Alibi Junior High Page 6

  He studies the form in his hand. “There’s no excuse for being late. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Um, yes, sir.”

  “You will refer to me at all times as either Coach or Coach Dinatelli. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stares at me, clearly aggravated.

  “I mean, yes sir, Coach.”

  He whistles and shakes his head. “Wow, I’ve been warned about your attitude and I’m telling you right here and now: I will not—I do not—tolerate insubordination. I hope you’re hearing me. Do you know what insubordination means?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He’s suddenly incredibly angry. He looks like he’s about to grab me and throw me against the wall. He moves his face inches away from mine and shouts, “Yes, sir, what?”

  The other kids in the room are just standing there, not daring to move or talk. I can tell they’re all terrified. There’s something obviously wrong with this guy. If he touches me, I’m going to head butt him, sweep his left knee, quickly break his right arm, and put him down hard. I’m not going to risk him getting up again.

  I meet his gaze and stare him right in the eye. Very calmly and deliberately I reply, “Yes…sir…Coach.”

  He smiles slightly and nods his head. “Okay…I see how this is going to play out. Do you have a school-issued gym uniform and a lock?”

  I’m caught off guard by his quick change of attitude and the question. “Um, well, I’ve got a lock, shorts, and a T-shirt…Coach.”

  “A school-issued uniform?”

  “Um, no. I didn’t realize I needed one. I thought just a T-shirt and shorts would be okay…Coach.”

  “Didn’t you read the handbook?”

  I remember staring at Renee Carrington while Miss DeNitto plowed through it. “I kind of skimmed it…Coach.”

  He shakes his head and looks up toward the ceiling. Then he turns to the kids standing next to us and sarcastically says, “He skimmed it. Did you hear that? He skimmed it. I guess he’s just too busy to read it properly.”

  They nervously laugh with the coach until he points at a tall skinny kid. “Pogo Stick, tell Mr. Saron what happens when you forget your uniform.”

  Pogo Stick seems embarrassed at having to be the bearer of bad news. “Uh, the coach has a couple girl uniforms. He makes you wear one of those.”

  Great.

  After the coach gives me the uniform, assigns me a locker, and I change, I’m the last one out of the locker room. I go outside to join the rest of the class. There’s about thirty of them and they’re all sitting on the grass. The coach is marching back and forth in front of them, holding a football in his hand.

  As I walk out the door in my baby blue uniform with its pink trim, he yells, “Run, Saron! Nobody walks in my class!”

  I run over to the group. A big kid with a face full of pimples and long greasy hair shouts, “Nice uniform!” The class starts to laugh.

  The coach tucks the football under his arm and blows his whistle. “Listen up, everybody! This is Miss Cody Saron. She’ll be in our class from now on. She’s been going to a private school in jolly old England. Everybody say hello to our new Teacup.”

  The class shouts, “Hello, Teacup!”

  Great.

  The coach points at an overweight kid in the front row. “Frankfurter!”

  He lumbers to his feet. “Yes, Coach?”

  “You know the drill. Lap time—one full lap around the field. We’ll give you a head start and if the whole class passes you, you’ll have to take another lap. If you can beat anyone in the class, you can rest while the class takes another lap. You ready, Frankfurter?”

  The large boy sighs heavily. “Yes, Coach.”

  He blows his whistle and shouts, “Okay, go!”

  Frankfurter starts plodding along. He’s incredibly slow. It almost looks like he’s running underwater.

  Coach turns his attention back to the class. He starts tossing the ball from one hand to the other. “Okay. Anybody care to guess what we’ll be playing today?”

  Someone up front ventures, “Football?”

  “Yes, Sherlock. Football. Specifically flag football. Count off by twos.”

  He points at someone in the front and the guy calls out “One!” the guy next to him shouts, “Two!” and then the following guy yells, “Three!”

