The Perfect Score

by Rob Buyea

  “Actually, it was my responsibility to give him the slip when we got back from the library and I forgot. I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry about the yellow paint, too. I moved our tray and neglected to tell Scott, and then he stepped in it by accident. It was my fault.”

  Mom paused and eyed her carefully. “Natalie, are you Scott’s friend?” she asked.

  “He’s in my after-school group, ma’am.”

  “But is he your friend?” Mom asked again.

  “We’re on the same team.”

  “Well, thank you, Natalie.” Mom smiled and then looked at me. “C’mon, Scott. We’ve gotta get going.”

  I climbed in the passenger seat, and Mom eased away from the curb.

  “Yes, he’s my friend!” Natalie yelled.

  Mom sighed and waved in the rearview mirror. She’d heard her. I twisted in my seat and saw Natalie waving back. Today was the best day of my life. I couldn’t wait to tell Grandpa all about it. I was on a team, my name had become immortal, and Natalie was my friend. Nothing could ruin that, not even all the homework Mrs. Woods had given us.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #11

  October: Friends

  You can’t call someone your friend and then not be it. That would be a dirtbag move, and I’m not a dirtbag. I know the difference between right and wrong.

  Math is about memorizing facts and doing calculations, and I’m very good at that, but Mrs. Magenta had different ideas. She was all about these wild and complicated problem-solving challenges. I liked them—we all did—but her problems took time, and that was what I didn’t have.

  “Okay, you royal knights,” she greeted us at the start of class today. “King Arthur is ready to pass his crown. You’re all invited to sit at his round table, where he will determine his successor. Who will it be?

  “He points at the first chair and says, ‘You live.’ He points at the second chair and says, ‘You die.’ The third chair lives and the fourth dies. Round and round he goes until only one of you remains. Who will it be?”

  “Told you she was nuts, bro. She’s got us killing people today,” Trevor whispered to Mark.

  “Can you tell me where to sit no matter how many knights are in attendance?” Mrs. Magenta asked. “That is today’s challenge. Good luck, and may the wisest wear the crown.”

  This was her craziest problem yet. She let us work alone or with partners, whichever we preferred. Scott and Natalie were math wizards, but they worked alone, because no one wanted to work with them. Besides, it was impossible to make sense of Scott’s scribbles, and Natalie was a perfectionist. Trevor and Mark worked together, which was no surprise, but the fact that they actually worked was surprising. They got into Mrs. Magenta’s challenge, even if they did think she was nuts. Gav and I teamed up and managed to get a decent amount of tables and lucky numbers figured out, but we were far from done when class came to an end.

  “Okay, royal knights, I’d like you to keep working on this for homework,” Mrs. Magenta said. “We will continue to devote some time to this problem for the next week or more. It’s not easy to solve. Remember, you need to discover a formula so we know where to sit no matter how many knights are present. Toodle-oo.”

  Class went fast because the problem had been fun, but I was not looking forward to working on it for homework. Forget King Arthur; Gav was the one I was still wondering about. I’d heard what he said to Natalie before storming off the other afternoon, and I saw what Natalie did to help Scott, so I wanted to ask Gav what that was all about. But school was not the place for that conversation. As soon as I was over at his house again, I tried bringing it up. We were outside, passing his football back and forth, waiting for Jane to come and take me to practice.

  “So what’s the story with Natalie Kurtsman?” I asked him.

  “Just don’t like her,” he said, throwing the ball to me.

  “Why?” I passed it back.

  “ ’Cause.” The ball came at me harder this time.

  “Why?” I asked again. I wanted to know.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

  I threw the ball back to him. I was going to drop the questions, but something else was bothering me. “Why did you tell her to ask her mother?”

  Gav’s next throw rocketed over my head. He never missed his target. That was my warning. We threw the rest of our passes in silence, and then I left for practice.

  Part of me wanted to ask Natalie when I saw her next, but the funny thing was, I didn’t think she knew any more than I did. I would’ve asked Jane what she thought, but the looming state and regional championships were all she could seem to think about, especially since I’d missed that meet in South Carolina because of a stomach bug, and especially since my practices weren’t going well.

  “You need to point your toes,” Coach Jane said. “And you need to stop looking down, or you’re going to lose points for that, too.” We were on our way home from my workout. “And for heaven’s sake, you’ve got to push through on your rotation, or you’ll keep coming up short and never stick your landing.”

  Jane loved to talk like she was one of my coaches, even though she wasn’t. She’d never even competed in gymnastics, but that didn’t stop her. Coach Andrea was full of praise and encouragement, but when it came to Jane, there was always something I was doing wrong and she always had something to say about it.

  “If you can’t get it right, you’ll never win. You might as well give up.”

  No matter what, I’d never be good enough. Our car rides were always filled with her criticisms and attempted motivational speeches. I made sure to turn my head when I rolled my eyes. I stared out the window, searching for the white house with the sign for the psychic. We passed it on every trip to and from practice, and I kept hoping to catch a glimpse of the person inside. What did a psychic look like? I wondered. Did this one read palms or use a crystal ball, and could my hands foretell anything if they were covered in calluses?

