Freshman Year (32 page)

“Well,” I say and force a smile on my face, “you owe me big time, you jerk. I even took a bubble bath for you.”

“Oh, man, are you serious? I missed that? Okay, I promise I'll make it up to you. What are you doing Saturday night?”

“Going to the movies with Kate.” My mention of Kate's name instantly reminds me of her wise words:
Keeta's just going to end up breaking your heart in the end.

“And after that?” Keeta starts playing with my hair with one hand and slyly slips her other hand up my sweatshirt.

“God, your hand feels like a popsicle,” I say, pushing her off me, but in a playful way. “Anyway, after going to the movies with Kate, I think I'll be hitting the clubs. You know, I'm a really big deal around here.”

She rests her chin on my shoulder and sighs. “You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

Students are starting to take over campus like an army of ants and I don't feel like dealing with their stares, so I get up and stand over Keeta. “I'll check my schedule, Ms. Moreno, and have my people get back to you.”

She holds her hand to her heart and falls back onto the gum-splattered entrance of the performance hall. “Oh, you're cruel, but I deserve it.” By the time she sits up again, I'm already half way across the courtyard. “I'll wait for your call like a humble servant,” she shouts.

I look over my shoulder and flash her a confident, movie-star smile then head to class.

*

Our last game is against Saguaro again, but this time we're on their court. I've learned there's something wonderful about beating a team on their own turf, so I'm looking forward to pummeling them. This is the team with The Fridge and the team with all of Keeta's ex-flings, so I want to seriously kick their butts. And maybe I'll impress Keeta so much tonight she'll forget about all the other girls and make me her one and only. You never know, it could happen.

In the first quarter, I score five baskets and make The Fridge foul me three times. I only miss one out of six free throws, and Riley actually looks proud. I look up to see if Keeta sees me and smile when she and Tai give two thumbs up for my performance. But Saguaro is scoring big time, too. Without Stef, our best outside shooter, they're able to keep up without any problems.

“Time to run Dust Devil,” coach says at the halftime locker-room meeting.

There's a serious hush in the room. Dust Devil is an offensive play that's a thousand times more complicated than conjugating irregular verbs in Spanish. But we've practiced it so much that when I'm not dreaming about my dad or Keeta, I'm dreaming about this play.

“Garrett, you're going to take the three when it's there. I saw you practicing yesterday. I know you can do it.” Then Coach points to me. “Abbey, if Garrett misses, I better not see any girl wearing red getting that ball. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Natalie, look inside for Abbey and Tori, and don't forget to look weak side. We can win this, ladies, but only if you want it. Do you want it?”

“Yeah!” we shout in unison.

“I can't hear you,” he yells back.

“Yeah!” we scream again.

“Hands in!”

We squish together and put our hands in the middle. One look around the circle and I know we have the game in the bag. My teammates have never looked so determined.

With Dust Devil in full swing, the second half of the game is so much better than the first. Every time Saguaro scores two points, we come back with a quick jump shot or three-pointer from downtown. Seriously, Garrett's threes are sinking like she's just kicking it at home, tossing a pair of socks in the laundry hamper.

And if anyone does miss a shot, I snag every rebound I can. Then, once the ball is in my hands, the only thing I have to decide is if I'm going to turn and shoot, dribble in for a layup, or pump fake and pass to Tori or Eva. Though The Fridge keeps trying to knock me down, not even she can keep me from scoring tonight. And, thanks to the ref's new ability to actually see what's going on, The Fridge fouls out at the end of the third quarter. Maybe it's the reputation I got from the last time we played, or maybe it's my purplish-greenish-yellowish bruised eye, but it feels like everyone is letting me do what I want out here, and I'm loving it. Being in control of the court is almost as good as being in control of my love life.

With three minutes left in the game, Coach calls one last time-out. We're up by seventeen points, so the game is basically over. “Abbey, Garrett, Tori, Nat, Eva, you guys are out,” he says, as our subs line up to be let in. “Great job out there.”

My big ego nearly causes me to protest, but he's right. We should let the second string in for a while. Besides, I'm drenched in sweat and totally exhausted.

