Box Out (5 page)

After the game, Liam sits silently in front of his locker. Another loss. Sixty-four to fifty, and West Branch played its second string the final ten minutes. He got a lot of time, though, because Drake and Nielsen kept making mistakes and getting pulled. Three points and seven rebounds—a solid game. Collinswood even told him “good work” when they slapped hands.

Liam unties his shoes. West Branch plays a fun style of ball. They know they're good and they've got the record to prove it, but it's more than that. Their coach lets them play. He doesn't pull them the minute they make a mistake. On defense, they gamble for steals. On offense, they take the ball to the hoop expecting to score. They usually do.

He pulls off his left shoe and notices dried blood on his sock. He gently feels the toe. Somebody must have stepped on his foot. He'll deal with it when he gets home. He gets dressed and heads out into the cold. Snow is falling so hard, he can't see the end of the parking lot.

The Toyota whirrs in protest and then fires up. He turns on the wipers and rolls the windows down and up to clear them off. He flips on the defroster for the back. That beats getting out and brushing snow in the cold.

The radio blasts as he drives. He focuses on the white line on the side as snow dances down in the dark. Right before J & S Auto, something's on the pavement. He slows to avoid a deer that's been hit. Its legs point in different directions and guts color the snow. He drops his speed and concentrates on the road.

If only Mackenzie were here to make him feel better. What's she doing now? Sleeping. But what did she do today? Was she with that Jean-Baptiste guy again?

Liam pulls off the paved road onto the gravel one and then into the driveway. On nights like this, it would be nice to have a bigger garage so he could park in it, too. Snowflakes flicker against the dark sky, and he sticks out his tongue and catches one.

Inside, Dad's sitting on the floor, listening to Wynton Marsalis as he cuts construction paper in the shape of
beetles for his kindergartners. Mom's reading
Newsweek
on the couch with Dizzy curled up in her lap.

“You played well.” Dad stops cutting.

“Thanks.”

“West Branch is impressive. Collinswood controls the game at both ends of the floor.”

Liam remembers the block. “Yeah, he's good.”

“We ate earlier,” Mom says. “There's lasagna left. And apple pie.”

“I'll shower first.”

Liam checks his e-mail. Plenty of spam: stock tips, security alerts, and the all-time, best ever, money back guarantee for increasing sperm quantity. But nothing from Mackenzie.

He pulls off his bloody sock. The nail on his fourth toe has cut into the skin of the middle one. He turns the shower to hot and gets in. The water pounds his back. He doesn't move as his muscles soak up the heat, and he's transported past thought to basic physical sensation: sore, hungry, exhausted. His bloody toe stings as soap washes over it.

He's in the shower so long, the room steams up and the
moist air loosens his lungs. He hacks up a greenie and spits it in the toilet. When he's finished, he dries himself with a fluffy towel, clips the toenail, and wraps a Band-Aid on it. Now he's starving.

Mom gives him a glass of water and presses the reheat button on the microwave. “How do you feel?”

“Okay.”

“How come Coach Kloss is so critical?” She sits down across the counter from him.

“What do you mean?” Liam takes a long drink.

“The West Branch coach encourages his players calmly and explains things. He acts like a teacher. Coach Kloss shouts and gets angry.”

“He doesn't like to lose. None of us do.” Liam finishes his glass of water. One of the drawbacks of being an only child is there's no one else for Mom to cross-examine.

“Coach G wasn't like that.”

“Mom, that was JV.”

“So?” The microwave dings and she gets the plate of lasagna and corn.

“Varsity's different, Kate.” Dad punches a hole in a beetle book and attaches a fastener. “Coach Kloss does a good job. He's been coaching this way for a long time.”

Liam dives into his lasagna.

Mom picks up her magazine. “That doesn't mean he can't change.”

At his locker, Liam flips through his notebook, looking for his English homework. He's sure he did it. Where is it?

“Hi, Liam.” Leah is half hidden behind a huge canvas. Darius holds the other end and Iris Cleary carries their backpacks.

“Hey.”

“Too bad about West Branch,” she says. “Collinswood is tough, isn't he?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“I played with him in the summer. He's a good guy.”

“How'd you do last night?”