  “Discipline is doing what you don’t want to do when you don’t want to do it,” Coach Jane said, interrupting my thoughts. I’d heard that one a hundred times.

  These days it was taking more and more discipline for me to get excited about gymnastics. I had so much on my mind besides handsprings and roundoffs, but this was no time for distractions. And there was no time for me to get my homework done, but Jane didn’t want to hear about that, either.

  “Everything all right?” Dad asked, coming outside after Randi left. “Looked like you and Randi were havin’ a disagreement about somethin’.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said.

  Things weren’t fine. We were having a disagreement ’cause of him. If my old man hada been smarter about things, maybe it coulda been different for us, but you can’t expect that from a high school dropout, so him and Mom got stuck sending every extra cent they made to some lying rich guy—and that was all thanks to Mrs. Kurtsman. I couldn’t believe her no-good daughter went around acting like she didn’t know anything about it. She was just like her mother—no conscience.

  Dad held his hands up, and I threw him a pass. “ ’Cause if anything’s wrong and you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen,” he said.

  The whole thing made me so angry that I couldn’t talk about it. Randi didn’t like that, but she got the hint after a while.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said again.

  Dad waved his finger to the left, and I went running in that direction. He hit me with a perfect pass when I was in full stride.

  “Nice throw,” I said. I had to get a lot better before I could pass like that. I wondered what Dad woulda done in high school if he hadn’t had to quit.

  “I’ve gotta get goin’ to my next job,” he said. “Keep practicin’ and keep an eye on your sister.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  —

  School rolled on, but if you took away recess and Wood
s reading aloud, there wasn’t anything I liked about it. I say that ’cause the other day it was announced that there’d be no more birthday parties. Someone had gone and decided that our celebrations took up too much valuable teaching time when we had the CSAs to prepare for. Poor Scott was madder than a linebacker on steroids when he heard that.

  “No way!” he cried. “That’s not fair!”

  The kid loved those silly parties, so I kinda felt bad for him, but Woods showed little sympathy.

  “Mr. Mason, I’m sorry this decision is so upsetting to you, but you’re going to have to deal with it,” she said. “Your temper tantrums aren’t going to help anything, so tuck in your lips and sit up straight. You heard me tell Mr. Joseph that life isn’t always fair, and that means it isn’t always easy, either. You’ve got to roll with the punches and do the best you can.”

  “I’d like to punch whoever came up with this idea,” he said.

  “That’s enough,” Woods snapped. She was practicing tough love again. I was slowly beginning to realize that my teacher woulda made one heckuva football coach. It was during silent reading when she called Randi up to her desk to give her some of that same tough love, and I was sitting close enough that I heard all of it.

  “Miss Cunningham, I’m wondering if there’s a reason why your homework has been only partially complete the last few days?”

  Randi shook her head. She was staring at the floor and picking at her calluses. I couldn’t believe she didn’t have her homework done. If her scholarship-crazy mother ever found out about that, she’d go ballistic.

  “I assume those calluses aren’t from splitting firewood,” Woods said.

  Randi slipped her hands behind her back.

  “How often do you have gymnastics, Miss Cunningham?”

  “Six days a week,” Randi said.

  “And how long are the practices?”

  “Three hours…longer if my mom wants me to work extra.” Randi’s voice dropped.

  “And it takes you how long to get to your gym?”

  “About an hour,” Randi whispered.

  Woods sighed. “That’s a lot to balance, Miss Cunningham.”

  Randi nodded.

  “But it’s still not an excuse when it comes to school,” Woods said.

  “I know,” Randi croaked.

  “It’s important that you do your homework so you have practice with these types of questions and problems. Concepts will build from there. I don’t want to see you fall behind. You understand?”

  Randi nodded again.

  “Good. I expect your homework will be done from now on, then. You can go back to your seat.”

  I didn’t look away fast enough. Woods saw that I was listening. That old woman didn’t miss much. I was about to find out she’d caught on to me, too.

  “Mr. Davids, please come here,” she said.

  I walked up to her desk, not knowing what to expect. Was she gonna yell at me for eavesdropping?

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  I sat in the chair she had positioned next to her desk for these special conferences.

  “I trust by now you’ve seen that I wasn’t born last night, Mr. Davids. I might be old, but I don’t miss much.”

  It was my turn to do the nodding now.

  Woods leaned forward and in a hushed voice said, “You’re a smart young man, Mr. Davids, but I’ve noticed the struggles you have with reading.”

  I don’t want to talk about this, I thought.

  “I took the liberty of looking in your file. Apparently you don’t qualify for extra services.”

  “I don’t qualify ’cause I’m not quite dumb enough.”

  “Excuse me?” Woods said.

  “The lady that gave me those special tests way back when, that’s what she told me. I’m not quite dumb enough to get extra help.”

  “What a horrible thing to tell a child! Who was that?!”

  Woods had everyone staring at us now, thanks to her outburst, but she gave them her glare and they all looked away. “That lady doesn’t work here anymore,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “I should hope not. If she did, she’d be hearing from me, I can promise you that,” Woods said.

