Angry Management (8 page)

Montana looks at Dr. Conroy like she just dropped a dead fish into her latte.

“Looks like we’ve found it,” Dr. Conroy says. “The football playoffs.”

“Ronnie Jackson does sports,” Montana says. “What are you going to do, kick him over to fashion?”

“We don’t have fashion.”

“But you get the point.”

“No, I’m not taking Ronnie off sports,” Dr. Conroy says, “but you can do a human interest piece. Profile a player who doesn’t usually get a lot of attention, or write about some other aspect of the sport.”

Montana stares at the ceiling. “This
so
sucks.”

“Listen,” Dr. Conroy says. “I know passing everything through the principal’s office doesn’t reflect what the real world’s going to be like. But truth is, when you get to college, or if you join a major newspaper, they’re going to give you assignments that would make a football playoff piece look Pulitzer-worthy. They start everyone at the bottom. So instead of considering yourself
the crack columnist of your high-school newspaper, consider yourself at the lowest level of the next step up. It’ll keep you ahead of the game.”

Montana walks away shaking her head. “Football playoffs.”

“This is a personality profile? What’s that?”

“It’s where I profile your personality.” Montana says.

“That definition would get you a C- in English,” Trey Chase says.

“I didn’t know football players took English.”

Trey smiles, and Montana almost melts. She understands where this guy gets his rep. “I’m just looking for a different angle on the football team,” she says.

“Coach told me to be careful,” Trey says. “He says you’re a muckraker.”

“Only when there’s muck to rake,” she says back. “Shall we get on with this?”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I record it?”

“Yup.”

“You do mind?”

“I do mind,” Trey says. “I only let people record me making late night 1–900 calls.”

Montana shakes her head, hits the record button on her digital recorder, and sets it on the table between them, closer to Trey than to her to accommodate the cafeteria background noise.

“So what made you turn out for football in the first place?”

Trey smiles and stares at the recorder.

“You were serious.”

“Serious as AIDS,” he says as she reaches over and hits the stop button, then returns the recorder to her backpack. “A real journalist uses pen and paper anyway.”

“Jeez.” She drags out her notebook, closes her eyes a moment, and shakes her head.

“Wondering why you took this assignment?” Trey says.

“We’ll see. What made you turn out for football in the first place?”

“Keep myself out of juvy.”

“Really.”

“Yup,” Trey says. “Judge told my grandma if I’d turn out for football he’d hold off giving me a sentence. If I stayed with it a year, he’d drop the charges.”

“You stayed with it four.”

“I did. Actually I was going to take the sentence, but
my grandma slapped me so hard on the side of the head when I said it, I thought I heard church bells. Judge liked that. He smiled and said, ‘You sure?’”

“What did you do to be standing before a judge in the first place?”

Trey smiles. “Let’s just say I was in possession of some things I couldn’t prove were mine.”

“Like?”

“Things I couldn’t prove were mine.”

Montana nods and jots that down. Actually this could be fun; he makes her a bit uncomfortable. Bad boys. Watch out for bad boys. “So I know all the ESPN answers, and I’m looking for a different article than that; you know, in depth.”

Trey smiles again, and Montana shifts in her seat. “In depth is usually a quarterback’s interview,” he says. “But let’s give ’er a shot.”

“How do you feel about the fact that football players are generally treated like gods in this school, that they get away with things the general population doesn’t?”

“I like it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a football player. I like it.”

That’s the problem with asking a question you don’t think you’ll get an answer to. Dr. Conroy has warned
her students about that. “So you agree? Football players get special privileges?”

Trey feigns confusion. “Oh, I thought you were telling me about some new policy.”

“No, I was stating the obvious and asking what you think about it.”

“Isn’t that like, a trick question?”

“No, it’s not a trick question—”

“I mean, if you say something you think is ‘obviously true,’ but it’s not obviously true to me, doesn’t that give you an advantage, like to get my ass in a sling?”

