Bama Boy (3 page)

“Open your eyes, Trace.”

“Okay, so she’s got a lot of hair, a figure men go mad for, and nobody’s ever seen her wear the same thing twice. Big deal!”

“Yeah. Big deal!”

“And I’ll tell you something else,” I said, leaning forward over the table and pointing with my fork for emphasis. “She’s wrong about Jimbo. He may be poor and white, but he’s not trash. So when you meet him, don’t let her influence you.”

“Oh, don’t worry! All it takes to make me like him is to find out that Tiffany doesn’t. I think I love him already.”

“Who, me?” asked Maggie’s boyfriend Brian, sitting down in the chair Tiffany had just vacated.

“We were talking about Jimbo Maxwell and Tiffany Tyler,” Maggie explained.

Brian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Jimbo and
Tiffany
?” he echoed incredulously, jumping to the wrong conclusion. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Oh Brian, don’t make me laugh!” Maggie said haughtily, thrusting her freckled nose into the air. “He’s poor white trash, you know—far beneath her! She told us so herself.”

“She’ll think ‘poor white trash’ after Friday night’s game,” Brian predicted. “I’ll admit, the whole team nearly cracked up the first time we heard him call signals in that drawl of his—I’ve never heard anybody make ‘twelve’ a two-syllable word before! But then we saw him play, and nobody’s laughing anymore. I think there may be more to old Jimbo than meets the eye.”

“I hope you’re right, Brian,” I said with a sigh. “You don’t
know
how much I hope you’re right!”

Jimbo came to my house for his first tutoring session the following Tuesday night. When we had agreed on six o’clock Tuesday and Thursday nights, I hadn’t realized I was making a serious error in scheduling. Richie’s pee-wee football team played its games at five o’clock on Tuesday evening, and Mom and Dad never missed a game. That meant I would be alone in the house with Jimbo for most of the hour. After my experience with Russ, I was a little nervous at the prospect.

Jimbo arrived at my house promptly at six, and I invited him in and led him to the living room, where we spread our books on the coffee table. We spent a few minutes making general remarks about school and the people he had met there, and soon I began to feel less jumpy.

“That guy in our physics class,” Jimbo said. “What was his name?”

“Anthony. Anthony Pierce.”

“Oh, yeah. Is he your boyfriend?”

I discovered I didn’t want to talk about Anthony. “Well, yes and no,” I answered evasively. “Speaking of names, is Jimbo your real name, or is it a nickname?”

“It’s a nickname. My real name is James Robert Maxwell, Junior.” He glanced around the room. “Say, it’s awful quiet in here. Where’s Richie?”

“He’s got a football game tonight. Mom and Dad have gone to watch him play.”

“So it’s just you and me, huh?”

Jimbo’s words might have been innocent enough, but they brought back all my earlier fears. Suddenly the house seemed very still and quiet, and I was very much aware that I was alone with a boy I knew little or nothing about.

“Yes, it is,” I said warily, edging away from him slightly. “Just you and me.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jimbo said, smiling at me in understanding. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

It was a little embarrassing to have my mind read so easily, but I couldn’t help but be relieved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you—it’s just that the last guy I tutored seemed to be a little confused about what subject we were studying.”

“No kidd’n’?” asked Jimbo with undisguised curiosity. “Who was he? Anybody I know?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I said, my cheeks burning. “In fact, I don’t kiss at all!”

“
Never
? What a waste!”

“Well, not under those circumstances, anyway. And I’d rather kiss a slug than kiss R—him.”

“Try not to be too hard on him, Tracy. Just listen to this.” Jimbo picked up his physics book and opened it at random. “ ‘The gravitational potential energy of an object is considered to be zero when the object is at an infinite distance from the earth.’ ” He shut the book with a snap. “See? This kind of stuff just sets a guy’s heart on fire.”

“By the time Dad got finished with him, his heart wasn’t the only thing on fire! His ears may still be burning.”

“I’ll bet ol’ Anthony wasn’t too keen about it, either. Probably beat the guy to a pulp!”

“No,” I said with a twinge of regret. “Anthony says violence is for people who don’t know how to communicate effectively.”

“I don’t know about that. If some guy tried something like that with my girl, I think I could communicate
real
effectively!”

