Playing the Field

by Janette Rallison

  Besides, my parents didn’t want me to date until I was sixteen. And really, that seemed like the best time to me. At sixteen I’d have my own driver’s license and a summer job. That would mean I could actually take a girl out to dinner. Right now, with only my allowance money to depend on, we’d only be able to go to the nearest vending machine.

  Tony shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be fun if we all did something together. Maybe we could go somewhere and hang out.”

  “Serena’s knee is hurt. She can only hang out on her couch.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Tony seemed a bit disappointed. “I guess she won’t be much fun for a while. Maybe I’ll just ask Rachel to do something.”

  Tony didn’t bring up the subject again after that, and we both went to our first class. I didn’t usually see him again until it was time to go to algebra class. I waited for him by my locker like I always did, but today he didn’t show up. Finally I walked over to Mrs. Swenson’s room by myself.

  That’s when I saw him outside the math class talking with Rachel. I don’t know why she was there because she had English this period, and it was in a different hallway altogether—well, actually I do know why she was there. It was obvious she was there to flirt with Tony, and she was doing a good job of it. She held onto one end of a novel and Tony held onto the other.

  “It’s my book now,” he said.

  “Oh no it’s not,” she answered back in a syrupy teasing voice.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” he said in the same tone, and they went on this way for a few moments fighting over who would hold the book.

  When Tony looked up and saw me, he let go of the novel and talked in his normal voice again. “Is it time to go in already?”

  I nearly said, “Oh yes it is.” But instead I just said, “The bell will ring any second.”

  “I guess I’d better go or I’ll be late,” Rachel said. We all knew she didn’t have a chance to make it to her English class on time, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by this fact. She gave Tony one last wave before she turned and strolled down the hallway.

  Tony grinned at me, then walked into math class. As he sauntered over to his desk, I noticed that he’d finally perfected his cool walk.

  I sat down at my desk, took out my recorder, and pressed the on button. Of course, I hadn’t counted on Mrs. Swenson explaining so much of today’s assignment to us by doing examples on the board. I quickly realized that if the class was going to make any sense at all to Serena, she would need to know what Mrs. Swenson was doing, so I kept picking the recorder up and whispering comments into it. “Mrs. Swenson just wrote seven x over eight equals x plus three-fourths,” I’d say. “Now she’s miraculously found the common denominator.” I felt like a sports announcer, and so I did the rest of my commentary in a sportscaster’s voice. “She’s stepping up to the plate,” I whispered breathlessly. “Now she’s moved the x to the left side of the equation. She’s put those bubble things around the left side, she’s moving fast now, multiplying by twenty-four and dividing by negative three, and she’s scored! X equals negative six. The class goes wild!”

  Tony passed me a note, but I was afraid if I read it I’d miss something important, so I slipped the note into my book and kept up my description of what Mrs. Swenson was doing at the board.

  When it was finally time to work on our problems, I slipped the note out and read it. “Rachel and I are meeting at the mall after baseball practice. I’d invite you to come, but three’s a crowd.”

  I knew he was showing off, but I didn’t care. Who wanted to be around Tony and Rachel if they were going to do stupid things like stand around and tease each other over who was going to hold some book. I could just see them at the mall:

  Tony (in a syrupy voice): “Oh, no, you don’t get to go into The Gap.”

  Rachel (in the same voice): “Oh yes I do.”

  I was going to Serena’s after practice to drop off the tape and hopefully work on the math assignment. Math was something you could talk about without sounding like your lips were stuck in permanent baby-talk mode. I would much rather be with Serena.

  Chapter 7

  When I got to Serena’s house, she seemed only a little surprised to see me, and perhaps that was all for show, because this time her hair was combed and pulled back in clips.

  I showed her the tape I’d made and explained what it was. She took it from my hands and smiled like I’d just handed her a Christmas present.

  “That’s so sweet of you. I’m sure it will really help. Do you mind doing one for me every day?”

  “Sure,” I said, and mentally added, I just got a daily invitation to Serena’s house. Try and do that with an airplane, Brian Vanders.

  While I played the recording for Serena, Mrs. Kimball brought in a bowl of popcorn, then left us by ourselves again. I got out my notes from the day so Serena could follow the examples I’d talked about on the tape.

  She laughed when she heard my sportscaster impersonation on the tape. Shaking her head, she said, “McKay, you’re so funny.”

  One quality down and four left to go before I officially became Mr. Right.

  Then we went over the homework assignment. Serena helped me with the first few problems, and I understood them—well, sort of. I understood them while Serena explained them. I couldn’t seem to remember how I was supposed to do everything when I tried some problems on my own. So we went back and worked on some earlier stuff I hadn’t understood, and it finally made sense. As we finished, I said, “Thanks. I should have crashed into you during PE a long time ago.”

  Serena picked up a piece of popcorn and threw it at me. “I’ve sat here bored to death for two days, and you’re happy.”

