Beyond Lucky (14 page)

This is so embarrassing.

I'm the one with no confidence.

But she doesn't bring that up. “Really? Do you think so? Last week, I should have had that guy. I should have cut the ball with my heel, but I blew it.”

“You just slipped up. Next time, you'll do it. You just can't let them intimidate you.” I am sure she is going to bring up her dream to take my spot, but she doesn't. Today, she nods with enthusiasm.

“That is exactly what my friend told me. He said I'm overcompensating and getting intimidated.”

“Your friend?”

She half smiles. “Just this guy who helps me out once in a while.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Not really.”

I have to admit, I'm jealous. Mac never wants to take extra practice—he doesn't need it—and if he won't, Eddie and Soup would rather not either. “If you guys ever need a keeper, I'm free after practice.”

She bites her lip. Then she looks away. When the silence becomes awkward, she says, “Thanks. That would be great.” When I smile, she does not smile back. Instead, she looks beyond me to the double
x
. “If it works out, I'll let you know.” She doesn't mean it.

Maybe her dad hired a college student to coach her. “I mean, if your dad's paying, I'm happy to pitch in and all. I'm not looking for a handout.”

Now she looks totally uncomfortable, like her beautiful cleats are on fire and she wants to get out of here. I change the subject. “You know, I'm surprised the newspaper hasn't been around. You would think they'd be all over you. Front page.”

Parker has an extremely nice smile. “My dad won't let them. He won't let them cover me until I'm starting.” She rolls onto her back, and pushes with her hands and feet into a perfect arch. Her shirt inches up. I stand up and look away. If I don't, I'll turn purple. “He says they'll turn me into a curiosity. That I have to do more than just make the team. He wants me to score. That is, if I can't play in the net.”

Her face turns red.

I'm sure mine is too. “Right now, all I can think about is finding Wayne Timcoe. Without him, your dream will come true and you will be in the net.” We walk around and stare at the grass, even though we know the card is not here.

She asks, “You're not afraid, are you? That without the card, you can't play?”

I guess it's obvious. “Of course I am. If it's gone for good, I'll stink. We'll lose games. I'll go back to the bench. My friends will hate me.”

She doesn't laugh.

I say, “I just don't understand it. I put that card in my backpack, I know I did. No one else touched it.”

Parker stops walking. “That's not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Mac had your backpack.”

“No he didn't.”

“Yes he did. During the break. He took your blue bag. Ari, I'm sorry, but I don't think he cares as much about the team as you think he does. I thought you knew. He took your backpack and he took it into the bathroom. I saw the whole thing.”

 

As the sun goes down, reality sinks in.

Somebody stole my card. Somebody on my team. Somebody who knew it was lucky, who knew how important it was.

I did not drop it. I did not lose it.

The card was in the backpack, but only two people knew exactly where it was.

One was Parker. The other was Mac. He knew exactly where I put my stuff. And he has been acting strange. Only Mac thought the card was a joke. Only Mac touched my stuff.

Mac.

It is the worst feeling in the world, beyond falling off a cliff or standing in pitch-black darkness, not knowing which way to walk. It's like getting caught alone in a fire, when you were sure someone had your back.

If there is another answer, I don't see it.

Mac is a liar. His mother didn't ground him.

Mac doesn't care about the team. Or me.

Mac stole my card.

—John F. Kennedy

 

 

 

How to fake illness in order to avoid seeing your friend, whom you suspect of stealing your most important possession:

When these techniques do not work, try honesty.

“I don't want to go to school. Please. I don't want to face Mac. I think he stole Wayne Timcoe.”

My father is usually in my corner, but today he plays the skeptic. “Are you sure?” He beckons me to the stove. He is stirring oatmeal. “That doesn't sound like Mac.”

I say, “He wouldn't help me look. He's been acting really weird.”

“Ari, that's not evidence. Maybe he has other things on his mind.”

Mom, of course, is practical. “You're going to have to face the music sometime. If you wait, it will only get worse.”

I look through the paper. There are one hundred and seventy-one fires burning in California.

My horoscope makes me ill: “The New Moon in Libra helps you discern if someone is sincere. You could decide that someone new in your life is not worthy of your time. If you visit a sick relative or friend, forget the flowers. Bring a book of puzzles instead—something to keep their mind busy.”

My mother sits at the table and stares at her laptop. She clicks a few keys, then slams the lid shut. “It's been an entire week. Why hasn't Sam written? Where is he? Why don't you just talk to Mac?”

Dad pours a glop of oatmeal into a bowl, and I eat it with extra sugar and milk, no raisins. He says, “Son, your mother's right. You guys just have to sit down and talk. Together, you'll figure it out. You always do.”

 

Maybe I walk too slowly. Or maybe Mac doesn't see me coming. Maybe once the sine wave of luck turns, there is nothing anyone can do to stop the momentum.

All I know is when I get to Mac's house, he's already walking out the door with a soccer ball. Even though it is Monday and we do not have practice. I ask, “Weren't you going to wait for me?” I sound pathetic.

He doesn't look particularly guilty. “Hey. Let's go,” he says, without breaking stride or razzing me. I swear my fever spikes for real.

At the same time, Big Dave and Mac's mom walk out the front door. They look like they are dressed for the beach. They get into their car and pull up beside us.

“Can we have a ride?” Mac asks.

“Heck no,” Big Dave says. “Just washed this car.”

