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From: John Wizard <johnwizard13@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Trailer Park - The Fifth Year - Part 2[04/08]: Music and Lyrics by Wizard (mf, slow)
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Date: Fri, 26 Dec 2008 05:10:05 -0500
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[Section 4 of 8]


   The Trailer Park The Fifth Year: Music and Lyrics

   Wizard


   Chapter 13



   "Ladies!"

   The gymnasts who had been milling around quickly took seats on the
bench, Cheyenne sitting last.

   "I am very disappointed.  In fact, I'm down right disgusted." The girls
looked at each other in surprise.  In the bleachers I saw parents who were
mostly used to my after-meet tirades looking surprised, too.  I waited a
beat.  "I hate ties.  Next time, win or lose, but no more ties."

   Kelly stood.  "On behalf of the team..." and blew me a loud raspberry
before sitting back down.

   "I will be taking applications for the NEW team captain right after
we're done here." Predictably, Kelly stuck her tongue out.  "We tied, and
have I mentioned that I hate ties?

   Several more tongues shot out.

   "But the team we tied took third in the district last year and last week
beat the team that took second, so we'll settle for a tie.  This once.

   "Not settling for a tie, Cheyenne and Kelly took one and two in the
all-around.  Looking good, girls." Kelly grinned, but Cheyenne glared. 
Even taking first place, she was sure she'd been underscored on beam and
bars and was annoyed that her coaches hadn't protested her scores.

   "And Traci, making her big brother proud set a new scoring record."

   Traci turned red, several girls giggled, but Suzie and Kelly put their
arms around her in a hug.  Traci had scored a zero on vault.  In vaulting,
the girls do two vaults, declaring to the judges the vault they're going to
do before starting.  Traci did her full twist when she declared her
handspring and vice versa.  In her defense, you declare the vault by
flashing a four-digit number, and she'd mixed up the cards they were
printed on, not that I was going to let her live it down anytime soon. 
"But while Traci goofed, her team didn't, being there to support her when
she finished."

   First home meet and a tie, but that was better than last year when we
didn't win a single meet, home or away.

   "Good meet, and I'm proud to be one of your coaches.  In fact, when the
season is over, I may take credit for you instead of putting all the blame
on Mrs.  Calloway and Stephy."

   Cheyenne muttered something I didn't catch, but I decided to let it go.

   "Two laps and go home."

   * * *

   "You seem to be entirely too satisfied with yourself."

   Robbie's voice pulled me back from wherever I'd been.  "I have a lot to
be satisfied about.  The girls had their best meet yet last night, even if
Trace screwed up her vault." Ten feet behind me I heard an indignant sound.
Tami, Robbie and I were walking the park, even though a light snow was
falling.  Traci and Peter, our faithful shadows, trailed behind.

   "Our play is done, except for the judging.  The fourth play went off
last night, and the fifth one should be finishing about now.  Next week we
win, they give us our check, and all we have left to do is cheat the eighth
graders and Peter out of their shares."

   "We heard that!"

   I grinned.  "And the best part, today was the last day of the grading
period, so next week we should have new class standings."

   "You sound pretty sure of yourself," Tami said before Robbie could make
her own, probably acidic, comment.

   "I am," I said confidently.  "Either I win and I can rub her nose in it
for another nine weeks, or she wins and we can all relax."

   "You are so full of it," Robbie muttered.

   "True.  All too true."

   * * *

   "TONY SIMS, ROBBIE TATE, PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE."

   I took a moment to remind myself that Parker was long gone before
breathing.  I glanced at Robbie.  She was already gathering her books.  I
copied her.  Mrs.  Wayne waved us away when I looked at her for homework
assignments.

   "Well?" I said, when we were in the hall.

   Robbie smiled.  "It's not the play.  They would have called Tami too."

   I nodded.  It was Wednesday, and they were supposed to be announcing the
results sometime tonight.  The winner and two runner-ups had a banquet in
Seattle this weekend.

   "Could be class standings, I suppose.  Mr.  Reed wants to tell us in
person the world has gone back to normal," Robbie said with a grin.

   "Nope.  Those come out second period tomorrow.  Some of the teachers
won't get their records in till four today.  That's the deadline."

   "Slackers," she muttered.

   I grinned, trying not to let her see it.  I knew how much she wanted
back on top.

   "Can't be about a suspension, 'cause I never get suspended."

   That's the great thing about having a best friend: the support you get.
"Could be football, I suppose.  We were captains.  But that ended a month
ago."

   Robbie nodded.  "And if it was baseball, they would have called Ricky."

   We shrugged and kept walking.  We'd just have to wait.

   * * *

   "Hi, you sent for us?"

   Mrs.  Hatcher, the school secretary, was talking to Mr.  Reed when we
walked up to the counter.

   "You have a meeting in the conference room," Mrs.  Hatcher said.

   "But I'd like a word in my office first," Mr.  Reed added.

   I nodded and held the gate open for Robbie as we followed him in.  He
hadn't moved from the vice principal's office to the somewhat larger
principal's office until after Parker had left.  I guessed it was his way
of not rubbing salt in the wound,

   He didn't sit or close the door.  "You have a meeting next door that I
won't be part of.  Some of you may be tempted toward an in-your-face
attitude." He wasn't subtle; he was looking straight at me.  "But remember
you represent this school." He looked like he wanted to add more but
decided against it.  We nodded.

   Mr.  Reed led us out of his office to the conference room next door.  He
didn't knock but opened the door and ushered us in.  "Gentlemen," he said
to the three men sitting there, "Miss Tate and Mr.  Sims."

   "Thank you.  You can go," said the one in the middle who looked vaguely
familiar.

   "Why?" said Robbie quickly.

   "Excuse me?" middle man said.

   "She asked why you were dismissing Mr.  Reed," I explained for the
mentally impaired.  "It's his school, and unless Mr.  Butz has retired and
you're his replacement, Mr.  Reed doesn't work for you."

   Middle man stood up.  "Do you know who I am?" he asked, and suddenly I
did.

   "Sure, you're Mr.  Spaulding, the big shot from WSAA who doesn't think
teenagers can think without an adult telling them what to do."

   Robbie cocked her head in understanding, not having met him before.

   "This is Mr.  Reed's school.  Since we're students and it's during
school time, and you gentlemen represent school activities, this is
obviously about school.  We'd like him to stay, if he isn't busy.  Unless
you had something to hide?"

   Spaulding looked at the men on either side then nodded.  "He can stay,"
he said sitting back down.

   "That's very generous of you," Robbie said and took a seat opposite
Spaulding.  I sat to her left and Mr.  Reed took the chair at the head of
the table.

   "What can we do for you?" I asked after several seconds silence.

   "It's about the trouble you've caused," said the man to Spaulding's
right.

   "If you're accusing us of starting trouble, we don't need Mr.  Reed, we
need our parents and our lawyers," Robbie said standing up.  I followed
suit, trying hard to keep a straight face.

