Racing the Rain (30 page)

“Quenton, it's only my personal opinion, but I suspect that very little of this has much if anything to do with basketball.”

“You mean that business back in junior high?”

“That's part of it, I think.”

“But he said we were all over that. He even put up my time for a school record . . .”

“I'm not saying this is intentional on his part. I doubt he understands it himself. All I know is that when Trapper and I went to talk to him back then, we saw someone dealing with some personal problems, someone not very secure in his own skin. And someone who does not like to be contradicted or shown up. First he told you that you weren't a basketball player, and you proved him wrong about that. He wanted you to run track back then, and you did. Then you got injured while running for him and he refused to acknowledge it. You proved him wrong again. Now he's apparently in over his head in his new job. He wants to come off as a tough disciplinarian, so he doesn't want you to miss practice for a cross-country race. But you go out and win it. Then you play your first basketball game for him and guess what? You're doing it to him again.”

Cassidy made a low groan.

“It's just armchair psychologizing on my part, of course,” Mr. Kamrad said, “but it seems to me that your whole relationship with this man has been one long process of showing him up.”

Cassidy let the breath out of his lungs.

“And the time before, when you two came to an impasse, you had an alternative. You made your point in an all-comers event. Now, though, there isn't any all-comers basketball team to join.”

“Wow.”

“Right. But, you know, in the Chinese language the same symbol that means ‘danger' also means ‘opportunity.' ”

Cassidy grimaced. He was too young to be an aficionado of silver linings.

* * *

Stiggs and Randleman were waiting outside the Temporary Classroom Building as Cassidy left Mr. Kamrad's room.

“You guys are going to be late to practice,” Cassidy said.

“Screw that,” said Randleman. “What did Mr. Kamrad say?”

Cassidy shrugged.

“Come on, he must have said something.”

“Yeah, it was all about this interesting symbol they have in Chinese that can have two different meanings. One meaning is ‘danger' or ‘caution' or something like that . . .”

“Uh-huh. Yeah?” Stiggs said, wary. Cassidy smiled at him.

“And the other meaning is ‘Comes with egg roll.' ”

C
assidy didn't even try to talk to his parents about it. He was sure it would just confuse them and then they would probably make excuses for Coach Bickerstaff. They were not big on challenging authority.

He was able to talk his mother into letting him take the car, though, and he drove to the place where the Jeep road left the highway and went into Trapper's camp. Afraid to bury the little car up to its axles in the deep sand, he left it parked on the highway and hiked in.

Trapper wasn't around, so he went inside and got some peanuts and sat out on the deck to play with Willie, who had greeted him by yelling “Cracker!”

“Come on, I won't bite,” Cassidy said, holding a peanut up for him to see. “I cannot say the same for you, however.”

“Cracker?” said Willie.

“Food, yes.”

Willie flew down to the deck rail. “Willie, cut that out!” he said.

“You're just talking to hear your own voice now,” said Cassidy, holding the peanut out. The bird walked over cautiously. He tried to snatch it and make his getaway, but Cassidy made him come closer. He had become much tamer with Cassidy over the summer when he was around all the time.

“Head rubbies first,” Cassidy said.

“Cracker,” said Willie.

“That's right, head rubbies, then cracker.”

Willie bowed his head and fluffed up the feathers all around his head and cheeks.

“Good boy,” said Cassidy, rubbing the top of his head with his index finger. “Now cracker.”

But Willie kept his head bowed, ignoring the peanut. Cassidy kept rubbing the soft little head. He thought he heard something like a very faint mosquito whirring in the distance. It was Trapper's ancient outboard. Willie heard it, too, and lifted his head high and alert.

“Vinnnn-cent!” he squawked.

“Hey, that's good!” Cassidy said. “When'd you learn that?”

“Cracker!” Willie said, snatching the peanut and flying back to his limb, scattering the guinea fowl that had settled there in his absence.

Trapper greeted him as he pulled up to the dock and tossed Cassidy the line. Three large snook and a pile of what looked like green rocks rested in the bottom of the boat.

“Where did he get ‘
Vinnnn-cent
'?” Cassidy said.

“Oh.” Trapper laughed, “My sister Lurleen and her brood were down last week. That's what she calls me. He picked it up from when she would call me to dinner. Took him thirty seconds to learn it. I bet you couldn't teach him to say ‘Trapper Nelson' in thirty years. Hey, how about hopping up and grabbing the bucket for these oysters while I get the fish over to the cleaning station.”

Cassidy got the zinc bucket from inside and hopped down into the boat to fill it with the bivalves. It took two trips to get them all moved over to the cleaning station for Trapper to rinse them off.

“I'm not going to ask you why you're not at practice,” Trapper said. “I was at the Jupiter Hilton and a bunch of the old guys were talking about it. Apparently everyone in town is talking about it.”

“Yeah, can you believe it?”

“You forget I have some experience in the matter of dealing with Coach Bickerstaff. I'm only surprised that something like this didn't happen sooner.”

Cassidy took the Rapala knife and started filleting the second fish while Trapper rinsed off the oysters.

“So, how are you holding up?” asked Trapper.

“I'm all right,” he said. “Nice fish, by the way.”

“Good batch of oysters, too. From your favorite bed.”

Cassidy nodded.

“I don't suppose you can stay for dinner?”

“Oh, I could be talked into it.”

* * *

It was good and dark by the time he hiked the Jeep road back to the car. He had a flashlight with him, but the moon was bright enough that he could see the double ribbon of white sand easily without it. He felt a sense of calm, of normalcy that he hadn't felt in days.

He had a tummy full of fried snook and raw oysters.

And he had a plan.

M
aria DaRosa placed the bright yellow ball on one of the dimpled bumps on the rubber mat and assumed a solid putter's stance, feet shoulder wide, rocking back and forth from one foot to the other to settle in, holding the putter straight out, pointing down the course and picking her spot.