  Coach angrily throws the football at the guy who said “three.” It bounces off his leg. “I said by twos! That’s ‘one, two; one, two; one, two!’ I can’t believe this. Did you guys all have bowls of stupid for breakfast this morning?”

  We quickly count off. I’m a two.

  The whistle sounds again, and he points at a couple boxes. “Now collect your belts and flags. The ones will be wearing white flags and the twos red. After you secure your belts and flags, take a lap. Remember, if everyone doesn’t pass Frankfurter you all have to take a second lap. Tell Frankfurter he’s a red, which is kind of funny, if you think about it.”

  I almost forgot about Frankfurter. I look for him and see him about halfway around the field. I can’t believe he’s only made it that far. Even though it doesn’t seem possible, it looks as if he’s actually running slower than before.

  One by one we collect our flags and belts, and take off like bees leaving the hive.

  Frankfurter is about three quarters of the way around the field when the first runner passes him. He calls out to Frankfurter, “You’re red!” The next fifteen or so runners also tell him he’s red. When I’m about to pass him, I glance his way. He’s breathing hard and sweating.

  “You okay?”

  He croaks, “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  A number of runners pass us. They each call out, “You’re red!” I continue to run next to Frankfurter. I can’t bring myself to pass him.

  “My name’s Cody.”

  He has a hard time replying but manages to spit out the words. My…name’s…Frank.”

  “Has anyone ever lost one of these races to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you always run two laps?”

  “Yup.”

  I smile. “Today, you’re only going to run one.”

  He looks at me in disbelief. “Don’t do…that. The class…will…hate you.”

  I motion at the rest of the pack with my chin. “Those guys? They were all just laughing at me and calling me Teacup. They deserve to take another lap.”

  “Coach will be…ticked off…big-time.”

  I snicker. “Yeah, I know.”

  Frank looks my way. A smile starts to spread across his face. “I think things…are going to get…a lot more…interesting around here.”

  The two of us plod along toward the finish line. I make sure Frank’s always a step or two in front of me. The closer to the finish line we get the louder the class’s taunts grow.

  I glance over at the coach and his face is etched with barely suppressed rage.

  There’s silence when Frank crosses the line first. Everyone looks over at the coach expecting an explosive reaction. We see the fire in his eyes. We see the clenching of his jaw and fists but we don’t hear the yelling and screaming that was expected.

  He points at Frank. “Take a seat.”

  Coach blows his whistle, then shouts, “Everybody else up! Apparently Teacup wants you all to take another lap, so get moving.”

  There’s a collective groan. Then runners start flying from the hive once again. When I pass the coach he points at me. “Teacup, since you like running so much, you can take three laps.”

  When I finish my laps I join the red team. They’re walking toward the end of the field, getting ready to receive a kickoff.

  The coach jogs over to my side and starts yelling into my ear. “Teacup, you realize this is American football. Not soccer. Right?”

  I look straight ahead. “Yes, Coach.”

  “Do you know how to play Am
erican football?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “This is flag football, which means you do not—I repeat, do not—tackle your opponent. You just grab his flag. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  He looks around at the other kids. “Let’s see what the little Teacup can do. Try not to break him, okay? I hear teacups are fragile.”

  The teams line up for the kickoff and a few moments later I’m watching the ball sail through the air, tumbling end over end toward me. I catch it cleanly and quickly dodge to the side to avoid having someone grab my flag. Then I dodge and weave across the field, easily avoiding everyone who attempts to grab one of my flags. It’s all the same moves I use in karate.

  When I’m about ten yards from the goal line I stop and place the ball in the arms of one of the opposing players. He runs about ten feet before someone pulls one of his flags.

  Coach runs onto the field, blowing his whistle and shouting, “Teacup! What’s wrong with you? I thought you said you know how to play this game. The goal line’s over there.”

  He’s frantically pointing at the goal line.

  “Sorry, Coach.”

  I let the other team run a few plays and move down the field before I intercept a pass. Once again I easily dodge and weave my way within ten yards of the goal line before placing the ball in another opponent’s arms.

