Trust Me (6 page)

“Got it in one,” she announced. She turned her open yearbook to Rae and pointed to a picture of a guy who
looked a lot like Anthony, except with longer hair. “Meet Tony Fascinelli-football team and possum club, whatever
that was.”

Rae grabbed the book and paged through until she found a big picture of the team. “There’s our boy,” she told
Yana. “I’m going to write down the names of everyone else on the team. Some of these guys must still live in town.

Maybe one of them will know where Anthony’s dad ended up.”

She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a notebook, letting her old thoughts run through her without paying
attention to them. She found a blank page and wrote the words
football team.

Anthony’s going to like that part,
she thought, pleasure popping through her veins.
He and his dad already have

one thing in common. Football.

“You Fascinelli?” a stocky forty-something guy called. Sweats. Clipboard. Whistle around the neck. He had to be
the coach.

“Yeah,” Anthony called back, starting toward the coach. He wished he hadn’t been spotted so fast. He’d still been
trying to decide if he wanted to stay or go. But now that decision had been pretty much made for him.

“The locker room’s through there,” the coach said when Anthony reached him. “Ask one of the guys to show you
the gear, then get back out here and let’s see what you can do.”

Anthony nodded and trotted toward the gym. What else could he do-except run in the opposite direction? He
didn’t allow himself a second of hesitation when he reached the metal door, just walked on through.
At least the

locker room smells like a regular locker room,
he thought, pulling in a deep breath of sweat, sour tennis shoes, and
moldy towels. He followed the sound of guys’ voices until he reached a row of lockers with someone standing in
front of practically every one.

The locker room might smell normal, but the guys, there was just something different about them.
Money,
Anthony
thought.
That’s what it is.
Money for perfect teeth and top-of-the-line shoes and friggin’ hairstylists.
Yeah, and

probably private gyms at home and steroids,
he added. The guys had clearly put in the hours building up their
muscles.

“Did you want something? Or are you just window shopping?” a hulk of a guy at least a foot taller than Anthony
asked.

Nice start, Fascinelli,
he thought.
Yeah, guys always like it when you just stand there checking them out.

“The coach sent me in,” he answered, feeling like a little kid-
“Mommy told me to come in.”
“I’m supposed to be at
the practice today.”

“Oh, you’re the guy,” someone said from the next row of lockers.

“I’m supposed to get suited up,” Anthony went on, feeling shorter by the second. A helmet came flying over the
lockers and hit him on the side of the head. It was followed by a jockstrap, shoulder pads, knee pads, and a sanitary
napkin.

So they look a little… polished up,
Anthony thought.
They’re just a bunch of idiots, like half the guys at my school.

And it’s going to be just as much fun to knock ’em down.
Anthony put the gear on over his sweats, making sure not
to hurry, then he headed back out to the field.

“We’re doing a scrimmage game,” the coach announced as soon as everyone was on the field. “Usual teams.

Fascinelli, you’re with Salkow.” He pointed to a blond
ьber-prepster. Anthony nodded.

“I’ll hand off to you,” Salkow said when Anthony joined the huddle.

Of course you will,
Anthony thought.
That way every guy on the other side will get a shot at crunch ing me.
He
adjusted his helmet. Well, they could bring it on.

He got into position. One of the guys hiked the ball to Salkow, and in seconds it was in Anthony’s hands. He took
off for the goalposts, and, just like he thought, every guy on the other team was gunning for him. No one was even
attempting to block anyone else.

Fine. Anthony feinted right, then went left, managing to fake out a couple of the guys. He hip-checked the closest
guy, who gave a satisfying grunt of pain, and looked for an opening. There wasn’t one. He aimed himself at the
biggest guy, since a lot of times big meant slow, and charged.

The guy moved in for a tackle. Anthony straight-armed him, one hand shoved against the guy’s helmet. Then he
gave a shove and spun to the left. Another guy was waiting-number 33. They all wanted a turn. Anthony let out a
roar. He wasn’t going around this one. He was going straight over.

Anthony hit 33 low. He staggered but remained upright. Anthony just kept on going, legs pumping as hard as they
could. Yeah! Number 33 was down.

But number 48 was ready to take his place. Anthony bobbed his head left. The guy bought the fake out. He went
left, and Anthony went right. And the field opened up in front of him. A long, beautiful stretch of green.

Now see how the little guy can run,
Anthony thought as he powered forward. He knew he’d never make it to the
goal. He could already hear at least two guys moving up on him. But he was going to make them work for it.

Anthony gave it all he had, but his teammates had clearly decided to let him handle things on his own. Not even
one of his guys was bothering to block for him.

He felt a shoulder hit his leg. Pain exploded in his thigh, but he kept running. Until a second guy hit him from the
side. He went down hard. And at least three guys managed to land on top of him.

Through his ringing ears, he heard a whistle blow. The pressure on his back eased up as the guys climbed off him.

Then a hand was thrust down in front of his face.

Anthony stood up without the assistance of the hand. He found Salkow, the quarterback for his team, in front of
him. Salkow grinned. “Not bad,” he said. “Think you could do it again?”

“Not a problem,” Anthony answered.

The movie started up in his head again. The one with all the preppy pom-pom girls cheering for him, one of the
Sanderson Sabertooth running backs.