   "No, no, no," Spaulding said, standing himself.  "You're not in trouble
and nobody's accusing you of anything."

   "It still might be a good idea to have our lawyers," Robbie mused.  "But
I suppose we can listen.  What do you think Tony?"

   Like I had a vote.  "We can listen." Robbie and I sat.  Mr.  Reed had
his elbows on the table, his hands covering his mouth and probably a big
smile.

   Spaulding looked like a man trying to figure out where he'd lost
control. "It's about this Lake situation," he said after awhile.

   I smiled and stood.  "Lake, no problem.  Follow the road out front to
the highway heading north.  Then you follow..."

   "I know where Lake is!" he bellowed.

   I think I was supposed to be intimidated.

   "Then why aren't you there?" Robbie asked sweetly.  "That's where the
Lake situation is."

   "If you two would sit down and shut up for..."

   Mr.  Reed stood up so fast his chair rolled back into the wall.  "We're
done.  Robbie, Tony, you can go back to class, I believe seventh period has
just begun."

   I knew I always liked him.

   "You can't." "We're here..." "This is..." all three men were trying to
talk at once.

   Robbie and I ignored them, stood, and started gathering our books.

   "Wait!" The man on Spaulding's left managed to calm his companions. 
"Mr. Reed, I, we apologize.  It's no excuse, but we've been on the road all
day dealing with one thing after another." He paused, waiting to see if his
words were having any effect.

   Mr.  Reed looked at us.  "Robbie?  Tony?" I looked at Robbie, she
nodded, and we returned to our seats.

   Spaulding and the man on his right sat down, glaring at Mr.  Reed and
us,

   "What Mr.  Spaulding was trying to say, I'm Mr.  Kennedy, by the way."
My favorite president.  "That's Mr.  Rosen.  What Frank was trying to say
is that the Lake situation is causing lots of problems, and we wanted to
see if we could work something out."

   "Lake has had to cancel eighteen activities in five different sports,"
Mr.  Rosen added.  "Plus several more where the opposite team just didn't
show up."

   "It's easy," I said, wishing I wore suspenders so that I could hook my
thumbs in them and give them a snap.  "Fire Rich."

   "We can't do that," Spaulding said sulkily.

   "Then fire the district.  Suspend Lake until their coaching staff
represents the twenty-first century instead of the twelfth," Robbie
suggested.

   "We can't do that either," Spaulding snapped.

   "Actually, yes you can," I said.  "You mean, you won't."

   "No, we won't," Spaulding said standing again and motioning Kennedy back
in his seat.  "And we don't need any more of your suggestions."

   "Then what do you need?" Robbie asked.

   "We need you to end this silly boycott."

   For a second, I thought Robbie was going to reach across the table and
take his head off.  "Personally, I'd never get involved in a SILLY boycott.
But I didn't start it.  Ask Tony."

   "I'm guessing you never protested Vietnam or anything else."

   "A fucking liberal." The word fucking almost under his breath.

   "Actually, I plan to register Republican in another thirteen months."
Somehow that didn't make him happier.  "And I'm not a liberal, not in most
things, anyway.  What I meant was, I doubt you ever cared enough about
anything to protest it or even write a letter to the editor." I could see
in his eyes I was right.

   "What does that have to do with anything?"

   "We care.  We don't think Rich belongs in high school athletics, and
since you won't do anything, we've done what we could." I paused for a
breath.  "In fact, we've already had discussions with the guy who will
probably be captain of our baseball team about whether we're going." Okay,
maybe it wasn't an in-depth conversation, and maybe we were talking about
Robbie and me, but I can't be responsible for the conclusions they draw. 
Robbie cocked an eyebrow a fraction on an inch, but nodded
enthusiastically.

   "Now...!"

   "Frank!" Kennedy said, rising and putting his hand on the other man's
shoulder.

   Spaulding looked disgusted but sat down.

   "We applaud your convictions but think this has gone on too long." He
looked directly at Robbie.  "Coach Rich is willing to write you a letter of
apology.  If..."

   "No!" I said.  "She'll rip it up and throw it in his face.  If Rich
really wanted to apologize, he would have done it, not made it part of some
plea bargain."

   Robbie nodded.

   "I plan to play two more years of baseball and one more of football, and
I DON'T plan to play at Lake as long as Rich is a coach there."

   "Maybe you won't play then," Spaulding muttered.

   I grinned.  "Oh, please, try to suspend me.  I'll take your house, your
car, the clothes on your back."

   Spaulding jumped to his feet and opened his mouth.

   "I guess we're done here," Kennedy said quickly.

   "This is all off the record, of course," Rosen added.  I wondered if
Trout had warned them my girlfriend was a reporter slash columnist.

   "I don't think so," Robbie said.  "You want something off the record,
you tell us about it before the meeting, not after."

   Mr.  Reed caught our eyes and nodded toward the door.  We gathered our
stuff and left.

   It had been a little in-your-face, but I didn't think Mr.  Reed would
complain.

   Chapter 14

   "How's my favorite math genius?"

   Kelly Dubrey turned, a big smile on her face.  Then, for some reason,
her smile faded.

   Kelly had changed a lot in the last couple years.  For one thing, she'd
hit her growth spurt and wasn't the shortest kid in our class anymore,
despite being two years younger.  And she'd grown tits.  Not big
watermelons, but nice handfuls that seemed to be exclusive to Ryan Gates, a
boy a year older, a grade behind, and almost as smart as her.

   "What do you need hacked now?" That would explain it.  Someone was
feeling used.  Not that I could blame her.

   "Let me see about getting you out of gym and we'll talk."

   Kelly nodded, not about to blow a chance to get out of her least
favorite class.  I left Kelly by the door and went into the gym.  Miss
Wiley was standing by the opposite wall.  She was a substitute, but at
least I knew her.  I explained briefly, and she nodded just as three dozen
girls thundered into the gym from the locker room.  I took a second to
admire legs and bouncy titties, then went back to Kelly.

   "Now we can hang," I said as I got back.  Since the day was clear and in
the fifties, despite a forecast of eight inches of snow, I figured one of
the benches on the lawn by the side of the school would be perfect.

   "What do you want?" Kelly said a little sharply as we sat down.

   I ignored her tone.  "First of all, I wanted to offer congratulations."

   "For what?" Still a little sharp.

   "The NASA thing."

   "You congratulated me in December when I became a finalist.  I went to
Houston just before Christmas.  I haven't heard anything yet."

   I grinned.  "I have."

   "You have?" Excitement had replaced the sharpness.

   I stood and bowed.  "Miss Dubrey, may I be the first to congratulate you
on placing fifth in the NASA Challenge."

   Her face fell.  "Fifth?"

