Tainted Love (Merrimack Mavericks Hockey #2)

1. “You’ve Got a Friend”

Chapter 1

“You’ve Got a Friend”

Sascha- Age 5, 1975

I adjust the straps of my Looney Tunes backpack, jittery with excitement as I join the line of other kids outside the classroom door. Some cling to their parents like remoras attached to their favorite shark, while others stand alone, looking around with teary eyes. I remember watching a show about remoras with Jacques Cousteau on Friday night after the Muppet Show. But unlike Cousteau’s undersea world, the parent sharks here cling onto their remora children right back. Everyone looks terrified.

I wonder if the sad kids will have their parents stay all day. I hope not. This is our chance to be immipendant. No. Imdimemnant. No. That’s still not right. It’s a tricky word. It’s our chance to be alone without our parents, and I’m excited about it.

Last week, I visited this place, met my teacher, and saw my classroom. It’s a nice room with lots of toys and games to play with. We have a separate area from the big kids, with a fenced-in play structure, sandbox, and swings. This way, we won’t get lost or wander off. I look around at other kids who look ready to bolt and understand the need for that fence.

Mom’s fingers wrap around Dad’s arm, and she shifts her weight back and forth. “Do you want us to come inside with you?” she asks again.

I smile at them. “No, Mama. I’m good,” I say confidently. “This is going to be fun.”

I walk toward the line of students, ready for my first day of kindergarten. I’ve been practicing my letters and numbers daily—determined to impress my new teacher, Mrs. Jones.

As I get closer to the line, I see a boy in front of me wearing brown pants and a blue shirt with a big collar. He has a Tarzan backpack on his shoulders, and his hair is all slicked back. He looks like he could be a friendly kid.

He turns and looks at me, then over at my parents, standing a few feet away. “Are those your grandparents?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s my mom and dad.” They wave at me from far away, still trying not to cry. Their smiles look fake, and their eyes glisten in the sun. But I’m not embarrassed or scared because I know they’ll be waiting for me after school.

“Why are they so old?” The boy asks with a mean look and too much judgment behind his words.

“They aren’t old!” I snap. It’s true; the other parents look younger and hipper than mine. That much is obvious. My mom and dad have gray hair and more wrinkles; their clothes are simple and comfortable. But they are not old.

“Your dress is ugly,” he hisses. He’s not nice at all. So, I will have to destroy someone on the first day. It was not in my original plan, but so be it.

I look down at my dress. It’s my favorite. My mom sewed it from a McCall’s pattern kit that I chose. It’s pale yellow with pink and purple flowers and a satin purple belted sash. She brushed my brown, straight hair and put a matching purple barrette on the left side to pull it from my face. I feel like a princess today. I won’t let anyone ruin it.

“At least I can change my dress. You’re stuck with that face!” I snap back at Tarzan Boy. His neck gets red, and I can tell he’s trying to think of an insult to burn me with, but he can’t. It’s not a kind thing to say, and I know that. But if he thinks he can start the school year picking on people, he chose the wrong place to start.

Happy that I’ve won this round, I smile, and he flips back around, refusing to look at me.

“Good morning, Class!” Mrs. Jones says.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jones!” we reply in unison.

“Everyone say your final goodbyes to Mom and Dad. They will be waiting for you in a few short-”

The loud rumble of a car engine cuts off my teacher’s words. We turn toward the noise as a shiny black car screeches to a halt. Dirt scatters into a dusty cloud as the door opens, and loud music makes my feet vibrate on the pavement. It’s like a scene from a television show Dad watches.

Two boys tumble out of the car before it barely comes to a stop, and the driver zooms away like he’s in a race . What kind of parent does that?

The boys who jump out of the car have brown hair that looks like mine, only slightly lighter. One is tall, and the other is my size. The tall one walks towards the school’s front door without looking back.

The smaller boy tiptoes toward us, watching all the other kids bounce and play. He wiggles his feet and looks around like he wants to run away. His lip starts shaking, and I can tell he’s about to cry.

“As I was saying,” Mrs. Jones states, “Say goodbye to your parents. You will see them in a few hours.”

We all turn to wave at our parents, but I notice the boy standing alone, looking lost and unsure. My stomach knots up. He doesn’t have a parent to wave to, which makes me sad. Without thinking, I step out of line and approach him. He looks at me with worried eyes as I stand beside him.

“Hi,” I say brightly. “I’m Sascha.”

“I’m Michael,” he responds with a small smile. As I look into his eyes, I’m surprised by their color—not quite blue or green, but somewhere in between. They are super beautiful. I have green eyes, and everyone tells me they are pretty, but his are better.

