Class Favorite (19 page)

As I ran into the kitchen, I hollered back, “Is he calling back? Where is he?”

“Oklahoma City, and I don't know.”

“Well, didn't you talk to him?”

“I didn't recognize the caller ID, so I let voice mail get it.”

The brown paper package lay ripped and shredded on the kitchen table, quickly reminding me of the way The Ball had looked lying at my feet. I pushed that thought out of my mind as I dug through the scraps looking for the treasure beneath.

There was one of those snow globes you can shake up and watch the snow fall on a tiny village, except this one was rubbery instead of glass, like I imagined a fake boob would be.
Inside was the top half of the state of Texas and the bottom of Arkansas and Louisiana. In the center, where the three states came together, stood a little girl with a pink bow waving at me. It read:
TEXARKANA WELCOMES YOU
! I gave it the obligatory shake and watched the glitter float down like a surprise party. It was cute and all, but I wished my dad would realize I wasn't eight. I wanted some real gifts: spa beauty kits, new purses, a season pass to Six Flags.

I set the glitter ball aside and dug through the papers again until I found an envelope with my name on it. As soon as I saw my dad's handwriting, my heart gave a little lurch. Mom used to say that Dad had the prettiest handwriting of any man she'd ever met. I grabbed the envelope and carefully opened it as I sat down in a chair.

 

Sara,
I got you and your sister little gifts from the road. I always told you that there's nothing good to buy out there on my routes, but I thought these were kind of fun. You and your sister can choose between the two—don't fight over them, though! Be sweet to each other.

 

I sure do miss my girls like crazy! I want y'all to know that, even though I don't see you so often, I'm thinking of you all the time. If there's one thing being on the road lets you
do, that's
think
. I do more thinking out here than I ever thought I could stand. I think about my girls and how fast you're growing up. You're going to start dating soon, I suppose. I try not to think about that.

 

I been thinking a lot about our talk at Luby's. I know school is hard, and kids are hard on one another. But you always got to stick by your best friends. I'm not sure if you and Arlene are having a hard time of it, but I hope that if something isn't right with the two of you that you'll take the first step in making it right—no matter whose fault it is. When I was in high school there was a kid who had it in for me real bad, and no matter what I did or didn't do, it seemed like he would pounce on me for it. But my buddy Harlin was always there for me to vent to at the end of the day. You and Arlene have been friends forever (remember how you used to make homemade doughnuts!) and I'd hate to see you just give that up. Don't be like me and your momma and let something stupid get in the way of something great.

 

Oh, I almost forgot! I put a calling card in this envelope so that you can call me on my cell free of charge anytime you want. It won't cost you a cent. Promise me you'll call me if there's anything you want, anything at all. Okay?

 

I love you girls more than anything! Be sweet to your momma, and I'll try to call you when I get to Oklahoma City.

 

Love,
Dad

 

 

I gently folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. Elisabeth's envelope lay haphazardly torn on the mess of brown paper. I looked inside to see if her letter was still in there, but the envelope was empty.

“Everything okay?” Mom asked. She was leaning in the doorway; I wondered how long she'd been standing there.

“Dad gave a me a calling card. Said I could call anytime.”

“You want me to show you how to use it?” she asked eagerly.

I looked at my mother and wondered what was going on inside her head. Did she miss Dad? I smiled at her as she alternately looked at me and the envelope that held Dad's letter. “No thanks, Mom. I'll figure it out.”

The truth was, I wasn't ready to call Dad just yet. Or Arlene or even Kirstie. I just wanted to go to my room and read the letter again and shake the fake boob ball and watch the girl from Texarkana wave at me while I tried to figure out why everything had to be so complicated when things used to be so simple.

15

What's Your Rep?

You just won an award for Most Conscientious Recycler in your town. How does your school respond?

a) By surprising you with a full-page ad in the local paper congratulating you

b) It doesn't. Only your two closest friends know, because they're the only ones you told.

c) It doesn't, but at least your parents are proud of you.

 

The day after “the incident,” as it would come to be known, I knew that damage control was crucial. When I looked at my Class Favorite list, I figured poise (No. 5) would be important. Haden Prescott totally kept her head high after a very public break-up with that financier guy, and all the weeklies showed her laughing and lunching with her girlfriends. Killing The Ball was tragic, I decided, but not the end of the world. I did feel a bit
defeated, but I reminded myself that I was on track toward my goal, and at Jason's party I intended to seal the deal.

I felt wiser than I had been the day before, realizing how silly my sexy school girl outfit was, so I chose an outfit that was much more low-key: I wore jeans and a striped button-down. The outfit still complied with my Class Favorite list—I had a Rosemary-chic thing going on. I had a couple more hot-looking outfits I'd scrounged up over spring break, but I decided to save one of those for Jason's party . . .
which I'd been personally invited to, thank you very much
. My Class Favorite pipe dream just might become a reality.

I walked to first-period English feeling awesome, despite blowing up The Ball—a guy like Jason Andersen can do that to a girl. But then, I saw Arlene. She stood outside the classroom talking to Ellen Spitz. I couldn't imagine, outside of softball, what they had in common. I wondered how close they had become in the last few weeks and if Arlene talked to her about me. It was weird that Ellen, who I'd never even thought about before, was now best friends with my best friend—
former
.

