The Dance (10 page)

Michael had just figured out the fundamental problem he had with Coach Sellers. The man was totally incompetent. Yet he wasn’t a bad person. He had just asked for their input, something Iron Fist Adams would never have done. Sitting on the concrete floor of Holden High’s uniform cage with his teammates, halftime almost over, Michael raised his hand and requested permission to speak. The coach nodded.

“I think we need to make serious adjustments if we’re going to win this game,” Michael said. “As you’ve already mentioned, we have to block out more to stop their offensive rebounds. But that’s only a symptom of our main problem.”

“Oh?” Sellers said. Although only in his midforties, he was not a healthy man. He had a terrible case of liver spots on top of his balding scalp, and for some reason, which might have been connected to the slight egg shape of his head, his thick black-rimmed glasses were forever falling off his nose. He also had a tendency to shake whenever they had the ball—a quality that did not inspire confidence. “And what is our main problem?”

“We are not playing like a team,” Michael said. “On offense, whoever has the ball only passes off when he can’t put up a shot of his own.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a bit, Olson?” Sellers asked.

“No. Everybody’s trying to show off.” Michael pointed at The Rock, who was still red and panting from the first half. The Rock couldn’t hit from two feet out, nor could he jump, but with his strength and bulk, he was able to maneuver into excellent rebounding position. “The Rock’s a perfect example. In the second quarter, Rock, Nick was open a half-dozen times on the baseline when you had the ball, and you tried to drive through the key.”

“I made a few baskets,” The Rock protested.

Sellers consulted the stat sheet, nodded. “He’s scored seven points so far. That’s three more than you, Olson.”

“But I didn’t play the whole second quarter,” Michael said, glancing at Nick, who sat silently in the corner, away from the rest of them, his head down. Nick had already pulled down a dozen rebounds, but had taken only three shots, making all three.

“Are you saying if I let you play more, we’d be a better team?” Sellers asked.

“To tell you the truth,” Michael said, “I don’t know
why
you took me out so early. But that’s beside the point. We’re too selfish. We have plenty of plays we can run. Why don’t we run them? Why don’t we help each other out on defense? We’re down by ten points.”

“I don’t think a ten-point deficit is any reason to despair,” Sellers said.

“Yeah,” The Rock agreed. “Don’t give up the ship, Mike. We’ll come back. I’m just getting warmed up”

“That’s the spirit,” Coach Sellers said, smiling. Apparently that was the end of the discussion. He had them all stand and place their palms on top of one another and shout out some mindless chant. Then they filed out to return to the court. Except for Michael. Coach Sellers asked him to remain behind.

“You’re a good kid, Mike,” Sellers said when they were alone. The uniform cage stank of sweat. The coach removed his glasses and began to clean them with a handkerchief. “I understand that you’re trying to help us.”

“I am,” Michael said.

The curtness of the reply took the coach somewhat back. “You may be trying, but I don’t believe you are succeeding.”

“Sir?”

Sellers replaced his glasses on his nose. “Let’s be frank with each other. You think I’m a lousy coach, don’t you?”

The question caught Michael by surprise. “No, I think you’re inexperienced.” He added, “That’s not quite the same thing.”

An uncharacteristic sternness entered Sellers’s voice. “But if you don’t feel I’m capable of coaching this team, how can you be on it?”

Michael considered a moment. He had mistaken Sellers for a kindly klutz. And here the bastard was threatening to drop him! “I’m the best guard you’ve got,” he said flatly.

Sellers looked down, chuckled. “We like ourselves, don’t we?”

Michael’s pride flared. “Yes, sir, I do like the way I play. I put the team first. All right, I scored four points in the first quarter. Look how many assists I got. Six. Except for Nick, I’m the only one on this team who knows the meaning of the word
pass
, or even the word
dribble
.”

“If you are so team-oriented, where were you last week when we had our final practice game?”

“I came to your office and told you I would not be at the game. You said that was fine.”

“But you didn’t say why you couldn’t come?”

“I had personal business to attend to.”

“What?”

“It was a private matter.”

Sellers shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. You’re a gutsy kid, Mike, I’ll grant you that. But you’re not a team person. You don’t fit in. You’re a loner. Basketball’s not the most important thing to you right now.”

The words struck home with Michael; there was a measure of truth in them. He’d always played basketball for fun, not out of passion. And now the games, along with practice, had become a drag. There really was no reason for him to stick around.

Nick will survive without me.

