The Trouble with Emily Dickinson (12 page)

“So study,” Christine said.

“I’m going to,” Kendal told her. “But I think
I need some extra help.”

She was eager to get in touch with JJ for an
emergency tutoring session because this quiz was a big deal. She
needed a good grade to help boost her average for the semester. And
she’d been making some major progress that she didn’t want to mess
up.

In some ways, she was afraid to try to study
by herself. But the truth was she wanted an excuse to see JJ again
before Friday.

“Last minute tutoring session?” Christine
inquired.

“Yes. It’s a must.”

“Why can’t I just help you?”

Kendal laughed emphatically. Her stomach
seemed to settle for a moment, so she seized the opportunity to
shove a big spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth and swallow
it down before her stomach changed its mind.

“What’s so funny?” Christine asked, obviously
offended.

“The idea of you tutoring me on an English
class.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“Christine,” Kendal said firmly. “You are a
math guru. What do you know about women’s poetry and
literature?”

“I happen to be one—a woman that is. That’s
all the knowledge I need.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Christine tossed her hair back and
tied it into a ponytail to show that she was ready to get down to
business. “Let me see what you are studying right now.”

Kendal looked her up and down. “You’re
serious?”

“Kendal, I had to take my fair share of
English class requirements, too.”

Kendal held back her tongue. She knew
Christine was extremely smart when it came to solving quadratic
equations, but as far as literature was concerned, her idea of a
classic novel was
Twilight
.

“Come on. Out with it,” Christine
demanded.

Kendal slid her tray aside and rested her
backpack on the table. She shuffled through it for her notebook as
she watched the rest of the girls at the table start to pack up
their things and head back to the dorm. In a matter of minutes, she
and Christine were the only people left at the cheerleaders’
table.

Kendal looked around the dining hall as she
shoved her notebook over to Christine. The soccer team was just
coming in for dinner, but the rest of the dining hall was empty,
except for a speckling of students who had decided to grab a late
dinner.

She looked hopefully over at the basketball
table. Unfortunately, it was empty.

Christine inspected the notebook in front of
her. “Who in the world is Anne Killigrew?”

“Give me that,” Kendal said and snatched the
folder back.

“What? I just asked a simple question.”

“How can you help me understand her poetry
when you have no idea who she is?”

Christine slouched in her chair, yawned, and
picked up her iPhone as if she’d suddenly grown bored with the idea
of helping Kendal study. “Come on, let’s get out of here. My behind
is sore from sitting.”

Kendal pretended to be engrossed in the pages
of notes in front of her.

“Earth to Kendal?”

“What?”

“I said ‘let’s go.’ I’m starting to smell
like dining hall food.”

Kendal planted her eyes at her notes instead.
“I think I’m going to stay here just a little bit longer,” she
said.

“Are you serious? For what? You can study at
the dorm.”

“I know, but it’s quiet here now and—“

“And you want to wait and see if your
girlfriend shows up?”

“Cute, very cute.”

Christine whistled loudly and said, “Caution.
You are now walking a fine line between heterosexuality and
homosexuality.”

“Will you knock it off already!” Kendal
shouted. A couple of other dining hall stragglers at a nearby table
turned their heads. Kendal retuned her voice to its normal pitch.
“I’m just going to look this over for a few minutes and then I’ll
head back to the dorm.”

“Fine,” Christine said. “Whatever. Just
remember you have to be back by nine. We’ve got curfew
tonight.”

“Ugh. I forgot. Okay—I’ll be back in
time.”

“Good. The last thing I’d want is for you to
not to be able to cheer on Saturday. You know how Mya can get.”

“Yes, I know how Mya can get.” Kendal exhaled
loudly. “Can I have some peace and quiet now?”

CHAPTER 17

JJ sucked in as much air as she could before
she sprinted from one end of the gymnasium to the other.

“Come on, JJ,” Coach Cook hollered. “Point
guards lead from the front, not from the back.”