“We won by twenty-six. Iris dominated inside when Jessica twisted her ankle.”

Liam turns to Iris. She's tall and pretty with blue eyes and short blond hair. “Way to go.”

“Thanks.” She smiles shyly.

“Do you mind?” Darius says. “I don't want to hold this all day.”

“Sorry.” Liam walks to the other side. “What is it?”

“A new painting of Leah's,” Iris says. “I helped her with it, and we're going to hang it in the library.”

Swirls of purple and blue blend on a background of black. “I like it. What's it called?”

“
Missing Shea,
” Iris says as she follows Leah and Darius. The painting moves down the hall like a sailboat cutting across a lake.

Liam watches Iris's blond hair in the crowd. She's tall, taller than Darius. He wishes he didn't have English. Hanging a painting with them sounds like more fun than being bored by Mrs. Stabenow.

Thursday morning, Liam rubs his freshly shaved cheek as he drives down Drake's street. He promised he'd be here, but at this hour he'd much rather be back in bed.
Cars line both sides of the street, but Liam finds a spot behind Pelke's Durango. He and Pelke slam their doors at the same time.

“Do you always come to these HAF meetings?” Liam jams his keys in his pocket.

“Yeah. It's really important to Coach Kloss.”

“So is it kind of like church or something?” Liam gets a whiff of Pelke's strong cologne.

“I don't know,” Pelke says. “I don't go to church. I'm here because I want to keep starting.”

Liam kicks a chunk of ice off his wheel well. “That's pretty cynical.”

“No, it's not. It's smart. It's insurance.”

Seth's Silverado speeds around the corner. Seth skids on some ice, straightens it out, and crunches into a spot down the street.

“I'll wait for him,” Liam says.

“See you inside.” Pelke hurries toward the big house.

“Bergie.” Seth bounds out of his truck.

“I didn't know you'd be here.” Liam dances from one foot to another trying to stay warm.

“Drake invited me.” Seth's wearing his letter jacket unzipped.

Liam's breath forms small clouds. “Let's get inside. I'm freezing.”

“You finally made it.” Drake greets them in the entryway. He extends his hand and Liam shakes it.

Liam unzips his coat and glances at the sparkling chandelier above their heads. He hears the hum of voices and girls giggling in the kitchen.

“Coats down there.” Drake wears a tan shirt that says
GREATER GLORY
on the pocket. “Food in the dining room.”

Liam follows Seth downstairs to a huge room dominated by a TV the size of a movie screen.

“Wow,” Seth whispers. “I didn't realize there was so much money in shoes.”

Liam drops his coat onto the long leather couch. DVD cases line the wall behind it. “There must be a million movies here.” He scans the titles.

Seth pulls on the sleeves of his long-sleeve T-shirt. “Let's see what they have to eat.”

The kitchen and dining room are crowded, so Liam follows Seth, who bulldozes a path to the table. Breads, muffins, and bagels sit on silver trays.

“Is Drake on some kind of health kick?” Seth makes a face like he's sick. “I need a doughnut.”

Liam chooses a cinnamon-raisin bagel and smothers it with honey-walnut cream cheese. He watches Pelke pour a glass of grapefruit juice for his girlfriend, Chloe. For someone who's only here because he has to be, Pelke seems to be having a good time.

Liam slides over to get juice and sees Coach Kloss coming toward him.

“Bergie, I'm glad you made it.” Coach slaps him on the back. “One hundred percent—everyone from varsity basketball is here.”

Staley and a senior with red hair stand in front of the fireplace and motion for quiet. “I'm Chris Staley from basketball.”

“And I'm Trisha Norwood from swimming. For anybody new, we're your HAF co-captains.”

“Thanks for being here,” Staley says. “This is our largest turnout of the year.”

Everybody claps and Coach beams.

“For the warm-up, we want you to break up into small groups of four or five and introduce yourself.” Trisha twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Tell the group which sport you play and share a triumph and a challenge. A triumph is something good that's happened and a challenge is something you're struggling with.”

Circles form on the living room carpet and Liam and Seth join the nearest one. Trisha gestures to Liam. “Why don't you begin?”