It had never occurred to me that Jimbo might have a girlfriend back in Alabama. For some reason, I found the idea unsettling. Shaking off the unaccustomed feeling, I opened my physics book to begin the session.

About fifteen minutes before Jimbo’s hour was up, I heard the front door slam, and I knew Richie was home.

“Tracy!” he yelled, charging into the living room. “Is Jimbo still here? Jimbo! We won! We won!”

“No kidd’n’? What was the score?” I didn’t think anyone besides the pee-wee players and their parents would care about a game between ten-year-olds, but Jimbo couldn’t have sounded more interested if Richie had just played in the Super Bowl.

“Thirteen to six,” Richie answered proudly. “I scored the second touchdown myself!”

“Richie!” Mom called. “Jimbo and Tracy are trying to study, and you need a bath!”

“Aw, Mom!” he groaned. “Let me tell him about my touchdown!”

“Later,” Mom said, gearing up for the battle that was sure to follow. “Now, march!”

“Go take a bath, squirt,” Jimbo said, whacking Richie on the rear with his physics book. “You stink!”

 Richie beamed as if Jimbo had just paid him some wonderful compliment, and scampered out of the room.

I stared at Jimbo incredulously. “How did you do that?”

Jimbo only shrugged.

“He idolizes you, you know,” I said. “I hope he doesn’t embarrass you in front of the rest of the team.”

“Shoot, no. Richie’s a good kid. I’ll have to take him snipe hunt’n’ some night.”

“I don’t think we have any snipes around here.”

“I sure hope not!” Jimbo grinned at me as if I’d said something wildly funny. “Nothin’ would shock a snipe hunter more than somebody comin’ back with a snipe in the bag!”

“Then why bother to go?” I asked, all at sea.

“It’s an old joke,” he explained. “You take somebody out into the woods and leave ‘em there with a bag. You tell ‘em you’re gonna chase the snipes, and they can catch ‘em in the bag.”

“And then what?”

He shrugged. “You just leave ‘em there and see how long it takes ‘em to figure out they’ve been had.”

I grinned back at him. “Jimbo! You’d do that to Richie when he worships the ground you walk on?”

He gave a short laugh. “If he worships the ground
I
walk on, I’d better take him soon, so he’ll learn the error of his ways
.
”

“You’d better get used to it—not just from Richie, but from the whole school.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your reputation has preceded you. Tickets for Friday night’s game are selling like hot cakes.”

“Are you gonna be there?”

“I’m not sure. I usually go out with Anthony on either Friday or Saturday night, but he doesn’t care much for football.”

“No, I don’t guess he would. Probably thinks we ought to get out there on the football field and reason with each other.”

The very idea was so ridiculous that I had to laugh, but I felt obligated to defend Anthony. “He’s not as bad as all that. At least, not most of the time.”

“Well, if you can talk him into it, I wish you’d come. I’m gonna need all the friends I can get.”

“Jimbo, you’re going to have more friends Friday night than you know what to do with!”

“ ‘Friends,’ nothin’! Judge and jury is more like it.”

He was right, of course. On Friday night the stands would be full of people looking for proof that Elmore’s new quarterback was as good as they’d been led to believe. And if Jimbo couldn’t deliver—I didn’t even want to think about it.

“I see your point,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“What about Anthony.”

“I’ll reason with him,” I said, giving Jimbo a wicked smile. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try violence!”

“How did the tutoring go, Tracy?” Maggie asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet about it, and I’m dying of curiosity!”

It was Friday night, and we were on our way to the first football game of the season. I had decided to go with Maggie, since Jimbo needed friends and Anthony didn’t qualify.

“It was just fine,” I said, smiling at the memory. “Jimbo is really sweet, and funny, too.”

“Hmm. This could get interesting,” she said, cocking one eyebrow suggestively.

“Mags, he’s a yokel!”

“So? Yokels need love, too. Besides, I thought you liked him.”

“I do like him. I can’t imagine anyone
not
liking him. But I wouldn’t get involved with a boy like that for anything, not in a million years! What kind of future does he have, with no money for college and no grades to get a scholarship? After graduation, he’ll probably go back to Alabama and rot away in some backwater, reminiscing for the rest of his life about his glory days as a high school quarterback.”