Excitement bubbles up inside me as I talk to my new classmate. “Today is going to be fun,” I tell him with a wide grin. He looks at me like he doesn’t believe what I’m saying.

“We get to color, use Play-Doh, sing, and even take a nap!”

He seems more interested now, speaking for the first time. “I have bologna for lunch,” he says with a crinkle of his nose.

I almost make a gross face, but I stop myself, not wanting to be rude. “I’m not sure what I have, but we can share,” I offer, hoping that makes him happy. It works, and he nods, stepping closer toward me so our shoulders are touching.

“Let’s all walk into the classroom in an orderly fashion,” Mrs. Jones instructs.

We don’t do that. We run into the classroom and look around at our new space. The walls are decorated with bright posters, large letters of the alphabet, and playful animal drawings. Each student has their own labeled cubby. Mine is written in purple, which I like. It’s one of my favorite colors.

Several tables are set up in the center of the room, each holding piles of colorful art supplies, including crayons, glue, and colored pencils.

“Let’s all put away our things in our cubbies,” Mrs. Jones says warmly. “We will have a snack soon.”

I’m feeling super excited as Michael and I put our backpacks away and join our classmates in the middle of the room, wondering what fun thing we’ll do next.

The hours pass quickly; before we know it, it’s time for lunch. We have the cafeteria to ourselves, and the sounds of five and six-year-olds squealing echo off the walls.

As promised, I share my peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Michael, who gives me an Oreo. He makes fun of me when I twist it carefully, trying not to break the chocolate wafer.

“Just eat it,” he says with a laugh.

“I like to eat the filling first,” I explain, narrowing my eyes and biting my tongue in concentration as I dislodge the sweet, white filling.

Twenty minutes later, we burst through the doors and into the bright sunlight of our play area. Our feet pound against the pavement, and we chase each other around like crazy wild animals, darting in and out of playground equipment.

I climb up the ladder to reach the top of the monkey bars, excited as I swing from bar to bar. The sun beats down on me, making my skin warm and sticky with sweat. Michael and I take turns spinning on the merry-go-round, dizzy and giddy as it swirls faster and faster. The metal of the slide glimmers, and I feel a sharp heat against my bare legs as I race down. It makes the back of my legs itch and sting, but the excitement outweighs the pain. I ride down the slide over and over with my arms up in the air and a giant smile on my face.

Too soon, Mrs. Jones calls us back inside for our afternoon nap. We drag out our small mats and arrange them side by side on the cool floor. We try to keep quiet, but we can’t help but giggle and make silly faces at each other. Mrs. Jones threatens to separate us, so we calm down but never quite fall asleep, silently smiling at one another instead.

After the final bell rings, the class lines up outside our classroom, fidgeting with excitement to tell our parents about our day. My stomach flutters as I think about telling my mom about my adventures and introducing her to my new friend.The teacher finally releases us and I spot her waiting for me at the end of the line.

I rush toward her, barely containing myself, as I tell her about my day. My mom crouches down and listens to my every word. I want to introduce her to Michael and scan the area for him. He’s standing alone beside Mrs. Jones, the last child in line. He looks scared again, standing there with his oversized backpack and battered little lunchbox in his hand. I realize that his parents aren’t here to pick him up, and it makes my chest hurt.

I tug on my mom’s sweater and look up to see a warm smile on her face. “I want you to meet my new friend,” I say proudly, taking her hand and leading her toward Michael.

“Of course,” she says, following me as we pass other families.

“Mom, this is my friend, Michael,” I smile, gesturing toward him.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Michael,” she says sincerely. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes,” he replies shyly, his eyes looking between us. Suddenly, he sees something behind me, and his face lights up. Curious, I turn around to see an older woman slowly coming our way.

“Gram!” Michael shouts as he runs over to give her a big hug. She’s tiny, with shiny gray hair and a nice smile. “Hi, Darling,” she says while softly touching his face. “How was your day?”

In a split second, he changes from shy to beaming with joy. “It was great, Grandma!” he answers excitedly. This is my new friend, Sascha.”

“Hello,” she says. She has a kind smile and sparkling blue eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi!” I reply enthusiastically.

“We need to get going,” Michael’s grandmother says. “Maybe we can stop for ice cream on the way home?”

“Yes!” Michael exclaims with a fist pump. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sascha,” he replies as he grips her hand and skips away. I’m already excited about tomorrow.

My first friend in kindergarten, his name is Michael.