“I'm Liam Bergstrom and I play basketball.” Liam tries to think of a triumph. “I've been on varsity for a little over a week and I'm doing pretty good.” He hopes it doesn't sound like bragging, especially in front of Seth.

“And a challenge?” Trisha encourages him with a smile.

Liam taps his heel. “My girlfriend is in France for four
months. That's a gigantic challenge.” He turns to the left to indicate he's finished.

“My name's Chloe Keenan. I play basketball and my triumph is finding people in my life I can really count on.” She smiles at Pelke. “My challenge was having to work with Jared Drake to set up the food for this meeting.”

Liam laughs with the others and Chloe grins. Her brown hair is pulled back in an orange headband. She's pretty in a perky sort of way.

“My real challenge is my younger sister,” she says. “I'm worried about the friends she's hanging out with.” Liam watches others nod sympathetically. Chloe's challenge is caring about someone else. Maybe that's what he was supposed to say. He should have said something about Grandma.

After everybody finishes, Staley introduces Drake. “As you know, some of us have been working on our own Champion's Prayer.” Drake gives copies to Chloe, who passes them around the room. Drake waits until everybody has one. “Let's all read the first two verses together.”

“‘God, You are awesome and almighty.'” All the voices blend together. “‘Help us to understand and follow the path You have chosen for us. As athletes, let us compete in the image of Christ.'” Liam looks around. He doesn't even know what competing in the image of Christ means.

“'Heavenly Father, through You, all gifts come to us.'” Liam's throat tightens as he follows the words on the page. “'We give all praise and honor in Your name.'” Seth reads along next to him, and Pelke's loud voice echoes across the room. “'Help us to become champions for Jesus.'”

Liam stares at his paper. Image of Christ. Champions for Jesus. This doesn't feel right. He can't say these things just because everybody else is.

“Thanks for the chocolates, Kenz. They were great.”

“Good. I'm so glad it's you. I'm dying to talk English.”

He tosses dirty socks and boxers off his chair and sits down. “What are you doing?”

“Homework. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything being in French.” She sighs. “I have to work so hard to say the right words, and sometimes I know what I want to say, but I don't have the vocabulary, so I sound like a total idiot.”

“I do that in English.”

“Living with someone else's family is frustrating, too. Everybody says treat it like your own home, but it isn't mine. I have to adjust to their ways of doing things. They only talk to me in French, too, even though they all know English.” She pauses. “I miss my own house. I miss my family. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Kenz.” Liam looks at her picture on his desk. “I wish you were here in my room.”

“I wish you were holding me right now.”

“I do, too.” He scratches the back of his neck. “How are we going to handle fourteen and a half more weeks?”

“I don't know,” she says. “Some days are harder than others.”

“What are you wearing right now?”

“Why? I look terrible.”

“You're so far away. Knowing would make you feel a little closer.”

“My pink sweats and my coral Abercrombie tank top. Does that help?”

“Yeah. Is your hair pulled back?”

“No, it's down.”

“Good.” A semester feels way too long. Why couldn't she go for a week at spring break? “So what do you miss the most?”

“Turtle Blizzards from Dairy Queen.”

“No. Really?”

“You, silly. I miss you.”

“You can have both as soon as you get back.” Excitement rushes through him, and he shifts his position.

“Yummy.” She giggles. “How did your day go?”

“It was strange.” Liam picks at a fingernail and tells her about the HAF meeting. “Some people seem sincere, but others, like Pelke, don't believe any of it and are only saying the words. I can't do that.”

“Of course not,” Mackenzie says.

“I'd feel like a fake.” Liam stands. “And Coach leads prayers before every game and at halftime and expects us to lead them, too. It feels weird.”

“What's the matter with prayer?”

“Nothing, but it's kind of a personal thing. I don't think Coach should be making us do it in the locker room.”

“It sounds to me like you're worrying too much.”

Liam looks out the window and doesn't respond. He's not worrying. Just trying to tell her what's going on. Why can't she see that?

“Liam.” Mackenzie fills the silence. “I've got some bad news. My dad got my cell phone bill. It cost a ton. He's upset at how much we've been talking. He says I'm only supposed to use my phone to call them or for emergencies.”

“What?” They haven't talked that much. Liam stares at the dried cornstalks standing in the snow.

“I can't call you for a month,” she says.

