Kiki and Jacques (6 page)

“Here, maybe this can make you feel better.” Kiki held out a mound of pink fluff. The edge of the scar crinkled when she smiled.

Jacques shook his head. “I'm good for now . . . but thanks.”

Kiki licked a dab of cotton candy off her lips and grinned. This time, the gap between her teeth was filled in bright pink.

On Thursday morning the soccer team list was finally tacked to the gym door. Next to the list, a cardboard poster was decorated in blue and yellow flowers. In large block letters, it said Girls Don't Wait! Ask Your Date.

Jacques walked by the team list twice before taking a look. He exhaled when he saw his name halfway down the list; though the truth was, it didn't look as if Coach Morrin had cut anybody.

Then Jacques's eyesight went blurry. Rubbing his forehead, he inched closer. Toward the bottom of the sheet in bold letters he read the word CO-CAPTAINS. Underneath there were two names:
Mohamed Husen
, and just below it,
Jacques Gagnon
.

Co-captains! Jacques wasn't sure whether to shout or be sick. What was Coach thinking? How in the world was he going to lead the team alongside a boy who seemed to hate him?

Sammy came up from behind. “It's not fair. You should be the only captain. Just you.”

“No.” Jacques's head dropped. “Let's face it; I'm lucky Coach even made me co-captain this year.”

Lucy was walking down the hall toward them, her arms filled with books and binders. Sammy grinned and slipped away in the other direction.

“Hey!” Lucy stopped and spun one toe against the floor. She was wearing blue denim shorts with lace pockets hanging out; her hair was gathered in a butterfly clip.

“Oh hi,” Jacques responded.

“The roller coaster at Spruce Point Beach was awesome, wasn't it?” Lucy gazed into his face and smiled.

“Guess so,” Jacques replied cautiously. Was she making fun of him?

“I was kind of wondering—are you going to the dance?” Lucy stretched high on her toes.

She's taller than I am, Jacques noted. “What dance?”

Jacques's eyes slid down to the binder in Lucy's arms. On its spine, there was a red Sharpie heart with the initial “J” in the center.

When Lucy saw where he was looking, she quickly moved her hand to cover the spot. “I'm talking about the Sadie Hawkins dance this weekend.”

“Actually . . .” Jacques coughed. “Actually, there's something really important I need to do. Father Lazar wants me to come to church. They're having a party to welcome the African families.”

“Oh really.” Lucy's left eyebrow began to twitch. “You're saying that you have to go to church on Saturday night?”

“Yeah,” Jacques said. “Father Lazar is kind of making me. Lots of kids are going. You can come if you want.”

“I'll think about it,” Lucy replied flatly. She wrapped her arms around her books and backed away. She wasn't smiling anymore.

Sammy caught up with Jacques in front of homeroom. “Did Lucy ask you?”

“I guess so.” Jacques sighed.

“What'd you say?”

“I told her I had to go to church.” Jacques caught the mangled expression on Sammy's lips. “It was all I could think of! I told her you were going too.”

“What?” Sammy's jaw dropped before they both cracked up. “Well, I'm not going to the dance, either. Nicole just told me that she asked someone else.”

“You're kidding!” Jacques exclaimed. “Who's the dude?”

“Boucher. Apparently, she's going out with him, starting this morning.”

“Good thing you didn't like her.” Jacques smirked.

“Are you kidding?” Sammy snorted. “I
never
liked her! I was just being—polite.”

“Grandmère's making blueberry crumble and whoopie pies for the church party.” Jacques patted his stomach.

“Count me in.” Sammy grinned.

Confirmation, confession, cub scouts . . . and Mass every Sunday. Jacques had been to St. Francis at least once a week for most of his life. The church was the biggest building in Lakemont, and you could see its soaring spires from almost any place in town. Attached to the stone sanctuary, there was a more ordinary-looking meeting hall and gym. Lots of clubs, like the Boy Scouts, met at St. Francis; Jacques usually felt as comfortable there as in Grandmère Jeannette's living room.

But not tonight. Jacques fiddled with the keys in his pocket as he walked over to the church party with Sammy. Grandmère Jeannette had left early to help set up. He knew that Ricky and Robby were going because their mom had asked if they could take along Pelé; apparently some of the younger kids were bringing pets to share. He wasn't sure who else would be there. He half wondered whether the Somali families would even come.

