by Ginger Booth
“Yes,” Mrs. Ryan pounced gratefully. “We should get back for the official tour. Thank you so much, it was lovely to meet you all!”
The three gang rats smiled and waved as the Ryans scurried away.
“Terrified,” Doc snickered.
Ava could only agree. But they were nice parents. She tried to imagine her own parents in their position, but couldn’t. Working full time, and leaving Ava for Deda to raise, her parents were a rather blank spot in her life even before they were gone. Deda would have kissed her good-bye at the subway stairs. If you learn to kill, better learn good, Ava decided he’d say. Practical. Succinct. None of this emotional clinging.
Puño shrugged and turned to scope out the ice-scape. He grinned darkly. The LI contingent believed ice should be clear and flat. The city rats felt any proper battleground required interesting terrain. For today’s holiday – they were technically on leave, but with nowhere to go – the broom ball courts featured three picnic tables, in assorted wrong-ways-up, a park bench, several dead tree boughs, and two outdoor trash cans, one of them on fire.
“Wonder if Cookie slides well,” Ava said. “Bowling for Hauppauge.”
“Yeah! Right over there.” Puño pointed out a wide space between a bough and the fire. “LI shifts left to avoid the fire. Then someone small,” Doc shoved Ava slightly, “zooms through by the trashcan.”
Ava grinned. “Do it early. While they’re laughing at how small we look next to Cookie.”
His parents safely ensconced in an Official Activity, Cookie trotted back right on time. His slide worked brilliantly, and toppled half a dozen Hauppauge gavis into the spiny evergreen bough. Ava slid through by the fire can and scored. Cookie was even more valuable as a goalie. He played ice hockey when he was smaller, and had the reach to cover the whole net.
They beat Hauppauge, and headed back to lunch in triumph. Sadly, the Ryans still hadn’t found another set of parents to bond with, and home table had empty seats.
“So, Marquis, what do your parents do?” Mrs. Ryan inquired brightly.
Marquis considered possible responses, and chose to leave the table. The other rats tacitly decided this was a queen bee problem.
“Mrs. Ryan, gang rats don’t have parents,” Ava explained delicately. “We don’t talk about our dead.”
“Oh! Of course. I’m so sorry! For your loss. You poor children.”
This was too much for Puño. “Ma’am, we’re adults. All of us. We’ve been on our own for years. Marquis and I are twenty-one. Married.”
Conversation withered on the vine. Ava let Cookie entertain his own parents, regaling them with the tale of his broom ball victory. The recruits were already calling his move the ‘Cookie Roller.’
Back in the room to kill time until an afternoon workout, Ava checked her phone. She finally got a response from Frosty.
FNUNCHAKU: CONGRATULATIONS, AVA! Boot camp and half a GED! So proud of you! Gotta hurry and finish my GED. Can’t let you graduate ahead of me. :) Only got your meshes yesterday. On the road. Headed out again 3pm today. You looked fantastic in the video. Miss you. Hope to see you someday, soldier! Love, Cade
“Panic, more newbies to greet,” Doc said, hopping down from his bunk above her.
“Not now.”
“News from Guzman?”
“Upstate.”
Doc struck a pose of amazement. “The Frostman speaketh?”
Ava pursed her lips at him. Doc laughed and hustled Cookie out of the room. “C’mon, man. Girl’s got affairs of the heart.” He closed the door behind them.
Ava dissected the small message word by word, time after time, to wring every last drop of meaning out of it. His acknowledgment mattered. The other congratulations, even her own pride of accomplishment, paled beside this, Frosty finally responding, saying he was proud of her.
Gah! He’d go offline at 3 pm. Hurry up!
TAILPANIC: Cade! Longed to hear from you!!! What doing Upstate? Love, Ava
That was the important question. With that sent, she busily tapped away at another long text, telling him about visiting Maz, how she took some stuff from the apartment, visited with Butch, had become friends with Puño and Doc and Fakhir. Babbling really.
FNUNCHAKU: Can’t talk about it.
FNUNCHAKU: Would have told you, if I could. Sorry.
FNUNCHAKU: Super sorry. Came up before you left.
