Bouncing (15 page)

Brit’s eyes flew open wide, and her mouth followed, displaying perfectly straight teeth. “What are they saying?”

Alex laughed. “Oh, no. You’re going to have to buy my information. I’m not just handing it over so easily.”

“Name your price, Dalton.”

“A beer.”

“A beer?”

“Yeah, you’re a biology teacher. You must have heard of it. You ferment a little barley and it makes a great beverage.”

“I do remember something about that from college.”

Alex smiled and nodded. “I’m pleased to know your education was up to standard.”

Brit successfully suppressed a smile. “When would you like this fermented barley?”

“Well, it is Friday. This would be a perfect time.” Kim was driving up from Philly for the weekend, but she wouldn’t reach Alex’s place until much later. Alex had hours to kill and hadn’t a clue about how to fill them, until Brit had appeared like an angel at her door.

Brit had a busy weekend planned. This was the night of a bachelorette party for a girl she knew well, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about going. Feigning interest in all the marriage plans and guy talk was draining. She planned to make it an early night. In the morning she had a tee time with her father and then the late-afternoon wedding and reception. On Sunday she had a standing date with her family for mass and dinner at her parents’ house. For the next few hours, though, she had no plans and no good excuse to refuse Alex’s invitation.

Unless, of course, she was avoiding Alex. It would be smart to avoid her, but they could be friends, right? What harm was there in having a beer with her colleague? Other than the fact that she hated beer?

Finally, after what seemed like an endless mental debate, Brit agreed. “Peyton Pub?” She named the only local place she could think of that served beer.

“Fine choice.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Brit said as she rose and turned to leave the room. Then, remembering that Alex had to walk to her car as well, she stopped and laughed. “I can wait for you.”

“Good. We can talk on the way. We have a basketball season to plan, Coach.”

Brit nodded. “Yes, Coach, we do.”

Alex gathered her things, and they’d hardly gotten through a discussion of the roster when they reached the parking lot. It seemed to be the case with Alex—time flew. Brit followed Alex to the restaurant, and because it wasn’t quite yet happy hour, they easily found parking places. Inside, they had their choice of tables, but they agreed to sit at the bar. It was only going to be one drink, right?

“So what’s your preference of barley?” Brit asked, noticing the signs for several popular brands. But Alex was looking at her, rather than the menu or the advertisements, and seemed unconcerned about her drink. It was unsettling. Brit nervously pushed the hair back behind her ears, then folded her hands in her lap to keep them quiet. Yet Alex had a ready answer to Brit’s question, and her easy manner helped calm Brit’s nerves.

“Sam Adams. How about yours?”

“Ah, I must confess I don’t drink beer.”

Alex turned to her and squinted, studying her suspiciously. “What? That’s not possible.”

“I think it’s some sort of genetic defect that prevents me from liking beer. My parents are the same way. The only thing they ever drink is wine. And cocktails. But cocktails make me stupid, so I’m a wino.”

Brit knew she was rambling, and averted her eyes to refocus. Why did Alex make her feel so nervous? It wasn’t as if she was a potential date. She was just a beautiful, intelligent, fun…friend. Colleague. Coworker. No need for anxiety. Brit stretched in her chair and willed herself to relax.

Alex leaned closer and tried not to smile at Brit’s fidgeting and rambling. Was Brit feeling as nervous as she was? Alex’s heart sped up a little at the thought, and she willed it to slow. Friends. They were just going to be friends. Brit was adorable, though, so how could Alex not notice, not react? She cleared her throat before she spoke. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t drink beer. What do you do at softball games?”

Brit nodded her pointer finger at Alex. “That’s why I don’t play softball.”

“You don’t play softball?” Alex asked, and then, after turning her head to assure no one was in earshot, she lowered her voice and asked, “Are you sure you’re a lesbian?”

Brit hunched her shoulders and laughed, then looked up to meet Alex’s gaze. “I’m quite sure.”

The heat in Brit’s eyes set Alex on fire, and she forced herself to quiet a retort that would have been too telling. Swallowing hard once again, Alex averted her gaze. “Well, at least you play hoops.”

The bartender arrived to take their drink orders. “A Sam Adams,” Brit told him, nodding toward Alex, “for her.”

