Bama Boy (7 page)

“No, I didn’t fall in love overnight,” I said. “At least, not with Anthony.”

“But Tracy, you can’t go steady with one boy when you’re in love with another.”

“Oh no? Just watch me!” I said defiantly, shoveling a forkful of lukewarm spaghetti into my mouth.

“What are you trying to prove, anyway? Why can’t you just admit that you’ve fallen for Jimbo Maxwell?”

“Because I know what I’m looking for in a boy, and Jimbo Maxwell doesn’t even come close.”

“Tracy, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “You’re acting like a snob. You’re crazy about Jimbo, but you don’t think he’s good enough for you.”

“That’s not true! He’s as good as anybody, and better than most people! I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Maggie, because you’ve got your whole life neatly mapped out: after you and Brian graduate, you’ll both go to college, then get married and live happily ever after. But look at me and Jimbo. I’ll go to college next year, but after Jimbo graduates—if he graduates at all—he’ll either be working on the TeknoCorp assembly line or wasting away on some farm in Alabama. Either way, it would never work out, and I’d be crazy to get mixed up in a dead-end romance. If I seem snobbish, it’s only because I’m trying to spare myself a lot of unnecessary heartache.”

“And so you’re going steady with Anthony when Jimbo is the one you really care for. Tracy, if that isn’t heartache, what is?”

“I’m not going steady with Anthony—at least, not yet. I told him I would think about it.”

“Well, while you’re at it, maybe you can think of a less drastic solution. When are you going to give him an answer?”

“Next week. He’s going out of town this weekend for the national Service Club convention and won’t be back until next Tuesday.”

“Isn’t Tiffany going to that convention?” Maggie asked, momentarily distracted. “I thought she was Service Club secretary.”

I nodded. “She is.”

“But she’s throwing a victory party after Friday night’s game.”

“The Service Club members won’t leave town until early Saturday morning, but Anthony says he wants to stay home Friday night and pack his bags.” I heaved a sigh. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad he won’t be there Friday night. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing plenty of him soon enough.”

We spent the rest of the lunch period discussing Tiffany’s party, and I was grateful for the change of subject. We agreed that the team had earned a victory celebration. The Elmore Eagles were undefeated halfway through the season, and were looking at a possible berth in the state playoffs for the first time ever.

Everyone was quick to give Jimbo credit for the team’s improvement, although he modestly insisted that he was lucky to be surrounded by good people, since he lacked both the arm strength to throw the long pass and the speed to scramble. The more I watched him play, however, the more convinced I became that Jimbo’s success had very little to do with how far he could throw the football or how fast he could run the forty-yard dash. It had to do with leadership. He made the team think like winners, so they played like winners. And in the process, they became winners.

Now Elmore faced its most important game of the season Friday night against Hillcrest High School. A win would guarantee Elmore a berth in the playoffs. A loss wouldn’t eliminate us entirely, but it would make things a lot tougher. We would have to win next week’s game against East Central and, worst of all, we’d have to depend on mediocre Lee High School to upset two-time area champ Mitchell High. It was only Monday, but already the excitement was beginning to mount.

I had mixed feelings about attending the game. So far, I had only missed one, and I’d listened to that one on the radio. Deep down inside, I guess I’d known all along it wasn’t school spirit that kept me coming to all those games, but Jimbo. Now I was determined to put more distance between us, and I had to start somewhere.

So, with that thought in mind, I decided to terminate Jimbo’s tutoring sessions. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to stick with my decision, but it turned out to be even harder than I thought. When he arrived at my house on Tuesday night, we took our usual places in the living room and I broke the news. Jimbo just looked at me with a stunned, almost hurt expression on his face.

“You mean you’re dumpin’ me?”

“No! It’s nothing like that. It’s just that, well, things aren’t working out.”

Jimbo eased himself down onto the couch, frowning slightly as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Look, Tracy, I know I haven’t been the most attentive pupil in the world, but I’ll behave myself from now on, I promise.”