   I sat, took both her hands, and kissed her on the forehead.  "Before you
get terminally depressed and we have to buy you a white coat with extra
long arms that fasten in the back, then ship you to the state loony bin,
may I point out that the four people who beat you were all seniors. 
College seniors."

   "They were?  How the heck do you know all this.?"

   "Mr.  Reed told me since I'm interviewing you for the paper.  Let's see,
'Tears filled her eyes as she experienced the agony of defeat'.  How does
that sound?"

   "You wouldn't write that?"

   I grinned again.  "Of course not.  If you promise to be excited instead
of bummed about fifth."

   "But fifth?"

   "Out of twenty-three very smart college students.  The other high school
student, the kid from Boston, didn't even make top ten."

   "Cool."

   "Very cool.  And there's more if you promise to smile."

   Kelly grinned.  I think she forgot she was mad at me.  "I promise."

   "Well, the scholarship you won for fifth place is only three grand..."

   "So...?"

   "Well, I hope you like California, 'cause CalTech and Stanford just
offered you full rides."

   Kelly looked stunned.  "You're kidding?"

   "I'd never kid about Stanford.  CalTech maybe, but not Stanford."

   "But how?"

   "Mr.  Reed has a whole package for you and your parents.  Both those
schools want you to come visit.  Probably others too."

   "Tony, that's fantastic," she said hugging me.

   "I didn't do anything.  And before we try an interview, don't forget
you're mad at me."

   "I am?  I am."

   "And I was wondering why?"

   "Well...  it's just that...  I mean..."

   "Deep breath," I suggested.

   Kelly took a deep breath which gave me a chance to admire the tits she'd
grown.  "It's just that Ryan said you only come to see me when you need
something," she said quickly.

   Yep, feeling used.  Too bad Ryan doesn't play football.  I could
accidentally step on his face.

   "I guess Ryan's right."

   "He is?" Kelly sounded surprised.

   "In a way.  What I mean is, you and I don't have the same circle of
friends, so we don't hang much.  We talk when we see each other in the hall
and stuff, but usually if I come looking for you, it's for a favor.

   "Yeah," she said and nodded.

   "I think of you as a friend, and friends do favors for each other.  I
hope you realize that it goes both ways."

   Kelly thought about it, then nodded again.  "I remember what you did for
Allie when Mr.  Singara thought she cheated."

   My turn to nod.  "All my friends are important to me, even the ones who
are smarter than I am, like you and Robbie."

   Kelly grinned.  "You think Robbie's smarter?"

   I help out my hand with my thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch
apart.  "That much.  But don't tell her."

   "I won't." Kelly giggled and nodded.  "I'm sorry I was mad at you."

   "Don't be.  I'd rather have you mad than resenting me silently.  This
way we cleared the air.  And I'm not mad at Ryan.  He was right.  I usually
want something when I come looking for you." Not mad, but I still wouldn't
mind stepping on his face.  Accidently.

   "But when you wanted me to hack those computers, it wasn't for you.  It
was for Tami and Luke," she said as if just realizing it.

   I shrugged.  "Ready for that interview?"

   "Did CalTech and Stanford really offer me scholarships?"

   "Nope."

   She looked like I'd just hit her between the eyes with a two-by-four. 
"No?"

   "Stanford and CalTech offered you scholarships.  In polite conversation,
Stanford is always named first."

   * * *

   "How is she?"

   Tami slipped her arm around me and her hand into my back pocket.  I'd
just joined her in the lunch line.  Robbie was about a dozen people in
front of us talking to Darlene.

   "A little on edge, but probably not dangerous as long as nobody makes
any fast moves," Tami said with a sigh.

   It was about what I expected.  "Is your news going to make it better or
worse?"

   Tami looked suspicious.  "Are you asking because you're concerned or
because you want to know before she does?"

   I sighed.  "Both, I guess."

   "That's my Tony.  Too honest for his own good."

   * * *

   "You're smiling," Robbie accused as Tami and I sat down with our
lunches. "You beat me again."

   "Not a clue," I said in my defense.  "Tami wouldn't let me see the class
lists, I went on another story.  And I'm smiling because I like to smile.
And because a friend got good news."

   "Who?" Robbie asked.

   "What?" Darlene added.

   So I told them about Kelly Dubrey.

   "If she takes a full scholarship from CalTech or whatever, what does she
do with the scholarship money NASA gives her?" Peter asked.

   I shrugged.  "Depends on what strings are on it.  If it's just for
tuition in an undergrad or graduate program, I guess she gives it to the
school and doesn't get anything out of it.  If it's a loose educational
purposes type thing, she can take a trip to Rome and look at the Coliseum
or something."

   Robbie laughed.  "Knowing Kelly, she'd probably go to Kazakhstan to
check on the Russian space program."

   I nodded.

   I looked over at Robbie, then Tami.  Tami was eating her hamburger gravy
on rice as if it was actually food.  Robbie looked at Tami then me, then
back at Tami.  Finally Mikee couldn't take it anymore.  "Are you going to
tell them or what?"

   "Tell them what?" Tami asked innocently.

   "Think we can get away with putting her on the table and tickling her
till the bell for next period rings?" I asked Robbie.

   She glanced over her shoulder.  "Mr.  Singara has the lunch duty.  He
doesn't like you.  He'd probably decide you were having too much fun."

   "Damn!"

   "The stage is empty," Darlene volunteered with a bright smile at Tami.

   "We could charge admission.  Make some more money for the prom
committee," Robbie suggested.

   Tami started choking on the mouthful of rice she'd just eaten, so I
pounded her a couple times between the shoulder blades while grinning at
Robbie for her suggestion.

   Tami wiped her mouth with a napkin, then looked at us.  "If it's that
important to you..." I looked at Robbie, then back at Tami and nodded. 
Robbie was nodding too.

   Tami grinned.  "I was seventh." Tami paused as if that was all.

   "Think Singara will give you a hard time when we carry her out of here?"
Robbie asked.

   "Okay, okay.  More good news for Kelly.  She beat Toby Mather for
third."

   I looked at Monster Girl, "So how much do you think we should charge?"

   Tami stood, putting her nose in the air as if offended.  She picked up
her tray and carried it to the kitchen window, then came back and stood
behind Mikee and Peter.  "I SHOULD make you both wait for the paper on
Friday."

   Robbie and I both held our hands in front of us, flexing our fingers.

   "Just remember, I'm just the messenger.  I was rooting for both of you."

   "I wasn't," Darlene said.  "I was rooting for Toby.  Poor guy's got no
life.  Grades are all he's got."

   I stuck my tongue out at her, then fixed my stare on Tami.

   Tami looked at Robbie and shrugged.  "My guy.  By three thousands of a
point."

   Robbie sighed.  "I should demand a recount."

   I hugged her.  "It's okay, everyone knows who the smart one of us is. 
Sometimes I just get lucky."

   Robbie hugged back hard.

