieeee!
” and mute girls in kimonos.

“You okay?” my date, Spence, whispered. “If you’re bored, we could leave.”

I
was
bored, but my mama had raised me with manners. “S’all right,” I replied.

I’d said okay to the noon matinee set-up as a favor. Spence was the cousin of my mama’s cousins, from the other side of their family. In town visiting. And I hadn’t had classes today on account of a teacher-in-service.

Even so, I’d suggested Spence come to my game tonight instead. Seemed safer.

He’d scoffed at girls basketball, and I should’ve backed out then. But I’d told myself I was being overly sensitive. Next time, I’d trust my instincts.

“You done with this?” I asked.

He glanced at the popcorn. “Done, done.”

Nodding, I set my empty bag on the sticky floor. As my eyes left the big screen, it dawned on me that, in my place, a real-life Asian girl would probably either be pissed about the movie or laughing her ass off. Or worse, embarrassed someone thought she was really like that. A dressed-up doll. A prop.

Once I straightened in the squeaky velvet chair, Spence apparently decided the flickering dark of Starbreak’s mostly empty screening room was handy for more than movie watching—
handy
being the operative word. As in, illegal touching. Grabbed and squeezed. Major foul, especially when I was thinking powerful and righteous womanly thoughts. I’m not sure what happened exactly, how my brain sent the message to my curling fist without checking with me first. One of those reflex things, I guess.

When you’re my size, not a
lot
of boys buzz around. Jogging home after the slap-down at the Starbreak Theater, I fretted that “not a lot” would shrink to none. Bad enough to be Gargantua. Now, I’m Queen Kong. Not that I’m interested in a lot of boys, not that I’m interested in a lot of boys buzzing.

But there is this one guy. This squirrelly little guy … Billy or Bobby or Robby. The Wildcat. Jittery little thing. He’s been watching me for no apparent reason. And the not knowing, it’s starting to get on my nerves.

Walking into the Tribal Rec Complex later that day with the rest of Green Grass Youth Drum, it’s time to focus, to shake the world off my shoulders, to give the Drum its due. Bobby’s there, of course, always is, with the dojo crowd. They’re all a little less Bruce Lee, a little more Karate Kid. But the mind-body balance thing, that’s cool. I’m into that myself.

“Hey there, Slugger,” Tracy said, taking the chair beside mine. “Something on your mind?”

I shook my head and tightened my grip on the rattle. “Someone.”

I’m used to singing inside, but I don’t like it. It makes me miss the Wind.

Drum practice passed too quickly, always does, and then I was suiting up with my team. Coach said to make this one count, and of course I did what I could. They had solid starters but no depth on the bench, and I was aggressive. It’s hard, though, keeping my hands on the ball and my mind on the game.

One of their guards elbowed me in the rib cage—let’s pretend it was an accident—as the ball left my hand in a pretty little jump shot. Tricky things, elbows. Often ending up in the wrong place.
The whistle blew. Tie game, and then, seconds later, the whistle blew on another foul.

At the free throw line, every bounce of the ball echoed through the house. I took a deep breath to slow my heart and still my hands. I fought to ignore the swollen knuckles. It’s an easy shot; that’s why they call it free. Easy, except for the psychology. Their fans were hollering, but I couldn’t hear them. I could only hear the ball hit the court.

Thump, thump.

You don’t think about it. Thinking will get you in trouble. You don’t feel the nerves or the excitement, that won’t help either. It’s all about trust. Trusting those hours of practice, the thousands of times you shot, the hundreds of free throws in a row at midnight, with nothing at stake, no crowd. All for this moment, breathe, breathe.

Thump, thump.
It reminded me of the Drum.

My b-ball danced through my fingertips, rose up to fly—

Whoosh!

“ALL RIGHT, WHITEPATH!” It was like the roar of a dragon, the call of a hero, the geeked-out screech of a fan boy in love. That was it, breaking over the cheering crowd, shimmering and sincere. Mystery solved. And a huge surprise, may I just say.

