Box Out (9 page)

The next morning the world is outlined in white. Heavy snow clings to tree branches and weighs them down. Liam digs his shovel into the five inches that fell during the night and starts to clear a path. Thank God the sidewalk is short and Dad has someone who plows the driveway. If he had to shovel all that, he'd be out here until spring.

He throws wet snow in front of the bay window. Mom planted tulip bulbs there last fall, and she insists they stay covered to provide insulation against the cold. Liam looks at the frozen basketball hoop where Dad beat him in H-O-R-S-E. Putting the hoop up was one of the first things Dad did when they moved here.

Liam scrapes the plastic blade of the shovel against the concrete. “Cross that bridge when you come to it.” That's what Dad said. He's been at that bridge since Thursday when Coach Kloss told him the prayers were okay. Now he's got to figure out how to cross.

The easiest option would be to do nothing. But that would be chickening out. It wouldn't be crossing the bridge; it would be turning around and going home. Besides, Mom's going to keep asking him what's going on, and he can't tell her Coach is still checking it out. He could go back and tell Coach what he's discovered. But Coach wasn't straight with him last time. Why would he be now?

Liam pounds his shovel on the walk to get the sticky snow off. What about Principal Craney? Could Liam ask him? Craney would say he'd look into it and that would take forever. Besides, he and Coach Kloss are friends. He'd say everything was fine, just like Coach did.

“Pass me the Pringles.” Seth licks the last crumbs of Doritos from the inside of the bag as the Suns run up the score on the Lakers.

“Jalapeño or Sour Cream & Onion?” Liam stretches out on the couch in his basement.

“Both.” Seth rips a fart that sounds like a chain saw.

“Geez.” Liam drops the cans on the couch and squeezes his nose.

“I can't help it,” Seth says. “Cool Ranch Doritos make me fart. It doesn't happen with Nacho Cheese or any other flavors.”

“No more Cool Ranch ever again.” Liam grabs his Dr Pepper and takes a swig. “Seth, I found out some more about those prayers.”

“Why is that such a big deal to you?” Seth rolls his eyes.

“Coach Kloss is lying about it.”

“How do you know?”

“I did some research. Coaches aren't supposed to be doing that in school.” Liam rubs an itch on his ankle with his foot. “And there's something about the way he put his hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Don't worry about it.' He knows and he wants me to shut up.”

“And why can't you do that?” Seth mutters.

“Because he's lying. Coach G never lies to us. How do you trust a coach who lies to you?”

Seth balances a mound of sour cream on a chip and jams it into his mouth. “How come nobody else has complained?”

“I don't know.” Liam tears open a package of Oreos, takes one, and passes them.

“So why do you have to be the hero?” Seth takes three.

“I'm not trying to be a hero.” Liam unscrews the top. “I don't like being lied to.” He looks at the halves of cookie. “And nobody else wants to do anything about it.”

“Let it be.” Seth waves him off. “Don't screw things up. Why can't you listen to me?”

“I am listening.” Liam scrapes his finger across the frosting and licks it. “But I have to decide for myself.”

As he opens his e-mail on Monday, Liam looks for something from Mackenzie. But again, there's nothing.

He could send her another one, but he doesn't want to seem desperate. He doesn't want to beg for attention. She never even replied about getting a calling card. She feels farther away than ever.

He sits and looks out the window. Coach Kloss lied to him. He said, “If you ever have anything you want to talk about, come on down.” But then he lied. Liam rolls his neck to loosen the muscles. By lying to him, Kloss disrespected him.

So what's he going to do about it? He could let it be, like Seth told him to. Or he could do something dramatic like Darius did. But he's not Seth and he's not Darius. He's got to be himself.

On the court when he's boxed out, he has options. He can slide or spin or push to get free. He's got to create some space now. He turns back to the computer. He knows who to call.

“Americans United for Separation of Church and State. This is Megan.”

“Hi, I talked with you last week. I'm the one whose coach was leading prayers in the locker room.”

“Which one? I've had a few of those lately.”

“High school basketball. I was surprised to get a real, live person.”

“Now I remember,” Megan says with a laugh.

“My coach is leading prayers before games and he says it's fine.” Liam plays with a rubber band.

“Coaches often say that without checking the law.”

“What would be the next step?”

“We would have a lawyer send a letter to your school saying that the coach is leading team prayers, which courts have consistently said is unconstitutional, and ask them to inform us how they plan to ensure that the coach no longer leads religious activity with his team.”

