Open Court

by Carol Clippinger

  “There are other people here,” he said, meaning me.

  “So?” She flipped the blouse back to the floor.

  “I'll get you a T-shirt.”

  “What are you, a Boy Scout all of a sudden?”

  Their eyes locked. Pete looked away, preventing the impending fight.

  “Anyway, the end of the movie was great because—”

  Pete gripped Maren's shoulder. Her skin turned light pink from the pressure. He could have crushed her bones had he wanted to: he was that strong. I kind of wished he'd slug her or something. I already disliked her and I barely knew her. Pete looked at me apologetically.

  “It's time for you girls to get some sleep, isn't it?”

  We retreated, without snacks. I examined Polly's chameleon face for some kind of an explanation, like maybe she was adopted or something and not really human but an angel here to comfort me. Her face revealed nothing.

  I snuggled into my sleeping bag, suddenly tired.

  “Hall?” Polly whispered in the pitch-blackness.

  “Huh?”

  “Good night.”

  I lay awake for a while. My sleeping bag was too hot and I couldn't get comfortable. In the dark I somehow knew that Polly burying her ribbon and me slicing up my tennis academy catalogs hadn't really accomplished anything. I knew that, even if Polly didn't.

  “Turn the sound down! I'm on the phone.”

  Brad played air guitar to the radio while my brothers’ rude friends propped their feet on my mom's coffee table.

  My mom refers to my brothers’ friends as riffraff and hooligans, but Michael smiles and says, “But, Mom, they're harmless. Practically choirboys, even.”

  The Choirboys burped loudly while verbalizing their desire for some girl named Stacey. “The girl is hot. She is hotter than hot,” Michael said.

  Choirboy 1 said, “I'm not saying she's not fine. I'm saying what makes you think she'll date you?”

  “Dream on,” Choirboy 2 said. “She's too hot for you.”

  “No, she's too hot for you,” Michael said.

  “You're afraid to talk to her! She doesn't date mutes,” Choirboy 2 said, letting out a belch that could have made it into The Guinness Book of World Records.

  “I've talked to her plenty,” Michael boasted.

  “Yeah,” said Choirboy 1. “You said, ‘Excuse me.’ Once. That's not a conversation.”

  “Turn it down! I'm telling Mom!” I screamed, my voice barely audible above the music.

  Brad cut the sound and mimicked me. “I'm telling Mom … I'm telling Mom …”

  The Choirboys laughed.

  “Are you OK?” Eve said on the phone. “What's going on?”

  “Nothing.” Explaining my brothers was pointless. She lived in a girlie home where people said things like “Please” and “Thank you.”

  “Everyone's here. Where are you?”

  “On my way.”

  Ms. Jensen met me at the door with her purse over her shoulder and keys in her hand. “Hello, Hall. The girls are on the back porch. I'll be home later to give everyone a ride home. You girls behave while I'm gone,” she said. She obviously wasn't aware that we spent the majority of our waking hours inside her home.

  “Yes,” I assured her, “we will.”

  Melissa was crouched over, painting her toenails. Eve was supine, with a dusty pillow under her head. Only Polly bothered to greet me as I stepped onto the cool porch. She scooted over, making room for me on her lawn chair.

  “Hey,” she said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes, as she often did. I think she liked them long so she could fluff them up and push them out of her way. The repetitive act seemed to comfort the margins of her secretive soul. I simply could not figure the girl out.

  “Anybody up for going to 7-Eleven?” Eve asked.

  “I am,” I said.

  “Sure,” Polly said.

  Melissa looked a little worried. “It's a long way.”

  “Live a little, Melissa,” Eve said. And that was that. We rose simultaneously.

  Eve carted her new water bottle with her, handing it to Melissa as we spilled out onto the asphalt. Sidewalks were for dog walkers; we commanded the street, taking up half of it, walking in a line. Dusk had settled in. The air smelled sweet, clean.

  Melissa clamped her teeth around the water bottle and tipped it.

  “Don't laugh,” I said, hoping to make her laugh.

  Her lips pursed. She almost swallowed, but then she couldn't. She doubled over, water flowing out of her mouth like a hydrant. Most of it landed on the front of Eve's cotton shorts, leaving a big mark. Eve looked at us, then at her shorts.

