Crackback (11 page)

I can't remember a morning when I wanted to go to school less. I've got a new zit on my chin, a broken nose, and two black eyes. The last thing I want to do is explain what happened.

“Raccoon,” Jonesy calls as I walk into school. “Been out to Oxbow?” That damn Strang.

Other kids join in. “Lots of raccoons in the park.”

“Be careful about shining them.”

Walking to Halloran's class, I hear Sam singing “Rocky Raccoon” in a loud voice.

“Rocky.” He puts his arm on my shoulder. “Lots to learn about shining. Full moon, clear night, not ideal for stealth. But those shiners. Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“One other thing, Mr. Beyond. Some girls go for that raccoon look.”

At practice, I dress early and put my helmet on to hide my face. Coach Stahl gathers everybody at midfield. “At ease, men. Take off your helmets.”

Just what I need, another speech.

“Wearing the blue and white is an honor.” Stahl pats
his chest. “You need to treat the colors with respect. All the time, not just when you're wearing them. This weekend, some players disrespected the colors.”

I concentrate on individual blades of grass. He can't be talking about me.

“Three players were at a party on Saturday night. Sheriff deputies found marijuana and methamphetamines.” Stahl spits these syllables like they're poison. “The players claim they weren't using drugs. That's not good enough for Confluence football. They should not have been there. That's a violation of the Conduct Code. I have no choice but to suspend them for the rest of the season.”

I look around. “Who's gone?”

“Three sophomores,” Sam whispers. “What a joke.”

Everybody knows Tyson and the linemen party every weekend. They laugh about it at practice on Mondays. But their parties never get busted. One rule for the stars. Another rule for the scrubs.

And Stahl keeps pushing weights. Isn't he curious how some guys lift more all of a sudden? Doesn't he wonder about guys bulking up quickly? Or is it easier to take the results and look the other way? “Just win, Eagles. Just win.”

“Men, uphold the honor of the blue and white. We go to North Fork on Friday and we need 110 percent effort.”
Stahl starts pacing. “Not 70, not 80, but 110 percent. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” everybody shouts.

Everybody but me. If 100 percent is the max, how can you give more than that? If Coach says he wants 110 percent, why not 112 or 205 percent? If 100 percent isn't the max, what is? This is 100 percent bad math.

“Manning.” I'm brought back with a jolt. “What happened to your face?”

“I got in a fight, Coach.”

“Well, it doesn't look like you did much of the fighting.” Zach and Tyson lead the laughter.

Thursday evening I call Lucia. No answer. I dial the number at her mom's.

“Hello,” a woman answers.

“Is Lucia there?”

“No, she's out.”

“This is Miles Manning. Do you know when she'll be back?”

“She's at the library. I don't expect her back until 9:15.”

“Thanks.” I check how I look in the mirror. Horrible. What am I doing searching for Lucia looking like this? But I've got to talk to her. I comb my hair. Like that will take
attention away from my black eyes. I grab my sweatshirt. I can always act like I'm there to check out a book.

Lucia's not in the magazine room. She's not at the computers on the second floor. Maybe she's not here. Maybe she lied to her mom. Maybe she's out with Dylan.

The librarian with the tongue stud is at the reference desk and I'm desperate for information. “Excuse me, have you seen a high school student with black curly hair and green eyes? Tall, a girl. I was supposed to meet her.”

“You mean Lucia?”

“Yeah, Lucia.”

“She's in the reading room downstairs. That's where she always works.”

“Thanks.”

Along the river are three rooms with big windows that face west. I didn't know they were here. In the last one, surrounded by books, is Lucia. She's wearing a big sweatshirt and is leaning back on a chair with her bare feet up. She looks good whatever she wears.

“Hey, Lucia.”

“Hi.”

“How're you doing?” I close the door behind me.

“Fine.” She locks in on my eyes and nose. “How are you? I heard what happened.”

“I'm okay.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah.” I want to change the subject. “What are you reading?”

“Some stuff on slavery.” Lucia sets down a book on the Middle Passage.

“For extra credit?”

“No, for myself. I've been reading about slave ship crews. I wonder what my ancestors were doing. I wonder if any of them were slavers.”

No one I know thinks like this. “So you come down here to read.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I sit and stare out the window.”

The pink sky reflects in the water. “Lucia, I'm sorry for not calling you back. I had an accident at work.”