“It isn’t obviously true to you that football players get special treatment when it comes to discipline and rule breaking?”

“I wouldn’t know. I stay away from as much discipline as I can. Truth is, by the time they get enough goods on me to drag my ass to the office, there’s not a lot of reasonable doubt. What’s this article gonna be about, anyway?”

Montana lays her pen down on the table in exasperation. “I don’t know. It seems to be taking off on me.”

Trey nods toward the pen. “That mean we’re taking a break?”

“For a minute. I have to gather my thoughts.”

Trey picks up the pen and notebook. “I been thinking I might like this school paper thing. Lemme try it from your side.”

“Actually, I’m asking the questions.”

“Yeah, but you’re taking a break. Weren’t you a cheerleader back when I played JV, like when we were freshmen?”

Montana nods. “Yes, Trey, I was a cheerleader.”

“You didn’t get elected cheerleader wearing all that black shit, and all the
inserts.
”

“You mean my piercings?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Your piercings. In fact we had you on the fast track. Great legs, better…uh…torso, eight and a half face, maybe three percent body fat.”

“The fast track to what?”

“Feminine superstardom,” Trey says. “But you veered off on us. In a couple of simple sentences, so my fourth-grade level readers can understand, can you tell us why?”

“I can tell you in one simple sentence. Because you guys had me on the fast track.”

“Is it true you have a tattoo on your abs of a bird pulling a worm out of your belly button?”

Montana snatches her pen back, blushing only slightly. “Back to the interview.” She opens the notebook
to her original page. Trey sits back. She says, “You say
you
don’t get special treatment as a jock, and specifically as a football player. Would you say that in general, athletes get special treatment?”

“Of course I wouldn’t say it. You want me to rat out my buddies on the gravy train?”

“So you’re saying it’s true, you just won’t say it.”

“A good journalist does not put words into the subject’s mouth.”

Football players are supposed to be jerks in Montana West’s judgment, but Trey Chase is fun. She wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but the way he plays her feels
sexy.

“You know this is all on the record, right?”

“Yeah. Hey, would you like to go out for a Coke or a coffee or something? You know, sometime when you’re not doing anything?”

“Uh, I don’t know…uh…sure…sometime.”

“How about sometime today after practice?”

“That’s sometime, all right.”

“It’s a date, then. You gonna ask me any more questions?”

“Later, maybe. This interview is hard to control.”

Trey says, “Anything that’s too easy ain’t worth doing.”

Montana smiles. “That’s not what I hear about you and your stable of girlfriends.” She closes her notebook, winks, and gets up.

“You are not going on a date with Trey Chase.”

“Okay,” Montana says, “then I’m going out for coffee with Trey Chase.”

Maxwell West sets down his fork and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The only time Trey Chase has coffee is in the morning. For a hangover. Trey Chase is what we used to call an ass bandit.”

Montana almost spits her milk.

“Maxwell! There’s a little girl at this table.”

Tara looks up, smiles. That’s
her.

“Who has no idea of the meaning of what I just said.” He turns back to Montana. “And what are you doing going out with a football player anyway? I thought you hated football players.”

“Maybe I was being a bigot,” Montana says, and shakes her head in disgust. “I’m doing a story on the football team.”

“You’re
doing a story on the football team? That’ll be the day. Maybe two years ago, before you started dressing like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Don’t be unkind, Daddy,” she says. “The Wicked
Witch of the West isn’t the only person who dresses in black.”

“Darth Vader,” he says.

“Catwoman,” she says back.

“You can go out with any other football player you want, but you are not going out with Trey Chase.” Maxwell West has never figured out that the best, fastest way to create his worst nightmare is to identify it.

She should never have said she was going out with Trey. She should have said she was meeting one of the guys on the football team to do a story on him because her control-freak right-wing Christian father—who is also chairperson of the school board—and his evil elves Remington and Holden won’t let her write anything of substance.
That’s
a better fight. Now she’s stuck doing the two things she does best when it comes to her father.

“My dad didn’t want me to meet you.”

