September 18th, 2008
Toby
I’ve learned to laugh at myself, and I’m not afraid to be the butt of a joke, but I’m dreading practice because this joke will last every school day for the next two months, from the last bell until five p.m. Nobody wants to be laughed at for that long.
Cate’s as miserable as I am when she approaches my desk to hand in her quiz during eighth period. She always finishes before the rest of the class and rarely misses an answer. Shoulders slumped, head down, she flicks the Iron Man bobblehead.
“Hey, is JerryAnn making you come to basketball practice?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” She picks up a picture of one of Se?ora Johnson’s kids and looks at it while she answers. “She says I need to make friends, spend time with people my age, and get out of the house. If I don’t, her dad will drive me to oboe lessons from now on.”
“Harsh.” Having met JerryAnn’s dad, I understand. Cate doesn’t leave my desk. “You and JerryAnn are pretty close?”
“Yeah.” Cate nods, looking up at me. “She’s the only friend I’ve got.” She looks back down at the picture and squints. “How do you sleep at night after seeing this every day?”
She puts it in my hand. A six- or seven-year-old kid wearing all white with a white background and with angel wings on his back, stares back at me. His smile is forced, his front four teeth are missing, and his canines are disturbingly fang-like. I pull the picture closer. His dilated pupils make his eyes black, and across the top of the picture are the words, “My Little Angel.”
Cate shivers then whispers, “He’ll murder you while you sleep.”
I laugh and place the photo face down on the desk. The bell rings, quizzes are turned in, students leave, and I’m in no rush to get to the gym for my daily dose of humiliation. I grab a T-shirt and shorts from my backpack, step into my closet, and change. When I step out, Miss Rose stands in my doorway, wearing a pink dress and a smile.
“Hi, Toby.” We’ve met. As JerryAnn left the building after practice the other day, Rose walked in as the new family consumer science teacher. The old teacher “retired” when half a bottle of rum was found in her desk. She claimed it was for cooking, but according to the health teacher, she’d been doing a lot of “cooking” lately.
Rose giggles as she walks into the room and moves closer. “I’m glad I caught you.” She stops an arm’s length away. “I was wondering…would you be willing to test out some new recipes for me?”
“I have to coach the girls’ basketball team from now until five.” I swallow hard. She’s standing close, smells like almond extract and roses. Her hair is thick and wavy, and her dress is snug. “I mean, I’m one of the coaches. You’ll probably see me from your classroom making a fool of myself.” I smile.
Rose giggles. “Perfect.”
I assume by her response that it’s perfect she’ll have a front-row seat to watch me make a fool of myself.
She continues. “I won’t be done baking until five.” She steps closer, reaches her hand up to my hair, and adjusts the mess.
She’s the perfect height. In heels, her eyes are level with my nose. Her hand in my hair surprises and excites me, and I’m not thinking about basketball.
“Stop by when practice is over.” She turns and walks away. Her hips shake, and her heels click down the hallway. That was easy. I don’t have a black eye and wasn’t humiliated. I feel pretty great about myself.
The confidence I gained from Rose disappears at practice.
When JerryAnn says, “You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” I reply with, “Funny, I miss a hundred percent of the shots I do take.” The girls laugh, and I’d rather they laugh at my jokes than me. I pout internally through the whole practice. A few minutes before five, Rose steps out of her room and watches as we clean up. She’s attractive: big hair, thick lashes, a curvy figure. A difficult woman to ignore.
I place a ball on the rack, and JerryAnn sets one beside mine, her tall frame blocking my view of Rose.
“Toby.” JerryAnn’s voice is quiet. The girls have mostly gone. “You have to try.”
I don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever, not with JerryAnn. “No, I don’t.” I grab my inhaler from my pocket. My asthma isn’t bad, but I take a puff anyway, mostly to make JerryAnn feel bad. I let the steroids fill my lungs while she waits for me to speak. “I don’t have to try. I’m never going to use basketball skills in the real world. I just want to get through the season…and never set foot on a basketball court again.”
Eyes wide, open mouth. Stunned silence. I just minimized her life’s work, but unless you’re a pro ball player pulling in millions of dollars a year, basketball is pointless. I look away from JerryAnn because I don’t trust myself when I’m looking in her eyes. She grabs my arm with her hand as I pull away, and suddenly Culture Club is singing “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”
JerryAnn answers calmly. “What would you say if a student told you learning Spanish was pointless and they’re never going to use Spanish in real life?” It’s a valid question, a great question, and I hate that she’s right. I hate that I’ve been childish the whole practice to save my pride, and I hate that Rose is watching.
A puff of air bursts from my loosely closed lips. “I’ll try tomorrow.”
“You know...”
With JerryAnn’s words, my gaze moves to her eyes, and I regret it immediately because Culture Club is singing, and her eyes hold feelings that the rest of her doesn’t, and I don’t want to hurt her.
“A lot of being good at sports begins with feeling good about yourself, feeling confident and capable.”
“What if, with sports, I don’t feel good about myself, confident, or capable?” It was supposed to be snarky, but it came out sincere, and I want to take it back. Why would I admit that to JerryAnn—to a bully?
She grabs a ball from the rack and acts like she’s throwing it at my face, but she never lets go, and I don’t flinch. Despite everything, I trust her.
She steps close, and whispers, “If you don’t feel it, then you fake it until you do.” She sets the ball down. “You’ll do better tomorrow.” Her confidence in me leaves me feeling guilty as she walks away.
Rose waits for me, smiles wide, and in her hands is a tray of food. The closer I get, the more I see: chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, and…
“ Bu?uelos! ” I shout as soon as my eyes affirm my nose’s suspicions.
I’m in love.