She pushes the sleeves of her sweatshirt up. A leather bracelet wraps around her wrist. Her arms are thin but strong. Is that from yoga?

“You've been having a lot of accidents lately.”

“Yeah. I was hurrying to finish at work so I could call you.”

“Really. Are you making that up, Mr. Manning?”

“No, not at all.” I like the way she says “Mr. Manning.” I like the way she's found this room overlooking the river for her own. But most of all, I like it when she tells me
she's not going to her dad's this weekend because he's traveling.

“Do you want to go to a movie Saturday night?” I ask before I realize it.

“Sure. What's playing?” Lucia pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I don't know.” My mind's racing. She said yes. Lucia said yes. I hadn't thought to check what's showing. “I'll find out. Whatever, it'll be fun.”

“I'd like that, Miles.”

Lucia Lombrico said yes. Finally, I've got some news for Martha.

“Where have you been?” Dad's cutting up a chicken at the kitchen table when I walk in.

“The library.”

“Did your mother know where you were?”

“No.” I rub my hand over my nose. It still hurts.

“You're supposed to let her know.” Dad's pissed about something. “What were you doing?”

“Homework.”

“Homework? How do you do homework when your backpack's here?” Dad slices the leg from the body and pulls it apart.

“Some extra homework. I was looking up stuff.” I hang up my sweatshirt. Why's he bent out of shape?

“With who?”

“A friend.”

“Who?” The lines in Dad's face deepen when he's angry.

“Lucia Lombrico.” I stand facing Dad.

“That figures. Instead of concentrating on school and football, you're running around, getting your nose busted, chasing girls. Ever since you lost your starting spot, things have gone to hell.”

I bite my lip. I'm sick of these lectures. Between Dad and Stahl, I've been ripped repeatedly.

“You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. That's why you got it busted.” Dad points his knife. “And quit bothering your mother with questions. You've asked enough. And quit talking to that fruity brother of hers.”

“Where's Mom now?”

“Upstairs, reading to Martha.”

I haven't asked Mom anything more about the information Drew said I need.

“Can I ask you a question, Dad?” My hands are shaking and I take a deep breath.

“What?”

“You tell me to treat people with respect—”

“That's right,” he interrupts.

“Then how come you don't treat Mom's family with respect?” My voice is clear. “You don't respect Drew. You don't respect Grandma.”

Dad's eyes widen. “You don't know the half of it. I don't like people sticking their nose in my business. Those people are in-laws. That's what in-laws do, interfere.”

“They're family.” I look straight at him. “They deserve respect.”

“Don't tell me how to treat anybody.” Dad bangs the table with the knife handle. “Don't be shooting your mouth off when you don't know what you're talking about. You're the one who needs to show respect.”

“I show respect.” I point to myself.

“Not when you sneak off to meet some girl in secret.”

“It wasn't secret. I'm sixteen. I can talk to who I want. I can make my own choices.”

“You're living in my house. You follow my rules.”

I walk out of the room and my hands are still shaking.

Zach and Tyson are discussing the defense as I get on the bus to North Fork. At the start of the year, I sat with Zach. That seems so long ago. I look the other way to avoid eye contact. In the middle of the bus is Sam.

“Miles, those black eyes still looking sexy to the ladies?” Sam's got an empty seat next to him.

“Can I sit here?”

“I'd be honored, Mr. Beyond.”

As we drive out of Confluence, hills shine with the red and gold of turning leaves. Black horses run across a field, and their muscles glisten. Farmers harvest corn on a perfect day to be in the fields.

“Look at all that food,” Sam says. “Over 90 percent of the corn and beans going to fatten hogs and cattle. Sixteen pounds of grain to produce one pound of beef. If we ate more of it directly we'd have lots of food for hungry people. But we love our cheeseburgers.”

Instead of discussing defensive assignments, we're talking about agriculture.

“Two more games,” Sam says. “My high school career is almost over.”

“What're you doing next year?” I scratch my fingernail on the armrest.

“I applied early to Amherst.”

“Where's that?”

“Western Massachusetts, in the Pioneer Valley. Beautiful campus, and get this: They want me to play football.”

Sam doesn't even start in high school. How's he going to play in college?

He sees my surprise. “Oh, it's Division III. I stayed with a linebacker on my campus visit. I met the coach and some of the guys. They're cool. They have fun. Treat it as a break from studies.”