“It isn’t anything you’ve done, Jimbo. Really, it isn’t.”

“Is it the money? I can pay you more, if that’s what you want.”

Why did he have to make it so hard? “No, it isn’t that, either.”

“What, then?”

Because if I keep seeing you like this, I’m going to fall hopelessly in love with you.
No, that would never do. “I just—don’t have the time anymore,” I hedged. “I wouldn’t leave you without a tutor, though. I was thinking you might want to ask Chris Morgan. He’s really nice, and smart too, and I think you would enjoy working with him.”

“I enjoy workin’ with
you
,” Jimbo said simply.

I couldn’t think of a darned thing to say, which was probably just as well, since I was too choked up to answer anyway.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Jimbo said, raking his hand through his light brown hair. “I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you. Can we work out a compromise? I’ll talk to Chris about it if you’ll stick with me ‘til the end of football season. How about it?”

The end of football season. That was six more weeks. Twelve precious hours of Jimbo’s company, and possibly more if Elmore made it to the playoffs.
Go for it
, my heart sang, even though warning bells clanged inside my head. I knew I should refuse, but I was powerless to resist.

“Well—okay,” I said. “But only until the end of football season.”

“Great! And one other thing—”

“What’s that?”

“Do you think you could find time in your busy schedule to save a dance for me at Tiffany’s party Friday night?”

“I think that could be arranged,” I said with a smile.

Of course, dancing with Jimbo could be a lot more dangerous than tutoring him, but I didn’t think of that until much later.

Dumb, dumb, dumb, I told myself as I got ready for bed that night. For someone determined to keep Jimbo at arm’s length, I certainly had strange ways of going about it. I had quit tutoring him only to turn around and promise to dance with him instead. I was ashamed of my lack of willpower, but at least now I knew what I had to do. I would give myself one last weekend of freedom, and when Anthony returned to town next week, I would wear his ring.

There! It hadn’t been easy, but I’d finally made my decision. It was a relief to have it over with. In fact, it felt so good that I threw myself onto the bed and cried myself to sleep.

The next few days were difficult. When Anthony entered the physics classroom the day after I reached my fateful decision, I had to fight the urge to throw myself into Jimbo’s arms and beg him not to let me go through with it. To give credit where it was due, Anthony never once pressed me for an answer, and I didn’t volunteer one; I wanted to postpone the happy occasion for as long as possible.

I didn’t tell Maggie what I had decided, but I think she guessed the truth. We rode to the football game together, and stopped at the concession stand to buy popcorn and soft drinks before finding seats in the rapidly filling stadium. I sat down and looked around at the cheering crowds. Excitement was in the air, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the spirit of the game. I began to look at the night as a sort of celebration, one last night of reckless abandon before Anthony returned to town.

And what a way to celebrate! Jimbo played the kind of game Elmore fans had come to expect, and the Eagles quickly posted a 14-0 lead. Hillcrest struggled back to make it 14-10, and kicked a field goal early in the third quarter to pull within one point. Jimbo responded with a beautifully thrown pass to Brian, who paid dearly for the catch; he was hit immediately and had to be carried off the field on a stretcher.

“Omigosh! They’ve killed Brian!” Maggie shrieked.

She hurried down to the sidelines, and soon came back with a report.

“It’s his ankle,” she said, plopping down beside me on the bleacher. “They’re not sure if it’s broken or just a bad sprain, so they’re taking him to the hospital for x-rays. He says he’ll call me at Tiffany’s house once he gets back home.”

By the time I finished consoling Maggie and remembered to check the scoreboard, the score was 17-13. The fourth quarter was scoreless and, with less than a minute to play, some of the fans were already leaving, assuming the victory was ours.

Then, with only fourteen seconds left on the clock, Jimbo dropped back and threw the ball to Greg Saunders. Suddenly a Hillcrest defender appeared from out of nowhere and snatched the ball up just before it reached Greg’s outstretched hands. In that fraction of a second, the whole game turned around. The Hillcrest player charged up the field, slipping through the fingers of first one defender, then another. Jimbo had been hit as soon as he released the ball, and by the time he scrambled up to a sitting position, there was nothing he could do but watch as Elmore’s playoff hopes evaporated into the crisp October night.