Father Lazar stood at the church door fidgeting
with his collar, but his face lit up when he saw the boys. “Jacques, I'm delighted to see you! Truly delighted! And I'm glad you brought a friend.” The priest pumped Sammy's hand, up and down, several times. “The basketball game is just starting. Some boys from the high school team are here, so it ought to be lively.”

In the social hall Jacques recognized several older ladies arranging food platters. There were a few Somali families, mostly women and small children, sitting on bridge chairs. The Somali women wore floor-length
baati
dresses, with large flowered patterns. Their hair and shoulders were covered with scarves or longer hijabs.

Sister Bernadette, the oldest nun in Lakemont, was settled on a bench in the corner. She wore an old-fashioned black habit. Sister Bernadette had dressed that way for so long that Jacques hadn't really noticed. Now it seemed strange to see her sitting next to African women who also kept their heads covered.

A high-pitched squeal made him turn. Baby Amir was squirming in the arms of a lady who looked so much like Kiki that Jacques did a double take, but he knew that it had to be Kiki's mother. She was pretty like her daughter, with large brown eyes and the same gap between her teeth, although the woman had no scar.

Then a girl in a long print dress and green hijab reached for the baby, and Jacques's heart began to thump. He thought Kiki noticed him, too, but she didn't look up. Amir lifted one pudgy hand in his direction and sucked his fingers on the other.

Sammy nudged Jacques toward the gym. Father Lazar had recruited three of the biggest guys from the high school varsity team. They towered above everyone else. The ceiling of the gym wasn't that high, and the basket was placed a little lower than regulation. The high school boys could dunk without trying.

“Come join our side!” A senior with flaming red hair handed Jacques and Sammy basketball jerseys.

Jacques recognized a Somali boy from school. Tim O'Shea and two dudes from science class were playing too. O'Shea pumped a fist in greeting.

Just then, Mohamed walked into the gym. Jacques froze as he took a spot on the other team. Mohamed was nearly as tall as the high school boys and every bit as muscular.

The ref blew the whistle, and the high school guys tipped off. They were good, but Jacques couldn't keep his eyes off Mohamed.

Mohamed wasn't especially skilled at basketball. He immediately got called for traveling. When it was Jacques's turn to guard him, it wasn't that hard. He was taller, of course, but he hesitated whenever he got the ball.

Time was running out in the third quarter. O'Shea passed the ball to Mohamed, but he was so far down the court that Jacques relaxed and turned away a split second before the buzzer went off. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Mohamed send the ball up for a Hail Mary lob. It was a wild, hopeless throw, and Jacques was already heading back, when the crowd gathered on
the sidelines began to holler. The ball swooshed right in. From beyond half-court. Incredible.

“Did that just happen?” The boy with red hair slapped his knee. “That kid told me he's never played ball before.”

“Ever?” O'Shea and Sammy both gasped.

“Only pick-up games in the park.” The boy shook his head.

And then Jacques saw something he hadn't seen before. For a minute, Mohamed stretched his arms behind his back and smiled.

Mohamed put up two rebounds in the fourth quarter, but both missed. Jacques watched him push off from his left foot, and suddenly it struck him: “He's a lefty. . . .”

“What?” Sammy mouthed from across the court.

Jacques tapped his left arm, but Sammy didn't get it.

Jacques and Sammy's team won easily, forty to twenty-six. The boys slapped palms with the opposing team, but when they came face to face, Mohamed looked away.

Back in the social hall, Jacques saw Ricky and Robby sitting cross-legged with Pelé under a large banner: Pet the Rabbit, Fifty Cents. Money to Help New Mainers. Six or seven other kids sat sprawled nearby with their assorted kittens, puppies, gerbils and signs.

Most of the Somali families were seated at the folding tables, chatting quietly. A few more church members
and other people had arrived, but they stood on the opposite side of the room.

Suddenly, Jacques saw Kiki's little brother dart across the social hall and plunk down beside the twins. Ismail was wearing a Ninja Turtles sweatshirt and had an armful of whoopee pies squashed against his chest. He shared them with Ricky and Robby and offered one to Pelé, who nibbled on lettuce instead.