  “Ew, gross!” Polly wailed.

  “You know I didn't mean it, Eve,” Melissa said.

  Polly and I exchanged a pitying look. Then we burst out laughing.

  Appalled by her bad luck, Eve danced around the pavement. “I'm gonna pee … I'm gonna pee.”

  “Looks like you just did!” I said.

  I loved these people.

  From a distance, the 7-Eleven looked like a bug motel. Customers were sucked into the lit door and never seemed to come back out. I hate going to Sev with friends. The clerks assume we're there to steal. Even when we're paying for a Slurpee they act like we've shoved candy bars down our pants, planning to sell them for profit.

  Our mission complete, we stepped back onto the asphalt, chewing nougat and drinking cold Big Gulps. I should've been eating something healthy that Trent would approve of. An apple or a banana. But I didn't feel like it.

  I pointed to the darkening skies. “It's going to rain something fierce.”

  “Let's take the shortcut through the field,” Eve suggested. “To the bluffs. They'll take us to Naples—from there it's five minutes.”

  “We better,” Melissa said. “I don't want to get struck by lightning.”

  “Why don't we walk back up Maizeland Road the way we came?” asked Polly. “Where the streetlights are.”

  “Afraid of the boogeyman?” Eve taunted.

  “No, booger.”

  “We don't have time to take Maizeland,” I said. Eve was wrong, though—the empty field would indeed bring us to Naples Drive, but Naples Drive was a good fifteen minutes from being anywhere near her house. I had other motives. Luke Kimberlin's house was at 18 Naples Drive; I'd looked it up in the phone book.

  The field was a nightmare. In the dark, we trampled tall weeds, struggling with the uneven ground. In the belly of the field our shoes sank in pockets of mud.

  “Whose bright idea was this?” Polly said.

  Eve huffed in response.

  Weeds scratched our bare legs bloody. Crickets chirped like jet engines. Bugs propelled themselves, sucking, biting tender flesh. Crawling, creeping. Flying, landing. Bugs, bugs, everywhere bugs.

  As usual, Eve stomped ahead of us, leading. I could barely keep up. The mud got deeper and deeper with each step.

  “Quit stepping on my heels, Melissa,” Eve yelled.

  “But I can't see anything,” Melissa moaned.

  “Don't walk so fast, Eve,” Polly said from behind me, breathless.

  “I'm not walking fast,you're walking slow,” Eve said.

  I ignored the tempo of the others and tried concentrating on exactly where I was stepping. The girls were concerned with mud; I was concerned with mud leading to a sprained ankle, leading to a destroyed tennis game.

  “Something is crawling in my hair! Get it out, get it out!” Polly cried.

  I ran my hand over Polly's scalp. “It's gone now, whatever it was,” I said.

  “Does anyone else smell skunk?” Melissa asked.

  We did, all of us. Eve busted into a full sprint; we were more than happy to follow, screaming. Dogs in the distance heard our hysteria and met our shrieks with long, low howls, as if they understood.

  We finally reached Naples Drive and relaxed. Lights from distant homes were dim but appreciated. The air turned from calm to frigid. Rain was imminent.

&n
bsp; Eve put her hand over her heart, dumbfounded. “Wait, we're going the wrong direction!”

  “Don't look at me,” Melissa said. “I'm following you.”

  “We're all following you,” Polly said as she reached down and scraped mud splatter from her calves. “Any more great suggestions, Eve?” she asked.

  “No one made you come with us,” Eve said, her tone hostile, biting. “You could've walked up Maizeland Road by yourself if you wanted.”

  “Alone? In the dark? Thanks!” Polly said, and started laughing, maybe at Eve, maybe at the mud she now flung off her hands.

  “So shut up,” Eve said.

  I whipped my head over to Eve. Polly wasn't saying anything the rest of us weren't feeling. “Shut up” wasn't necessary. Polly stopped laughing and straightened her body. “You shut up,” she said, challenging Eve.

  Eve stared at her. The space between us became brittle, heavy.

  Melissa looked to me to save us all. I was sick of the drama. “Why don't both of you shut up? I'm not backtracking through the field,” I said. “Let's go. We're wasting time.”