“Bottle or draught?” He looked at Brit for the answer, and she in turn looked at Alex. “I’m going to say bottle. With a glass.” She smiled at the man.

Alex nodded her approval again. “Good choice.” Alex turned her gaze toward the bartender and spoke. “And for my friend, I’d like a cabernet.”

He looked to Brit for her approval and she gave a nod.

“The house special?”

“Uh…Help me out here, Brit.”

“What do you have?” Brit asked the bartender, and both of them listened as he named several varieties.

Brit picked the last brand mentioned.

“Equally good choice,” Alex said when the bartender had left them.

“I’ll let you know in a minute,” Brit said.

“That’s a wine, right? Cabernet?” Alex smiled to tell Brit she knew the answer.

“One of my favorite reds, as a matter of fact.”

“But you’ve never had this brand before?”

Brit shook her head.

“So you’re willing to spend eight bucks on a glass of wine you may not even like?”

Brit nodded. “Yep. I’ll chance it. I like most wine, some more than others, but it’ll be fine.”

“This is why I drink beer. I know what a Sam Adams is going to taste like. It’s always the same. And it’s always good.”

Their beverages arrived and they raised their drinks in a toast. “To the Falcons,” Alex said.

Brit nodded as their glasses met midair. “And to new friends. Now tell me, Coach Dalton, what are they saying about me?”

“Don’t you want to talk about the season? Discuss the game plan, what offense we’ll run, how we’ll play the defending champions?”

Brit shook her head as she swallowed her wine, then waved her glass dismissively. “I’m not talking hoops until you tell me what my students are saying about me.”

“How’s the wine?” Alex asked, ignoring her plea.

“Fine. Tell me what they’re saying, Alex, please.”

“Eight bucks and it’s only fine? That seems so unjust, because my four-dollar beer is fabulous.”

“Alex! Please?”

“Well, I won’t name names,” Alex said, shaking her head. Leaning back in her seat she glanced sideways at Brit. “But I will tell you what they’re saying. Sweet. Funny. Tough. Oh, and hot.”

Brit took a sip of her wine, then placed the glass on the bar before looking at Alex. “That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “Just hot? Not incredibly hot? Not smokin’ hot?” Flirting with Alex just a little couldn’t hurt anything, could it? Besides, Alex had started it.

“Well, I didn’t want to inflate your ego…but yeah, it was totally hot. They said totally hot.”

“They?” Looking over the top of her wineglass, Brit’s eyes met Alex’s, and although she would never get used to the vertigo she felt at such moments, it no longer surprised her.

“Well, yes. They.” Alex ignored the glass Brit had ordered and took a long pull of her beer directly from the bottle.

“They who?”

“Well, let’s see.” Alex studied the stamped tin ceiling in the old bar. “The janitor with the black greasy hair. The cafeteria lady who makes the sandwiches. The principal’s assistant.”

Brit pursed her lips. “The short janitor or the fat one?”

“You’ll have to buy me another beer for that information.”

“You’re tough, Coach.” Brit shook her head and then sipped her wine.

Unexpectedly, Alex reached out to Brit and squeezed her fingers gently. “They like you, Brit. The students say you engage them in the classroom. You discuss instead of lecture. You listen. You make them think. They’re learning.”

Brit’s mouth opened in surprise. “Really?” Teaching was the profession she’d aspired to since she was in kindergarten, and it was wonderful to finally be in the classroom. To hear such great things said about her was much more, though. It touched her heart and filled her with an unimaginable joy.

Brit was shocked at the tears that filled her eyes, and they came so quickly she couldn’t stop them. She wiped them away with a knuckle as Alex graciously looked up at the television, giving her a moment to collect herself. After a few minutes of silence, Alex suggested they order appetizers.

Filled with an array of emotions—joy, fear, excitement—Brit felt almost as dizzy as she did when she looked at Alex. The wine only amplified her vertigo. It was a bad idea to stay and eat with Alex, yet she would have enjoyed nothing more. If she had a business dinner with Alex and discussed basketball, she had a valid excuse for missing the bachelorette party. By mentally arguing that she needed time to recover from the wine, she was able to justify her decision. When she caught the bartender’s eye, she asked to see a menu.