   "I could have sworn there were rules about this sort of thing," Singara
said walking up.

   I let go of Robbie and grinned at him.  "Yes, sir.  The student
handbook. Page seventeen, the fourth paragraph.  Did you need me to quote
it for you?"

   Singara looked confused.

   "Just the group I was looking for," Mr.  Reed said as he came up on the
other side, "though I understand I might need a whip and a chair."

   Robbie looked defensive.  "I haven't been that bad."

   Mr.  Reed smiled.  "There's a picture of you in the teachers' lounge. 
The caption says 'Dangerous--approach with caution.'"

   Robbie's mouth opened to say something, but I gave her another hug and
quick kiss.

   "Robbie's been a little on edge today," Tami explained, "waiting to hear
about the play.  And other things."

   "And her friends haven't been as supportive as they could be," I added.

   Mr.  Reed smiled again.  "Any more supportive and I may have to notice
officially.

   I nodded, but gave Robbie one more hug.

   "And as far as the play, it may make her feel better to know that you
all have a dinner date in Seattle on Saturday."

   "Cool," I said.  Robbie's the competitive one, but I wanted it too.  We
all did.

   "It's been a good week for the school," Mr.  Reed said.  "Between your
play and Kelly Dubrey."

   "Tony told us.  It's fantastic," Tami said.

   "And you think that's good, just wait until baseball season," Robbie
added.  I thought about switching to track.  In baseball, losing was no
longer an option.

   "Page seventeen, paragraph four," Robbie accused as we headed for class.

   "It's in there somewhere.  It might as well be page seventeen."

   Chapter 15

   If there had been bonus points for style, Zoe's Song got 'em.

   Peter and I were turned out in black tuxedos, and the girls wore long
elegant dresses.  The official invitation to the banquet had said
semi-formal, and of the other two casts, only half-a-dozen guys had even
bothered with ties.  We stood out.

   It had been Robbie's idea.  She complained that she'd never seen me in a
tux and Tami had.  She'd been right.  As much as I hate even wearing a tie,
we looked good.  We looked the part of winners even if we didn't win.

   The banquet was pretty ordinary.  It could have been the end of season
sports banquet in the Holiday Inn back home.  Chicken that was--by luck of
the draw--either cooked dry or raw, and mashed potatoes better suited for
making sculptures of Devil's Tower.  Too bad I hadn't run into any UFOs
lately.

   The room was divided into three sections.  In a sports banquet, it would
be the coaches in front, the athletes at the middle tables, and the parents
in the back.  For this, the judges and foundation honchos had the front,
but the rest was the same.  The three casts were seated at three long
tables.  Vlad had the left side, we were in the center, and Mirror, Mirror
was on the right.  We'd seen Vlad the night before we performed, but all we
knew about Mirror, Mirror was that it was an adaptation of one of Agatha
Christie's Miss Marple stories.

   A distinguished black man stood at the dais as a waitress replaced my
half-eaten chicken--I'd gotten one of the half-raw pieces--with a dish of
tapioca that had seen better days.  "LADIES!  GENTLEMEN!" the background
noise of dozens of conversations started to fade.  "I am your host this
evening, Mark Eddington.  It is my honor to chair the endowment committee
of the Prentiss Foundation." There was a smattering of applause, mostly
from the parent section.  What is a smattering anyway?

   "This year we had thirty-seven entries from schools all over the state.
Three of the schools had mini-competitions among their students to select
their school's entry." Only three.  I was surprised.  I figured our school
was part of the norm.  I guessed that meant in most schools, the drama
teacher or someone selected the play for the students.  "So in total there
were forty-five plays, and in any other state, any one of them would have
won.

   "A quick note before we see some of the entries.  After much discussion,
it has been decided that next year the competition will be held in
February. It has been difficult for some of the school groups to get
organized so soon after school starts.  Especially in the schools with
multiple entries." Tami had mentioned that it was a possibility.  I think
she got it off the foundation's website.  I wasn't sure if I liked the
idea.

   "Now a quick look at the three semi-finalists who aren't with us
tonight." As he spoke, a large white screen descended in front of the wall
behind him, the lights dimmed and the screen lit with a group of teenagers
in period costume.  It took only a few seconds to recognize Hamlet.  Two
minutes later, the screen faded to loud applause which was more than it
deserved.  Not that it was bad, it was just ordinary.  I figured it was the
judges' nod to the classics.

   The screen lit again.  This time it took me longer to recognize The
Glass Menagerie.  As I watched, I searched under the table and found Tami's
hand.  I needed it.  I'd always thought the play was depressing, and
somehow this group had managed to make it even more so.  The applause when
the screen went dark was more subdued than for Hamlet.  I decided that
whatever region this play represented had no talent if this was the winner.

   The screen lit a third time, and it took almost a minute for me to
realize I was watching a musical version of Faust.  The devil was played by
a redheaded girl who could have been Robbie's cousin, and she hit a perfect
tone for the character.  If the rest of the cast had been half as strong, I
think we would have been looking at the winner.  The clip was longer than
the first two, because they included most of her song, Have I Got a Deal
for You.  They'd written the words to the music of another song that I
couldn't quite place.  A quick glance at Robbie across the table from me
told me that she was having the same problem.

   The clip ended to enthusiastic applause.  I didn't need an applause
meter to know which one of these three plays won.

   The lights came back on and Eddington stepped to the dais again.  "That
last clip was from The Devil's Deal, and that production caused us a lot of
trouble because the judges had a lot of trouble deciding on just three
finalists.  In fact, Colonel Gates left one of the meetings with a black
eye, though Mrs.  Turner swears it was an accident." The Air Force officer
turned to pretend to glare at the dumpy deputy mayor, who slapped her fist
into an open palm while the audience laughed.

   "After much debate, many hurt feelings, and only a little blood, the
judges managed to come up with our final three.  "Can I have a big hand for
the cast of Vlad." Everyone started applauding as the group on the right
stood and waved.  "Vlad was directed by Carl Thompson and written by Valery
Tucker based on the novel by Bram Stoker." Two of the boys lifted one of
the girls onto a chair.  She turned red but managed to keep waving.

   "Can we have another big hand for the cast of Mirror, Mirror," Eddington
said after the Vlad crew finally sat.  The applause started again as the
group on our other side stood.  "Mirror, Mirror was directed by Marie Chase
and written by Manuel Sicata and Marie Chase from a story by Agatha
Christie." One boy held her hand as a girl stood on a chair and took a bow.
I wondered if the boy was Manuel.  He looked more like a Lief or a Lars. 
"Unfortunately, Manuel Sicata couldn't be with us this evening."

   I found out later that the Immigration Service had suggested that his
parents go back to Costa Rica, and Manuel and the rest of his family went
with him.

   The group from Mirror, Mirror milked the applause for almost five
minutes.  Robbie rapped the table, and we all looked at her.  "Thirty
seconds," she whispered.  We all nodded.