It’s not impossible. At least, not quite,
Anthony thought.

I just have to stop at home for one sec,” Yana told Rae. “Then it’s on to Al Schumacher’s Big and Tall.”

“Can you believe Al Schumacher was ever even in high school? Forget about high school with Anthony’s dad,”

Rae said. “I mean, you’ve seen him in those commercials, right?”

“I have nightmares about those commercials,” Yana answered. “Big Al’s coming after me, trying to sell me a prom
dress.” She gave a snort. “As if I’d go to the prom.”

“Am I going to have to start pummeling you?” Rae demanded as Yana made a hard right, tires squealing.

“Because I thought we agreed that the reason guys don’t approach is because you give off a huge stay-away vibe.”

“I didn’t mean I wouldn’t go to the prom because no one would ask-I mean I wouldn’t go to the prom because it’s
the
prom,”
Yana answered. “That’s your kind of deal, not mine.”

Rae groaned. “Is this the start of another rant about prep school girls?”

“Nope,” Yana answered. “No time. We’re here.” She pulled into the driveway of a green house and brought the
Bug to a jerky stop. “Wait in the car. I’m just going to run in and right back out.”

Before Rae could answer, Yana was slamming the door behind her and trotting up the front walk.
I’ve never been

inside her house,
Rae realized. Although it wasn’t that strange that she hadn’t. It felt like she and Yana had been
friends forever, but they’d only known each other about six months, and half that time Rae was in the hospital.

Yana’s dad must be into gardening,
Rae thought. There was a row of flowers running along both sides of the
walkway. Somehow Rae couldn’t picture Yana enjoying digging in the dirt, so she figured it had to be the dad,
although she’d never met him. Not even a quick hi.

The front door swung open, and Yana reappeared. She locked the door, then rushed back to the car and climbed
inside. “I had to take out some meat to defrost,” she explained.

“You cook?” Rae asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Someone has to. What, does your dad cook all the time?” Yana asked. She backed out of the driveway
without checking the rearview mirror.

“We order in a lot,” Rae admitted. “And Alice, she’s the woman who cleans our house, she leaves stuff in the
freezer for us.”

“Ah. The woman who cleans your house,” Yana repeated. She gave a laugh that didn’t sound at all amused.

Very nice,
Rae thought.
Shove it in Yana’s face that you and your dad have more money. Yeah, shove it in her face

and really smush it around.

“So your dad likes gardening, huh?” Rae asked, wanting badly to change the subject. “I was noticing the flowers.”

“Oh, our gardener does that,” Yana answered. She shot a fast look at Rae. “That would be me.”

Rae tried not to register her surprise. Yana gardening? Somehow that really didn’t fit.

“I wonder if Al Schumacher remembers Anthony’s dad very well,” Rae said, attempting the subject-change
maneuver again.

Yana shrugged. “We’ll soon see.” She took a left and pressed on the gas. A few moments later Rae spotted Al
Schumacher’s Big and Tall sign.

“I guarantee we have your size in stock. Double-G guarantee,” Yana said, imitating Al in one of his commercials.

She pulled into the strip mall and found a parking space right outside Big and Tall. “You ready to do this, Nancy
Drew?”

“Yep.” Rae gave the door handle a quick polish with her sleeve, then jumped out of the car and led the way inside
the store. Al Schumacher immediately descended on them.

“Girls, girls, girls, what can I do for you today?” he asked, the flesh of his double chin wiggling as he talked. “A
present for dad? Or a boyfriend? I’m sure girls as pretty as you have boyfriends.”

“Actually, we’re here to talk to you,” Rae told Al.

He let his eyes trail slowly from Rae’s face down to her black boots. Rae felt like turning around and running
straight to the closest shower, but she smiled instead.

“I’m flattered,” Al answered.

“You’re delusional,” Yana muttered.

Not helping,
Rae thought when Al’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. But she was glad Yana was there. It definitely
reduced the creep-out factor a little.

“I was looking at an old Fillmore High yearbook today, and I saw the football team photo,” Rae said. “I recognized
you right away from your commercials. And I thought maybe you could tell me where Tony Fascinelli ended up.”

“Fascinelli? Well, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” Al shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “Last
I heard, he was living in Selma,” he continued. “But I’m a lot more fun than Tony.” He started to give Rae the look
again.

“Okay, thanks,” Rae said, ignoring his last comment. She stuck out her hand and gave his a hard pump, matching
her fingertips to his. The first thing she got was a semipornographic thought about her. Then an ache in her knee
that she knew was from an old football injury of Al’s. A shot of regret that he’d never told his mother he loved her
before she died. And the thought that Tony Fascinelli was a first-order SOB.

Rae released Al’s hand and stepped away. “Well, that’s all I needed. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

She grabbed Yana by the arm and tugged her out the door, even though Al was still talking.

“Guys like that make me wish I was like those fem-bots in
Austin Powers,”
Yana said as they hurried over to the
car. “I would have loved to shoot bullets out of my boobs right when our friend Al was taking a look.”

Rae laughed as she gave the door handle a quick rub. She climbed into the passenger seat. “There’d be dead
guys lying all over the place,” she said when Yana slid behind the wheel.

“Fine by me.” Yana gave a tight smile. “So when are we going to Selma?”