JJ grimaced as she bent down to swipe the
painted black line that gleamed at the baseline of the basketball
court. She looked over at Queenie who was mouthing what Coach had
just said, and snorting.

“We’re sprinting, not goofing off, McBride,”
Coach Cook bellowed. “Thanks to you, the whole team has to give me
ten more.”

JJ gave Queenie her best “nice going” eyes,
but Queenie just stuck out her tongue and took off running. She
usually led the pack because of her lengthy stride, and could quite
possibly give a gazelle a run for its money in an open field. It
also helped that she’d been a top performer in cross country for
three years in a row, winning numerous accolades and praises from
area sportswriters who predicted she would go on to compete at the
Division I level.

They had been wrong, of course, as Queenie
had chosen to play basketball during her senior year at Sampson
instead of running cross-country, much to the chagrin of her
parental units. Whether Queenie missed running competitively or
not, JJ didn’t know. But she figured that Queenie cared more about
infuriating her parents than she did about her athletic prowess.
And that was all the reward she needed.

JJ, on the other hand, despised running, in
any way, shape or form. Running just to run was pointless to her.
There needed to be some sort of object involved, like a basketball
for instance. She needed something to give her a reason to run. She
was always amazed at how Queenie could just go for a run around
campus, and chalk up about five miles as if it were nothing.

The team finished the sprints, and at the end
JJ somehow managed to unearth a second wind and dashed as fast as
she could from one end of the gym to the other.

“Good finish, Jenkins,” Coach Cook noted.

JJ bent over and clung to her knees, sucking
in every breath. As much as she hated running, Coach Cook believed
it was the best way to get into top condition. She ran them into
the ground from late September to the middle of March, or whenever
the basketball season was over. It didn’t matter how worn out the
team was, they always started with sprints and ended with sprints.
Whenever they lost a game, they would spend the next practice
running from one end of the court to the other until they dropped
to the floor in exhaustion.

“Conditioning, ladies,” Coach Cook stressed.
“It’s all about conditioning. It’s always the team that’s in better
shape that wins the game. That’s what matters in those last five
minutes, that’s what allows you to play your heart out, and leave
it all on the floor.” She believed that all games were decided
within the last five minutes of play, regardless of the score.

JJ stood up and held her hands behind her
head to clear her lungs. She watched Coach Cook pace two steps to
the left and two steps to the right in her electric-green warm-up
suit. She suddenly wondered how many warm-up suits Coach Cook had
in her closet at home. It seemed as if it was all she ever
wore.

Connie Cook was a fascinating woman. Her salt
and pepper hair was just a snip away from being classified as a
mullet. Rather thin but muscular, on the weekends she often could
be spotted striding along the country roads of Ashland that
stretched for miles through endless acres of farmland.

It was also rumored that Coach Cook was part
of the team, the lesbian team, that is. Queenie said it was just a
matter of time before Coach Cook admitted to belonging on the “dark
side.” But JJ wasn’t so sure. She knew that Coach Cook lived with
the Dean of Students, who also was rumored to be a lesbian. But
Coach Cook never talked about it, so if the two of them were, in
fact, a couple, it was definitely top secret.

Queenie, though, never missed an opportunity
to tease Coach Cook about her sexual ambiguity.

“That’s why you’ve been running so much these
past few weeks,” Coach continued. “And why you will continue to run
hard for the rest of the season. You freshmen have to get into
shape, and you upper classmen should be taking these fresh fish
under your wings and training them outside of practice.”

It was the same little talk she always gave
at the end of practices during the season. After three years, JJ
was sure that she could recite word for word at least ten of those
so-called pep talks.

“Okay,” Coach Cook barked, then clasped her
hands together and stole a quick glance at her watch. “Looks like
you’ll still make it to the dining hall if you hurry it up.”

“What are your plans for dinner, Coach?”
Queenie asked. “Is the missus waiting for you at home, having
prepared a nice candlelight dinner?”

Coach Cook drew in a patient breath. “As a
matter of fact, I am the one who is cooking tonight. I have to get
home and start on some grilled chicken. The candlelight is
optional.”

