Shutout (4 page)

Dominic was about a thousand dollars ahead of me when he suddenly busted out with “I hate school.”

“How come?” I asked.

“Because it's boring and hard,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“I don't want to go,” he whined.

“Me neither,” I said.

“So why don't we stay home? We can homeschool ourselves! And take field trips and stuff.”

It was weirdly appealing. Not so much the hanging out with my eight-year-old brother all day, though he had managed to make me forget how upset I was for a few minutes, but the idea of opting out of everything. No high school, no cliques, no popularity, no grade-grubbing, no scary new school,
none of it. Just stay home and read and occasionally play soccer. I could see why people did it.

And yet, still. “I think I might miss Lena,” I said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You would.”

I felt okay playing with Dominic, but as soon as Dad called out, “Dom! I've got to get dinner started if you want this controller!” he ran out of my room like he was shot out of a gun, and it only took about five seconds for me to start feeling really sorry for myself again.

Fortunately, Mom got home from work and came up to talk to me. “Hi there,” she said. “I'm really sorry, honey.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not really. I'm sorry. I just— I can't talk about it without crying, and I'm feeling kind of cried-out.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, which is something she can only really do when I'm sitting and she's standing. “Okay. Hot fudge and mini M&M's after dinner?”

“Yeah,” I said, and smiled.

Later, Dominic had a fit because Mom wouldn't let him squirt milk from a latex udder into his mouth at the dinner table, and then Dad got in trouble for letting him do it in the first place. I knew I wasn't the insane one.

Mom asked, “So, Conrad, how was your day?”

“Okay,” he said, and then he reached into the pocket of his soccer shorts and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “You have to sign this.”

Mom looked at the paper, all wrinkled and damp with
Conrad's butt sweat. I thought about offering her a latex glove, but she just said, “Okay, we'll deal with that later. What is it?”

“It's the no-booze pledge.”

I had planned to give mine to Mom when Dad wasn't around. I was surprised at Conrad for making such a rookie mistake. “What the hell is that?” Dad asked. Conrad handed Dad the nasty piece of paper, and Dad smoothed it out on the table (ew!) and read aloud, “We, the undersigned, pledge that blank will not consume alcohol, marijuana, or any other controlled substance at any time during the academic year. We further understand that breaking this pledge will result in a two-game suspension for a first offense, and ineligibility to participate in athletics for the remainder of the academic year for a second offense.”

Dad had his mad face on. “Well, this is just outrageous. We're not signing this.”

Conrad said, “Dan”—he calls Dad “Dan,” I guess out of loyalty to his biological dad—“I already signed it. Everybody and their parents have to sign it or you can't play sports.”

“Why is this the first I've heard about this?”

Mom patted Dad's hand. “Because I signed it last year without telling you because I knew you'd make a big deal out of it.”

“Um, I'm sorry,” I added, “but why is this a big deal?”

Mom, Conrad, and Dominic all looked at me like I was a complete idiot for asking this question, which I guess I was.

“It's a big deal because it's an infringement on your rights.
Listen, I can see how they don't want you showing up drunk at practice or anything, but it's tying your private behavior off the field to your eligibility to play sports. I mean, doesn't that feel a little intrusive to you? Is there a chastity pledge we have to sign too? Surely if the school wants to have veto power over the private behavior of its students, there ought to be a chastity pledge here too. Or at least a condom-use pledge. I mean, it'll be taken just as seriously. Honestly, are you telling me that nobody from the football and hockey teams ever takes a drink during the school year? Have things changed that much since I was in high school? Conrad?”

Conrad was giggling. “No, sir, they have not.”

“So by signing this, we're saying that the school can control your private behavior, and we're signing away your privacy essentially for nothing, because everyone understands that this is a sham document.”

“Yeah, I guess that's pretty much it.”

“What's a sham document?” Dominic asked.

“It's something like this,” Dad said, holding Conrad's soggy form aloft.

“A sweaty piece of paper?” Dominic said, and everybody who wasn't Dad laughed, and Dad stopped talking, which was a relief.

I must be a glutton for punishment. While Mom was getting ready for our ice cream run after dinner, I decided to ask Dad about the form again because he was so mad. Since he was always telling us not to drink and stuff, I didn't really get it.

I found Dad in the living room. “So, Dad, I thought you didn't want us to drink.”

He snapped his computer shut and said, “I don't, honey. But that's between us. The school has nothing to do with it. I just think the school is butting into your private life where it has no business. As long as you follow the rules while you're at school or participating in athletics, why should whatever else you do matter? I mean, it starts with something like this form, which everybody signs without thinking because who wants to look like they're standing up for teen drinking? But suppose the school wants to extend this to, like, I don't know, having a clean driving record. Or having sex before the legal age of consent. Is any of that stuff the school's business?”

“I guess not.”

“Exactly. Which is why I'm calling the athletic director on Monday to talk about this.”

Mom appeared at this point to inject some sanity into the conversation. “Dan, you're not doing any such thing. You'll humiliate the kids.”

“By standing up for their rights?”

She looked at Dad like he was a total idiot. “Dan, were you ever a teenager? Would you have wanted your mom calling your high school about something like this?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

Mom gave him a kiss. “I love you to death, and I love your passion”—ew, even if she didn't mean it that way, not something I wanted to hear—“and your convictions, and it is important for the kids to know about the issues involved, but you do understand that their happiness and avoidance of humiliation is important. Right? Right?”

Dad blushed. “I don't know. I guess so.”

Mom whispered something in his ear and he got this big smile on his face, which made me want to be somewhere else. Instead of fleeing, I cleared my throat, and Mom said, “Okay! Hot fudge and mini M&M's.”

“Actually I changed my mind. I was thinking about Heath bars,” I answered.