Matti, whom I have decided—with the help of my gaydar—is a total DIT (Dyke in Training), gives us towels and water, and we sit back to enjoy the rest of game.

“Man, you guys kicked serious ass out there,” Tai says and rubs Garrett's shoulders like she's a champion fighter, which she kind of is.

“Don't, I'm all sweaty,” Garrett says, slapping Tai's hand away, but then she leans back and allows Tai to hug her. “Babe, did you see my three-pointers?”

“
See
them? I think the guy from ESPN is already playing them on tonight's edition of
Slam Dunk
. And Abbey…holy drop shot, girl. Where did you learn that move?”

“Oh, you know, I just picked it up,” I say, keeping a serious face for a second, but I can't hold it because I feel like squealing. I've never felt so good about anything I've done.

“Puh-leeze, I taught her everything she knows,” Keeta says as she settles on the bleachers behind me and joins the conversation. She sits with her legs spread apart, so I make myself comfortable as I lean back into her and smile up at her. She puts her arms around me and gives me a squeeze. She doesn't even care that I'm all sweaty. “You rocked, Amara,” she whispers.

Garrett clears her throat and bumps my leg with her knee, and that's all I need to slap myself back into reality. What the hell am I doing? My mom's probably watching us. I quickly sit up and push Keeta away, pretending I don't want her attention.

Keeta interprets my actions as playing hard to get. So she grabs my wrists and says, “Oh, she's a feisty one tonight, Tai.”

I struggle to try and free myself, but when she won't let go, I whisper, “Let go, Keeta. My mom's here.”

She looks over her shoulder and sees what I mean. My mom's sitting about seven bleacher steps away, talking to Kate.

“My bad,” Keeta says and laughs like it's no big deal. “Well, come on, Tai. We've got to get ready so we can show our girls how the
real
women at Gila High play basketball.”

“Whatever, Keeta,” Garrett says and shoves them both. “You guys are losers.”

As they leave for the locker room, Keeta slips a note onto my lap. But before I can read it, the buzzer goes off announcing the end of our game, so I have to shove it in my sock and save it for later.

My teammates and I all high-five each other, then huddle up together to give a shout-out to the opposing team. We line up, and as I slap each one of the Saguaro girls' hands, I'm already looking forward to next year. I can't wait to stomp them again. Then I'm face to face with The Fridge. I brace myself for a really hard high-five, but instead she moves her hand to the side so I miss her altogether. This only makes me hate her even more.

After Coach's talk, Kate and I get cleaned up because my mom wants to take us out for a celebratory pizza at Magpies. My mom invites Jenn to join us after she plays, but Jenn politely declines and says that after her game, the varsity team has plans to celebrate the end of the season, which really means they're going to go drink Dr Pepper and Bacardi in an undisclosed desert lot near Jenn's house. Keeta's going to be there, so I'm bummed out about not being invited to their party, but it's better this way. I mean, I kind of owe it to both my mom and Kate to spend a little time with them.

But I still need a little Keeta fix before I leave the gym, so I sneak off to the bathroom and read Keeta's letter before we leave:

A,

Cómo estás, preciosa?
It's halftime and I have been lucky enough to spend the previous half hour admiring your strength and beauty as you play. You are like a graceful ballerina, a wild stallion, and a ferocious lion all wrapped up in one. It's weird, but out there on the court, I see a side of you that makes me like you even more. But mostly I see how passionate you get about rebounding. Lol. What a turn-on, by the way.

So I know I really screwed up the other night, and I'm sorry I made you wait up for me. I really do want to make it up to you, though, and I will. Actually, I want to make you feel like you do when you're on the court, which I feel very confident I can do, if you'll just give me the chance. (wink, wink)

Well, there you are again in my old twenty-one jersey. Your sexy body is getting it all sweaty, which also kind of turns me on. Hmmm, I am seeing a pattern here. Man, you are in my head, Amara.

Besos
all over, lover girl,

(especially on that spot on your neck that makes you moan)

K

I close my eyes and smile. I like being admired. I like being watched. And part of me likes that I somehow manage to turn Keeta on.

