Body Slammed! (5 page)

“Wally is such a unique name for a girl,” Jesse's grandmother commented, stalling, not sure how to move into a conversation about Duck. “Is it short for something?”

Wally's mother cracked a sad smile. “No, she was named after her father. My husband died in a car accident two months before Wally was born, so I gave her his name.”

Jesse's grandmother put a hand over her chest and gasped. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

Mrs. Morúa nodded appreciatively. “A couple of teenagers decided to race to see who had the fastest car. My husband happened to get in their way. They tell me he died instantly.”

“It must have been so hard for you to go through the birth of Wally alone,” Jesse's grandmother said, her dark-brown eyes glistening.

“Actually, her name is Wally Ann,” Mrs. Morúa explained. “I meant for her to go by Ann, and for a while she did. But now she prefers Wally because, as you said, Wally is a unique name for a girl.”

Come on, Güela,
Jesse thought.
Cut the chit-chat. Ask her about Duck.

“Are you a student at Deaf Smith High School, Wally?” Jesse's grandmother asked.

More chit-chat.

“Yes, I'm a sophomore.”

“Really? Jesse goes to Deaf Smith, too. He's a junior. He plays on the Sidewinders football team.”

Wally gave Jesse a cursory look, then went back to playing with the dog's ears.

While they talked, the parrot began to whistle a tune. Softly at first, then gradually louder.

Jesse's grandmother gazed curiously at the bird and asked, “Is the parrot whistling the national anthem?”

Mrs. Morúa sighed. “Yes, he does that whenever he wants attention.” She turned to the parrot and said, “Orpheus, be quiet.”

The parrot squawked and stopped whistling.

Mrs. Morúa leaned forward and made praying hands. She rested her chin on her thumbs and straightforwardly said, “The thing is, Mrs. Baron, Wally and I have grown very fond of Samson. He may have been your dog at one time, but giving him up now would be like losing another family member.”

Jesse's grandmother's face hardened. “I understand how you feel, Mrs. Morúa. But the fact is, the dog still belongs to Jesse. You have no idea what we've gone through trying to find him.” She pulled her checkbook and a pen out of her purse. “We had been offering a fifty-dollar reward to anyone who found Jesse's dog, and the offer still stands. Plus, I'm willing to give you another fifty dollars for having taken care of the dog.”

Wally's mother dropped her hands and curled her lips in disgust. “Mrs. Baron, Samson is not for sale!”

“We didn't come here to buy the dog, Mrs. Morúa,” Jesse's grandmother said sternly. “We came to collect him. He belongs to us.”

Again, the parrot began whistling the national anthem.

“Do you have any proof that he's yours?” Wally asked, jumping into the argument.

“Do
you
have any proof that he's yours?” Jesse joined in.

Wally spun around and glared at him. “He lives here with us. I'd say that's pretty good proof.”

The parrot was now screeching its song.

“Stop it, Orpheus!” Wally shouted, but the parrot ignored her and continued belting out the patriotic tune.

Jesse hadn't anticipated any of this. He thought they would come over, get Duck and leave. His grandmother had told him she was going to offer the family a hundred dollars. Who would turn down a hundred bucks for returning a dog that didn't belong to them in the first place?

“I'll give you a hundred and fifty,” Jesse's grandmother said loudly, trying to make herself heard over the parrot's noise. “I think that's more than generous, considering that he's Jesse's dog.”

“Excuse me.” Wally's mother got up and draped a bath towel over the bird cage, which settled the parrot down, and it stopped whistling.

Jesse gazed at the family photograph on the mantle. Then he looked down at Wally, who was squatted on the floor with her arms wrapped around Duck's neck. As much as he would have liked to have gotten him back, he began to realize that Duck was no longer his dog. Besides, his grandparents already had Pollo and Gremlin. They didn't need a third pet. And how would Pollo feel having another dog in the back yard with him? That's where Duck would end up. Jesse's grandparents didn't believe in having a dog inside the house.

“Please be reasonable, Mrs. Morúa,” Jesse's grandmother said when Wally's mother returned. “We're grateful that you found Jesse's dog, but . . . ”

“No, Güela,” Jesse interrupted. “Duck's not my dog anymore. He belongs to them now. I think he'll be much happier living here.”

Wally looked up and exclaimed, “Holy cats! Are you serious?”

“Yeah, you can have him.” Jesse hunched down and patted the dog on the head.

“
Mijo
, are you sure?” Jesse's grandmother asked.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Jesse took the dog by its snout. “You're lucky to have a family who loves you so much, boy.”

Mrs. Morúa sighed with relief. “Thank you, Jesse. You can't imagine how much Samson means to Wally and me.”

Jesse's grandmother slipped her pen and checkbook back in her purse and rose from the couch.

“You're more than welcome to come by anytime you want to see Samson,” Wally offered.

“Maybe,” Jesse said, but as far as he was concerned, the deal was done. He didn't plan to return to this house again.

CHAPTER SIX

T
hat evening, Jesse called his mother to tell her about Duck. He had tried to talk to his father about having found the dog, but he only half-way listened. His father's mind was on his future with the ACW. Throughout the day he had complained incessantly about having to give up being the Angel of Death.

When Jesse told his mother about his father's new gimmick, she laughed at the thought that her ex-husband, who seldom went to church, would portray a preacher—even a phony one.

“Dad's really steamed about it, Mom,” Jesse said. “He says that if the ACW doesn't care enough to listen to what he wants, he'll just retire.”