“Do you do that a lot? Send letters, I mean?” Liam snaps the band and it bounces off his computer screen.

“Every day.”

“Who would the letter go to?”

“The principal and the superintendent of schools.”

“Would they be told who contacted you?”

“No, we don't specify that,” Megan says firmly. “We don't want you to get in trouble for doing what's right.”

Liam turns in his chair and stares out the window at the gray sky. All the snow that coated the branches yesterday has fallen off. It's up to him.

“Hello. Are you still there?”

“I'm here.” Liam stands up. He's on the other side of the bridge now. “I know what I want to do.” He paces back and
forth. “I want the letter sent.” It's exciting to decide. Exciting, but scary.

During the second half of the game at Clasco, Liam's thoughts jump around as he watches the action on the floor. Megan said they didn't need to use his name, but it won't be hard for Coach to figure it out.

It's odd sitting on the bench knowing someone in Washington, D.C., is writing a letter about Coach Kloss. Liam's done something that nobody else on the team knows about, something that they wouldn't agree with.

The pep band plays loudly to fire up the crowd. Most bands, including Horizon's, leave after halftime, but this one looks like they stay for the whole game. Maybe there isn't anything else to do in Clasco on a snowy February night.

“Bergie.” Liam's brought back by Coach's voice. “Get in for Nielsen.”

Liam rips off his warm-ups.

“We're getting killed on the boards,” Coach says. “Grab some rebounds.”

Liam checks in and jogs onto the court when the horn blows.

“You've got fifty-one.” Nielsen slaps his hand.

Liam lines up next to fifty-one, who's a stocky guy with glasses. Liam has about two inches on him. The Clasco guard shoots his free throw, and Liam leans back to seal fifty-one. Liam fights to hold his position and the ball rolls off the rim. He taps it over to Drake. This guy is tough. No wonder Nielsen was having trouble.

When Liam sets up on offense, fifty-one uses his butt and hip to force him off the block. Liam pushes back, then pivots to set a screen for Pelke. Fifty-one sticks right with him. Back and forth they go, pushing and shoving. The refs aren't calling much, so Liam digs in to hold his ground. Basketball's a team game, but when a guy challenges you, it's important to step up.

Liam pushes for position and tips the ball in for a basket.

“That's the way to hustle.” Coach claps.

Fifty-one calls for the ball on a post up. He throws an elbow against Liam's chest and gets called for the foul.

“Red ball.” The referee points.

“Way to battle.” Staley pulls Liam up.

On offense, Liam keeps moving so he's difficult to box out. He squeezes past fifty-one, times his jump, and rips another rebound. He passes to Drake, who takes it hard to the hoop.

“Good work,” Drake says.

“Nice finish.” Liam runs downcourt with Drake. How strange. After having the letter sent, he feels more relaxed on the court.

Maybe it's the calm before the storm.

When Liam gets home from school on Wednesday, Dad's gluing feathers on a paper plate at the dining room table.

“What's that?”

“Ouuu. Ouuu.” Dad holds up an owl mask in front of his face.

“That's an improvement, Dad.”

“Whooooo are yooooou to talk?” He pulls a feather off his ear. “The kids are going to go nuts for these.”

Liam sits down. Sometimes it's strange to have a dad who's a kindergarten teacher. “Dad, I've got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“Remember when I told you about Coach leading prayers at school?”

“Yes.” Dad glues the loose feather down.

“I called a woman in Washington, Megan, who said
what Coach is doing is wrong. It's unconstitutional. She sent a letter to Principal Craney about it.”

“Slow down.” Dad holds out his palms. “Who is Megan?”

“She works for Americans United for Separation of Church and State.”

“You did this on your own?” Dad frowns.

“Not on my own. Megan helped.”

“I understand that, but who told you to call her? Your mom?”

“No. I did it.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were thinking about this?”

“I'm the one on the team.” Liam raises his voice. “I needed to do it.”

“Oh, Liam.” Dad rubs his forehead. “This is going to create a mess. People have strong feelings on this issue.”

Liam squeezes his hands under the table.

“You worked so hard to make varsity. You've been playing well and contributing to the team.” Dad shakes his head. “What's going to happen now?”

“I don't know.” Liam stands up.

“Have you told Coach Kloss about the letter?”

“No.”

“You owe him that.”

