Katwalk (16 page)

“If I have enough steam after a day of sightseeing. But to be honest, I’ll probably end up on the couch watching TV.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you do. But if you can make it out, w
e’d
love to see you there.”

Katrina smiled. “Thanks, Shana.”
Maybe one day
Kat
will be joining you
, she thought,
but I have a feeling that tonight
Katrina
will be going to bed early
.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, freshly showered and with the hefty Sunday paper under her arm and a solid night’s sleep under her belt, Katrina walked into the coffeehouse a little after eight thirty. It was about half full, so she set her newspaper and sweater down on her usual table, then walked over to the counter to order. Today Peter was there.

“You again?” He gave her a wry grin.

“Hi, Peter.”

“You’re becoming our best customer.”

“I am?”

“One of them. We’ve got quite a few regulars in here. You want the usual?”

“You know my order?” She felt her face flush.

He gave her a look. “Blueberry scone and a skim latte? It’s not that hard.”

She laughed awkwardly, silently kicking herself for reacting that way. Why should she care if he knew her usual order? “I’m sorry. You’re right. No Justin today?”

“He’s usually at the other shop on Sundays.”

“The other shop as in coffeehouse?”

He nodded.

“There’s another one?”

He handed her the scone on a plate. “It’s on the Upper West Side. You should check it out sometime. It’s twice the size of this place.”

“I’ll try to do that.” She nibbled on the scone until her latte was ready, then made her way back to her table. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized she didn’t know the name of the place. The sign outside featured only a cup of coffee, and the chalkboard menu didn’t have a visible name or logo. It was as if the place didn’t have a name at all.

Nearly an hour later, Katrina’s phone chimed. As she reached for her purse, she mentally went over her prepared response in case the text was from Reid.

Thank him for inviting me out Friday night.

Don’t mention what did or did not almost happen between us.

Graciously decline additional contact.

She hoped he wouldn’t think she was rude to cut off their budding friendship, but after mulling things over on Saturday, she decided it was for the best.

The message was from her mother, a reminder to e-mail her parents a current résumé so they could critique it.

Katrina sighed and tossed the phone back into her purse without responding. Did her mother really have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning? It wasn’t even seven o’clock there yet!

She gathered her things, waved good-bye to Peter, and slowly walked back to her building. She had three possibilities for how to spend the day but still hadn’t picked one. Now that it had finally stopped raining, the list of ways her Sunday could unfold had once again expanded
. . .
endlessly.

She was a block away when she spotted Shana, Josh, and Grace heading toward her, all three of them dressed in shorts and bright orange T-shirts. She stopped walking and squinted at them. Was Josh wearing
. . .
a white terry-cloth headband?

“There you are!” Shana skipped up to her. “We just knocked on your door.”

“Any chance you’re up for playing soccer right now?” Grace asked.

Katrina tried not to laugh out loud. “Soccer? Are you joking?”

“Usually, but not this time,” Grace said.

“We’re short a girl,” Shana said. “Please?” Her shirt, like the ones Grace and Josh wore, said “NYC Soccer” on the front.

“I’ve never kicked a soccer ball in my life,” Katrina said. “I don’t have the right shoes or anything.”

“We don’t care,” Josh said. “We suck anyway.”

“Dude, we worse than suck,” Grace said to him. “We suck at
sucking
.”

Josh shrugged. “Semantics.”

“Please, Kat?” Shana held her hands prayerfully. “W
e’d
be so grateful.”

“You really don’t care that I don’t even know how to play?”

Grace put a hand on her shoulder. “Kat,
Kitty
if I may, which part of
we suck
didn’t you understand?”

Josh held out his arms. “Does this look like the finely tuned instrument of a skilled athlete?”

Katrina smiled at him. “I think you look great.”

“Come on, Kat. It’ll be fun.” Shana’s hands were still in prayer position. “Please? And you don’t need soccer shoes. You can just wear sneakers. That’s what Gracie and I wear.”

Katrina swallowed. What if she tried to kick the ball and missed? What if she fell on her face? She had always hated doing things she wasn’t good at. At home she would never say yes to something like this.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t say yes
here
.

She gave them a nervous nod. “Okay, sure. Why not?”

“Yay!” Shana did a little jump and clapped her hands, then gave Katrina a quick hug. “Thank you so much. We totally owe you.”

“Let’s see how you feel about that after you see me play.”

Twenty minutes later, the four of them were in a cab in Chinatown, slowly crawling across Canal Street. Katrina stared out the window at the crowds swarming the stores and kiosks lining both sides of the street. It was a two-pronged river of tourists, cheap souvenirs, and knockoff designer handbags. Compared to the eclectic shops of the East Village, every vendor here seemed to be selling the exact same merchandise.