I pointed and held in my grin.

Gotcha.

It quieted Bobby Wildcat a minute, the first time I pointed his way, and I wondered if I’d misread him. But then he perked back up, adding his cheers to the crowd’s.

Together Mama and Daddy spark a pure blazing fire that burns so fierce I always feel warmed up via proximity. My blood’s
a cocktail made from theirs, the good kind of cocktail, healthy and pure. I don’t slouch on account of it.

That night, my folks had been married twenty years, and they’d gone to Lobsterfest to celebrate. He’d wanted to try the pizza. She’d adored the pasta with Alfredo sauce. They’d gone off their diets, guilt-free.

As we settled into the king cab Chevy, I grinned and said, “You didn’t have to come back for the game.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” they replied, both speaking at once, sharing a chuckle. On the road, my folks stole looks and swapped blushes like teenagers.

“About what happened at the theater today,” Daddy began as we rounded the turn to our hill. “We’ll … ”

“Pay to get Spence’s teeth fixed,” Mama finished for him. “Don’t worry none.”

Daddy chuckled, proud, like they’d already talked about it. His little girl taking up for herself. Kind of thing folks would be jawing on for a while.

It hadn’t been funny, though. What with the bruises blooming red and yellow on my fingers, the way they’d made it hard to dribble. Or the way it had made me feel to be grabbed like that. Like I was a mountain and Spence had been trying to get a good firm hold. I didn’t know that I wanted to take another chance on a boy in the darkness.

But then Daddy shifted, and Mama grazed his hand with her own, and …

Maybe,
I thought,
when it works right, two people do become one without either losing anything.
I wondered if Bobby had a girl.

By morning, everybody had heard about my clobbering Spence. Not from me. I hadn’t mentioned it at drum practice. Hadn’t mentioned it at the game, came straight home after. I was guessing Spence himself hadn’t spilled.

So, that left my pal Tracy, who’d gone to yesterday’s show, too.

The one who’d called me Slugger last night.

The one who called me Slugger when I walked up just now.

“Shouldn’t that be Champ?” Joni pitched in.

“Or Victor?” Makayla asked.

“No, wait”—Eddie tends toward the dramatic; spends quality time with her word-a-day calendar—”Warmonger … how’s that?”

I didn’t like it, but the teasing hadn’t come from a bad place. Under the jokes, I could read what they meant: “You okay?” “We stand together.” “You’re our girl.”

Last night, Mama called to check on Spence, and his lawyer parents had already whisked him on back to their own oral surgeon in the lburbs.

He’d be okay,
I thought. Self-destructive, self-reconstructive rebuilding is what we all do best. Thinking back on the blood and the screaming and the fact that the theater management asked me not to come back, though, let’s just say that maybe I overreacted.

Positive there were plenty of nonviolent means to incapacitate a guy, I swore off my right hook. Whitepath, white stick, peace and negotiation.

Yeah, I decided, give peace a chance.

Wasn’t me that Bobby Wildcat was afraid of. I’d figured that out last night at the game, but I had been right that someone in the world made him jittery. It was that Auley Crow Mocker with
Charlie Wagon, of all people, and how could I tell? Well, they were about to wallop on Bobby right there in the high school hall.

Worse, I had a feeling it wouldn’t have been the first time.

Now, this was something of a judgment call. After all, I’d sworn to be all dove, to put my rep to rest. But, you know, Auley’s no good at negotiations, and Bobby Wildcat’s time was running out. Truth was, I didn’t have a whole lot of admirers, a whole lot of fans. None to spare anyway. People moved aside for Gargantua. Freshmen, seniors, didn’t matter. They cleared the way.

It’s the sequel, I thought.
Queen Kong Strikes Again!

So, I sped down the hall and, just when Auley folded his right into a fist, barreled into him, like I hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to where I was going. I had the muscle. I had the size. I had elbows, and I wasn’t afraid to use one. He stumbled with a pained “Whoof!” and hit the tile floor.