“A month?”

“That's what my dad said.”

Liam sits down on the bed and rubs his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Mackenzie says quietly. “Li, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” He opens his eyes.

“Don't be mad at me. It's not my decision. I'll e-mail.”

“It's not the same.”

“I know,” she says. “I'm frustrated, too. We'll just have to get through this month.”

“I don't know if I can make it that long.”

“I've got to go, Li. Dad will see this call on next month's bill. We'll figure something out. Bye, Li.”

“Bye.” Liam snaps his phone shut and pounds his fist on the bed.

Saturday night, Liam's hands fly at the controls of NBA Live. He's up ninety-nine to ninety-eight and traps Seth at half-court. Seth twists and launches a wild shot.

“For the win,” Seth shouts.

“No way,” Liam hollers.

The ball swishes through the net.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Seth jumps up and down using the couch as a trampoline.

“I don't believe it.” Liam tackles Seth and they fall to the carpet.

“Believe it, sucker.” Seth turns him over and pins him.

The doorbell rings and Seth runs to get it.

“Good evening, Mr. Pizza Man. Let me introduce you to the Big Loser.” He motions to Liam. “He's paying and he tips extremely well.”

Liam pulls bills out of his wallet and gives them to the delivery guy.

Seth opens the box. “Pineapple and ham? Who'd ruin pizza by putting pineapple on it?”

“It's good,” Liam says. “Try a piece.”

“No chance.” Seth grabs a pepperoni slice. “Don't let any of that pineapple get on my half.”

Liam slurps his Pepsi. “That meeting at Drake's house. What did you think of it?”

“It was okay.” Seth chews with his mouth open.

Liam wipes cheese off his chin. “We didn't do anything like that last year.”

Seth leans forward. “Drake says it builds team unity and helps guys focus.”

“I don't know about that.” Liam shrugs. “Are you going again on Thursday?”

“Yeah. Drake says it's a plus for making varsity next year.”

“Really?” Liam wipes a blob of sauce from his jeans. Since when is Seth talking so much with Drake?

Seth burps loudly. “This time, though, I'll bring my own doughnuts.”

“What are you doing?” Liam sits down across from Mom at the dining room table.

“Budget review. I have finance committee tomorrow morning.” Lines crease her forehead as she studies papers. “We must have been out of our minds to schedule that first thing on Monday.” She pets Dizzy, who snores in her lap.

“How's it look?” Liam picks up an eraser.

“I need to make more cuts.” She circles a number with a red pencil. “Maybe I'll lay myself off. I could get back to my
painting.” She circles another number. “But somebody has college coming up, so I guess I have to keep plugging away. Do you have any more of those chocolates?”

“No, I finished them.”

“Darn. I could really use one.”

“Mom, remember when you asked about Coach Kloss?” Liam squeezes the eraser.

“Yes.” She crosses out a line on her page.

“Well, he's kind of into religion.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up.

“You know…prayers and stuff.”

“What kind of prayers?” She sets her pencil down.

“He makes up his own prayers.” Liam rolls the eraser around.

“Christian prayers? Does he mention Jesus?”

“Yeah, he talks about the Lord and doing His work. Then we always say the Our Father.”

“I don't believe this. He can't be doing that in public school.” Mom stands, dumping Dizzy to the floor. “He's a teacher whose salary is paid by taxpayers. He can practice any faith he wants, but he can't lead you kids in prayer at school.”

Liam taps the eraser on the table. “That's kind of what I thought. Coach acts like everybody on the team is a Christian, but he doesn't know that. Not everybody at school is.”

“Of course not.” Mom's face flushes when she gets worked up. “Leah Braverman is on the girls' team and she's Jewish. How do you think she'd feel if her coach led Christian prayers?”

“Uncomfortable.” Liam slouches in his chair.

“Of course. Separation of church and state is a fundamental American principle.” She sits down directly across from him, and her eyes zero in. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know.” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to talk about it, not do something.”

“Liam, it's wrong. When something is wrong, you have an obligation to take action.”

Liam concentrates on the wood grain of the oak table. Suddenly, he feels in over his head. He's not like Mom. He's not looking for controversy.

Besides, he can't jeopardize his place on varsity.