  I picked up the popcorn, threw it up in the air, and caught it in my mouth. “You don’t have to just sit here. Go outside. The weather is great.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “What am I supposed to do outside? Limp around?”

  “There are sports you can play with only one foot.” I couldn’t think of any, so I made some up. “There’s hopping basketball, and of course crawling baseball, or you could try a really short game of soccer.”

  Serena threw another piece of popcorn at me.

  “You’ve got a pretty good arm. I bet we could play a game of catch.” I took a look around the room. “Do you have a ball somewhere?”

  She blinked at me, realizing I was serious. “I don’t want to play catch. I’m lousy at sports.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll help you become a great athlete to repay you for helping me with math.”

  “You have to move around to play catch.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll throw it right into your lap.” She still didn’t look convinced so I added, “Softly. I’ll throw the ball very softly because I would hate to send you to the doctor’s again.”

  In the end she gave in. Her mother helped her onto the chaise lounge in the backyard, and she sat with her foot propped up while I threw balls to her. At first she threw them right back to me, but after awhile she threw them farther and farther away. I ended up running and diving all over her backyard while she sat there and laughed. I didn’t mind. Catching wild balls was good practice for baseball; and besides, I liked to hear her laugh.

  “You’re almost as good at retrieving balls as our dog,” she said.

  “Yeah, but I bet your dog can’t bat as well as I do.”

  She nodded. “You’re a better batter.” Then she giggled at herself. “How can you play a game that makes you sound like cookie dough?”

  “Baseball is great. As soon as your knee is better, I’ll teach you how to hit, too.”

  “All right,” she said. “As soon as my knee is better.”

  At that moment I liked Serena. It almost made me sad to think that after I did better in math, I wouldn’t have a reason to hang out with her anymore. Then I stopped feeling sad. I was so bad at math, we’d be together for quite some time.

  I was in a
great mood until I got home and walked into my room. Legos were strewn on the dresser, over the beds, and from one end the floor to the other. I kicked through them to put my backpack away, and then I went to find Kirk. He was lying on the family room floor tying dishcloths to the legs of the couch.

  I stood over him and put my hands on my hips. “Kirk, go pick up the mess in our room.”

  He didn’t even look up at me. “I’m still playing with it.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re in here attacking the furniture. Now go pick up our room.”

  “I don’t have to, because you’re not the boss of me.”

  I nearly went and stepped on his dish towels just to make him scream, but I didn’t want to get my parents mad at me. Instead I followed the sound of my dad’s voice into the kitchen. My mom was at the cutting board chopping up lettuce, and Dad stood next to her cutting up tomatoes.

  “This is just like sleeping,” he teased her. “You take up all the room.”

  She smiled over at him. “Lettuce is bigger than tomatoes, and besides, you should never complain to a woman who’s got a knife.”

  I went over to them. “My room looks like a Lego bomb went off inside it, and Kirk refuses to clean it up. When are you moving him out?”

  Mom sighed and pressed her knife through the lettuce again. “I’ve got a bunch of transcriptions to do. I don’t have time to move everything around.”

  “I’ll help you,” I said. “In fact, I volunteer to carry everything to your room.”

  Another chop to the lettuce. “And then there’s the matter of decorating. The office has those old pink curtains and dirt marks all over the wall. It wouldn’t be fair to make Kirk move out unless his room is just as nice as the room he came from. I’ll need to buy paint, border, curtains, and a comforter. Maybe a matching lamp . . . or some paneling. These things take time.”

  The humor went out of Dad’s voice. “These things also take money. Exactly how much were you planning on spending on all of this?”

  Mom stopped chopping and looked over at him. “Why do you always say things like that? It’s like you think I just look for excuses to spend money. Do you think it’s fair to move Kirk into a bare bedroom?”

  “Fair doesn’t have anything to do with it. We either have the money, or we don’t. We can’t buy things just because we think it’s fair.”

  Mom gave the lettuce a vicious slash. “You’re only saying that because you don’t care about decorations, but Kirk does.”

  “You mean you care,” Dad said. “Kirk would be just as happy if we let him take markers to the walls.”

  Mom set her knife down on the cutting board a little more forcefully than she needed to. “You know, if I wanted someone to tell me how to use my money all of the time, I’d still be living with my parents.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Dad watched her go, took a deep breath, then went back to chopping tomatoes. His mouth was set in a firm line. His knife against the cutting board sounded harsh and crisp.

  I stood rooted to the spot, watching my dad. “It’s okay,” I said. “I guess I can live with Kirk for a while longer.”

  Dad picked up the cut tomatoes and dropped them into a bowl. Then he picked up what was left of the lettuce and chopped it. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer. Your mother will find some irresistible little sports material somewhere, and then she’ll be making curtains, comforters, and matching throw pillows.” He grumbled something I couldn’t hear and then added, “and tablecloths—and place mats.”

  I started to leave the kitchen, but Dad called me back. “McKay . . .”

  I turned toward him, but he didn’t say anything else for a moment. He just laid his knife down on the cutting board. “Your mom works hard to make our home a nice place. I didn’t mean any of what I just said.”