  It wasn't long before we saw two figures underneath a streetlight. “It's Luke and Bruce,” I whispered. “Don't look, don't look. Oh no.”

  The boys were trying to maim each other. The Greek God flailed crusty pinecones at Bruce, who, ducking behind shrubs to gather his own ammunition, flung them back with surprising accuracy.

  Luke paused, shielding his eyes from the glare of the streetlight. “Holloway?”

  In a matter of seconds we stood with them underneath the misty light. Bruce Weissman was Luke's best friend. He lived along Naples Drive, attended Westland Prep, and belonged to the country club, like Luke. Polly stood suspiciously close to him, ignoring everyone else, filling the air with small talk. Her eyes were brightly lit, like a Christmas tree.

  Eve stared at Bruce and Polly. I had no idea why. I bumped Eve and nodded toward Luke. I turned so no one else would hear, searching for her opinion. She touched the tip of her finger to her nose, concealing its four freckles. “Why does he like you?’ she whispered, sounding nonchalant.

  The cruelty of that floored me, even if it was exactly what I'd asked myself a million times. Eve probably didn't mean it with malice, but still. “Why wouldn't he?” I whispered back, echoing Polly's previous take on the situation.

  Luke edged toward his iron driveway gate and motioned for me to join him. “Hey, Holloway,” he said.

  “Hey.” I scooted near him and placed my hand on the cold wrought iron bars, balancing myself as I stomped some mud from my shoes.

  “You guys just come from the field?”

  “We were trying to take a shortcut. I don't recommend it unless you like mud,” I said.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  He slid his fingers through his hair. A cool breeze melted into my skin. Part of his sleeve touched my arm. It was perfect. I wasn't quite as nervous as I had been the first time he talked to me at the club. That could've been a fluke; this wasn't. He wanted to talk to me. But the sense of danger, of risk, of peril still pressed into me—like anything could happen at any moment. Parts of my insides sparked. If that was love, I was in it.

  “Do you always walk by my house in the dark?” he kidded.

  “Don't you wish.”

  “Yeah, I do. Next time come in. Scale the wall.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said sarcastically.

  “Ha to you, Holloway.”

  It was more than perfect.

  “Those are your friends?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He glanced over at them, looking them up and down. “Well, Polly is OK, I guess.”

  “Yeah, Polly is … cool,” I said.

  I glanced through the iron gate. Yard lights illuminated the lawn. The driveway curved, making only a corner of the garage visible through the landscaping. I guess they didn't want poor people looking at their house.

  The wind picked up. Swirling gusts swept toward us. “Hall?” Eve said. “We should go.”

  Bruce stepped away from Polly and hopped on his bike. “Yeah, Luke, I gotta go, too.”

  “OK,” Luke said to Bruce, “see you tomorrow.” He turned to the girls. “Holloway will catch up in a minute.”

  My muddy friends started walking. Polly shot me a look of glee.

  Luke grabbed my wrist. “I have to tell you something.”

  “What? Are you going to throw a pinecone at me?”

  He was in my face all of a sudden, his lips pressed to mine. Luke Kimberlin was kissing me! It was a blur of details: the smell of rain not yet fallen, the proximity of his excellent forehead. His lips were rough, like they hadn't had ChapStick in years. He stuck his tongue in my mouth. I didn't know what to do, so I stuck my tongue in his mouth. Then my lips made a stupid smacking noise.

  Suddenly Luke backed away.

  My mind was spinning, spinning, spinning into some bright place, a place of excellence, of joy.

  “That's what I had to tell you,” he said, letting go of my wrist. The warmth of his hand stayed with me for a few seconds and then escaped into the night air, gone forever.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  He unlatched the heavy gate. “Bye,” he called.

  “Bye, Luke.”

  Ping-Pong-ball-sized raindrops fell: one on my nose, one on my knee, a few on my arm. A grand total of ten socked me by the time I caught up with the girls.

  “What happened?” Polly asked.

  “You won't believe what happened—”

  “It's going to hail,” Eve said, cutting me off, taking charge, her reason perfectly legitimate. “We better run the rest of the way. We've got to get back before my mom does.”