“Wow.” Sam will play next year. Some of the hardcore seniors might never play again in their lives.

“Big world out there, Miles. Confluence is a dot. What colleges are you thinking of?”

“Don't know. I haven't thought about it much.”

“You've got time. Loads of good schools.”

“I've got an uncle who lives in Massachusetts. Boston. I'd like to see him.”

“Excellent,” Sam says. “Amherst isn't that far from Boston. You could stay with me, too. Check out some schools.”

“That'd be good.” I could see Drew and Stephen without Dad. Then go see Sam.

The game's another blowout, 31-0. North Fork's good this year. We're not. Zach picks off another pass, though, which gives him five for the year.

Might as well give him his hundred bucks. That was a bad bet.

I'm standing in the backyard with a rake on Saturday. Dad doesn't believe in leaf blowers. “They're too damn noisy,” he says. “Besides, raking's good for you.” I mound pile after pile of oak, maple, and catalpa leaves. As I'm stuffing the twentieth bag, Mom comes out.

“There's something I want to tell you.” She's got her jacket zipped all the way up. I follow her to the bench under the twisted branches of the catalpa.

“When you were doing your family tree, I didn't answer honestly.” Mom looks down and exhales a big breath. “I talked with your father. We agreed it was time to tell you.” She takes off her glasses, rubs her eyes, then puts them back on. What's she trying to say?

“I got pregnant when I was eighteen,” Mom says quietly. “Your father had come back from the navy on leave.”

I can't believe this. Dad got Mom pregnant at eighteen.

“As soon as we found out, we decided to get married. My mom was angry. Drew was angry. My mom said some
mean things to your dad.” Mom opens her hand and spins her wedding ring on her finger.

“It was a hard pregnancy. Because it was my first, I didn't know what to expect. The baby was born prematurely and had problems with his lungs. He stayed at the hospital three weeks before coming home.” I watch Mom's face. Eighteen. That's two years older than me.

“Your father was nuts about that little boy. He'd talk in funny voices and play silly games. He'd stay up late so I could sleep.” Mom smiles slightly. “The baby gained weight. My mom started to accept things. The doctors said things were going well.” Mom pauses and clears her throat.

“One night when the baby was six months old, I woke to hear your father yelling. I rushed to the crib. The baby was facedown, not breathing. Your dad tried mouth-to-mouth while I called the paramedics. They came right away, but they weren't able to save him. The baby was dead. SIDS. Sudden infant death syndrome. Nobody knows what causes it. Your dad felt terrible because he'd put the baby in the crib.” Mom wipes tears from her eyes.

I feel sadness crushed by anger. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“We always meant to when you got older, but it got
harder, not easier.” Mom looks straight ahead. “That wasn't right, but we didn't know how to talk about it. I think we felt guilty.”

“Guilty about what?” That doesn't seem like a reason not to tell me.

“Guilty about getting pregnant. Guilty about the baby dying. Guilty about keeping it secret.” Mom turns to me and her eyes are filled with tears. “I'm sorry.”

I try to imagine Mom and Dad at that age. Dad getting Mom pregnant. Grandma and Drew angry at them. A difficult pregnancy. Premature birth. The baby dying. Their first baby. Is this why Dad keeps saying I've got plenty of time for that crap? Is this what he's afraid of?

I reach out to hug Mom. She holds on for a long time.

That evening, Lucia meets me at her door. She's wearing a black turtleneck, and her hair is pulled back, showing more of her face. She looks beautiful.

“Come meet my mom.” Lucia's perfume smells like spring.

In the living room, books fill the shelves and paintings cover the walls. One of them is of Lucia as a little girl. Lucia's mom is curled up on the couch in front of the fire.

“Mom, this is Miles.”

“Hi, Miles.” Lucia's mom gets up and shakes my hand. She has dark hair and big eyes like Lucia. She's wearing dangly hoop earrings.

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs.—”

“Call me Maggie.”

“Okay.” I don't usually call parents by their first name, but Lucia's mom seems different, more relaxed, like an adult who remembers what it's like to be a teenager.

“You two have fun. Lucia, I'd like you back by 11:00.”

“How about 12:00?”

“I said 11:00.” Lucia's mom points at her watch. Maybe she doesn't remember.