“Why?” Liam scowls.

“Because he's your coach. He needs to know what's coming.”

“You and Mom always tell me to stand up for what I believe. Then I do, and you're still disappointed.”

“It's more complicated than that, Liam.”

“I don't think so.” He stomps upstairs.

When Liam checks e-mail, he's thrilled to see Mackenzie's name. It's about time.

From: Mackenzie Kost

To: Liam Bergstrom

Date: February 9

Subject: crazy busy

liam,

crazy busy. last weekend went to avignon. u know the song sur le pont d'avignon? sur le pont d'avignon, on y
danse, tout en rond. fyi it means on the bridge in avignon, everyone is dancing in a circle. did that saturday. sang the song on the bridge and everyone danced crazy together. almost fell off. lol! went shopping in the old center of town and bought a tiny leather purse. cute. almost walked out of the store without paying but the shop owner chased after us. :-)

what are u doin? how is horizon? i feel so out of it here. c'est la vie.

<3

lyl

kenz

x o x o

She is so out of it. Telling him about some stupid song and showing off her French. She's got money for a purse, but not for a calling card. The whole thing sucks, and he doesn't feel like writing back.

He hears the garage door opening and then the mumble of voices in the kitchen. Dad's probably telling Mom what happened. He clicks on YouTube and watches a girl
taking off her clothes while she dances on a table. She's hot and a good dancer, but it still surprises him that people post videos like that for everybody to see. What if you were her boyfriend? How would you feel about guys sitting in their bedrooms watching her dance around in her underwear?

Mom's coming up the stairs, so he clicks out of YouTube.

“Liam.” She knocks. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

“I am so proud.” She rushes in and gives him a hug, which sends the chair spinning.

“Okay, Mom.”

“That was a brave move and I admire you for it. Change doesn't happen when people sit back and wait. It comes from people with the courage to step forward and act. You did that and I'm proud of you.”

“Dad wasn't pleased.”

“Don't worry about that.” She brushes her hair back. “He knows all those people at school and how they talk. Let them talk. They should be talking about this. A coach leading prayers at school—that's worthy of discussion.”

Mom rambles on about constitutional principles, the Bill of Rights, and the intent of the Founding Fathers. She and Dad are completely different. Sometimes it would be nice if they were a little more alike. Sometimes it would be nice if she slowed down to ask him how he's doing.

“Are you ready to go?” She checks her watch.

“Where?”

“Church. The Romanos' presentation on their year at that orphanage in Mexico. I told you yesterday.”

“I forgot.”

“They're serving dinner. Tacos and quesadillas.”

“I don't want to go.” He slouches down in his chair.

“You like Mexican food. It will be fun. Anne said they've got terrific pictures of Chichen Itza.”

“No, I've got homework. I'll stay here.”

“Suit yourself. There's some meat loaf leftover in the fridge. We shouldn't be late.” She looks around. “Liam, this room is a disaster. It wouldn't kill you to pick up a few things.”

Liam spins around in his chair. A night alone sounds good. He can go back to watching that girl dance.

Liam wakes to a massive headache on Thursday. He staggers from his bed to turn off the alarm and immediately goes back to lie down. The pain moves up steadily from the back of his neck and locks his head in a throbbing trap.

He doesn't want to go to school. He'd like to be someplace far away, like on a beach in Florida. Another gray day. It's been gray for an entire week now. Not a single glimpse of sun. Instead, a heavy cloud hangs over everything and doesn't move. He's had enough. It's like living in a cave.

He curls up in a ball under his duvet and feels the thumping of his headache. Dizzy scratches against the dresser, wanting him up. The headache isn't going away on its own. He needs some Advil to crack the pain.

On the counter he finds a note.

Liam,

I'm at a breakfast meeting downtown and Dad's at an All-Staff.

See you after practice.

Love, Mom

P.S. A ship in a harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are built for.

Dizzy meows like crazy, so he shakes food into her bowl. She snarfs it down quickly and meows strangely. She gags twice and pukes up on the floor. Disgusting. She bends down and starts to eat it. He pushes her away and wipes it up with paper towels. Chunky, warm, cat vomit. Nice way to start the day.

He washes his hands and looks in the mirror. Yikes. Bloodshot eyes squint back. He shakes out two Advil and downs them with water. He squeezes cream from the tube the dermatologist gave him and rubs it on the rash on his finger.