Before she left…him? Back in August? Ava deleted her rambling text, to talk with him now instead. But how to talk to someone who can’t talk about it?
TAILPANIC: If I knew, would I have stayed with you?
FNUNCHAKU: Gone with me. I hope. Maybe not.
TAILPANIC: Wish you’d told me then.
There was a five minute lull before his response. Ava had time to wonder if it was really true. Did she really wish she’d never left him? Not gone into the ville? Been a voter in the DTM? Tried her chops supervising in the salvage crews? Become friends with Guzman, and Samantha? And everyone and everything at West Point.
She missed Frosty. Not the harrowing life they’d shared. Not the gang. Not really. Her new gang at West Point were friends, equals. Being queen bee sucked. Even with Ava and Maz at his side, Ava was sure Frosty was lonelier than she was, as gang leader. They had to have all the answers. But oops, they had no answers. We fight, we starve, we live – or we die. Ruling a gang was hard.
And Frosty wasn’t telling her the life he had now.
FNUNCHAKU: Me too.
TAILPANIC: I love it at Hogwarts. West Point.
FNUNCHAKU: Same here. You’d love it.
At first, 3 p.m. sounded far too soon. Now she didn’t know what to say.
TAILPANIC: Show me sometime.
FNUNCHAKU: Succeed in the Army, Ava. Be happy. I still care.
“Damn you, Frosty,” she whispered. “If you don’t want me, let me go. If I don’t want you, why can’t I let you go?” Because I do want him. I love him. Tears squirted out and she swiped them away angrily.
TAILPANIC: Guzman said it’s like we were married, and divorce is hard.
FNUNCHAKU: Divorce is easy if you don’t love each other.
TAILPANIC: Yeah. Still love you.
FNUNCHAKU: Love you too. But time to grow now.
TAILPANIC: 5’1” 4EVER!
FNUNCHAKU: LOL! I grew, 5’10” & 4 dan now.
TAILPANIC: Happy for you! No time now, but will get 3 dan from Maz.
FNUNCHAKU: Army first. Lots of 5 dan I bet.
TAILPANIC: Holiday today. Boot camp starts tomorrow.
This change of topic engendered a long pause. Ava chewed on an fingernail and hoped Frosty was composing a reply, instead of gone.
FNUNCHAKU: Ava, this hurts. I wish you every success and happiness in the world. I love you and want to see you again. Wish I could hold you. And we can’t do that now. Please say good-bye. Love, Cade
TAILPANIC: Me, too, all that. Win joy, Cade. Mesh me again. Good-bye. Love, Ava
Ava gave in to sobbing into her pillow in earnest. Her hand still clutched the phone, but no more messages came. And they wouldn’t. Maybe not ever. She thought of a thousand things to tell him, and sobbed all the harder because he was right, it just hurt too much. She shouldn’t mesh him again, not now. It wasn’t fair to him. Or her, either.
They’d chosen their separate lives. They were both determined to succeed at them. She just missed him, dammit.
27
Interesting fact: Rules for broom ball became a fiercely contested issue at West Point that winter. Specifically, the gavis wanted rules. The gang rats called the gavis pansies, and wouldn’t even concede a need for equal-sized teams on the ice. Major Thurston, commander of the gang rat battalion, weighed in by donating a gross of rubber chickens for ammo.
“Attention! Get up, you trash!” Sergeant Burton bellowed at home table before supper was served. “Stand at attention!”
The platoon was only briefly introduced to their new non-coms this Sunday morning after breakfast. Nan
ny Corporal Icenogle was around during the day to make sure newcomers found their rooms. But the sergeants hadn’t been briefed yet, and the recruits were on holiday. Ava was trying to reserve judgment. But platoon Sergeant Lupescu was a cold fish. And their new squad leader, Sergeant Burton, was an overweight bully, his gut overhanging his belt. For someone desperately struggling to meet Army weight standards, or be kicked out, that belly of his rankled.
“We already had a transfer out of the squad, you gutter spawn!” Burton yelled. “Recruit Matthew Ryan had to be reassigned! Because you morons terrorized his parents! Why am I not surprised? You ghetto spawn learned manners from ghetto trash parents –”
Ava stiffened and felt her eyes bulge. Glancing around the table, she saw fury on every face. They noticed Cookie and his clothes were missing, of course. She was sorry to see that. Cookie was affable as a golden retriever, and fun to have around for the few hours of their acquaintance.