Still, Sellers had no right to can him. When he was angry, Michael knew how to be nasty. “I played in every game last year on a team that took the league title and went to the CIF semifinals. How did your team do last year,
coach
?”

Mesa High had finished last. Sellers tried to glare at him, but lost his glasses instead. Fumbling for them on the floor, he stuttered, “I-if you think you’re going to play in the second half, Olson, you have another thing coming.”

Michael laughed. “Thanks, but I won’t be in uniform in the second half.”

The coach stalked off. Michael changed into his street clothes. He was tying his shoes when Bubba appeared.

“Are you injured?” Bubba asked.

“No. I’m no longer on the team.”

Bubba didn’t care to know the details. “Sellers is a fool.” He sat beside him on the bench. “What kind of mood are you in?”

“I’m mad.”

“Seriously?”

“No. What’s up?”

“I’ve got some good news, and I’ve got some bad news.”

“Give me the good news first so I can enjoy it.”

“I went down to your coroner’s office today. I told them my dad was a doctor who was thinking of computerizing his office. The chick there believed me. She demonstrated their system. She even left me alone for a minute to get me a cup of coffee. I took notes.”

“You can get into Dr. Kawati’s files?”

“Yes. I can do it from school over the modem. But it’ll take a while. I’ll probably have to dump the entire medical group’s files onto one of our hard discs.”

Michael was pleased. He’d asked Polly about the permission form again and had gotten nowhere. “Can we do it tomorrow?”

“Next week will be better for me.”

Michael knew not to push Bubba. “All right. Thanks for checking it out. What’s the bad news?”

“You won’t like it. Girls—they’re all sluts.” He groaned inside. “Jessie?”

Bubba nodded, disgusted. “She went out with Bill last Friday. That’s why she canceled on you.”

Michael tried to keep up a strong front. He didn’t know if he succeeded. The situation was familiar, as was the pain. Yet neither was exactly as it had been before. When he was alone with the thought of Jessica, she seemed endlessly charming, always brand-new and different, and perhaps for that reason, he was always unprepared for the heartache she could bring. She could come at him from so many different angles.

Or else stay away.

Bubba excused himself to return to the gym. He’d heard about a rumor that needed tracking down. He didn’t say what the rumor was.

Michael had not come on the team bus, but had driven to Holden High in his own car. That was one break, and breaks were in pretty short supply right then.

He was heading for the parking lot when he saw Jessica standing alone in the shadows of a classroom wing. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t trust what he might say. Yet he did not feel angry with her. If anything, he wanted her more.

Then she saw him. “Michael?”

Trapped. “Hi, Jessie.”

She walked toward him slowly, looking small and frail beneath all her exotic photo equipment. He sure could have used one of those cameras to record his comet on film. But he’d already sent in the finder’s application to an observatory.

“How come you’re not playing?” she asked.

“Oh, the coach and I—we had a difference of opinion.”

“You didn’t quit the team, did you?”

“Not exactly.”

She sounded upset. “But you won’t be playing? That’s terrible.”

“There are worse things.” He glanced around. They were alone. The crowd in the gym sounded miles away. “What are you doing out here all by yourself? You know this isn’t the greatest neighborhood in the world.”

Her gaze shifted toward the gym. He couldn’t be sure in the poor light, but it seemed she had been crying. He hoped to God it hadn’t been over Bill Skater. “I’ll be all right.” Then she looked at him, her eyes big and dark. “I’m really sorry about last Friday.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I had no right to do that to you. It was totally inconsiderate of me.” Her voice was shaky. “Can we still go out tomorrow?”

He smiled. Maybe Bill had left a sour taste in her mouth. “You bet, right after the test.” He had to work later that night.

A gust of wind swept by and Jessica pulled her jacket tighter. She gestured north, toward the dark shadow on the horizon. “If it’s not too late, and it’s a nice day, maybe we could go up to the mountains. What do you think? Michael?”

Holden High was approximately five miles south of the mountains. On a clear day, particularly during the winter when there was snow, the peaks were undoubtedly beautiful. Yet there were other campuses, possibly two or three in Southern California, that must be situated within a mile or two of the mountains. At those schools, the mountains would dominate the scene. And the forest trees…

Would seem to stand in the sky.

Dashing down the halls of Sanders High School to the SAT examination room with Michael, Jessica spotted a drinking fountain and stopped to pull a prescription bottle out of her purse. Removing a tiny yellow pill and tossing it in her mouth, she leaned over and gulped down a mouthful of water, feeling the pill slide home.

“Should I be seeing this?” Michael asked, perplexed. She laughed nervously.