“That's too early. How about 11:30?”

“All right, 11:30 then. No later.”

I'm amazed. Lucia's arguing for extra time—extra time to be with me.

After the movie, we go to Juanita's, a little Mexican restaurant downtown. Lucia encourages me to order in Spanish, though I'm not very good.

“Un burrito con carne.” The waitress smiles and waits patiently. “Un Coca-Cola.”

Then Lucia orders and her Spanish flows. She and the waitress have a conversation, which gives me a chance
to stare. Lucia has nice nails with clear polish. I keep my bitten ones hidden beneath the table. She's got pretty eyebrows, too, not those thin things some girls think look good. And her eyes, I could look at them forever.

“What did you talk about?” I ask when the waitress leaves.

“She wanted to know why my boyfriend has black eyes.”

“Really? What did you say?” Boyfriend. I like that.

“I told her you'd been getting into accidents.”

“What else did you talk about?”

“Where she's from,” Lucia says. “And she wanted to know where I lived in Mexico.”

“You lived in Mexico?”

“Last year, I did a student exchange in Mérida.”

“By yourself?”

“No, silly. I lived with the Aruellos, my host family, my Mexican family.”

Lucia keeps surprising me. She's unlike anybody I know.

Later we walk by the river. I've always liked living near it, but Lucia knows more about it after a few months than I do. She knows the Indian name Hahawakpa means “waterfall river” because of the falls farther east. She knows the history of fur trapping and French voyageurs
trading with the Indians. She knows the names of different treaties and the dates they were broken. She knows about logging and the trees that were floated to Confluence to be milled into lumber. “That's why these big houses have all that wood trim,” she says. “Lumber money.”

She could be talking about anything and I'd listen. I love watching her hands fly as she talks. I'm so excited that I almost forget I've got two black eyes and a broken nose. And this afternoon Mom told me about a brother I never knew.

Lucia and I sit together on a bench that overlooks the river. The half moon shines through the trees. “Your turn,” Lucia says. “Tell me about you.”

I start talking. It's easier to tell Lucia things—big things—than anybody I've known. I tell her what Mom told me this afternoon, and she listens so intently that I keep going. “I wonder what it would've been like to have an older brother.”

I tell her about Dad, how complicated he is. How he came up and pulled the hog ring out. How he saved me when the canoe hit the rock. “Mom says he loves me, but he won't say it. He constantly picks things apart and criticizes me. He's never satisfied.”

I tell her about football. What a disaster it's been.
How we wanted to win State, but now can't win a game. How I wanted to be a star, but now don't play. How I lost my starting spot. “It hasn't been a total disaster, though, because I've gotten to know Sam. I've never played football with anybody like him.”

“I know Sam from orchestra,” Lucia says. “I'm glad you're friends.”

I tell her about Zach. How we were best friends and did everything together. How he started shooting steroids with Tyson and wanted me to join. How he pulled away when I didn't. “That was hard, but it helped me figure out some stuff. Zach and I are different. He's totally into football. I used to be like that, but now there are other things I'm interested in.”

“Like what?” Lucia asks.

“Like you.” I look at her. She's such a good listener that I've been doing most of the talking. “What about you?”

Lucia starts slowly, then tells me about her parents' divorce when she was fourteen. “I can't imagine what they were thinking when they got married. They're completely different. Anyone can see that.” She tells me about going back and forth between houses. “Usually it's okay, but sometimes I forget which stuff is where.”

She tells me about her dad. “He's a human resources
director for a software company. He's got a new girlfriend and they're getting married next summer. They want me to be as excited as they are, but I'm not. She has a fifteen-year-old daughter, so I get a new stepsister, too. She's okay, but we're very different.”

She tells me about her uncle Mario, who was killed in a car accident four years ago. “He was my favorite,” she says. “I miss him.”

“I'm sorry.” I'm not sure what else to say. We stare out at the water together.

When we walk back along the river, we stop at the bridge and drop sticks. We run to the other side to see which one comes out first. Mine wins, so Lucia says two out of three, and then three out of five. She checks her watch and it's 11:20. We race back like we're running for the end zone.

“Thanks, Miles,” she says at her house. “I had fun.” Her face is flushed from the run.

“I did, too.”

She kisses me on the cheek so fast I hardly realize what's happening. I don't have time to kiss her back.

But it still counts.