Back in his room, he checks his computer. Another e-mail from Mackenzie. Two in two days.

From: Mackenzie Kost

To: Liam Bergstrom

Date: February 10

Subject: sorry

liam,

hard to write so straight to the point. we should see other people. sorry to break up by email but that's how its gotta be. u didn't do anything wrong. please don't take this personally. still friends?

lyl

kenz

What? He stares at the screen. The liar. Going out with Jean-Baptiste behind his back.

He grabs the picture of her from his desk and slams it to the floor. Glass shatters and he picks through the pieces to pull the photo out. He rips her face. Again and again and again until the pieces are so small, he can't rip anymore. He walks to the bathroom and flushes the bits down the toilet.

Don't take it personally? He's the only other person affected by her decision. Of course he takes it personally.

Still friends? No. Of course not. After this. Never.

He rereads the e-mail as if he'll find some new clue. He's been an idiot. She wasn't committed to him the way he was to her. He should be committed for being so stupid.

He holds his head in his hands and his headache pounds. He feels like he's shrinking.

He's never going to make the mistake of going out with anybody ever again.

As soon as he walks into English, Mrs. Stabenow pulls him aside. “Principal Craney wants to see you immediately.” She looks at him over the top of her glasses like she's trying to figure out why.

Liam feels a knot in his stomach as he walks past the trophy cases, the gold glory protected behind glass. Mackenzie's e-mail and now this. What a nightmare.

He checks in with Ms. Ayres, the secretary. “He's expecting you,” she says grimly.

“What's the meaning of this?” Craney waves the letter as soon as he sees Liam.

“What?” Liam stands in front of the desk. Craney's a
huge guy with a buzz cut. He used to be the football coach. Liam's intimidated already.

“Don't play dumb with me.” Craney points to one of two leather chairs. “Sit down.”

Liam does as he's told and inhales the scent of fresh leather. Craney must have gotten new furniture.

“Were you the one who talked with this…” Craney peers at the letter. “Americans United for Separation of Church and State outfit?”

Liam considers denying it. How would Craney know? But he can't lie if he's angry with Coach for lying.

“Yes, sir,” he says softly. He squeezes his hands so Craney won't see them shaking.

“The last thing we need is outsiders telling us how to run our school.” Craney pounds his desk. “This group is from Washington, D.C. What do they know about Horizon? Do they understand how we do things here?”

Liam doesn't think he's supposed to respond, so he focuses on the goalpost lamp at the corner of Craney's desk and tries to hold still.

Craney looks at the letter and grimaces. “I'm going to be forced to conduct an investigation and interview people.” He taps his finger on the paper. “Expect to be called back here next week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Craney sets his glasses on the desk and rubs his forehead. “Does your dad know about this?”

“Yes.”

“I went to school with him and we played basketball together. He knows this isn't how we do things here.” Craney points to the door. “Get out.”

Bringing up Dad is a low blow. It wasn't his decision. He's not involved. Liam hurries down the hall, trying to get as far away from Craney as he can.

After school, Liam walks into the locker room with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He opens his locker and takes clothes off the hooks. He shoves his shoes, his socks, his ankle braces, and dirty jock in the bag. He throws in his shampoo, deodorant, comb, and cologne. He folds his jerseys and shorts neatly on the bench.

He looks around the room: all the sweat, the blood, the jammed fingers and twisted ankles. He takes his lock from the locker, clicks it closed, and tosses it in his bag.

He runs his hand across the top shelf of the locker. Nothing. He peels off the tape with his name, crumples it, and throws it in the trash. He takes one last look at the empty locker. He closes it, slings his bag over his shoulder, and grabs the folded shirts and shorts. He knocks on Coach's door.

“Come in.”

“Coach, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about the letter in advance.”

“Sit down, Bergstrom,” Coach says. “I've been expecting you.”

Liam sets his bag down and sits in the metal chair.

“I'm disappointed. Very disappointed.” Coach rubs his chin. “You let me down. You let the team down. Most importantly, you let yourself down.”

Liam looks into Coach's blue-gray eyes and waits for more.

“The team is greater than the individual,” Coach says.
“As a member of a team, it's necessary to focus on the good of the group. You didn't do that. You put yourself first. You thought you were better, more important. What you did was wrong, dead wrong.”

“I don't see it that way.” Liam stands and feels surprisingly clear. He doesn't have to listen to this. He sets the clothes on Coach's desk. “I quit.”