“Why not?” Trey and Montana are sitting in Connie’s, a cup of steaming coffee on the table in front of each. Trey takes a small flask from his jacket pocket and pours a splash into his coffee, holds it up as an offering.

“He says you’re an ass bandit. No thanks,” she says to the bottle.

He smiles and returns it to his pocket.

“Did you tell your dad we don’t call superstuds that anymore? So how’d you get to come out?”

“I lied.” She nods toward the bottle. “Can’t that get you thrown off the team?”

“Only if a rat sees me with it,” he says. “Or if it shows up in the school paper.”

She smiles. “And if it shows up in the school paper, my butt’s in a sling because I’m not supposed to be out with you.”

“Because I’m an ass bandit.”

She nods.

“All the bases are covered.”

They sip their coffees, and Montana feels uneasy, which is not normal; Montana West operates
in
control. But Trey is different; different from what she expected from a run-of-the-mill jock, and different from anyone she has met. This guy is, like, unflappable, and he doesn’t lead with his jock status or his muscle. He looks over at the counter, brings out the flask again. “Sure you don’t want a little cream and sugar?”

She pushes her coffee toward him. “Just a little.”

He smiles and pours a splash into her cup.

She sips. Smooth.

“So seriously, West, what are you doing writing an article on me, or on football?”

“Not that you’re not interesting,” Montana says, “but they won’t let us print anything of
substance.
I had this great article on medical marijuana, but Remington told Conroy it was too controversial for a school paper. He claims the medical marijuana issue is a trick to legalize it so every pothead in the country gets a free ride.”

“That right? Wonder if he’s against medical OxyContin, or medical morphine? I should introduce you to my grandmother.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ll see.” He leans his chair back on two legs. “So really, West, why the big change? You were a perfect match for this football culture.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“It was too hard and it’s stupid, a waste of time,” she says. “When you’re playing Lilac Queen, you spend half your life plucking your eyebrows and finding the right lipstick for the right outfit and for that matter, looking for the right outfit.” She looks at the table. “And I didn’t like the expectations.”

“The fast track, huh. Don’t blame you.”

“To tell the truth, it was more the expectations at home. You can never be just right enough for my dad. He gives me a hard time now, but it was worse when he wanted my hair a little different, or was worried that I was showing a little too much boob, or that too much makeup made me look like a whore but too little made me look like I didn’t care. He’s such a prick. I saw how it had killed my mother and I figured, hey, I’m out of this.”

“Your ol’ man
is
kind of a dick.” He points his finger at her like a pistol. “You kept the body, though.”

Montana feels blood rush to her head.

“Some things you can’t hide with loose clothes,” he says.

“I stay in shape.” She doesn’t look at him; sits through an uneasy silence that is only uneasy to
her.

“Hey,” he says. “How long you got?”

She remembers the lie she told to get out, and her father’s forbidding her to be here, at least with Trey Chase. “Long as I want.”

“Wanna meet my grandmother?”

She laughs. “You’re taking me home to meet the family already?”

“She’d like you,” he says. “Follow my pickup.”

“My grandson tells me you’re doing a story on him for the school paper.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Must be a slow news week.”

Montana sits at the kitchen table with Trey’s grandmother; Mari Chase. She is a small woman, wiry and muscular, and her smooth face belies her sixty-plus years.

“I dabbled in some journalism in my day.”

Montana thinks along with dabbling in journalism, she might have been a beauty “in her day.” “Really?”

“A little paper called the
Berkeley Barb.”

“You wrote for the
Berkeley Barb?
Wasn’t that like the biggest counterculture paper of the sixties?”

“That was the biggest counterculture paper of
all
time,” Mari says. “In the late sixties, when the civil rights movement was cranked up and the war in Vietnam was headed into the shitter, the
Barb
was the place to get the real news, at least if you thought like we did.”

“Hippies and stuff, right?” Montana says.

“See?” Trey says. “I
said
you had to meet my grandma.”