Don't Tell Mother (6 page)

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “I think it is you. You’re too afraid to stand up to her.”

Bob had laid a verbal smack-down—big time. Afraid of Mother? I wasn’t afraid of anyone. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not changing.” He turned his back to me, fumbling through his backpack. Was that it? He was just going to throw a feint and back off.

Time out!

Feeling my pulse quicken, I knew I couldn’t lose my temper with my BF, but first he insulted me and then said he wouldn’t change?

“I changed for you,” I said while clutching the edge of my desk. “I haven’t eaten meat in two days.”

He dropped his bag, turning with a scowl. “I didn’t ask you to change.”

“I don’t want to change you forever, just when you’re around my mother.” Bob was being unreasonable. After Friday, he should have seen what kind of woman I was up against.

His eyes took on the hue of coal. “So…you don’t want me to be myself around your family?”

Releasing the desk, my shoulders fell. The image of my mother’s twisted snarl invaded my mind, and a realization struck me. “No, well, kind-of. My mother is a little crazy.”

Was this what Bob was talking about? Was I afraid of Mother? No, I didn’t fear her. All I wanted was her approval.

Chewing on the end of a pencil, Bob looked lost in thought before his eyes finally turned toward mine. “I’ll think about it, but you need to eat meat or you’ll crash on the court.”

First he said I was afraid of Mother and then he dogged my game. Squaring my shoulders, I raised my chin. “Do you know who you are talking to? I was voted MVP two years running. I don’t crash.”

That is if my idiot coach lets me back in the game.

****

Heading toward the gym, I felt apprehension sink in my gut like a lead ball. Hopefully, Sparks yelled at Coach Lowe the other night because she kicked me off the court. If he did, would that be enough to get her off my back?

For some reason, I couldn’t shake the fear Lowe would try to take my captain’s position away, or even worse, get me kicked me off the team.

“Hey, AJ!”

Absorbed in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the girl standing in front of the locker-room door until I heard her call my name. I had to do a double take, because that girl, wearing K-Swiss tennies, low-rise jeans and a cut-off tank, was actually Coach Lowe.

Shaking my head, I didn’t hide my disgust as I examined her from head to toe. Wasn’t there some kind of dress code for teachers? Or some kind of poser law for people over thirty?

Lowe motioned me toward the other side of the bleachers. “I wanted to talk to you about the other night.”

Arms folded across my chest, I faced my opponent. “Yeah, what?”

Lowe’s frozen smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wish things could have worked out differently.”

This must have been her insincere way of saying sorry. I wasn’t buying it.

“You mean you wish you hadn’t kicked me out so the team didn’t get their butts stomped?”

Truth hurts. I watched Lowe’s smile drop for a second before she pasted it on again.

“Look, this isn’t easy for me.”

I couldn’t suppress a sneer. Why should it be easy for her? “It wasn’t easy for me to get kicked off the court by some newbie coach after I’ve been practicing my butt off for four years.”

“I regret that had to happen.”

Lowe didn’t even try to mask the fake sincerity in her voice as she pretended to pick dirt out of her fingernails.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

“Look.” She jutted a hand on her hip, cocking her head to the side. “The point is I don’t want it to happen again.”

What she meant to say was she couldn’t afford for it to happen again, or she’d get canned by Sparks.

Crossing my arms, I moved close enough to invade her personal space. “It won’t happen again as long as you act like a coach and not a fourteen-year-old.”

“Fine.” A twitch jerked the top of Lowe’s lip as she backed up a few inches. “And maybe you can focus less on yourself and more on your team.”

“Focus on my what?” I moved closer, cornering her against the bleachers.

“Yeah.” Her eyelid began twitching, too. “Everything out there shouldn’t be about what you want.”

“It’s not about what I want.” I said, keeping my tone firm. “I just happen to be the only one who knows how to play the game.”

“Let’s just quit with the insults.” Lowe crossed one shaky arm over the other, digging into them with her fingers. “Ever think about just having fun?”

“If I want to have fun, I’d be a cheerleader. I want to win. I want this team to win, but ever since you came along…” Jutting my chin, I sent Lowe a heated glare. “They don’t care about winning.”