  “I know.” Besides, I hadn’t understood half of what he’d just said anyway.

  Now he smiled at me. “You won’t have to worry about money when you grow up because you’re going to graduate from college and become a corporate executive, right?”

  “Right.”

  “How’s the homework coming?”

  “Good.” For the first time this was true, and I was determined to keep it that way. Suddenly I realized raising my grade wasn’t just about baseball. It was about a future my parents saw for me—a future where I didn’t have any of the problems that kept troubling them.

  Dad nodded. “That’s good. Go wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.”

  I stopped in the bathroom and washed up, then went into my bedroom and picked up the Legos. If the Legos were gone, then the fights would be gone too. But, because I was still mad at Kirk for making the mess, I put the bucket of Legos on the very top shelf in the closet where he couldn’t reach it.

  My parents didn’t talk much to each other during dinner. Kirk happily took up the silence by describing the difference between Pikachu and Raichu and which one would win if they ever battled each other.

  I was quiet too. I thought about money and how much easier our lives would be if we had just a little more of it.

  I had tried, over the last few days, to sell my school teachers reverse osmosis systems, but they turned out to be considerably harder customers than Coach Manetti. My history, PE, English, and computer teachers all insisted they already had ROs. My science teacher said he enjoyed the flavor of microbes in his water, and Mrs. Swenson just gave me a long stare and sighed.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about algebra anymore because now you’re going to grow up to be a salesman, right?”

  “No,” I said. “I just thought you’d enjoy the fresh goodness of quality Hendricks water.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll admit that a sales job is a more realistic goal than a professional baseball career, but nevertheless, you still have to pass algebra.” She glanced down at the grade book on her desk. “You’re going to have to do very well on the next unit test if you want to pull your grade up to a C.”

  “But micro organisms— ” I said.

  “Please take your seat now,” she told me.

  And I did.

  Now I jabbed my fork into my salad and wished I could make just one more sale—one more sale to someone who wanted a reverse osmosis system now and not later—and then my dad would see it was possible to make money through sales. Mom would have some money to decorate Kirk’s room, and everyone would be happy.

  But who could I sell an RO to? The neighbors? The bus driver? Strangers I met in the mall? I didn’t know a lot of adults, and the ones I did, didn’t seem to want to take my advice on the dangers of impure water.

  There was only one person who I was sure I could sell something to, and that was my grandmother.

  After dinner I took the cordless phone to my bedroom and called her. I sat on my bed, nervously drumming my fingers, while I listened to the phone ring. I hoped she was home, and I hoped Kirk didn’t walk in during our conversation.

  “Hello.” I heard my grandmother’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Grandma. It’s McKay. I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing just fine,” she said.

  “Good, because I love you, and I always want you to be healthy.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said.

  “And of course being healthy starts with healthy water.”

  “Oh?”

  “And since we’re talking about healthy water did you know Hendricks now has their very own reverse osmosis system?”

  There was a pause on the line and then Grandma said, “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you to be healthy—and because I’m trying to sell reverse osmosis systems for Dad. Do you want to buy one?”

  “Not really.”

  “But it has four patented clear-water filters.”

  Grandma sounded a little impatient. “McKay, what are you getting out of these sales?”

  �
��Dad gets two hundred dollars.”

  “I see.” There was another pause and then, “How about I just pay you ten dollars to drop the subject?”

  I was persistent. “Oh come on Grandma, don’t you want clean water?”

  “My water is just fine, but if your parents need the money they can call me, and we’ll talk about it.”

  I knew that would never happen. When Grandma came to visit us, my parents didn’t even like her to put gas in the car. They’d never accept money from her.

  I mumbled, “Well, thanks anyway.” We talked for a few more minutes and then hung up.

  I lay down on my bed, and when I was finished staring at the ceiling, I got the rest of my homework out of my backpack. I saw my algebra book and shoved it further into my backpack. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Swenson,” I said out loud. “I’m not about to try for a career as a salesman.” I couldn’t. I was so bad at it, even my own grandmother wouldn’t buy anything from me. All I could do was hope Mom and Dad worked out the details of Kirk’s room soon.

  Chapter 8

  Over the next week Tony and Rachel were constantly together. He was at her locker in the morning. She was at his locker before math. I even saw them hold hands outside of Mrs. Swenson’s room. Tony gave Rachel a bracelet and she not only wore it all the time, she was constantly fiddling with its blue beads. At baseball practice Tony gave me Rachel updates. He always did this in a superior sort of way, like I was supposed to be impressed at what an adult he was.

  I still taped the math class and brought it to Serena every day. She helped me with my homework and we talked about school. It was absolutely the first time in my life I had ever liked algebra. I was getting so good at it, I could actually tell what x was on a regular basis. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed even Mrs. Swenson had a newfound respect for me. Every once in a while, when I passed her on the way to my desk, I’d say, “Go ahead and ask me, just ask me when those trains will meet.”