“It’s just a No-Doz. They’re mostly caffeine. My dad always keeps a few in this old bottle for when he has to fly to Europe on business.”

Michael looked at her closely. “Didn’t you sleep?”

“I counted sheep, thousands of noisy sheep.” She took hold of his arm. She was glad they would be together in the same room. She seemed to draw strength from him. She needed it. She hadn’t slept a minute all night. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” he asked.

“I’m positive.”

When they reached the examination room, everybody was seated, and the proctor had already begun to explain the test rules. The woman hurried to meet them at the door. Michael presented the letters they had been sent a couple of weeks earlier. The proctor glanced at them, shook her head.

“You’re in L-Sixteen,” she said. “Go down this hall and take the first right. About a hundred feet and you’ll see the door on your left. Hurry, they’ll be starting.”

Outside, jogging to the room and feeling properly chastised, Jessica said, “I hope they don’t ask for the definition of
positive
on the verbal sections.”

Michael smiled encouragingly. “You’ll be fine.”

This proctor wasn’t explaining the rules. She had already finished with those, and was about to start the timer when they stumbled through the door. Jessica had only herself to blame for their tardiness. The night before she had made Michael promise he would wait for her in front of Sanders High. Naturally, on her way to Sanders, she had gotten lost. No matter, Michael was true to his word, and was sitting on the front steps when she finally pulled into the school lot. Everyone else had gone off to their respective examination rooms. She couldn’t get over how cool he was about the whole thing.

This lady—a prune face if Jessica had ever seen one—was all business. After scolding them for being late, she asked for their letters and identification. Satisfied everything was in order, she led them to a table at the rear, handing them each a test booklet and a computer answer sheet.

“Print your name, address, and booklet number on the side of the answer sheet,” the woman said. “Use only our pencils and scratch paper.” She nodded to Jessica. “You’re going to have to find another place for that bag, miss, besides my tabletop.”

Jessica put it on the floor. Michael sat to her right. There was no one between them, but with the wide spacing, she would have needed a giraffe’s neck to cheat off him.

I haven’t seen the first question and I’m already thinking about failing.

The proctor walked back to the front. “I didn’t know she brought the goddamn tables from home,” Jessica whispered to Michael. The lady whirled around.

“There is to be absolutely no talking. I thought I made that clear.”

“Sorry.” Jessica said. Michael laughed softly.

The lady pressed the button on top of the timer. Jessica took off her watch and lay it on the table beside her computer sheet. Six half-hour tests. Just like at home. No sweat. She flipped open the booklet.

Christ
.

Her practice books had stated that the first third of each section would be easy, the middle third would be challenging, and the final third would be outright hard. She couldn’t believe it when she got stuck on question number one.

I.
WORDS: WRITER

(A) honor: thieves

(B) mortar: bricklayer

(C) chalk: teacher

(D) batter: baker

(E) laws: policeman

She was supposed to select the lettered pair that expressed a relationship closest to that expressed in the original pair. She quickly eliminated
A
, but then she had to think, which was never easy even when she was wide awake and relaxed. Words were used by writers. Mortar was used by bricklayers. Teachers used chalk, bakers used batter, policemen used—No, policemen didn’t exactly use laws. She eliminated
E
. Now what? Mortar and batter were crucial to bricklayers and bakers, but a teacher could teach without chalk. There went
C
.

Jessica swung back and forth between
B
and
D
before finally deciding on the latter. But she had no sooner blacked out D when she erased it in favor of
B
. Then she remembered a point in the practice books. If you were undecided over two choices, the authors had said, take your first hunch. She erased
B
and darkened
D
again.

She glanced at her watch. She had to answer forty-five questions in thirty minutes. That gave her less than a minute a question, and she had already used up two minutes! She was behind!

I’m not going to make it. Stanford will never accept me.

Paradoxically, her panic brought her a mild sense of relief. She had been worried about freaking, and now that she had done it, she figured she didn’t have to worry about it anymore. She plunged forward. The next question was easy, as was the third. Then the fourth had to start off with the word
parsimonious
. She skipped it altogether. Not even Michael could know what that word meant. Their proctor had probably made it up and typed it in out of spite.

In time, Jessica began to settle into a groove. She forgot about the rest of the room, even blocking out the fact that Michael was sitting close. But she could not say this tunnel vision was the result of a high state of concentration. On the contrary, she had settled
too
much. She couldn’t stop yawning. Finishing the analogies and starting on the antonyms, she found she was fighting to stay awake. She couldn’t wait for the break to take another caffeine pill.