His mother chuckled. “Oh, Jesse, are you still falling for that line? Your father will never give up wrestling. It's too deep in his blood. His career means more to him than anything in the world . . . including his family.”

“Mom, that's not true,” Jesse said. “I know Dad cares about me. And I know that he still cares about you.”

“Really? Then perhaps you can explain why I'm living in Dallas. No, kiddo, your father made a choice, and unfortunately, I came in second.”

You made a choice, too, Mom
, Jesse thought.
That's why you live in Dallas.

His mother was the one who had asked for the divorce. She could have stayed in the marriage and made it work. Jesse's father had been a professional wrestler for almost twenty years. It was what he did for a living. That's how he paid the bills. What was he supposed to do? Give up his career and go work as a shoe salesman in a department store? Jesse didn't like it that his father was on the road so much, but he was doing his best to cope with it. Why couldn't his mother?

Almost certain that he knew the answer, Jesse asked, “Mom, let's say that Dad absolutely hates being Elijah Nightshade, and he decides to retire. Is there any chance that the two of you could get together again?”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“Jesse, your father will continue to wrestle no matter what ridiculous gimmick the ACW pins on him,” his mother said. “He'll be one of those wrestlers who stays in the business long past his prime. Look at what happened to Bruce Brannigan. Bruce used to be the ACW heavyweight champion. He was on top of the world. But he couldn't bring himself to retire after his star faded and the ACW released him. Now Bruce wrestles for pennies in bingo halls and school gymnasiums. That's what your father will eventually end up doing. He'll be an old man, working in the independent circuit, jobbing matches to help put over the young talent. Don't believe what he says, kiddo. Mark my word. Ten years from now, he'll still be wrestling.” She paused. “Besides, I'm seeing someone right now.”

“You're dating?” Jesse said, flabbergasted. A knot cramped up in the pit of his stomach.

“It's nothing serious. We're just friends.”

“You're dating?” Jesse repeated. The thought of his mother with another man sickened him. What was she doing dating? The ink on the divorce papers was barely dry.

“It's not what you think,” his mother said. “Homer's a nice man who works at my school, and we've gone out a few times.”

“Homer?”

“That's his name. Homer Mondragón. He teaches algebra here at North Oak Cliff High School.”

An image of Homer Simpson from
The Simpsons
popped in Jesse's mind.
Great.
My mom's dating Homer Simpson.

“What does he look like?” Jesse imagined a fat, bald, yellow-skinned man, wearing a short-sleeve, white shirt and blue pants.

“I don't want to talk about him right now,” his mother said. “Listen, I hate to cut this call short, but I have a ton of essays to grade. Don't worry about Homer, Jesse. Like I said, we're just good friends.”

Good friends now. But what about later? Jesse's mother and that Homer guy were both teachers. They had that in common. They worked the same hours. They also had the same days off and the same vacation time.

Jesse had spent the summer in Dallas with his mother. She had taken him to Dealey Plaza,
where President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated, and to the Sixth Floor Museum across the street, where Jesse studied numerous exhibits that described the events surrounding the assassination. They had also taken a tour of Cowboys Stadium in Arlington and had spent a day at Six Flags over Texas. One evening, they attended a rodeo show at the Stockyards in Forth Worth. On another night, they sat on the grass outside the Dallas Museum of Art to listen to a jazz concert.

With the lousy year Jesse had been having, he had considered moving to Dallas when the semester was over. But now with a man in his mother's life, where did that leave him? He had been looking forward to spending Thanksgiving break with her, but how much time would she give him if Homer Simpson was hanging around? What if she got serious about him? What if she decided she wanted to marry Homer Simpson?
D'oh!

CHAPTER SEVEN

M
onday afternoon, Jesse's last class of the day, Spanish, ended at two-fifteen, and he made his way out of the building. Football players were allowed to leave school early because practice began at three, and they had to get to the field house. Some of the newer schools in San Antonio had field houses on their campuses, but Jesse's was a few blocks away, across from an elementary school. Bucky was in his class, so they walked out together. Wendell and Goose waited for them at the bottom of the steps.

“
Quiero tres tazas de té, por favor
,” Bucky told the guys.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Goose asked.

“It means, I'd like three cups of tea, please,” Bucky explained.

“I know what it means,” Goose said, “but why did you say it?”

“It's a phrase we learned in Spanish class today. We've been learning how to say restaurant phrases.”
Bucky held up two fingers. “
¿Tiene una mesa para dos personas?
That means do you have a table for two people.”

“I can speak Spanish, you know,” Goose said irately.

“
La cuenta,
por
favor
,”
Bucky continued.
“That means
. . . ”

“You guys ready to go?” Wendell interrupted.

“Yeah.” Goose grabbed his backpack from the concrete railing and hurried off before Bucky could babble on with his Spanish lesson.

Bucky was picking up Spanish quickly—much faster than Jesse. Being Latino, Jesse felt stupid taking Spanish. He should have learned the language at home. It wasn't his fault that his parents didn't bother to teach it to him. At first, some of the kids in his class assumed Jesse spoke Spanish and was taking the course for an easy A. It didn't take long before they discovered that his Spanish was just as poor as theirs.

Jesse had continued to maintain a B average in Spanish class because of the song he had performed. But he hadn't written
Tragedia de Julia Hernández
; his father had. If it hadn't been for his father's poem, Jesse would be bombing out in that class.

Riley King drove his car out of the parking lot and headed toward them. Mitch Maloof rode with him. Goose tried flagging him down for a ride, but Riley ignored him and kept driving.

“Hey, Riley!” Goose shouted. “There's no ‘I' in TEAM, remember?”