Pretend You Love Me (14 page)

She’d left a message on the machine. “Call me.” That was it.

Under the thick glow of moonlight through the grimy kitchen window, I squinted at my Timex. 12:19. Too late to call anyone,
even her. I still wasn’t tired. A charge of electricity streaked through my entire vascular system. I felt edgy, restless,
a live wire. I needed to go somewhere, do something.

The water tower. Yeah. Why not?

I decided to walk. Run. Get the exercise, the release.

Even though the snowstorm was over, it was cold, my breath visible in the night air. The extension ladder was slippery. I
had to take it slow. Nearing the top, I thought I saw a bat dart under the globe of the tank, but it could’ve been my imagination.
All my senses were heightened tonight.

At my usual spot, I stood at the railing, checking out the state of Coalton. Asleep. Peaceful. Nel’s Tavern sign lit up. And
the pink pig, of course. Over at Jamie’s, there was a light on. His bedroom light. He was such a night owl. What was he doing
up? Chatting with Shane? Probably. Planning their tryst. For a moment, I envied Jamie. Envied them both. Then wondered what
Jamie was getting himself into.

I could never talk to a stranger like that. Open myself up to someone I’d never met. It was hard enough being honest with
Jamie. Give me flesh and blood. Give me human contact. Give me Xanadu.

Jamie’s back door swung out and a figure emerged. Him. He was wearing his CHS sweater and, as he crossed the yard, the Mylar
in the cougar emblem caught the light. Was he practicing cheerleading? At this hour? I shouldn’t talk. How many nights had
I gotten up at midnight, one
AM
, to do curls and crunches? Anything to get through the night, to ward off the nightmare. The recurring nightmare. Two years.

He launched himself onto his backyard trampoline and bounced to the middle. Instead of jumping, he sat down, lay flat on his
back, his arms stretched out to the side.

I wondered if Jamie wanted a family, kids. If he’d even thought one day beyond getting laid. It’d be harder for him. Not impossible,
though. Nothing was impossible.

Did I say that? No. Those weren’t my words. Not my philosophy of life. That was Dad.

He was wrong. A shadow of doubt clouded everything he’d ever said to me now. He was wrong about life. About living. What did
he know about living?

My life’s legacy? Right, Dad. You didn’t leave me a legacy.
I
was your legacy. You left me.

“You should have stuck around, Pops. Should have seen the job I did tonight. Man, you’d have been proud.”

You taught me, Dad. You taught me everything I know.

How could you take it from me? The plumbing. The softball. The things I valued most, loved most. The one thing. You. Us. You
and me together.

Our time. You ended it too soon, Dad. Too soon.

I
lost track of time during my third circuit. I was testing myself. Seeing how much I could take. Armie was always after me
to slow down. Lighter weights, he said, slower reps would give me a better workout. He said I shouldn’t be working out so
much. He said I shouldn’t work out at all during softball season.

Armie talked too much.

I was only five minutes late to class, but I got the evil eye from Mrs. Stargell. She had to stop her lesson to erase the
absent mark from my name in the roll book. Sorry, I sent her a silent apology. Couldn’t be helped.

I headed for my seat and skidded to a stop. Bailey was in it. Xanadu had laid claim to his desk, in front, and she gave me
a look like, Wow, where are you going to sit?

Good question. Shawnee was back, so the only vacant desk was clear over by the broom closet. There was a reason that desk
was empty. It was smaller than the others, shrimp-size, a castoff from the elementary
school. I felt like a castoff myself, wedging through the rows, squeezing into the narrow seat.

Miz S drew a parallelogram on the board and I flipped open my notebook. Xanadu turned and smiled at me. I melted. She had
on jeans today, plain old blue jeans. They looked sexy as hell on her, though. What didn’t? A light blue, V-neck, long-sleeved
shirt exposed her cleavage—oh yes—and highlighted her hair—uh-huh—which was pulled up in a ponytail. She looked different.
Like one of us.

I was too far away today, physically and mentally, to care about Geometry. Ratios or hypotenuses or Pythagorean theorems,
what did they have to do with my life? Unless there was a connection I was missing to flare nuts or tag outs or tri-sets.
A whole hour passed without me. When the bell rang, I glanced down at my notebook. I’d been doodling. One letter, X, filled
the entire page. X X X X X.

She was waiting for me outside the door. “How come you didn’t call me last night?” She linked her arm in mine. My day suddenly
took on meaning. “Did you lose my number?”

“No. I got home late.” I loved how she was always touching me, making physical contact.

“Heavy date?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Right. She was so fresh in the morning. The afternoon. Evening. I realized I was staring and refocused ahead. Bailey stood
at the end of the hall, talking with Skip and a couple of other guys. Bailey’s eyes traveled the length of Xanadu, taking
her in. Deliberately, I pulled her closer, meshing our arms together.

“Hey, Mike,” he said when we neared.

“Hey.” I hitched my chin. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.”

This was more conversation than Bailey and I had had since elementary. He’d been sitting in front of me all term and hadn’t
said boo. I take that back. He asked once if he could borrow a sheet of paper for a quiz. Be still my heart.

There was a slight tug on my arm. Xanadu detached herself from me and hugged her books to her chest. “Hi, Bailey,” she said,
her voice low and sultry.

“Hi,” he mumbled. He lowered his head. Then bolted.

Why? What’d he do, piss himself?

Xanadu said, “Oh my God. He’s shy. That is such a turn-on in a guy.”