But insulting their dead parents crossed the line. Not one of her home table cronies had discussed their parents with Ava. They didn’t need to. Each of them had the sort of fundamental self-respect that came from families who believed in them.
“…Your convict mommies and daddies may put up with your sniveling ways…”
I can’t follow this idiot, Ava realized. I’d sooner kill this idiot.
Burton boomed, “Pawic, you stupid little bitch! PAWIC!”
“Panic. Are you Pawic?” Puño prompted her softly.
“SHUT UP, SPIC!” Burton screamed at him, shoving his face into Puño’s personal space. “Was I talking to you?”
“No, sergeant,” Puño replied, cool and rigid. “We aren’t used to using those names, sergeant.”
“What names? Your own goddamned fucking names? You too stupid to recognize your own name?”
“Yes, sergeant,” Ava replied. “I failed to recognize my legal name. Recruit Puño was kind to remind me. Sergeant.”
“His name, you stupid midget, is Libre!”
“I was not aware of that, sergeant,” Ava replied. She tried to watch her tone, but rage leaked around the edges.
“If I may, sergeant –” Marquis attempted.
“You may fucking not! Now step forward, Libre, Pawic, Kush!”
‘Forward’ was into the table. Ava shrugged and stepped forward to place belly against the table. Puño and Doc did the same. Ava fought a smile, wondering if Doc had named himself Banana Kush, or Kosher Kush, after the marijuana variety. Maybe the whole Rastafarian gang had taken the surname ‘Kush.’ All eyes in the dining hall wing seemed to be upon them.
“You think that’s funny? Step in front of me here, you morons!”
Ava considered complying. Doc actually did. Puño held his ground at the table. They caught each other’s eye. Not a moron.
Burton grabbed the two of them by their collars and frog-marched them to stand beside Doc, screaming the whole while about what sorry excuses for sergeants they had in fitness camp, that they hadn’t learned to obey basic instructions. Those very sergeants, Calderon and Clarke, were still at West Point and dining in this very wing. They moseyed up to watch this screaming idiocy at Sunday supper. They chatted with each other behind their hands. Ava couldn’t work out whether Burton noticed and was insulting them on purpose, or didn’t know who her previous sergeants were.
Burton continued to scream himself purple over their imagined evil deeds of the day terrorizing the worthwhile, taxpaying, decent people the Ryans were. The more he yelled, the less Ava could buy into his b.s. The fat man was beneath contempt.
Her conscience was perfectly clear. Aside from an awkward bit of conversation over lunch, they’d welcomed Cookie and been generous hosts. Burton was turning a furious shade of purple, spittle flying. Shame he’s too young to pop off with a coronary.
Her lip must have twitched amusement. “You think there’s something amusing here, Paw-bitch?”
“Not really.” No, Burton wasn’t amusing. Just a screaming tub of purple lard.
“Pawic, the only responses you’re allowed are, ‘Yes, sergeant,’ ‘No, sergeant,’ and ‘I don’t understand the question, sergeant.’ I asked a question! Do you think there’s something funny?”
“Yes, sergeant. No, sergeant. I don’t understand, sergeant.” All of home table recited the litany with her, in solidarity.
Furious, he shoved Ava back, twice. After his second push, she took a karate horse stance instead of returning to attention, knees poised to spring. She held hands at fighting readiness, one guarding her face, one in front.
Sergeant Clarke had had enough. “For crying out loud, Burton! Back off!”
Ava’s gaze didn’t include anyone but lard-man. Burton laughed at her. “You think you can take me, little whore? Just try it!”
Exactly the permission she was hoping for. She’d only get one shot at this. He was too big for her. She didn’t dare let him land a blow. She shot a front kick into his nuts. The defense against that was for him to grab for her foot. To keep that from being a problem, she fell backward onto her forearms and bounced up, to ram both heels into his jaw, which lowered when he grabbed his balls. She swiped a leg out from under him, then bounced up to double-punch him in the kidneys before he fell to the floor. Then she stepped back out of reach – a man’s reach was twice as long as his arms – and stood at attention.