   "Finally, our third finalist.  Can we get another big hand for the cast
of Zoe's Song." We stood and waved.  "Zoe's Song was directed by Robbie
Tate and written by Tony Sims from a story idea by Michelle Temple." Since
our table was just for the cast, Mikee was sitting with her parents.  I was
watching her as Eddington made his announcement, and she turned pink.  I
nodded to her dad, and he stood, picked her up, and put her on her chair.
The laughter turned her pink darker to red, but she deserved the applause.
After about thirty seconds, we sat down, taking the audience by surprise.

   It took Eddington by surprise, too.  He'd been talking to the army
officer with his back turned when the applause died out.  "Our three
finalists," he said opening his arms to take us all in as he stepped back
to the dais.  "Here's a look at why our judges had so much trouble."

   The light dimmed again and the screen lit up with a scene from Vlad. 
This clip was longer than the others.  It ran about five minutes and
featured several scenes, including my favorite, a scene where Dracula was
talking to and caressing several of the female vampires.  The kid who
played Dracula was good.  Dracula has been played in the movies by Bela
Lugosi and Christopher Lee and everyone in between including George
Hamilton and Leslie Nielsen.  The kid was closer to Lugosi than Lee, Lee
being my favorite.

   The end brought more applause, and the Vlad cast again stood, waved and
took bows.

   The screen came to life a fifth time with a middle-aged woman looking
curiously around an English drawing room before a butler entered.  The
makeup was great because I had no idea which of the teenagers at the other
table could have been this middle-aged woman.  From the scenes we saw, I
was sorry that we hadn't been able to come back last weekend to see the
play.

   Tami must have sensed what I was thinking because she whispered,
"They're sending us tapes of the other five plays when they send ours."

   I nodded thinking that I'd really enjoy Mirror, Mirror and The Devil's
Deal.  I'd seen Vlad, might watch Hamlet if I was really bored, and The
Glass Menagerie would make a good paperweight.

   The Mirror, Mirror cast were still taking bows when the screen came to
life again with Traci singing Too Many Feelings.  After a minute it
transitioned into the final scene after Zoe had died.  "She'd still be
alive if you hadn't interfered," Robbie accused.  "My baby would be alive,
she'd be here.  We'd be here." The camera had gone tight on Robbie's face
and you could almost see the anguish of a mother who'd just lost her child.

   The camera panned out, taking in the whole set as Peter dropped his head
for a long pause, then the camera moved in again, framing just Peter and
Susie as her hand moved forward and found his.  The camera tightened still
until just their hands filled the screen, and she gave him a squeeze.  Then
the camera moved out again as Peter said, "But she wasn't alive.  She was
existing..."

   The screen faded, and the applause started.  "Sit!" Robbie said as she
lifted her arm and waved.  We kept sitting and waved for several seconds.

   Eddington took his place again.  "Now you've seen a small part of them
and may understand our problem.  And if you thought it was hard whittling
the six down to four, then to three, now it really got fun.  Picking a
winner.  We had the riot squad on standby as the judges went into the room,
only to come out deadlocked several hours later.  It took five tries to
finally settle third place, and several of the judges still aren't talking
to the others.

   "Ladies and Gentlemen, the second runner-up, winning one thousand
dollars for themselves and their school..." he paused, took a breath,
"Vlad!"

   We stood applauding, so did the group from Mirror, Mirror as the Vlad
cast walked up to the podium.  Eddington handed them a plaque and two
checks, which they waved around.  Then one of the boys stepped to the
microphone.  "Thanks.  We really appreciate this.  Sometimes we thought
we'd never get this whole thing on a stage, let alone take third in the
state." He hesitated, started to add something, then changed his mind.  He
waved again, then led his troop back to their table.

   "When we got down to two, things got really serious," Eddington
continued.  "I saw judges going into the room with brass knuckles, saps,
and knives.  But finally Colonel Gates brought me the final results. 
Ladies and Gentlemen, the runner-up, winning two thousand dollars...  Zoe's
Song!"

   I sighed.  I was getting real tired of second place.  I looked at Robbie
wondering where I could get a tranquilizer gun on short notice and was
amazed that she was smiling.  I mean really smiling.  She stood, took a
small bow to the parents, and started toward the podium.  The rest of us
followed.  Eddington handed Robbie a plaque, then Traci a pair of checks.

   Robbie stepped up to the podium.  "Last year, we came in second in our
school's contest.  This year we took second here.  Next year we get it
right." The crowd laughed as she held the plaque above her head.  Then she
nodded to me.

   I stepped forward to the microphone.  "Zoe's Song was our tribute to a
classmate who died last year.  I hope we made her proud."

   I don't remember the rest of the night.  But I remember feeling warm and
good and knowing that Zoe was watching from wherever she was.

   * * *

   "Is honesty important?"

   "Um, I guess," I mumbled as I watched Jack Bauer crash an SUV into some
kind of culvert.  I never watched 24 when it was broadcast.  I knew with my
schedule, there was no way I'd see 24 episodes in a row.  But a couple
weeks ago, Mom had bought the first three seasons on DVD, and now I was on
the 24th hour of the second season.  And damn, I was hooked.

   Trace shifted her weight from foot to foot as I focused on the screen.
Jack and Mrs.  Palmer hijacked a good Samaritan's car and took off. 
Imagine calling the cops and reporting being carjacked by the president's
ex-wife.  Traci sighed and walked back to her room.

   The scene shifted to the CTU and...  and Traci's tone penetrated.  I
paused the DVD and sat back in Dad's chair to think about it.  Traci hadn't
been asking an idle question.  And it wasn't for school.  'Is honesty
important?' Traci had something she was trying to decide if she wanted to
tell.  And I ignored her for a television show.

   I got up and drained my Coke can.  I walked through the kitchen to toss
it on the way to Traci's room.  Her door was open about six inches, so I
gave it a push.  Traci was standing in the middle of her floor pulling a
t-shirt on.  The blouse she'd been wearing was lying on the bed.  She'd
been dressed up for church with Peter and his family.  They went about once
a month.

   I admired her breasts for a second.  They'd grown a lot in the last
year. They were probably bigger than Tami's, and she was only an eighth
grader, though she had a ways to go to catch Darlene.  Or Cousin Cinnamon.

   "Yeah?" she asked, noticing my presence without a trace of
embarrassment.

   I smiled.  "Yes, no, and maybe." I gave her a half bow, shut her door,
and returned to the living room by way of the kitchen, snagging a
replacement Coke.  I settled in Dad's chair, but didn't start the DVD
again.

   Traci stomped out.  "What the hell kind of answer is 'yes, no, and
maybe'?"

   "Language," I said as I opened the Coke and took a sip.

   Traci turned pink but repeated her question without the adjective.