I could be shy. I was shy.

She added, “Should I call him? Do girls do that here? Call guys?”

How would I know? “Ask Deb Pastore,” I said.

“Deb? Oh, you mean that skank in our class.”

Deb wasn’t a skank.

“I asked Jamie if they were going together and he said no. Deb’s been after Bailey for years and he’s definitely not interested.”

Jamie and his big mouth.

“So should I?” Xanadu repeated. “Call him?”

We’d reached my locker and I drew a deep breath. Spinning my combination lock, I said, “Do whatever you want.”

Xanadu wedged her shoulder against the locker next to mine, facing me. Her books pressed against her breasts, heightening
the cleavage. “What I want is for him to call me. Do you think you could give him my number without making it seem too obvious?”

I closed my eyes. Why was she torturing me?
I’d
call her. I’d call her every night. Unless it was too late. From now on, it was never going to be too late. I felt her eyes
on me. Waiting, hoping.

“Sure, I guess.” I shoved my books onto the shelf. The promise welled up from some distant, detached place inside me. Whatever
you want, Xanadu. Whatever you need me to do.

I did the evil deed at lunch. Moseyed by Bailey’s table and dropped a folded note onto his mound of mashed potatoes. Just
like junior high. How weak. Bailey arched bushy eyebrows up at me.

“I’m only the messenger,” I said. The delivery drone who feels like hurling all over you. Blowing some chunks on those potatoes.

I didn’t stay to watch him open and read the note. I didn’t stay to eat. It was all I could do to keep my head up all the
way out the exit.

Wakeeney was a respectable team. The score was tied 4-4, bottom of the seventh. I was up.

“Sza-bo. Mighty Mike. Sza-bo.”

The bleachers were packed, of course, this being a home game. Jamie led the chant.

T.C. was on first, two outs. I bounced the bat off the bottom of my cleat and took a practice swing. “Come on, Mike. You can
do it,” I heard Gina holler behind me from the dugout. Rather, the lean-to. The rest of the Cougars stood at the edge, cheering
me on. My stomach cartwheeled around the bases. Forget what I said about one player not determining the outcome. It was up
to me to win this game.

I took my stance. Visualized a hit.

“Sza-bo. Mighty Mike. Sza-bo.”

The rhythm of the chant pulsed through my head. Wakeeney’s pitcher nodded, narrowed her eyes, and let one rip. Too high. Ball
one.

I straightened and took a deep breath. Under the bill of her cap, the pitcher eyed me; tried to psych me out. Me, Mike Szabo.
In your dreams. Casually, I removed my batting helmet and smoothed back my bangs. I smooshed the helmet back on. The pitcher
began her windup and reared to throw. Just as she was about to release the ball, I held up a hand and called, “Time.”

The ump stepped out, throwing up his hands.

The pitcher faltered, stumbling off the mound. The smirk may have registered on my face as I squatted to retie my shoe.

When all the posturing was over, the pitch was dead center and
I smoked it. The crack of my bat echoed as the ball sailed over the heads of the infielders. Like they say in the movies,
the crowd went wild.

I don’t usually grandstand or even look at the spectators when I cross the plate, but my eye happened to catch the motion
of shimmering gold pompoms behind the backstop. Jamie. He was whooping and split jumping in the air. That wasn’t what interested
me though. In front of him, at the fence, stood Xanadu.

She gazed into my eyes and smiled. My knees went weak. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled, shrilly.

I cracked up. This girl was full of surprises.

She motioned me over to the fence. Hands were reaching through the chain-link and I touched fingers and palms on my way. Xanadu
grabbed my wrist and held on. “I have to talk to you,” she said, urgency in her voice.

“Okay.” I waved to the crowd that was hailing me. God, I loved this game. “What is it?”

“Not now.” Xanadu lowered her voice. “In private.”

Private? My stomach fluttered. Just the two of us?

She said, “You’re a hero.”

A hero. Dad called me that. He was the only one who ever called me that. “Baby,” he’d say, “you were the hero today. Believe
it. You’re going pro.”

Sure, Dad. Thanks to you I’m not. After our post-game hand slap with Wakeeney, Coach Kinneson cornered me in the dugout. “Have
you talked to your mom about softball camp?” she asked.

I pretended to rearrange the stuff in my duffel. I’d pored over the brochures, front to back. The camp sounded cool. The stuff
dreams are made of. Someone else’s dreams. The glossy folder ended up on Darryl’s stack of auto zines bound for the incinerator
one of these years.

Coach said, “Mike—”

“We can’t swing it.” I stood and slung my duffel over my shoulder.

“Are you sure? It’s such a great oppor—”

“I’m sure.”

“But Mike, there are scholarships.”

Was she deaf? I crossed in front of her and jogged out onto the field.

I didn’t see Xanadu at the backstop anymore. A flash of red hair disappeared inside the Davenports’ hearse. She’d come with
Faye and Leland. Jamie said in my ear, “She told me to tell you to call her. Bossy bitch, isn’t she?”

I sneered at Jamie. Everyone was congregating on the lawn to walk to the Dairy Delite for a victory celebration. It was tradition.
T.C. called, “Mike, your banana split’s on us.”

“Next time.” I waved them off. “I have to get home.”

Jamie did a double take. “You’re refusing free food? Since when?” Jamie looked at me, through me.

Cram it. I wanted her cell to ring the minute she stepped in the door, the minute I got her alone.