“What a pity. It sounded so promising,” sighed Maggie.

“Believe me, ‘promising’ is the
last
word I would use to describe Jimbo. It’s sad, really. I feel sorry for him.”

We had hoped to be at the stadium early enough to get fifty-yard-line seats, but apparently the entire town of Elmore had the same idea. We finally found a spot near the thirty yard line, and I sat down and searched for Jimbo among the players warming up on the field.

“There he is,” I said, punching Maggie on the arm. “Number thirteen.”

“Unlucky number,” she remarked. “I hope that’s not a bad sign.”

Jimbo’s number was unlucky, all right—for the other team. He played with an intelligence that made it hard to believe that off the field he was struggling to make ‘C’s, and his confidence seemed to rub off onto the rest of the team. It seemed strange to think that most of these boys were the same ones who hadn’t won a game all last season. As the game progressed, it became more and more evident that the Elmore Eagles’ twenty-one game losing streak was about to come to an end. With one minute left on the clock, the score was 21-10, and Maggie grabbed me in a bear hug and started jumping up and down.

“Oh Tracy, we’re going to win! Poor Brian finally knows what it feels like to win a game!”

As the scoreboard clock ticked down to zero, pandemonium broke out in the home stands. The crowds swept out of the bleachers and onto the field, and within a matter of minutes one goal post teetered on the brink of collapse.

“Come on, Tracy! Let’s go!” Maggie yelled, grabbing me by the sleeve of my denim jacket and pulling me into the milling crowd.

“Where are you going?” I shouted over the noise.

“To see Brian. He’s waited two years for this!”

She released her hold on my sleeve and was quickly lost among the masses of people.

“Maggie, wait up! Mags!”

It was useless. She couldn’t possibly hear me over the noise, and she was probably halfway onto the field by this time, anyway. I turned and made my way up to the top row of bleachers, prepared to watch the show while I awaited Maggie’s return. I saw Jimbo only once, when he was hoisted up onto the shoulders of two of his larger teammates. He might have been a nobody when he woke up that morning, but he would go to bed a hero.

* * * *

I reached school on Monday morning eager to congratulate Jimbo on his success, but he was surrounded by adoring fans, and I couldn’t get near him. I was just about to give up the attempt when one voice rose above all the rest.

“Jimbo! Jimbo Maxwell!”

Jimbo turned to see who was calling him, but I didn’t have to look. I could recognize the mating call of a predatory female anywhere. No mere mob would stand in the way of Tiffany Tyler. The crowds parted before her like the Red Sea as she walked up to Jimbo and took his arm possessively.

“Jimbo, the whole school is talking about you. You’re our hero! I could just kiss you!” she exclaimed, and promptly did so.

Tiffany spent the next few minutes gushing over Jimbo’s performance in Friday night’s game while she wiped her red lipstick off the corner of his mouth. When he headed for his next class, she was still clinging like a barnacle.

“Well—of all the—” I sputtered, instinctively taking a step in their direction.

“Tracy, your class is this way,” Anthony said, taking my arm and leading me in the opposite direction.

“Did you see that?” I demanded, still inclined to follow them and rescue Jimbo.

“Leave it alone, Tracy. If he can’t figure out what to do with Tiffany, there’s nothing you can do for him.”

“Oh, shut up, Anthony!” I snapped.

“Temper, temper! I’ll never understand why you girls feel so threatened the minute a more attractive female comes along.”

“I do
not
feel threatened by Tiffany Tyler!” I informed him. “And if I hear any more talk about more attractive females, you’ll be walking to class alone!”

The more I thought about Tiffany’s little demonstration, the angrier I became. By the time I joined Maggie in the cafeteria, I thought I would burst if I didn’t unload onto someone.

“Maggie, I’m so mad I could scream!” I announced, flopping down onto the chair beside her.

“What has Anthony done now?” she asked without looking up from her lunch tray.

“It’s not Anthony; it’s Tiffany Tyler. That—that
barracuda
just came up to Jimbo in the hall and kissed him, big as life!”

I wasn’t prepared for Maggie’s reaction. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from spewing her lunch all over the table, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.