   "It's the only answer I've got to a question like that.  Yes, honesty is
important if you're in court and sworn to tell it.  No, honesty isn't
important if your best friend has been crying and her makeup is running and
she asks if she looks okay.  And maybe, the rest of the time."

   Traci didn't look satisfied.

   "I happen to think honesty is pretty important and try to tell the truth
all the time, but if Tami is wearing that purple shirt of hers and asks if
it looks good, the truth goes bye bye, 'cause I think it's ugly but it's
one of her favorites."

   "It is pretty bad," Traci said with a grin.

   I nodded.  "Tami's easy.  Instead of lying, I can usually tell her that
something isn't my story to tell or that it's temporally inconvenient, and
she drops it."

   Traci grinned even bigger.  "The word, my English professor brother, is
temporarily," she said with deep satisfaction.

   A nice brother would have let her have the point.  "The word, my cute
but naive little sister, is temporally.  From 'temporal,' which is Latin
for time.  Temporally inconvenient, something I can't talk about right
now."

   "Do you ever get tired of being right?"

   I shrugged.  "It's a burden sometimes."

   Traci stomped her right foot, spun, and started stomping away.

   "Can I ask what your question was about?"

   Traci stopped and stood still for several seconds.  "I was trying to
decide about telling Peter something," she said without turning.  "Several
somethings."

   "You're definitely in maybe territory there."

   She turned and nodded.

   I had a feeling I knew where this was going.  "Has he asked?"

   She shook her head.

   "Silence can be very honest."

   She considered that, but I could tell it didn't satisfy her.

   "Can I tell you a story?"

   Traci nodded, moving to stand next to my chair.

   I reached up and pulled her down across my lap.  "Once upon a time,
there was a brave, handsome, and very clever prince, who just happened to
be at the top of his class."

   "By three thousandths of a point."

   I nodded.  "Which, by the way, is two thousandths more than I needed."

   Traci stuck her tongue out at me.

   "Before he was the wise and wonderful person he is, he was once the
lowest form of life known to man, an eighth grader."

   "Listen here, you..."

   I put my finger across her lips to silence her.

   "It is a condition that almost everybody goes through and outgrows. 
Well, maybe not your friend Bridgett."

   Traci giggled.  Bridgett was the twenty-first century poster child for
dumb blonde.  How she made it to the eighth grade was a congressional
investigation waiting to happen.

   "The prince as an eighth grader had a beautiful princess named Tamarone.
Princess Tamarone had sexy long brown hair that the prince loved to stroke.
He and the princess were madly in love."

   "Sickeningly in love," Traci modified.

   "One day, on a long bus trip without her, he gave in to temptation and
kissed another princess.  This one had long red hair, and the prince had
always had a thing for redheads."

   Traci grinned.  "Is that why you watch Kim Possible almost every night?"

   I grinned back.  "The prince also had a secret cheerleader fetish."

   "Not so secret."

   "Anyway, almost as soon as the prince returned to his princess, he
confessed his indiscretion, even though he knew that the truth might hurt
Princess Tamarone, or possible drive a wedge between them.  Even though he
knew that silence would be enough, that the princess wouldn't ask."

   "Why?"

   "That's a hell of a good question."

   "Language," she admonished with a giggle.

   "That's a good question," I corrected.  "It just seemed like the right
thing to do."

   "Was she mad?" Traci asked, cocking her head.

   "Not really, but Tami's and my relationship has always been a little
different."

   "You can say that again."

   "Tami's and my relationship has always been a little different."

   "Pickledick."

   "That's it.  No more cousins for you."

   Traci grinned.

   "Did that help at all?  Did it answer your question?"

   "I guess," she said crawling off my lap.  She took two or three steps
then stopped.  "Should I tell him?"

   "Does it seem like the right thing to do?"

   She hesitated.  "Yeah...  I think it does."

   "Any more questions?"

   She shook her head without looking at me and retreated to the back.

   I smiled to myself, wondering if her confessions about the other boys in
her life would include Robbie.

   So much for a nice quiet Sunday to finish the weekend.

   Chapter 16

   Monday night I got home about six.  It was kind of nice.  With football
and the play done for the year, all I had to worry about was school and
gymnastics.  It was almost like having free time.  I parked in front of the
trailer and then walked Tami to her house, with Kelly beside us heading for
her own.

   "Good practice," I said, swatting my favorite munchkin on the butt as
Tami and I stopped in front of her house.

   "I don't think Cheyenne thought so," Kelly giggled.

   "Go!" I said, pointing at Kelly's house.  Kelly giggled again and
skipped to her back door, waved, and disappeared.

   "I think she's right." Tami said.

   "I know she's right, but right now I want to think about kissing the
future Mrs.  Sims, not a spoiled brat."

   Cheyenne had told me at the beginning of practice that she wanted to
work on her double back flip.  I knew she'd been working it at the club and
almost had it to the point where Gary was thinking of letting her compete
it.  But I told her no and explained that I wasn't good enough to spot it
yet and that our floor wasn't as good as the club's.

   Half-an-hour later I saw her do one by herself.  She over-rotated the
landing and fell back on her butt, finishing with a backward roll.  I
screamed her name from clear across the gym, then sat her on a stack of
mats and kept her there the whole practice.  She'd scared the hell out of
me.

   "What are you going to do about her?" Tami asked.

   "You weren't listening.  Right now I want to think about kissing the
future Mrs.  Sims, not a spoiled brat." I sealed my point by kissing Tami
long and hard.

   * * *

   "Tony, you had a call," Mom said from the kitchen as I walked in.

   "Actually, you had seven calls," Dad corrected from behind a newspaper.

   "Seven?" Why hadn't they called me on my cell?  Then I realized that I'd
left it on my dresser this morning.

   Just then the phone rang.

   "I'll get it," Traci yelled from her room.  By almost knocking me down,
she got it before the second ring had completely died.  "Sims residence. 
Oh, he's here." She handed the phone to me.  "It's for you," she said in a
disappointed voice.

   "Toneijrdglhguvndgeruhg iunbtruinbrtnbiotrnstrio."

   I looked at the phone.  I wondered if I needed one of the scrambler
gadgets that spies fixed on their phones.  I was pretty sure the first
syllable-and-a-half was my name, but after that...

   "Once more in English," I suggested.

   "Tony, it's me, Ijsdgekrglrgvnrelavubsrlanbvbvn."

   Progress.  It's me.  "Hailey?"

   "Hey!  I, like, said it was me!"

   "Now try the rest, separating everything into individual words."

   "Pickledick."

   "Now that I heard."

   "Where have you been?  I've so been, like, calling and calling."

   "School and gymnastics practice."

   "Hey!  I got an A.  Like, almost an A.  An A-minus.  Ninety-four
percent."

   "I'm very disappointed young lady.  I expected at least one hundred."

   Hailey giggled.  "But I'm, like, so gonna pass history!"

   "This time."