“The twins sure seem friendly with that Somali boy.” Grandmère Jeannette appeared from behind and hooked her arm in Jacques's. “I guess youngsters get along easy—easier than grown-ups sometimes.”

“Where's Dad?” Jacques asked. “I thought he was coming with you.”

“He dropped me off,” Grandmère Jeannette replied. “He had somewhere important to go.” She quickly looked away and Jacques wondered if she was telling the truth. He also wondered whether the important thing had to do with the Bienvenue Bar at the far end of Main Street.

“Oh, there's Betty Labelle!” Grandmère Jeannette exclaimed. “I wonder if she brought that pretty niece with her. . . .”

Mrs. Labelle came and took Grandmère Jeannette by the hand. “Do you suppose we ought to go over and say hello to the new people?”

“Good idea,” Grandmère Jeannette replied. “Let's offer them some of your famous brownies.” She turned toward Jacques. “You want to give us a hand?”

Jacques glanced at Kiki and her mother on one side of the room, and then he caught sight of Lucy coming in on the other side of the hall.

“I gotta use the bathroom. . . . Sorry!” Jacques fled into the men's room. As soon as he stepped through the door, though, he wished could turn right back around.

Duane was sitting on the edge of the sink, smoking. “Yo! You been avoiding me?”

Jacques inhaled a cloud of gray air and began to choke. “You shouldn't be doing that in here. The alarm will go off!”

“Who cares?” Duane hopped off the sink.

Jacques tried backing away, but Duane came around and stood in front of the door. The dark line beneath his nose had grown in bushy. And his arms were hairy too.

“Listen,” Duane said quietly. “This is what's going to happen. Your grandma's shop is two doors down from the Army Navy Store. There's nobody in there at the end of the day except old man Silverstein, and he keeps a lot of cash in the register. I used to work there, so I know. Next Saturday Garth and I are coming by.

“All you need to do is open the back door to your grandma's store. Once we're done at the Army Navy,
we'll come in from the alley and go through the bridal shop. When we step out the front onto Main Street, no one will suspect anything. It's easy.” Duane stopped and tossed the cigarette butt into the waste can. “You'll get a hundred bucks, I swear.”

“I'm not doing it.”

“You got no choice, kid.” Duane sneered. “Unless you want that pretty Somali girl with the scar to have even more problems.”

“What?” Jacques's face flashed hot. “You keep her out of it!”

Duane smoothed the ends of his moustache. “I'm guessing that big brother of hers doesn't know that she's been hanging out with you.”

Jacques's bottom lip began to quiver. He bit in deep.

“Thought so.” Duane smirked. “You just let us into your grandma's shop for a few minutes, that's all. And you end up with a hundred dollars. Nobody's going to know.”

The door swung open. Father Lazar stood in the doorway, sniffing. “You fellows okay in here?”

Duane offered a wide snake smile. “Oh, we're good, Father. I'm helping out my little friend Jacques here.” He ducked past the priest.

“I'm okay,” Jacques said quickly.

“Why don't you go on back inside now; the party's picking up.” Father Lazar held the door open. “And Jacques, you come talk to me if you have any problems, all right?”

Jacques nodded and darted into the social hall. It
took him a minute to realize that something about the party had changed. Instead of Somali families sitting on one side of the room, with church members on the other, the two sides had begun to mix.

Ricky raced by with a fistful of carrots. Jacques blinked; the little boy was wearing Ismail's Ninja Turtles sweatshirt. Robby and Ismail held the treats above Pelé's nose and cheered when the bunny jumped high enough to reach them.

A slim blonde girl was standing behind the twins, holding Baby Amir. When she bent forward to let the baby pet Pelé, Jacques was surprised to see that it was Monique. She looked entirely different. Her hair was combed back, so the red streak didn't show. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and her cheeks were flushed with laughter. Kiki stood next to her, swinging Amir's arms. As Jacques watched, the girls and the baby dissolved into waves of giggles.

Duane was nowhere in sight. He had simply disappeared.

Jacques spotted Lucy leaning against the wall, twirling the ends of her hair as she sipped on a soda. She was wearing skinny jeans and a yellow mohair sweater. Their eyes met and Jacques thought maybe he should go say hey, but he hesitated: what if Lucy got the wrong idea?