Chapter 1 #3
“I’m really impressed,” I agreed. I tried to remember who had been sitting at this table so I could blackball the joker, but the only characteristics I could recall about him were “large” and “loud.” That didn’t narrow it down very much.
Every time the Junior Woodsmen came in, there were always some that acted like assholes.
It was the same thing with the Woodsmen fans in the summer, the ones who congregated and hoped to see the players.
I usually came across a few that made me wish I had an air horn and fart spray so I could take them out.
I swiped at the ketchup and then threw my cloth into the bucket.
“Want to sit?”
I looked over at the former football player.
“Um, sure,” I answered. He was still making an effort with me, despite my wide-legged white pants and square sailor collar (which made me look like a tubby child).
I had to feel flattered and I also had to feel that my mom would get upset if she saw me seated.
I did it anyway. “I’m Molly,” I said.
“I know. I heard the cook yelling at you a few times.”
“That’s my dad. This is our family business,” I explained, saying it just like my mom.
“So you’re Molly Walter?”
“No, the restaurant is called ‘Walter’s’ because he was my great-grandfather and he founded it. I’m Molly Scheffler.”
“Shane Bishop. It’s nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, pointing to his tablet. He’d been fully engrossed by it for the entire time he was here.
“Work,” he said, and touched the bottom so that the screen went black. “Is this your full-time job?”
“Yes, full-time and more, and I also go to college. It’s very difficult and exhausting.” That had sounded dramatic but my emotions were running high. The ketchup mess had bothered me. “By the way, we refunded your card since your meal sucked so bad.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I probably wouldn’t have, since you got it eventually. It was my mom’s decision.” She let people get away with a lot.
I heard the office door open and before she came out, I stood. “Nice to meet you, too,” I told Shane. I went to get more cleaning supplies and when I returned, he was gone.
As I mopped, I reverted to my previous line of thought.
What about attracting a Junior Woodsmen?
That Bishop guy had just wondered why I didn’t know about them and it was a good question.
Some of these players could have moved move to the upper division of football, to the real Woodsmen, and I could go to their games to figure out which ones were most likely to advance their careers.
Then I could be in the parking lot when the talented guys came out and oops, maybe I’d have car trouble.
But which were the talented ones and how could I direct them to my engine?
The next Saturday morning, I decided that I was going to go watch the Junior Woodsmen play. “Come with me,” I told my sister.
Morgan turned over in bed. “I’m tired,” she said groggily.
“It’s almost ten AM and you didn’t stay out late last night.” She hadn’t done anything at all, actually, even though it was the weekend. We could have used her help at the restaurant.
I went to her window and pulled on the string to open the blinds. The metal slats didn’t move at all but a cloud of dust did waft up. “Yuck,” I said, waving it away from my face. “Do you ever clean in here?”
She didn’t bother to give me an answer but I didn’t need one. I had climbed over piles of garbage and dirty clothes to reach the bed in order to poke her awake.
“You might feel better if you got up and did something,” I chided. “It’s beautiful today.” It was twenty degrees, but the sun was nice.
She still didn’t answer but I gave it another try. “Morgan? Please?” I stood for a few moments, waiting, and then left her alone.
My parents were already in the kitchen and I could hear them arguing about coverage at the restaurant, so I stepped quietly.
Technically, I wasn’t supposed to go in, but I knew that I was going to get dragged there.
Since my sister had decided to spend her life in bed and my brother was…
what was he doing now? I couldn’t keep up.
Whatever. He wasn’t going to show up at Walter’s today and I thought that I also deserved a little time away, just a little.
Morgan hadn’t stayed out having fun on Friday night and neither had I.
I’d closed the restaurant last night with my mom and it was after some of the Junior Woodsmen players had engaged in an ice fight, throwing cubes at each other.
There had been a lot to clean up and then she had been worried about some invoices, so we’d gone over those, too.
I stifled a yawn as I slowly unlocked the front door and swung it open.
It didn’t squeak because I had prepared for this moment when I’d come in last night.
After my mom had trudged to bed, I had stayed up a little later and sprayed the hinges with lubricant so that I could quietly exit—yes, that was weirdly wily and also more in the vibe of thirteen-year-old me, the girl with the thigh-high striped socks which I thought had made me quirky instead of clown-like.
But the grease worked, because I got away with no one sighing “Molly” (Mom) or yelling to get my ass back inside because I had work (Dad). A moment later, I was in the car that Morgan and I shared, which I had also packed up the night before. Then I was on my way before anyone could say anything.
We lived close to the restaurant, which meant we could never really get away.
It also meant that we lived close to the Woodsmen practice facility, a huge building that looked like an ugly orange prison.
It was where the Junior Woodsmen team played outside.
Just to emphasize, they played outside, in northern Michigan, in the winter.
I wasn’t sure what poor life choices had led them to our area instead of, say, the Caribbean, but mine were just as bad.
I was going to sit on my butt in the bleachers and watch my first Junior Woodsmen game.
I had been to a game at Woodsmen Stadium, once, but that was in the fall.
It hadn’t been warm but it was nothing like today, which was why I had brought a stadium seat, glove warmers, and blankets, in addition to doubling down on layers of clothes.
I was prepared except…well, it would have been more fun to go with someone.
Like, for example, if I had a boyfriend.
If I had a boyfriend who was a Woodsmen player—no, I wouldn’t have been going to this game, because it wouldn’t have been necessary to try to catch a guy on his way up.
I wasn’t sure about this course of action, anyway, because if I wasn’t attractive enough for them while wearing my work uniform (even without the hat), then I also wasn’t going to make an impression while wearing so many layers topped with my down coat that was brown and made me look like a walking Tootsie Roll (or, according to my brother Max, a giant turd).