   "Hey!"

   "Whitney Gwyneth, I don't expect you to become Super Student.  Hell, I
don't even want you to.  But maybe we could learn a little about
priorities."

   "Maybe."

   "So what did you miss?"

   "I kinda got it right, but Mrs.  Cleaver didn't like your answer about
the Gobi."

   The Gobi?  When had I mentioned the giant Chinese desert.  "You mean the
Golan?  The Golan Heights?"

   "Yeah."

   "If you called it the Gobi, I can understand why."

   "Hey!  I didn't.  Like, I don't think I did."

   "Check your paper.  If you didn't, get her e-mail and I'll argue the
point with her.  I figure you need every point you can get."

   "Hey!  Was that, like, a diss?"

   "Yep.  Want to talk to Trace?"

   "Okay."

   "Just for a minute.  Dinner's almost ready." I cupped my hand over the
phone.  "Traci!" I yelled.  "Telephone." I lifted the phone up again.  "
Don't teach her any more words," I added to Hailey as an afterthought.

   "If I got an intercom, would you use it?" Mom asked, setting a pot on
the dining room table.

   "Nope, yelling is more fun.  Efficient too," I said, handing the phone
to my sister.

   Mom shook her head and retreated to the kitchen.

   "I take it your cousin did well on her history final?" Dad asked from
behind his paper.

   "Yep," I said with a smile he couldn't see.  "Ninety-four.  We figured
she needed at least a high sixty to a low seventy."

   "Good, I'm glad.  That was a good thing you did."

   "Thanks."

   Dad closed and folded his paper.  "By the way, just for the record, I
really don't like being used."

   "Uh, used?"

   "But, Dad, Tami volunteered me to tutor her," dad mimicked.

   "Oh, yeah, I..."

   "Remember the Steve Martin movie, Sergeant Bilko?"

   I nodded.

   "The original with Phil Silvers was better, but just remember, you ain't
that good."

   "Yes, sir," I said nodding.

   "But still, it was a good thing you did.  We should raise your
allowance," he said just as Traci walked back in to hang up the phone. 
"We'll double it."

   "Don't be stingy dear," Mom said, placing a plate of rolls on the table.
"Triple it."

   "Now wait a minute," Traci protested before she remembered that I hadn't
gotten an allowance since I'd started working.  "I say we quadruple it."

   * * *

   The next day, Cheyenne didn't come out of the locker room with the other
girls.  I have to admit that I was kind of relieved.  Maybe she was taking
the day off.  I watched as Kelly started stretching the other girls.  It
was a pretty good group, but I kinda missed last year's smaller, more
intimate one.

   "Is he the one?" I heard behind me as I instructed Kelly to really work
their backs.  I turned.  Cheyenne in her leotard was standing next to man
about my dad's age, probably her dad.  'I don't need this,' I thought. 
"Cheyenne, you're late.  Get stretching.  Make sure you work your wrists
and ankles." I turned back to the girls.

   "Tony Sims?" the man said a few seconds later.

   "I'm Tony," I acknowledged without turning around.

   "Could I see you?" he asked as I moved over to Cassie Williams to adjust
her leg on her splits.

   "I'm a little busy," I said, standing and moving back again.

   "Young man!  I'm not used to being kept waiting."

   I counted to ten in English, Spanish and German, considering whether to
answer him 'Old man, I couldn't care less what you're used to.' I decided
to be good.  I counted to ten in French, Russian and Afrikaans for good
measure.  "Tami!" I yelled.  She was standing by the beam, talking with
Miss Calloway.  I nodded my head, and she walked over.  "Could you watch
them?"

   She glanced at Cheyenne and her dad, then nodded.

   "Can I help you?" I asked pleasantly as I walked over, ignoring the fact
that Cheyenne hadn't started stretching like she'd been told.

   "I'm John Morris, Cheyenne's dad."

   "Nice to meet you," I said, offering my hand which he ignored.

   "Cheyenne tells me that you haven't been treating her very well."

   'I treat her as well as any brat' is what I wanted to say.  But I knew
if I wanted to coach, I had to get used to dealing with parents.  Might as
well start now.  "I'm sorry to hear that."

   "She said that yesterday you made her sit in the corner for the whole
practice."

   "Not a corner.  That stack of mats there." I pointed to some accordion
matts stacked in the center of a wall.  "And it was about ninety minutes,
not all practice."

   "You think this is a joke?" he asked.

   "Not really," I said, looking back at the girls as they finished
stretching and started toward their events.

   "I'm talking to you," he reminded me.

   "And I'm a little busy.  Can you come back after practice?"

   "Listen here, boy..."

   "No, you listen, old man." Okay, I'll practice dealing with parents next
week.  "I gave Cheyenne an instruction.  She didn't follow it.  She got sat
down.  Now I've got a team to coach.  If Cheyenne wants to participate,
she'll get her ass on the mat and start stretching.  If she doesn't, you're
both in the way."

   I turned my back on him and started walking toward the bars.

   * * *

   "Problem?" Miss Calloway asked a few minutes later.  Cheyenne and her
father had left.

   "It's what I do," I said with a grin.

   * * *

   It was twenty minutes later when Cheyenne and her dad came back with Mr.
Hallowell.

   "Tony, can I see you a minute?" he yelled.

   I sighed and held up one finger to him, then looked back at Kelly on the
beam.  "Go."

   She took a deep breath and did three back handsprings in row, finishing
with a big wobble.  "You're dropping your left shoulder as you step out of
the third one."

   She nodded.

   I walked over to Mr.  Hollowell offering him my hand as I got there.  He
shook it.  I didn't bother offering it to Mr.  Morris.  Miss Calloway came
over too, nodding to her principal.

   "Mr.  Morris says you were extremely rude to him," Mr.  Hollowell
started.

   "I probably was," I admitted.  "Mr.  Morris didn't understand, and
obviously still doesn't, that these girls only have two hours, and he isn't
more important than they are."

   "I didn't say that.  This kid..."

   "I asked him if we could talk after practice, but apparently he doesn't
care about any girl but Cheyenne."

   Morris turned red.  "That's not..."

   "Here at five-thirty," Hollowell interrupted.

   "Works for me," I said and went back to the beam.  From the corner of my
eye I could see Morris fuming.  Cheyenne walked onto the floor mat and did
a back handspring.  "Cheyenne!  Stretch first," I yelled.

   Morris's mouth opened, but Hollowell must have said something because it
closed and the two men walked away.

   * * *

   It was a good practice, though Cheyenne was ignoring me so hard that I
almost laughed a couple times.  Mr.  Hollowell and Morris came back about
five-fifteen and watched.  At five-twenty I started the girls on
conditioning, took a deep breath, and walked over.

   "What can I do for you?" I asked.

   "I thought you were all tied up until after practice," Morris said
sarcastically.