His mother looks like Jackie O with her big sunglasses and hair tied back. “Don't forget we won't be home until late. So have a good time. I left you a ten-dollar bill. So get yourself something to eat after practice. If you want, sleep over at Ari's.” She winks at me. “I'm sure your parents won't mind.”

Big Dave revs the engine. “If you go to the Double D, remember—they think I'm sick. Don't mess that up.” They drive off.

I should feel sorry for him. “It's Monday. We don't have practice.”

Mac stoops down and ties his shoes. When he gets up, he doesn't look me in the eye. “I'm going to the field anyway. I didn't know I needed your permission.”

“You don't.”

Mac never takes extra practice. He never cops an attitude like this with me. It takes work to keep up with him.

He asks, “So, did you find your card?”

“No.”

He drops the ball, kicks it high into the air, and catches it with one hand. “Maybe now you'll see that the card wasn't really magic. No offense, but if you want a lucky charm, you should go to the field and hunt for a four-leaf clover.”

He laughs. I'm offended. “I searched the car. I covered every inch of the field. The only explanation that Parker and I could come up with—”

“You called Parker?”

“No.” I don't know why I'm the one acting defensive when he is the one acting guilty. “She was at the field. Running the cones. When I told her what happened, she helped.” She acted like a friend. “You know, she takes extra practice every night. Maybe you should try playing with her.”

The rest of the way, we do not talk. He dribbles his soccer ball and doesn't pass it to me once. I count presidents who betrayed our country, who didn't understand the importance of the truth or morality or honesty.

It is not easy walking eight blocks with the person who just stole your most valuable possession, but I do it. It's a Pisces thing. We're compromisers. We don't confront anyone unless absolutely necessary. I try to make conversation, but every topic I start ends with long, awkward silences.

When we get to school, Parker is waiting. She is wearing her limited edition vintage Wayne Timcoe T-shirt. I speed up; Mac slows down. He calls out to a couple of girls. He does not say hello to Parker.

She says, “Tell me you found it.”

“Not yet.” My voice cracks.

If she steps any closer, we'll be touching. “Did you talk to him?”

“No.”

“You didn't even ask him?”

“No.”

Now Parker puts her hands on her hips and scowls. She's clearly mad, and in a weird way, it is sort of cute. Until I turn around and see why. Mac is here. He drops his bag. “Ask who about what?”

“Ask you about Ari's Wayne Timcoe card. Did you know it was missing?”

“Yeah. I know.”

This can't be happening. This is not the way I wanted this to come out.

But it's too late now. Neither one of them is going to back down. Parker asks, “And how do you think it disappeared?”

Our friends gather around. Mac says, “I don't know. Maybe someone took it. Someone who is having trouble with their crossover dribbles?”

Eddie tries not to laugh. Parker doesn't cave. “Actually, I think it was someone who couldn't stand sharing the spotlight.” Eddie shakes his head. Soup stuffs his hands in his pockets. They all look at me.

The last time I felt this cornered was over a year ago. I had just lost the starting job to Mischelotti. Sam said, “You must always take a strong, confident stance.” It was a hot, sticky night, and he was home for two days. “Watch the eyes and the feet. Beware of tricks. A lot can happen in a season.” He kicked the ball hard, and I caught it. “When the chips are down, I know you'll make me proud.”

Now the chips are beyond down. Mac looks upset. I wonder if maybe he didn't take it. If I am about to accuse my friend for a crime he did not commit.

He stands with my friends. They all face me. Except Eddie. He looks up at the sky. Maybe for crows. Mac says, “Say what you want to say, Ari.”

Parker says, “Come on, Ari. Ask him.”

She is not helping. “Do you have my Wayne Timcoe card?”

Mac's nostrils flare. He throws the ball at Soup, and steps forward—way too close—so we are standing eye to eye. “Do you really think I stole your card?” When I don't answer, he steps back and smiles at everyone else, grabs the ball, and twirls it on his finger. Victorious. “Seriously, does anyone really think I needed a piece of cardboard to make me a good player?”

My friends laugh. Of course they don't. Mac doesn't need luck. They don't care about his nostrils. He is a winner. The leader. The captain of our team. If anyone needed a lucky card, it was me.

It still is.

I start to panic. “Maybe it was supposed to be a joke. Or maybe you were mad. I don't need to know how, and I don't care why. But you're acting weird.”

I don't know why I thought Mac would confess. He is too proud. He does not want or need any of my loopholes, even though plenty of presidents would have jumped through less.

There is no easy way out of this. It is impossible to back down completely. “Did you find it?”

He smiles. “No.”

My shoulders feel heavy. This is worse than losing a game. As our team walks away, Parker does not seem upset at all. “Trust me,” she says. “It's going to all work out. A person who stands for nothing will fall for anything.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She shakes her head. “I guess not. But I still think it's true. I got that off a fortune cookie.”

“Great.” We slowly walk to our lockers. I trip on a crack. In the halls, the lights flicker. That gives me a headache.

Parker thinks I'm looking for reasons to be depressed. I tell her, “You think I was unlucky before? Just wait. I know I'm going to regret this day.”

 

There are a few holy rules for guys:

Break one of these rules, and you are toast. Unless, of course, you are the top dog, the kingpin, the most important person in your group.

Then, face it: You can do whatever you want.

In social studies, triangle-shaped notes fly between Mac and Eddie, and Mac and Soup, but not to me. Even when my hand is up, Mr. Sigley calls on someone else. In the hall, Mac walks between Soup and Eddie to class. He jokes around with Eddie, even though normally, he would joke with me.