  This time Coach’s whistle sounds like an ear-piercing scream. He shouts, “Teacup, I know what you’re doing! Take two more laps!”

  I run the laps and rejoin my team. They’re all in a huddle. I’m sweating and breathing heavily as I squeeze in with them. The quarterback’s grinning. “Hey, Teacup, if I give you the ball are you going to do the same thing with it?”

  “The name’s Cody, and yeah, probably.”

  He shakes his head. “Coach will go ballistic. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  There’s suppressed laughter all around me.

  “Sounds like a good play to me. You sure you want to do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Frank’s giggling loudly.

  “Okay, then. Let’s light this fuse and see what happens. Break huddle on three.”

  We all chant together. “One, two, three!” Then we clap our hands and line up.

  The quarterback takes the snap and laterals the ball over to me. I’m about to start running when I get a new idea. Standing over by the coach is one of my opponents. I throw the ball to him, a perfect spiral that lands right in his hands. He runs down the field for a touchdown.

  Moments later I’m back in the hall, passing the huge mirror with its sign are you looking at an honor student? I glance at my reflection. I’m still dressed in the girls’ baby blue gym uniform with pink trim. Coach Dinatelli is hauling me by my arm to the assistant principal’s office. He looks insanely angry, almost to the point of appearing comical.

  Everyone stops to watch us. I struggle to keep my expression blank and to keep up with the coach’s quick pace. I could be wrong, but I seriously doubt this is what an honor student looks like.

  DAMAGED BUT NOT BROKEN

  A red-tailed hawk circles overhead. I stand at the bus stop and watch. It soars like a small, deadly kite.

  Cell Phone Girl watches me for a second and then mutters, “Head case.”

  I mutter, “Barnacle brain,” then watch her teeter up the street in her exceedingly high heels, her thumbs dancing across her cell phone, surely sending mindless text messages to her masses.

  I scan the sky, looking for my hawk, but it’s nowhere to be found. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head for home.

  It’s not a long walk, but it feels like one with this heavy pack. This morning Albert walked with me and even though we didn’t talk much I enjoyed the company. He told me he doesn’t take the bus home after school, he does something else. Maybe it’s wrestling, or could it be band practice? I don’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention.

  I wonder what my dad was like when he was my age. Did he walk to school with a friend? Was he popular? Did he have to carry his books in a backpack? My dad and I lived in a quiet little bubble. He never talked about his past. Now he’s not around but I’m still living inside this bubble; it’s become part of my skin. I wish I could shed my skin like a snake.

  “Cody.”

  I look over. Andy’s standing in the shadows of his garage. I’m surprised I didn’t see him right away. I’ve got to remember to stay focused. I can’t drift around in a pathetic fog all day. I walk toward him and he joins me in the driveway. He’s wearing a suit, but what really catches my attention is his arm.

  “Hey, you’re wearing your arm.”

  He looks at it and starts moving it around. “Yeah, but this isn’t the good one. This one’s more cosmetic than anything else. I’m still trying to get used to the good one. It’s surprisingly heavy, like carrying a small weight around all day.”

  I’m so used to seeing him with a missing arm that it actually seems strange to me. Somehow by adding this new part it subtracts something from the whole.

  I just nod my head like I know exactly what he’s talking about.

  His mood changes and he suddenly seems very uncomfortable. “Hey, I was wondering…I was hoping you could do me a huge favor.”

  “Sure, at least I think so. What do you need?”

  “I’ve got this job interview and, well, this is kind of embarrassing. Do you know how to tie a tie? I can’t seem to do it with only one working arm and my mother isn’t around to lend a helping hand.”

  Somehow he seems to shrink with the confession.

  I try to act casual. “Sure, no problem. I’ve been tying my own tie since I was nine.”