Cassidy watched, entranced.

Her tanned legs were set off nicely by a yellow, black, and red madras wraparound skirt, white cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and thin, white leather sandals. She was all concentration as she took a couple of practice swings. Cassidy watched carefully, and sure enough, right before she struck the ball, the little pink tip of her tongue appeared in the corner her mouth. It was outrageous.

Her backswing was short, so it always surprised him how loud the
thwack
was when she connected. The ball flew into the right side of the chute, did a complete loop-de-loop, and shot out the other side heading straight for the angled board in the corner of a sharp dogleg right. The ball hit it dead center, making a beeline for the hole. At first it looked like it would go in, but it was off just a hair to the right and came to rest two inches past the cup.

“Damn,” said Cassidy.

“Don't swear,” she said.

Cassidy saw that the group playing just ahead of them had taken to watching her shots. It was date night and the place was full of couples. Cassidy and Maria between them knew about half of them.

“I just want to know how the dickens you do that,” he said.

“I tell you every time. You don't listen every time.”

He placed his ball on the tee mat and knocked it through the loop-de-loop with plenty of force, but it came out crooked and caught just the edge of the angled board in the corner. It sputtered down the green hugging the side rail and came to rest ten feet from the hole.

“Do you mind if I putt out?” she said. “Just so I can be out of your way.”

“Oh, sure, why not. Go ahead and putt out by all means. Very considerate of you.”

Giggling, she tapped in and watched with feigned sympathy as he two-putted from where he was.

He picked both balls out of the hole and deliberately handed her the wrong one. She waited, hand on hip, giving him the cocked-head look he associated with Willie the parrot.

“Yours is luckier. I think we ought to switch,” he said.

“Think again,” she said, taking her ball back.

The next hole was a giant clown's head with a big laughing mouth that you had to go through to get to the hole, but otherwise a perfectly straight shot. The Cracker Jack surprise in this hole was that when your ball went through the clown's mouth, a loudspeaker blasted you with maniacal laughter.

“I don't see what's so damned funny about what's going on here,” Cassidy said.

“You haven't shot yet either.”

She had honors and placed the ball on the center dimple. She addressed the ball, sighted down the club, took two practice swings, stepped forward, and smacked the ball through the middle of Clarabelle's pie hole. The crazy laughter erupted as the ball exited the back of the clown's head and beelined into the cup like it had eyes.

“I don't believe this,” he said.

“Believe it or don't, but put me down for a one, Roscoe,” she said, smiling. “That's pretty funny, isn't it?”

He fished the little stub of a pencil out of his breast pocket and wrote “1” for her. She was three under par on the seventh hole. He was three over, so it was a symmetrical trouncing.

“How did you get so good at this?”

“I told you the last time. My parents used to drop my sisters and me off here every Saturday morning at eight and would come pick us up at noon. It cost a dollar each and was the cheapest babysitting deal in town. Try to imagine how many rounds of this stuff you can do in four hours. We'd get so bored we'd be wading in the water hazards when they got back.”

“Where did your folks go?”

“They said they were going grocery shopping, but I think they went back home for hanky-panky. Ewww, I don't even like to think about it.”

“Mine always took a ‘nap' on Sunday afternoons. Interruptions for anything less than missing limbs were dealt with harshly.”

She laughed, showing white teeth. Next up was the windmill.

As she was placing her ball, Cassidy saw Harry Winkler, one of the football captains, at the next hole over. He waved and Winkler walked over, shaking his head.

“Hey, I heard,” he said. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

Cassidy shrugged. “Looks like my roundball days are over.”

“Do you have anything lined up collegewise?”

“Not really. A little interest, but I think they were waiting to see how this year was going to go.”

“Well, it bites a big one, man. Wanted to tell you.”

“Thanks, appreciate it, Wink.”

“Hang loose.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Maria was standing next to the hole and her ball was nowhere in sight.

“Not another hole in one, for crissakes,” he said.

“No cussing. And I got a two, thank you. I just went ahead and putted out since you were busy with your big friend.”

Cassidy aimed carefully, but his timing was off. His ball whacked the big blade as it swept by, sending it right back toward the tee.

“Do-overs!” he called, and hooked the ball back with his putter. She rolled her eyes but didn't object.

The next shot went through and actually ended up a foot from the hole. He putted in and put himself down for a highly questionable par two.

They decided to take a break before the waterfall hole. Cassidy went for french fries and root beers while Maria grabbed the last available picnic table.

“So what did Harry want?” she asked, picking through the french fries for one that met her standards.

“Just commiserating. Wanted to know what I'm going to do.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said ‘beats me,' or words to that effect.”

“Oh, come on. You're the one who's always saying, ‘Harumph. Gentlemen, we must have a plan. We have to have a plan, even if it is wrong.' ”

“Okay, what we've come up with—”

“We?”

“Trapper and I. What it is, is that I will run track for Mr. Kamrad, but I will be coached by a guy in Kansas.”

“Now you
are
kidding.”

“Hey, you asked. But it gets better. The guy in Kansas will coach me through a local proxy who lives in a shack in the jungle without electricity.”

She looked at him with those big, dark eyes.

“What else?” he said. “Oh, yeah, this guy lives on snakes and turtles.”

She studied him closely, looking for any signs of frivolity, but then brightened suddenly.

“Say,” she said, making her voice sound hollow and grainy, like a character from a '40s B movie, “it's a crazy idea, but
it just might work.
”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.”

“I thought it was puns.”

“Okay, puns and sarcasm are the two lowest forms of humor.”

“The one in Kansas I assume is this Archie person, what is it . . . Santorini?”

“San Romani. Santorini is an island off Greece.”