I bolted by them and tried to pick up just a tiny bit of their conversation, but they stopped talking when they saw me.

I slid into my seat and waited for Jason to walk through the door. When he finally hobbled in, my heart gave an anxious little leap, and I tried to look as normal and unconcerned as possible. I really wanted to throw up.

“Man, Andersen, what's your problem?” said Sean Hurley as Jason lumbered to his seat in one of those walking casts. “You let those Rebels do this to you? They suck; I thought you were good,” he teased.

“Yeah, well how many points did
you
score, Hurley?”

I knew that Jason had scored eight points and Sean had only scored four in the first half of the game.

“Oh my,” Sean squealed in a voice that was presumably supposed to sound like a girl, hugging his hands to his chest and fluttering his eyes. “What we will ever do without our Golden Boy? We might as well end the season now.”

“Screw you, Hurley,” Jason said with a crooked smile. “Besides, I think there's a new Golden Boy, anyway.”

Amazing, right? Shiner wasn't even trying, and he was ascending the social ranks of our school quicker than I was. He had an actual talent, though, whereas I was trying to get by on my questionable looks and charm.

“Everybody please settle down and get your books out,” commanded Ms. Galarza as she moved toward the front of the room and started handing out worksheets. I shifted in my seat, wishing Jason would look at me. When he turned to hand the stack of worksheets to the girl behind him, I glanced at him and caught his eye; he smiled and mouthed,
Hey
. I smiled eagerly back. I wanted to ask him how his ankle was, but he faced the front of the class as Ms. Galarza started
talking. Then an announcement came on the intercom.

“Good morning, Bowie Bandits. This is Principal Moran. Sorry to interrupt your classes, but as some of you may already be aware, we lost a very important part of our school's history last night. Something that represented the will and pride of our great school.” The class shuffled and whispered, and I tried to hide behind my textbook. “The Ball of the nineteen eighty-nine state championship game has been erroneously destroyed.”

Some of the girls in the class—the few who hadn't been at the game or heard word—gave out a little gasp; there were murmurs throughout the room, and a couple of people gave me accusatory looks. I slumped down in my seat and eagerly looked at the worksheet.

“Though The Ball is now gone, we mustn't ever forget its spirit, for that lives on forever in the heart of every true Bandit. Now, I'd like to request three minutes of silence for our lost comrade.”

Three
whole minutes? One minute of complete quiet is horrible enough, but
three
? The silence was excruciating. Most people bowed their heads, as if they were praying—actually
praying
—for a basketball. Some people started giving me backward glances, and I figured they might as well have propped me up on a stage and let people hurl rotten fruit and insults at me. After what was probably the first minute, people started getting
restless, shuffling in their seats and sighing with great fanfare. Somebody coughed, “Ballbuster,” which set off a round of stifled laughs while Ms. Galarza gently shushed us, her eyes cast down but occasionally cutting at those making noise. I risked a look at Arlene; our eyes locked for a moment, and I thought I saw sympathy in her eyes. I looked away, embarrassed.

Finally, after what seemed like the entire class period, Mr. Moran came back on the intercom and said somberly, “Thank you, students. Have a pleasant day.”

 

I darted out of class as soon as the bell rang, eager for an escape. No amount of poise or perceived confidence could keep me from feeling humiliated all over again.

“Sara! Hey, wait up.”

Like a magical spell, the sound of my name oozing out of Jason's lips temporarily erased those feelings of utter humiliation. I turned to face him with, hopefully, a very beautiful gaze plastered on my face while a voice inside my head screamed that this was the second time he had approached me on his own.

“Where you headed?” he asked. “I'll limp with you.” He smiled, and just like that, I forgot all about that stupid announcement.

“Can you believe Mr. Moran and that insanely ridiculous announcement?” he asked—so much for forgetting. “Three minutes? I mean, could he have been more dramatic? It's just
a
ball
.”
Exactly!
I thought. “I mean, sure, it means a lot to some people and represents the potential in all of us, but still, get over it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said as we neared the front office. I cringed when I saw that the trophy case still displayed The Ball, only now it held the strips of torn leather as the overhead spotlight shined defiantly on. I was starting to realize that it takes real mental and emotional strength to act like you don't care, or that it doesn't bother you. Still, I said, “Well, you know, what the heck am I supposed to do? It's not like I did it on purpose. I know The Ball was a big deal and all, but . . .”

“What's done is done, right?”

I smiled back at him. “Right. Look, thanks, but you don't have to walk with me.” Of course, I totally wanted him to keep walking with me, but not at the risk of permanent bone damage. With a glance down at his leg, I asked, “How's your ankle, anyway?”

“It's okay,” he said, giving a heads up to Richie Adams.

“Hey!” Richie called to us both. “Grace Thurman strikes again!”

And instead of trying to morph into the walls, I said, “That's me!” Loud and proud, even as I died inside. As Richie passed the trophy case, he jokingly crossed himself.