“Maybe they’d try harder,” she stammered, “if you were nicer to them.”

Not this feel-good bull again. When was she going to realize this was basketball, not group therapy?

“What’s nice got to do with it?”

“Just think about it.” Lowe pointed accusingly. “Ever smile at your teammates when you walk into the locker room? Do you know their cell numbers, screen names? Are you one of their ‘My Space’ friends?”

Screen names? My Space? Why? Krysta and Sophie were all the friends I needed. What did I have to say to my teammates? It’s not like my team partied together outside of basketball.

My jaw dropped. Did they?

“I didn’t think so.” Lowe smugly smiled. “You don’t support them as their captain, so they’re not supporting you. That’s why we don’t win.”

Turning my back on her, I marched toward the locker room. I saw what happened on the court Thursday. We’ve never lost so badly before Lowe came along. I didn’t hang out with my teammates last year, and that didn’t stop us from winning number one in our division.

But why wasn’t there a party after the division championship? Weird how the school made such a big deal out of it, and then nothing. Two seconds on the clock, and my three pointer won us that game. But still, if there had been a party, I should’ve known.

****

“What’s wrong, AJ?” Sophie’s brow drew to a frown as she stared from across her processed meat product.

I never thought it could look tempting, but I was beginning to wish I had a Barfy burger smothered in artificial tomato paste.

“Nothing,” I said, though I knew it was a lie.

I sank in my seat, picking through the wilted lettuce, crusty carrot slivers and watery ranch dressing substitute in my cafeteria salad. Somehow, I didn’t think the salad had made me lose my appetite. I had a difficult time digesting what Lowe had said. I couldn’t help but to wonder…
did my team really not like me?

Sighing, Sophie rested her chin in her palms before batting her eyes. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah.” Krysta chirped between sips of her diet soda. “Tell us or I’ll send Sophie after your brain.”

Exhaling, I gripped the sides of the table before focusing my gaze on my friends. “Am I nice?”

Sophie paused, mid-bite, her eyes bulging before she relaxed her face. “What?”

“Am I cool to hang out with?” Narrowing my eyes, I waited for Sophie’s reaction.

“Yeah.” Sophie shrugged before elbowing Krysta.

“I guess,” Krysta said while keeping her eyes averted.

In all honesty, I was hoping they’d tell me Lowe was full of crap and I was a cool friend. Their reactions cut hard. Was I really that bad?

“You don’t sound too sure,” I huffed.

“No, you’re cool,” Sophie stuttered.

“Why?” Casting a glare from one friend to the next, I prepared for their next lame reaction.

“Because we can be ourselves around you,” Krysta blurted.

That wasn’t the answer I wanted. Krysta and Sophie were different like me. What about normal teens?

“No.” I waved my hands. “Forget that. Pretend we’re normal. Wait. Pretend you don’t know me very well. Would you ask me to a party?”

“No way.” Sophie jerked back.

O-mi-god. This was worse than I thought. Was I some kind of monster?

“What? Why?”

Krysta pointed at me. “That look.”

My gaze locked with Krysta’s. “What look?”

Lifting her brows, Sophie nodded. “That look like you’re going to shove your fist through my face.”

“What are you talking about?” I wasn’t going to punch Sophie, and I didn’t
feel
myself giving her a dirty look.

“You’re doing it right now,” Krysta laughed.

“Doing what?” My fingers traced the contours of my face.

It
felt
normal.

The corner of Sophie’s mouth tilted up. “You’re pretty scary looking, AJ.”

“You’re wacked.” I shook my head. They were both messing with me. I wasn’t scary. I was just AJ.

“No, she’s right,” Krysta agreed. “You always have that pissed-off look.”

“Yeah,” Sophie snorted. “Like you’re ready to kick some butt.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And from my two best friends. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I shot them both accusing glares.

“I thought you wanted to look scary,” Krysta shrugged.

“Yeah, you know, kinda goes with the tough jock-girl image,” Sophie said.

Heaving a sigh, I rubbed my aching temples. “I want people to respect me, not hide from me.”

“So stop giving people that look,” Sophie said matter-of-factly, as if she was making a simple request.