“See,” Mom told Dad as we were leaving, “we like to debate important issues too!”

The long weekend totally sucked. Lena was gone and out of cell phone range, so me and my step half whatever siblings just sat around getting on each other's nerves, because I guess everybody was stressed about school. Well, Dominic was really stressed about school, anyway. Every night at bedtime he was crying about what if his friends weren't in his class, what if his teacher was mean, stuff like that. He got very wrapped up in the homeschool fantasy. I heard him yelling a couple of times, “Amanda can be my teacher!” No thank you.

I was actually more stressed out about soccer than school. I pretty much knew how to do school. Not to be too conceited, but I was good at it. Of course, I used to think I was good at soccer too, and I obviously wasn't.

Conrad didn't worry about anything, or if he did, he did a great job of hiding it. He just sat there playing video games while Dominic and I picked on each other. No, that's not true. Dominic made annoying noises and did all this stuff to
get on my nerves, and I tried not to let it get to me, but eventually it would be too much, and I would scream at him and he would go crying to Mom, and I'd storm up to my room. Fun stuff!

Lena finally got back to civilization late Monday afternoon. After we'd established that both of our weekends sucked, we started talking about school.

“I'm totally freaking out,” she panted.

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

“What are you going to wear?”

“I've spent the last hour trying to figure out which of my new outfits makes me look the least hideous. So far each one makes me look hideous in a different way.”

“Shut up. You're going to look great. Hey, can I bring my outfits over so we can help each other?”

I hesitated for a second, and then I instantly felt bad about it. “I . . . uh . . . yeah! Absolutely!” I felt awful inside. I couldn't believe I'd thought for even a second about telling her not to come over. Just because I was jealous of her body and, oh yeah, the whole soccer thing too. I was a horrible friend. If it had been me who made varsity and Lena who didn't (as if), I would be really hurt if she let something stupid like that come between us.

And yet it was coming between us. We had a good time trying on clothes—well, I let her convince me that I looked pretty in one of my outfits even though it was an obvious lie. I appreciated that she worked so hard at it.

But soccer was always there. We were obviously both thinking about it, but what could we say? Finally, after the
third awkward silence, Lena was the one who had the guts to bring it up. Of course. Because she's a better friend than me on top of everything else.

“Keezer's a total witch,” she said. “She was really mean in practice, yelling at everybody like they were total idiots.”

What was I going to say? It's too bad you made varsity as a ninth grader? All I could think to say was “Well, Ms. Beasley's really nice. So at least there's that.”

Lena just looked at me. “I'm sorry. It's so unfair.”

“No, it's not. I mean, what's-her-name is a senior, and they can't carry me as a backup goalie if I can't run. It makes total sense.”

“It's not as fun without you. I don't like it as much. It used to be fun, you know, and now it's only about winning, and who cares if it's any fun. I had three messages from her from over the weekend. Listen to this!”

Lena whipped out her cell phone, called her voice mail, and put it on speakerphone. “It's Saturday morning,” Keezer's voice said out of the tinny little speaker, “and just because you can't practice with the team doesn't mean you can't practice. Make sure you run every day. Two miles is an okay number for a holiday weekend. You're fast, but you need to watch out for offsides. If you can get a three-on-three scrimmage together, you can practice offsides. Call me if you have questions.”

I couldn't help laughing. “Did you call?”

“I was out of range, remember? Besides, she gave me detailed instructions on all these passing and shooting drills I could run too.”

“Did you do any of this stuff?”

“I didn't get the messages until today. And anyway, it's not like I was going to run soccer drills inside the house in New Hampshire in the rain. She needs to relax.”

“It sure sounds like it.”

Lena went home after dinner. She had been really nice. So why did I feel so awful? I got the good coach, and she got the scary one.

Still, we were supposed to be complaining to each other about the coach, like we'd done before.

I moped around after dinner, flipping channels while Dad read, Conrad did whatever he did in his room, which is not something I want to think about, and Dominic had his nightly crying jag.

Mom came into the living room looking exasperated. “Amanda, he's asking for you. Will you go talk to him?”

“Uh, okay,” I muttered as I headed upstairs. Dominic was sitting up in his bed in his SpongeBob pajamas looking pathetic. “Hey, buddy,” I said. “What's up?”

“I don't want to go. It's too scary. Will you please stay home with me? Please?”

“Hmmm . . . how many times did I make you cry this weekend?”

“I don't know—five or six?”

“So basically twice a day. I don't think even a horrible teacher would make you cry that much. It's gonna be okay, you know? Conrad got through third grade, and you're way smarter than him.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Will you send Mommy back?”

“You got it.”

I went back to the living room and told Mom she was wanted. “Your turn,” she told Dad. “Go tell him a story or something.”

Dad's face lit up and he headed upstairs. When I was sure he was out of earshot, I asked Mom, “What, are you trying to bore the kid into submission?”

Mom gave me this amused look and said, “He really needs to get to sleep. I figured I'd prescribe a sleep aid.”

I continued to flip through channels, because everything on TV was annoying me. “So,” Mom said after about five minutes, “do you think we could watch something else, or are you actually into that hunting knife show on the home shopping channel?”

I looked at the TV and some guy was holding up a big knife while an 800 number flashed on the bottom of the screen. “I don't care. You wanna watch something?” I handed Mom the remote.

“Nah.” She turned the TV off. “Everything all set for tomorrow?”

Is everything all set? Nothing is set at all. Lena and I will be in separate homerooms and get separate schedules and I'm going to lose my best friend and my favorite sport and my life will be over.

“Yep!” I chirped. “I guess it is!”

Mom took a long look at me. Finally she said, “Okay,” but she didn't sound convinced.