  We took off down the street, Eve first. The sky lit. A roll of thunder cracked into the black night. The heavens opened and rain pounded down. Eve's lungs let loose a battle cry as she increased her pace. Melissa whimpered a little, trying to protect her head from the rain while running at full speed.

  Polly jogged next to me with a slower gait, fearless of the elements, fearless of Eve, fearless. She seized my elbow. “I don't want to wait. Tell me what happened, Hall.”

  We hit a streetlight just then, and with her eyes on my face, I puckered my lips and pretended to kiss the rain. Her face got jovial. “No!” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Eve was too far ahead of us to know or care. And for some reason I didn't care that Polly heard my news first, either.

  The Fourth of July arrived without much fanfare. My parents invited friends over for a barbecue. Michael and Brad were in high spirits. The Fourth of July is their favorite holiday, surpassing Christmas, even. Anything involving fire or explosives gets my brothers’ immediate and unrelenting attention.

  Anyway, Eve was the only one of my friends who could come; the other girls had family plans. She and I lit sparklers, sipped lemonade, and ate burgers off my parents’ new grill (they bought the grill with money from the Dead Grandpa Bonus Fund; I spared her the story). She pelted me with a zillion questions about Bruce, out of nowhere: “How long have Bruce and Luke been friends? … Where is Bruce's house, anyway? … Do you think he's taller than Luke, or shorter? I'm thinking taller …”

  I had no answers. And I thought she was joking, really. That night we'd seen them on the street it was clear Polly liked Bruce. Eve had stood back, silent. She'd watched Polly flirt with him.

  “Let's go to Naples Drive,” Eve suggested.

  “Right now? Why?”

  “Maybe Bruce is riding his bike. If Luke likes you, maybe Bruce will like me.”

  “Oh.” I didn't have the heart to tell her that Polly had already spent a solid hour on the phone with me gushing about Bruce. On the other hand, I didn't know if Bruce liked her back. So I uneasily said, “Sure, let's go.”

  With feelings of fear and fun, we pedaled our bikes to Naples Drive. Though sounds of elegant parties floated over the walled estates, the street was void of life. Still, the possibil
ity of encountering Bruce made Eve giddy for some reason. It took me a moment to gather my feelings about it.

  “Let's go, Eve. He isn't here.”

  “Want to bike up to Grandview Overlook?” she asked.

  I didn't feel like trailing her bike up the brutal road, even for the stellar view at the top. It wouldn't be a casual ride, it'd be a race.

  “Not really,” I said. “The hill is too steep. Let's go to the stables again—that's an easy ride.”

  “Good enough,” she said, and started pedaling.

  Boom. She was gone.

  “Eve,” I hollered.

  She kept going. Faster, even. We zoomed by my practice court and the Benet Hill Center. I thought for sure she'd look back and answer me. I thought wrong.

  “Eve! Slow down!”

  Cars whizzed past me. I was stuck riding on the edge of crumbling pavement so I wouldn't get hit. “Eve! Wait up!”

  I was screaming. She had to have heard.

  I finally caught up to her at the stables when she took a breather under a mighty oak. I heaved for oxygen, unable to catch my breath, feeling nauseous.

  Several potholes had been filled recently. The scent of fresh asphalt and tar nearly knocked me over.

  Eve took a whiff of the stale air. “Not one of your greatest ideas, Hall,” she said, sounding irritated.

  “What's the matter with you?” I said. “Didn't you hear me calling you for three miles? Can't we just ride bikes like normal people once in a while? It's not a race!”

  “I felt like going fast. Sue me,” she scoffed. “You're the athlete. What, you can't keep up?”

  “Riding a bike isn't a competition. It's supposed to be for fun,” I accused.

  Eve looked off at the empty horse trails on the bluffs as if fascinated by them in some way.

  “Besides, what do you care about me being an athlete? You never even watch me play.”

  “You know I hate sports. They're boring.”

  “They are or I am? Polly watched me practice serves, and she isn't my best friend, you are.”

  I used to cherish Eve for never talking about tennis or wanting to watch me play. But to Polly it was no big deal—why wouldn't she be interested in my game? We were friends. In comparison, Eve's disregard for it just seemed selfish.