“I am SO sorry!” I exclaimed. And then I made the kind of noises you do when you’re trying to make things better, but did what I could to make them worse. Used my best teacher voice and best teacher smile on Mr. McReady.

Everybody laughed, and Auley and Charlie waved off my fawning, acting the tough guys. No permanent damage, no oral surgery required. Auley was sweet on my cousin Makayla, had a baby with her. I didn’t need to worry bout those boys messing with me. But they’d forgotten Bobby, at least for now. As for Bobby, he gave me a look that said I had done him no favor.

I wasn’t sure why.

After school, Bobby Wildcat found me at the Starbreak Theater in the screening room. I wasn’t surprised to see him. Every time I looked up lately, there he was.

I’d snuck in wearing my daddy’s Graceland souvenir ball cap backward, hair tucked up, with my letterman’s jacket over a Red Earth T-shirt and faded Levi’s. I hadn’t wanted to press my luck with popcorn or a Coke from the refreshments counter, but Bobby came through with that. Diet and extra butter. Two straws.

“Want some?” he asked.

I did. The show was this vampire flick, all about the penetration.

“Bad movie,” Bobby said.

I nodded, reaching up to adjust my right earring. “Awful.”

“Love it,” he added.

“Me, too.” Which was the truth.

Did Bobby mind me saving him from Auley and Charlie? I wondered. Maybe—boys could be like that. Buying into the idea of “the girl” always being the one who needs saving. It was a disappointing thought about the boy into mind-body balance, from a family warm and supportive and substance-free, like mine.

I knew who he was now, remembered last night after saying my prayers. His gramma Otterlifter had found me once when I, maybe two or three years old, disappeared among the cars and trucks at the enormous Walmart parking lot. Carried me, all teary-eyed, to Daddy, who’d been searching, half-crazed with worry. She’d been my hero.

Bobby, he was a year younger, and I’d never paid the juniors much mind. The year difference wasn’t such a big deal though.Not when you thought about it. I was friends with juniors on the team.

Bobby had nice, clean hands. One of them bumped against one of mine.

An accident.

I flinched because of the bruises from yesterday, not because I minded.

“You gonna hit me?” he whispered over the wet sounds of disembowelment.

Hadn’t even crossed my mind. I asked, “You worried?”

“Nah, but the usher warned me at the door. First I’d heard of it.”

So, I hadn’t successfully snuck in after all.

“Don’t worry,” Bobby said. “He promised not to tell.”

For a while, we stayed quiet, halfway down the rows, in the middle seats. If I’d judged wrong about Bobby, I’d be grateful for the witnesses. In the squeaky Starbreak chairs, I didn’t tower over him. It was nice for a change.

“Thank you,” he said, finally getting to the point. “But I could’ve handled it.”

Yeah, right. Was that why he’d come? Because he thought he owed me thanks. Because he thought I’d butted in. It was kind of disappointing. Maybe I’d just been starting to hope for more than that.

“I mean,” he went on, “if it hadn’t been two against one.”

Pride talking, I knew, but he was growing on me. Once I hit the court, I have to watch out for pride myself. Maybe it’s worse for boys.

A wolf howled through the speakers, raised its head on screen to the night’s luminous glow. It was supposed to be an agent of evil, but I didn’t see wolves that way.

“You don’t have to fall down to see the moon,” Bobby whispered, serious and shy.

Just like that, out of the starry blue.
You don’t have to fall down to see the moon.
I thought about the last time I’d sat in my
favorite seat beside a boy. What it must’ve been like for Bobby having to look over his shoulder all the time. Flexing my punching hand, feeling the pain. It hurts when you fight back, even if somebody else started it.

Then I thought about good times, like last night in the truck with my parents, at the Drum, at the game, right now. And good folks, too. My teasing friends. His gramma.

I felt something then. I’m not sure what you’d call it, but it was righteous, powerful. You don’t have to fall down to see the moon, I thought, turning the phrase over in my mind. Sounded like fortune cookie bullshit, but …

“Sometimes,” I said, “you do.”