  That made me smile.

  “I’m sorry that happened, Mr. Davids. Trust me, trouble reading or spelling doesn’t make someone dumb—and neither does not graduating from high school, for that matter.”

  I was done smiling.

  “How would you feel about redoing those tests?”

  “No.”

  “I was planning to ask your father—”

  “No,” I said again. “I’m not taking any tests.”

  “Okay, no tests. We’ll work on this together, then. Just you and me. But you’re going to work. Got it?”

  Woods was serious. What did she mean, we’d work on it together? I wasn’t sure, but I nodded.

  “Good old-fashioned hard work can solve many problems in life, Mr. Davids. But you also need to have the right attitude. You’ve got to believe. After what that nimrod test lady told you, I’m sure it hasn’t been easy believing in your ability, but you can do this. You hear me?”

  I nodded again, even though I wasn’t supposed to be any good at reading, not coming from my family. But Woods had other ideas about that.

  “Good,” she said. “For starters, you need more practice. The more you throw that football, the better your accuracy and strength become. Reading is no different, Mr. Davids. The more you do it, the better you’ll get. The difference is you enjoy football, so practice is fun. Reading, on the other hand, is a challenge, so you need to be serious about wanting to improve. You’ve got to be committed, Mr. Davids. But don’t worry. I have a few tricks to help you along the way.”

  “Okay,” I croaked.

  “And, Mr. Davids, one more thing. I’ve seen the sketches you have in your journal. Not only do they show how smart you are, but they’re very good. I told you before, you have talent. Don’t be afraid to pursue it.”

  I swallowed and nodded. This moment with Woods was what they call a game changer. Things would never be the same again.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #12

  October: Black Eye

  This notion of the Recruits that Scott had in his head was a problem. Thinking he and Gavin were teammates and buddies at the library, he did something incredibly foolish at recess.

  “Can I play?” he asked the football boys.

  “Yeah, sure!” Trevor said, acting all excited, like this was a great idea. He wrapped his arm around Scott and led him onto the field. “You can be on your buddy Gavin’s team.” I moved closer. There was trouble brewing.

  I’m intelligent—that goes without saying—but I couldn’t make heads or tails of what the boys were doing. The individual starting with the ball (the one called the pitcher, I believe)—which, by the way, was always Gavin for his team and Trevor for the other—would yell go, and then the rest of the boys would take off running every which way. The pitcher would scan the field and then throw the football. If someone caught it, there’d be more running, but I couldn’t figure out who was going where—and from what I gathered, neither could Scott. He ran back and forth across the field, waving his arms and squawking like a crazed seagull. All the same, he seemed to be enjoying himself, despite the fact that Gavin hadn’t thrown the ball to him—not even once.

  Gavin was the last person I wanted to defend, but I must confess, he wasn’t trying to be mean; he reserved that for me. He was actually doing Scott a favor by not throwing to him. Trevor, on the other hand, had a different idea. He’d let this go on long enough. When it was his turn to be pitcher again, he stood tall, gripping the football, surveying the field, and the moment Scott looked back, he let it fly. That pass was nowhere near one of Trevor’s teammates. It was meant for the kid who couldn’t catch. The football drilled Scott in the face—in his eye, to be exact. His arms f
lailed and his knees buckled. He stumbled about on wobbly legs, bent over, holding his face in his hands. His squawking became that of a dying seagull.

  Laughter filled the air, mixed with seagull sound effects from the boys, who thought this was hysterical. “Nice hands, All State!” someone yelled.

  I ran onto the field. “Scott, are you okay?” I asked, gently placing my hand on his back.

  “My eye hurts,” he moaned.

  “Sorry, bro!” Trevor shouted. I turned and glared at him. “What? I didn’t mean it. I thought he’d catch it.”

  If I believed for one second that I could actually do it, I would’ve picked up that grimy football and chucked it at Trevor’s face. Yes, that would’ve been wrong of me, and it’s likely it would’ve only made matters worse, but it would’ve made me feel better.

  “C’mon,” I whispered to Scott. “I’ll take you to the nurse. You need an ice pack.”

  I glanced back and saw Trevor slapping five with Mark and some of the other boys. I saw Gavin standing as still as a statue, and then I saw Randi approaching the football.

  “Hey, Trevor,” she yelled. She didn’t bend down to pick up the ball. Instead, she booted it, and the moment Trevor turned around, that thing hit him square in the not-so-funny-spot. It was a home run.

  “Field goal!” Randi yelled.

  Trevor fell to the ground. He looked rather pale.

  “Nice hands, All State!” I yelled.

  Randi ran over and joined Scott and me. Gavin watched us leaving the field, but he never moved.

  “You might have a black eye,” Randi said, “but at least you didn’t get any blood on your clothes. Your mother probably wouldn’t be very happy if you showed up with another pair of ruined pants.”

  Scott laughed. Randi and I looked at each other, but we didn’t smile. Instead, she stuck her hand out, so I shook it.

  “I thought you’d give me five,” she said, “but a handshake works, too.”

  “Oh,” I said.