“You play soccer
here
?” she asked. “How could there possibly be a soccer field
here
?”

Shana pointed south. “Three blocks that way. There’s a little park.”

“We’re going to be late.” Josh looked at his phone.

Grace patted him on the knee. “We’re always late, pumpkin face. Don’t fret your terry-cloth-covered head over it.”

“Suck it, Gracie.” Josh patted her knee in return.

“You two play nice now,” Shana mock-scolded them.

They finally made it to the other side of the intersection, and a few minutes later the cab dropped them off at a park located smack in the middle of Chinatown. Nearly every storefront had signs in Chinese, and nearly all of them were restaurants or markets, although Katrina couldn’t help noticing several bail-bond agencies, with signs in English, sprinkled among them. In the past ten minutes, sh
e’d
seen countless paper lanterns in an array of bright colors, bushel upon bushel of herbs, fruits, and nuts, and more chickens, pigs, and ducks—all hanging from hooks front and center in the windows—than sh
e’d
seen in all her years on earth.

And there were people absolutely everywhere.

The small, turf soccer field was flanked by a basketball court and a garden on one side, and a second garden and an ornate building resembling a temple on the other. The gardens and temple area were packed with people of all ages, most of whom were Chinese, either milling around or sitting on the many benches scattered about. The basketball court was packed with people who appeared to be doing a form of tai chi.

As Katrina and the others hurried toward the field, she began to feel nervous. She had never been especially coordinated or athletic, and from what little she knew about soccer, those were the two biggest requirements for playing it.

“Well, Team Rotten Oranges, here’s to a game
. . .
played.” Josh stood at the front of the picnic table and held up his plastic cup. The team was on the crowded back patio of Whiskey Tavern, a half block from the field and the only Irish pub in the neighborhood. They had lost twelve to zero. Katrina had only touched the ball a few times, but she was relieved she hadn’t broken an ankle—hers or anyone else’s.

“Maybe you guys should have put one of those big orange pylons out there in my place,” she said to Shana. “It might have done more for the team.”

Shana waved a hand in front of her. “Shush. You did great. Twelve to nothing isn’t bad for us.”

Katrina was beginning to doubt there could be anyone in all of New York who was nicer than Shana.

The bartender arrived with a pitcher of beer and a tray lined with shot glasses. As he began to pass out the shots, Katrina eyed them warily.

“What are those?” she whispered to Shana.

“Picklebacks.”

“Pickle whats?”

“Picklebacks. It’s a shot of whiskey followed by a shot of pickle juice. They’re super yummy.”

The guy across the table from her nodded. “I love ’em.”

“Delicious,” said the guy next to him.

“See there, Kitty?” Grace handed her two glasses. “You’ll love it.”

Katrina smiled and shook her head. “Oh, thanks, but I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Oh please, be a man.” Grace set the glasses in front of her.

“You ditched us last night, so you can drink with us today,” Josh said.

“That’s right. We missed you last night. Did the couch monster get you?” Shana asked.

Katrina gave them a sheepish look. “I was pretty beat. I’m sorry.” Sh
e’d
actually spent much of the evening working on her résumé and had also e-mailed those contacts her mother had passed along, but she didn’t want to admit that was how sh
e’d
spent her Saturday night, especially not to this group.

“No worries, rookie. You can make it up right now.” Grace held up both of her shot glasses and looked around the table. “You losers ready?”

Everyone nodded and held up their glasses. Katrina reluctantly followed suit.

“To the Rotten Oranges!” Gracie shouted.

“To the Rotten Oranges!” the rest of the team shouted back.

“
No one
can stink it up better than we can!”

“
No one
can stink it up better than we can!” they yelled back. Katrina got the impression it was their standard chant. Not surprising. They really
were
terrible at soccer, she thought. She doubted they would disagree with her—or even care. They clearly had a ball on and off the field.

At Grace’s signal, everyone tossed back their Jameson’s shots, Katrina included. She tried not to gag. As she struggled to finish, she watched them all reach for the pickle-juice chaser, which she finally did too—albeit long after everyone else.

Josh leaned across the table to pat Katrina on the shoulder. He also handed her a full beer. “Well done. What did you think?”

She scrunched up her nose and blinked a couple of times. “Brutal at the beginning, but by the end it wasn’t half-bad. The pickle juice tasted sort of good, actually.”

Grace put her arm around Katrina and gestured to the bartender. “That’s my Kitty Kat! Let’s get her another one.”