   "They're doing conditioning.  I told Kelly what I wanted.  She'll take
care of it."

   "Your pet, I understand," Morris said.

   "I like Kelly a lot," I said smiling.  "She lives in my trailer park. 
I've known her forever.  But she's running conditioning because the other
girls elected her captain."

   "Is that a problem?" Miss Calloway asked as she walked up.

   "No, but..." Morris hesitated.  "It seems like this kid runs practice
more than you do," he said finally.

   "It probably does.  It seemed like he ran his eighth grade baseball
team, too," Miss Calloway said with a grin at Mr.  Hollowell.  He winked at
her.  "At this point he knows more about it than I do.  He's been working
with Gary at the club over a year.  And he's a natural coach."

   I nodded my appreciation for the remark.

   "Is that what this is about?  That he takes charge?" she asked.

   "No, it's about him making Cheyenne sit out yesterday."

   "Why?" Miss Calloway asked me.

   "You didn't even know about it?" Morris said in astonishment.

   Miss Calloway looked at him coldly.  "Mr.  Morris, these are middle
school girls.  Twelve, thirteen, and fourteen.  Sometimes they need to be
punished.  Tony, Tami, even Stephy and I hand out laps, sit-ups, or
time-outs all the time.  We usually don't bother discussing it."

   "But he made her sit out the entire practice."

   "Why?" she asked, and I explained about the double back.  Miss Calloway
looked back at Morris.  "She's lucky.  I would have sent her home."

   Cheyenne, standing next to her dad, lost her color.

   "For the week," Miss Calloway added.

   "I just want to understand," Mr.  Hollowell said.  "Tony, if she's
almost got the trick, why not let her do it?"

   "Because she's ALMOST got it.  She's been working them at the club with
Gary or Justin spotting her.  I'm not that good.  I've spotted a few double
back working with Megan Cressey.  She's a level nine and can do them
whether I spot right or not.  Plus, the floor at the club is a lot better
than this one.  More spring on the takeoff and more give on the landing. 
She's got a lot of talent, but I didn't think it was safe." I noticed that
the girls had finished their stretching, but nobody left.  They all sat on
the mat, pretending not to listen.

   "I understand," Mr.  Hollowell said.

   "I just don't think high school kids as coaches is a good idea," Morris
said.

   "I don't think this team would have done nearly as well as they did last
year without Tony.  And it's getting big enough that I know I can't handle
it by myself this year," Miss Calloway said.

   "I don't think it's a good idea," Morris said as if that settled it.

   "If you fire my brother, I'll quit," Traci said.  "That'll make the team
smaller." She stood and came over and hugged me.

   "I'll quit too," Kelly said.

   "Me, too," Susie added, then every single one of the others chimed in,
too.

   "No ones getting fired," Mr.  Hollowell said, "And no ones quitting." He
pointed to the locker room, and the girls scampered away.  "Mr.  Morris, as
Miss Calloway reminded me, Tony coached the eighth grade baseball team when
he was only an eighth grader himself, mostly while I stood around and
watched.  He IS an outstanding natural coach.  As principal, I am very
happy that he has volunteered all this time to work with our girls

   "If you feel that high school students coaching other grades is a
problem, you can take it up with the school board, most of whom already
know Tony.  As for Cheyenne's punishment yesterday, it seems to me that
Tony let her off too easy, but her punishment is his problem, and if he's
satisfied, I am.  But safety is the most important thing here, and if she
tries something like that again, I'll drop her from the team myself.  I
will not allow any of these girls to disobey orders and turn herself into a
quadriplegic."

   Morris looked stunned.

   "Anything more?" Mr.  Hollowell asked.

   Morris shook his head.

   "Then we're done here."

   "Cheyenne," I said before she and her dad could leave.  She looked up.
"We need you.  On time tomorrow?"

   She looked surprised but nodded.

   "Keep working your double with Gary," I said with a smile.  "You've
almost got it.  The one you did yesterday was awesome."



   Chapter 17

   "TONY SIMS.  PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE."

   I looked at Tami, and she shrugged.  Robbie, on my other side, was no
better help.  Then I looked at Mrs.  Conners.  She was looking at me.

   "I have a topic," I said with a big smile.  "Resolved: Teenagers and
debate teachers are prone to auditory hallucinations, but should learn to
ignore them."

   Mrs.  Conners smiled but inclined her head to the door.

   I sighed, picked up my books, and left, wondering which of my past
indiscretions was coming back to haunt me now.  I was just passing my
locker when the final bell rang, and that meant speed round was starting.
And this semester Mrs.  Conners was getting tough.  Well, tougher.  She was
docking points for every "uh," "ah," or other unnecessary pause.

   I stepped into the office.  Melissa Bates, a senior I knew to say hi to,
was standing behind the counter, buffing her nails and reading a magazine.
Mr.  Reed was sitting on the extra desk, chatting with Mrs.  Hatcher.  I
walked up to the counter.  "Hi, folks."

   "Tony, you have a phone call," Mrs.  Hatcher said.  I raised an eyebrow.
"It's Mr.  Hollowell at the middle school." She pointed at the phone on her
desk.

   "Thank you," I said as I came around the counter.  Damn.  I guessed the
Morris business hadn't gone away.  The pickledick had probably gone to
Butz. I realized that I'd thought of Morris as pickledick and decided no
more cousins for me, either.  They were contagious.

   "Hi, this is Tony."

   "Tony, this is Mr.  Hollowell.  We have a problem."

   "Mr.  Morris," I sighed.

   "No, I haven't heard anything more from him and don't expect to."

   "Then..."

   "Traci got in a fight."

   "SHE DID WHAT?" I realized that six eyeballs were locked on me, but I
ignored them.

   "She got in a fight.  I've tried your house and your mom's and dad's
offices, but I can't reach them."

   "Mom's in Portland and Dad's in Olympia.  I've kind of got the duty
right now.  I'll be there in five."

   I hung up the phone and looked at Mr.  Reed.  "Traci's in trouble, and I
need to go over there.  She..."

   He smiled.  "Go."

   "I'll take care of signing you out," Mrs.  Hatcher said.

   I started around the counter.

   "Tony." I looked back at Mr.  Reed.  "Ever hear of the mother's curse?"

   Mother's curse?  Oh.  "May you have a kid just like you?"

   "That's the one," he said, smiling.

   I waited.  There had to be more.

   "Your mother's curse must be especially strong.  It's starting early."

   His damn smile had become a grin, so I stuck my tongue out at him and
stuck my thumbs in my ears and wiggled my fingers for good measure.

   * * *

   'It's been an interesting week,' I thought as I drove to the middle
school.  Monday, Cheyenne tries to give me heart attack doing a double by
herself.  Yesterday, Morris tries to get me fired from coaching.  And
today, little Traci gets in a fight.  Tomorrow was an away meet, and I
didn't even want to think what was going to happen there.


-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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