Sacrifices

P.J. left school along with a thousand other students, but instead of going home and getting ready for the big football game that night, he went to work. With the recent change in his job duties, his need for a car had become critical. Greg understood and had procured one for him, but instead of feeling happy about finally having his own ride, he just felt miserable.

Waiting to pull out of the school parking lot after selling a bunch of exams, he saw a group of underclassmen walking home. They were laughing and talking, no doubt making plans for their weekend. It would have been much more fun walking with them than riding alone.

He’d never felt so alone. He had no time for anything except school and work, and his friends had gotten so used to him declining invitations they’d stopped asking. Even Justina, who’d been his partner for science projects since grade school, seemed to give up on him. When he’d seen her in the library earlier in the day, she was huddled with another student, studying the diagrams in a textbook. When he approached, she told P.J. the young man was working with her on a physics team project.

Ouch! That had stung. It wasn’t just that he was smart and used to everyone asking
him
for help. It was Justina. He’d always had a secret crush on her, and had seen her a few times since the party at the lake. They’d been talking more at school, and texting for a while, but now that seemed to be over. Like everyone else in his life, she’d moved on. He had no friends, no life, and not even a secret girl crush to make him smile.

P.J. followed the line of cars from the high school into downtown Clarks Summit, making his usual stops. He spent almost three hours driving around, making his deliveries, collecting money. When he finished his work, he followed a winding country road through farms and forests of the Lackawanna Valley. As he approached Olyphant, he slowed and turned into a well-concealed driveway cut into the woods. A hundred yards in, he stopped at a security gate. “It’s P.J.” he said when a raspy voice demanded to know his identity.

A second later, the gate lifted and P.J. drove through, then followed the road another two hundred yards into the woods. There, the trees had been cut away, and a large block structure filled the clearing. He drove toward the door, and before he was even close, it began to rise. He drove inside the building and parked his car along the right side, fifth in the line of cars driven here by other teenage couriers working for The Man.

Turning off the engine, P.J. glanced around. He’d been in the building a few times already, but the sight still amazed him. Dozens of trucks formed a convoy, ready to exit in the morning with early deliveries. They were an impressive sight, but nothing like what stood opposite them. At the very front of the building, as if waiting to escape as soon as a door opened, stood a collection of sports cars that made P.J. stop and stare. Antique Corvettes and Mustangs, a Porsche, a McLaren, an Aston Martin. On his first visit, P.J. had sort of floated toward the cars, unaware of anything else around him except the utter opulence of those machines. He’d knelt to study the hood ornaments and the tires, not daring to touch them. The Man had approached him and laughed. “Maybe one day, little man,” he’d said.

“Do I have to worry about my collection?” The Man asked as he approached P.J., pulling him from his daydreams of
one day
. “You look a little jealous.”

“No, I, I…” P.J. gulped and began to shake. Ever since he and Wes had confronted The Man, he’d been acting weird. It seemed he was trying to intimidate P.J., and it was working. Staring him down, standing a bit closer than necessary. Cracking his knuckles. P.J. and Wes were working with him, paying off the thousand dollars he owed, plus another thousand dollars The Man had decided on to cover incalculable losses, but it still seemed The Man was unhappy. P.J. didn’t know how much more they could do. He had no time, no energy left for anything after he gave his pound of sweat to The Man.

The Man laughed and slapped him on the back. Hard. “Let’s go count my money,” he said, and P.J. followed him, carrying a backpack stuffed with envelopes of betting slips and twenty-dollar bills. Business was booming.

Assists and Turnovers

As usual, Brit spent Sunday with her family. Awakening early, she arrived at the church in plenty of time to sit quietly and reflect and argue with God about all the injustices of Christianity, the most important of which, to Brit at least, was the church’s position on homosexuality. The arrival of her family interrupted her silent debate, and after that she heard little of the celebration of the mass as she distracted the youngest of her nephews. When it was over, she chauffeured them to her parents’ house for dinner.

After throwing her first load of laundry into the washing machine, Britain joined all of the women in the kitchen. The aroma of roasting beef filled the air, and around the table the female members of her family were peeling, dicing, and otherwise preparing vegetables. Not a male of any age was in sight—and that was just how they all preferred it. This time in the kitchen gave mother and daughters a chance to catch up on what they’d missed during the week.