  He’s got the tie draped loosely around his neck. I put down my backpack, stand in front of him, and attempt to tie it. After two or three frustrating minutes, I have to confess, “Sorry, this is really tough. I’m not used to doing it like this. It’s all backward. Maybe we should find a mirror. That’s how my dad used to tie my tie. He’d stand behind me and use the mirror.”

  “Sounds good. There’s a mirror in the bathroom. You can stand on the edge of the tub to reach over my shoulders.”

  A car horn honks a few times on the street.

  We both look over and see a dark blue convertible slowly driving by the front of the house. It’s fantastic—a totally restored car from thirty or forty years ago, big, hulky, and flashy in a way that’s completely different from today’s cars. The sun is gleaming off the highly polished hood and the engine is rumbling with suppressed power.

  The top is down, and behind the wheel there’s a woman with long brown hair waving at us. She’s smiling, and even from this distance it’s easy to see how incredibly beautiful she is.

  She pulls the massive car into the driveway. Andy breathes in sharply. I glance his way and he looks both nervous and excited. He’s smiling, but the smile seems a lot like his suit, something he just put on to make a good impression.

  The car slowly cruises down the driveway and comes to a stop next to us. The music is pounding and the woman’s smile seems to grow as large as the music is loud. A moment later she reaches down, turns the key, and a new, tight silence quickly settles around us. The only sound is the tick, tick, tick of the engine cooling down.

  She shakes her head and says, “You know, I’ve used a phone with one hand before. I imagine with all your talents you could do it too.”

  He slowly starts to walk toward the car. “I’ve never been very good with phones, even the two-handed kind.”

  “How you doing, Andy?”

  “I’m okay, Annie, damaged but not broken. How about you?”

  She steps out of the car and starts walking toward him. When she’s about six feet away, she laughs, runs the last few feet, and throws her arms around him.

  “Oh, I can’t believe it. You’re really back. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Missed you too. You’re still the
fairest one of all.”

  She smiles over his shoulder. “My magic mirror returns.”

  “Always glad to perform a public service.” He glances my way. “Oh, Annie, this is Cody, he’s living in the cottage. Cody, this is Annie. She’s…an old friend.”

  She gives me a little wave. “Hey, Cody, nice to meet you. You keeping an eye on Andy?”

  “Hi, Annie. He seems to be doing okay.”

  “Don’t let him fool you.”

  Andy eyes the car. “Enough about me. How about the GTO? Does Johnny know you’re driving his baby?”

  “Of course he does. I wouldn’t dare touch it without his say-so. You know how he is about this car. But when I told him my old VW needed a new clutch, he insisted I use it. It was strange, very un-Johnny-like, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re right. That doesn’t sound like the Johnny we know.”

  “Yeah, he’s different. I think it’s the…well, did you see him at all over there?”

  I can sense Andy growing uncomfortable; the smile is completely gone from his face. “A couple times but he was way up north, near Turkey, and I was mainly in Baghdad.”

  “When you saw him how did he look?”

  “He…he looked good, I guess. The last time I saw him was about five months ago. There’s a club on the base. It’s a good place for music and something cold to drink on a hot night. We went there and spent most of our time together talking about all the crazy things the three of us used to do.”

  Her smile loses its conviction of happiness. “Yeah, those were good times, real good times. It seems so long ago now.”

  She glances at her watch. “Oh, speaking of time. How did that happen? I’m late. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go. I have to pick up my little sister.”

  She gives him another big hug. “Welcome home, hero. Call me. Okay? Seriously, I mean it. We’ll go out and catch up.”

  “You bet.”

  We watch the car back out of the driveway, toot its horn, and then roar away in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

  Andy and I stand together in silence. We can hear the car fading away into the distance, the sound of its engine growing dimmer with each passing moment. He seems upset and I don’t want to say anything that might upset him further. So I just stand there, waiting for him to say something. If I had the power to fade away from Andy like the sound of that engine, I think that’s what I would choose to do right now.