“What look?” I demanded. How could I stop doing what I couldn’t see?

Leave it to Krysta to have a cosmetic mirror handy. “Here.” She held it in front of my face. “See the snarl? The way your brows crease?”

Looking into the mirror, I finally saw what others were seeing. That scowl, that pissed-off expression, made me look like…like…holy crap!

I looked just like my mother!

Lips trembling, my voice lowered to a whisper. “Why are you two friends with me?”

Krysta set down the mirror, squeezing my hand. “We know the real you, AJ.”

My throat felt like it was closing shut. Krysta and Sophie were great friends, but they were just two people. “But my team hates me.”

Krysta shook her head. “No they don’t.”

“We don’t email or friend each other. I don’t know their cell numbers.”

“Really?” Sophie blurted before covering her mouth.

“And,” I continued, though I felt my throat tighten even more. “I think they have parties without me.”

Krysta and Sophie exchanged quick glances. Something in the way Sophie bit her bottom lip confirmed my fears.

My heart leapt into my throat, as I fought the anger welling inside. I felt betrayed, not just by my team but by my best friends. Looking at Sophie, I tried to keep my voice cool. “Why didn’t
you
tell me about these parties?”

Sliding in her seat, Sophie looked like she was going to hide under the table. “I’ve only been to one. You were on restriction that weekend so I thought that’s why you didn’t go.”

I could feel my pulse quicken, the heat rising up in my cheeks. It didn’t matter what my team thought of me. I was their captain! They still should have invited me.

Before I could respond, Krysta’s mirror was back in my face.

“There’s that look again.”

Chapter Seven

“Have a nice day at school, dear?”

Grandma was there to greet me when I stormed through the door. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone; but just one look at Grandma’s smile, and I knew I couldn’t refuse her.

“No,” I dropped my bookbag on the floor, sinking into Mother’s perfectly stitched sofa. I knew if Mother caught me she’d freak, but at the moment I just didn’t care.

Besides, I inwardly laughed; Mother would be more pissed-off if she walked in on Grandma sitting in her hand-crafted, floral chair. Grandma’s feet were propped on a fresh polished, mahogany piano bench while she chewed on the end of an unlit cigar. Her other hand draped a glass of red wine over the side of the chair. What would Mother say if any wine spilled on her plush white carpet?

Crossing one foot over the other, she sank deeper into the cushion. “Wanna tell Grandma about it?”

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The corners of Grandma’s lips turned in a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t understand what it’s like when everyone keeps their distance because you’re strange?” Grandma took an imaginary puff of her cigar.

I always knew Grandma was weird, but that’s why I liked her. I feigned shock. “Kids thought you were strange?”

Eyes narrowing, Grandma pointed at me with her cigar. “I wasn’t as adept at hiding my gift as you are, dear.”

A jolt of surprise shot through my body. How did she know? “My, my gift?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Grandma absently took a sip of wine. “Runs in the family, you know? All the women have it. It’s a shame your mother didn’t have this talk with you before.”

My jaw slacked as I stared at Grandma. I wasn’t the only freak in the family? I-I got this from my mother? Struggling to find my voice, I managed to speak in a hoarse whisper. “Having visions runs in the family?”

“So is that your gift?” Grandma tapped her cigar. “I was wondering.”

“What do you mean? You said it runs in the family.”

Grandma’s strong gaze found mine. “Having gifts
does
run in the family, but we all have
different
gifts, dear.”

Whoa! Totally weird. My arms and legs felt numb from shock, and a strange chill ran up my neck. “What’s your gift?”

Grandma turned her head, her eyes resting on an open bottle of wine sitting on top of the piano. Grandma stretched her palm outward. Though I had a hard time believing what I was seeing, a wine bottle actually floated in mid-air toward my grandma. Hovering above her wine glass, the bottle tipped until the red juices poured. After the glass had been filled, the bottle raised and floated back to the piano.

I looked at the bottle, and then at Grandma’s glass, and then back a few times. “Holy crap! I want your gift.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” she laughed. “Sometimes controlling a gift like mine can be a bit of a trial. Like the time I was craving chocolate and Jimmy Somerday’s Hershey bar flew across the cafeteria and into my hands.”