I had never seen Jimbo look so dejected. Still sitting on the ground, he tore off his helmet and dropped his head into his hands. The sight nearly broke my heart.

“You can talk to him at Tiffany’s,” Maggie said. “Maybe you can cheer him up.”

“I doubt if he’ll be there,” I said. “He doesn’t look as if he feels much like partying.”

At first I thought the party might be just what Jimbo needed to make him feel better, but as Maggie and I made our way out of the stadium, I began to think it would be best if he went straight home. I didn’t want him to hear the terrible things people were saying about him. Judging from the bits and pieces of conversation I overheard, it seemed that everyone held Jimbo to blame for the loss, and everyone had their own ideas about what he should have done and why.

“Talk about fickle!” I muttered to Maggie. “After four straight wins, he loses one game and they’re ready to lynch him!”

We arrived at Tiffany’s house to find our hostess recruiting the early arrivals to help move furniture to make room for the dancing that would come later. The food looked delicious, and the room was decorated with crepe paper and balloons of red and white, Elmore’s school colors. As more and more guests arrived, I began to breathe easier. After all, these were Jimbo’s friends. Surely they would be supportive of him.

Unfortunately, it soon became obvious that Jimbo-bashing was the party game of choice.

“Hey, Tiffany, this is a victory party, isn’t it?” one boy asked. “So where’s the Hillcrest football team?”

“They’re going to be a little late,” another said. “They’re busy electing Jimbo as Most Valuable Player.”

“Maggie, can we get out of here?” I murmured. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Sorry, Tracy.” She held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve got to stay here until I hear from Brian. We’ll leave as soon as he calls, okay?”

“Hey, Maggie, what happened to Brian?” called a boy from my English class. “Did he break his ankle?”

We don’t know yet, Terry. He’s at the hospital now, but I should be hearing from him soon.”

She crossed the crowded room to give Terry all the details, and I squeezed my way through to the refreshment table to get a cup of punch. Suddenly all the laughter and talking stopped, and I turned to see what was going on.

There by the front door stood Jimbo.

It came as quite a shock to me that my gangly Alabama farm boy was, if not classically handsome, certainly striking. I had never seen him in anything but blue jeans (or, of course, a football uniform) but tonight he wore gray slacks and a navy blue sport coat. His hair was still damp from showering, and little curls stuck out here and there. I couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that I had seen him every day for over a month and never really noticed how good-looking he was.

Even more striking than his appearance, though, was the effect he had on everyone else in the room. As soon as he entered, everyone stopped what they were doing and stood staring at him like so many zombies, and I knew they weren’t admiring his athletic good looks. I glanced at Tiffany. As hostess, it was her responsibility to welcome him, and at the same time ease the tension in the room. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned to the refreshment table and made a big show of rearranging hors d’oeuvres on a platter. One by one, the other party guests returned to what they were doing, leaving Jimbo alone and ignored.

I couldn’t stand it. I crossed the room to his side and tucked my hand into the crook of his arm.

“You owe me a dance,” I said, smiling up at him.

“Are you sure you still want it? I’m a social outcast, you know,” he answered with a rueful smile.

“Social outcasts make wonderful dance partners. No one tries to cut in on them. Now, do I get my dance, or not?”

He shrugged. “Okay, it’s your funeral.”

He led me into the living room, where a slow dance was just beginning. We took our places among the dancers, and Jimbo drew me close.

“Tracy,” he murmured just above my ear, “do you remember the night we took Richie snipe hunt’n’, when you fell and I rescued you?”

Did I remember? I only thought about it every waking moment!

“I remember,” I said softly.

“I told you then that I might need you to do the same for me someday. I think this makes us even.”

“Jimbo, you shouldn’t have come,” I said, looking up into his blue eyes.