“How sweet,” Queenie added.

Coach Cook ignored her. She was so above
Queenie’s remarks that she merely brushed them off her shoulders.
The rest of the team huddled together and put their hands into the
middle of the circle. “Team!”

“See you tomorrow, ladies,” Coach Cook said.
“Enjoy the delicacies of the dining hall.” With that she winked at
Queenie.

”Hurry up and change,” Queenie said, as she
and JJ dragged their aching bodies back to the locker room. “I’m
starving!”

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“The wink. Why did Coach wink at you?”

“I didn’t notice.”

JJ gave Queenie a slight shove, “Yeah, right.
Have you two been bonding lately?”

“Can we get to the dining hall before we
discuss the intricacies of my newfound relationship with Coach? I
need brain fuel. I can’t think straight. In fact, I’m seeing two of
you right now.”

“Fine,” said JJ. “But quit being so dramatic,
will you?”

“Why? I’m so good at it.”

They rushed to peel the sweaty clothes off of
their bodies and toss them into the laundry basket. Then they threw
on some warm-up pants and their team sweatshirts before they
hightailed it out of the athletic center and over to the dining
hall.

They somehow managed to slide through the
doors just as the head chef was locking up for the evening.

“That was a close call,” Queenie huffed. She
dashed through the food line, tossing everything in sight onto her
tray.

JJ opted for tomato soup and a grilled cheese
sandwich. As she studied her tray, she suddenly wished she were
eating Coach Cook’s grilled chicken instead.

Queenie was quite content with her amply
stocked tray, which consisted of a healthy portion of mashed
potatoes and turkey slopped with gravy, bread, chocolate pudding, a
side salad and a tall glass of milk.

They sat with the other members of the
basketball team, who were all busy eating while simultaneously
complaining about the excessive amount of sprints Coach Cook had
been forcing them to run.

As soon as JJ sat down she glanced at the
cheerleading table. Her heart fluttered the second she saw Kendal
sitting there. Kendal appeared to be engrossed in the papers in
front of her. The rest of her table was empty. In fact, the whole
dining hall was practically empty except for a few soccer players
lingering by the dessert bar. She forced her attention away from
Kendal and back to Queenie.

“So?”

Queenie looked at her blankly. Her cheeks
were bulging, full of mashed potatoes.

JJ winked at her.

“Oh, that,” Queenie said, swallowing her food
and waving her hand in the air. “That was no big deal. Coach and I
see eye to eye now.”

“How so?”

“Remember yesterday when I sort of mouthed
off to her?”

JJ remembered all right. She’d never seen
Coach turn that shade of purple before. “Sort of mouthed off?
Queenie, you told her to take her whistle and shove it up her—”

“I know, I know.”

“You told me she yelled at you pretty hard
after practice.”

“She did.”

“Okay, I’m confused.” JJ stirred her tomato
soup with the crust from her grilled cheese. “Why is she so
friendly with you all of a sudden?”

“After she was done yelling at me, I was
sitting there in silence. And just as I’m about to apologize, Dean
Hoffman walks through the door.”

“Wait a minute. Coach usually closes the door
when she’s yelling at someone.” JJ recalled the time she got
verbally blasted for having seven turnovers in one game last
year.

“She was so angry with me that she was
already yelling when we walked into her office, and I think she
just forgot to close the door behind her. And at that exact moment,
we both were just sitting there not saying anything, and I don’t
think Dean Hoffman realized anyone else was in there.”

“So—” JJ said eagerly.

“So as Dean Hoffman was walking through the
door, we both turned our heads at the same time.” Queenie leaned
forward, “JJ, she was carrying a rose and the first thing she said,
without looking up, of course, was ‘Sweetie, I’ve got a surprise
for you!’”

“No way!”

“Yes way! As soon as she saw me there, she
tried to hide the rose behind her back and kept stumbling over her
words.”

“What did Coach do?”

“She stood up and pushed the dean right out
of there and closed the door behind her. You should have seen the
look on her face, JJ! It was classic.”