*

“So,” Kate says as the two of us wait in line to order the pizza, “does your mom know?”

“About what?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Come on, Abbey. You know.”

I look over my shoulder to make sure my mom's still sitting in the booth across the restaurant. “God, I hope not. Why?”

“I'm just wondering. I mean, you were getting pretty friendly with Keeta at the end of the game. What was that all about?”

“Oh, yeah. I totally don't know why I did that. Did my mom see us?”

“I don't think so, but you have me to thank. I had to distract her with gruesome details of how the staples on my stomach are itching.”

I order the pizza and we get our cups for the soda machine. “Thanks, Kate. I owe you one.”

“So when
are
you going to tell her, Abbey? I mean, take it from me, it sucks finding out from someone else or, you know, another way. Your mom's so cool. What are you so afraid of?”

“What am I supposed to do, Kate? Just sit down at dinner one night and drop the bomb on her? ‘Good evening, Mother, pass the potatoes, and by the way, I like to kiss girls.' You don't get it. It's not that easy.”

“Well, you have to do something. Besides, she might already know and she's just waiting for you to say something.”

“I know, okay?”
Don't get pissy and defensive
, I tell myself,
she's just trying to help.
“I'll do it when I'm ready. I promise.”

We walk back to the table and sit down with my mom, who looks at me, then at Kate, and then back to me. “What's wrong? Are they out of black olives or something? You guys look so serious.”

I still feel irritated from Kate's nagging, so I decide to mess with her a little bit. “It's worse than that,” I say and then swallow like I'm trying not to cry. “Mom, I have something to tell you. Brace yourself, this may be sort of shocking.”

Kate looks over at me with giant Chihuahua-like eyes popping out of her head.

“You're not going to like what I have to tell you,” I say. Now Kate's squirming in her chair and gulping down Diet Coke. “But, well, I'm just going to say it…They're out of mushrooms!” I fake sob into my hands.

My mom's sitting at the kitchen table playing Scrabble by herself when I get home from school today. This is a pretty normal scene, but this is no ordinary day; this is my day of reckoning. This is report card day, and my mom actually trusts me enough to let me get it from the mailbox myself.

“Well, let's see it,” she says, as soon as I dump my stuff on the couch.

I know what she wants but feel like messing with her, so I say, “I haven't got the faintest idea what you're referring to,” in my best Southern belle accent. Of course, I've already hidden the report card in my pocket and I know exactly how I've done, but instead of giving it to her, I open the cupboard and rummage around for a snack, finally finding a forgotten granola bar behind a jar of spaghetti sauce.

She puts out her hand and clears her throat, but at least she's smiling. “Do I have to tickle you for it?”

“Hey, let's not get crazy.” I pull it out of its hiding spot and place it in her hand. “You can have it, but I'm sorry to say it isn't exactly what you wanted.”

My mom slips on her reading glasses and slowly unfolds my report card. She glances over the class titles and grades, and then puts her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

I crunch on another bite of bar. “Go ahead and say it because I already know I rock.”

She squeezes me so hard that I nearly choke. “I'm so proud of you. Straight As, wow! You even got an A+ in Art and Biology.”

“Well, it helps to have an amazing artist as your mom.”

“I'm so proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm incredible, but let's talk about these rules.” I tap the fridge of doom. There isn't an inch of the door visible behind all the stamped library cards she insisted on posting. “Am I a free woman again?”

“Abbey Road, it's good to have you back. Yes, you are a free woman. But—”

“I know, I know. Don't let it happen again.”

Before she gets all teary-eyed and mushy, I break from her arms, whip out my cell phone, and race to my room, already dialing Keeta's number. “Free at last! Free at last!” I scream before Keeta picks up at her end of the line.

*

A couple of weeks after being set free from my mom's house rules, Kate and I are lounging in the quad at lunch like lazy lizards in the April spring sun. I'm feeling reflective and satisfied with life. Keeta and I have been spending more time together again, and my mom trusts me. Even better, Kate and I are back to being fulltime BFFs with no chance of ever parting. “Man, we've come a long way this year, Kate.”