The MPs plowed through the standing crowd, to take her away to the brig. While she waited, Ava chanted along with the rest of the platoon, which ringed Sergeant Burton. “Yes, sergeant, no, sergeant, I don’t understand, sergeant.” They repeated it maybe a dozen times before they cut off abruptly, at Sergeant Clarke’s request.
Ava was already out the door by then.
When the company resource aide Gever arrived, Ava was climbing the walls of her cell. The scrap of floor was just big enough to get a little momentum going, and let her run two steps up the wall. With just a little more height, she figured she could do a back-flip off of it.
Ava rather enjoyed burning off excess adrenaline after a fight. It beat hell out of considering the consequences of her actions. Or dwelling on the chance she’d never see Frosty again. Besides, the cell was cold, and the MPs – military police – had dragged her outside without her coat. It was below zero out there.
“May I come in?” Gever asked warily. “We need to talk.”
Ava sighed, and settled down to bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Sure, Gever. Just cooling down.”
Gever sighed relief, and motioned the brig’s MP to open the cell. Once in, she settled at the far edge of the bunk, to give Ava maximum breathing room. She pulled out pen and pad to take notes. “What happened with your new room-mate, Panic? Matthew Ryan.”
Ava settled onto the floor for leg stretches. “We welcomed him into our room with open arms. He shared cookies from his mom. So we named him Cookie. We took his parents on a tour of the campus. He helped us beat Hauppauge at broom ball. I got a mesh after lunch, back in the room. He and Doc split. Last I saw him. I like Cookie. Great guy.”
Gever frowned in puzzlement. “Your platoon sergeant Lupescu says Ryan’s parents wanted him transfered to a squad without apple recruits. Sergeant Burton says… Never mind.”
“Corporal Icenogle was there,” Ava said. “Caught the three of us sitting on one bed, admiring the view of the river. Cookie, Doc, me. Told us not to sit on beds together. We agreed.” If she stretched any more, she’d hurt herself. So she flipped onto her back on the concrete floor, and idly twirled her ankles, straight-legged up in the air.
“Any ugliness with the parents?” Gever asked, still trying to puzzle out where this went so wrong.
“They’re nice people. We’re not. But we were nice to them. Looked like loving parents, concerned their kid fell in with scary dudes. Not happy their boy was sharing a room with a girl.”
“Oh-oh.” Gever drew the word out thoughtfully.
“Mrs. Ryan said something condescending at lunch,” Ava continued. “I don’t re
member. Called us ‘poor little children’ or something. Puño corrected her mis-impression. He’s a married adult. We’re all adults. After that, we let Cookie talk with his own parents. That’s about it, Gever. I like Cookie. He likes us. His parents were concerned.”
“No other insults to the Ryans?”
“No insults to the Ryans, period. Puño was just standing up for himself. Cookie is like the fun puppy I never had.”
“OK,” Gever acknowledged. “Lieutenant Harper is still trying to reach the parents. They probably stopped off somewhere on the way home.”
“Makes sense.” Ava wasn’t sure, but figured it wasn’t 7:00 p.m. yet. Nineteen hundred hours. Whatever.
“Apparently before they left, they talked to Lupescu. Probably wanted to be reassured that you and Doc were nice kids.”
“We’re not,” Ava said.
Gever wobbled her head. “You’re nicer than most. Harper interviewed Cookie, uh, Matthew Ryan. I wanted to hear your side first. So… Tell me about your history with Sergeant Burton. Before dinner tonight.”
“I have no history with the lard – Sergeant Burton. He was introduced by name this morning. Before dinner he never spoke to me, and I never spoke to him.”
“Your entire history happened at that table tonight?”
“Yup.”
“You assaulted your sergeant…” she invited, in a leading way.
“I did not assault a sergeant,” Ava corrected her. “He invited me to fight him. This is a school for fighting. I fought him. He lost. In the movies, it doesn’t work that way. But Burton is a bellicose tub of lard, lacking the sense God gave little green apples.” She was pleased with herself for the turn of phrase, being herself a little green apple. She wasn’t exactly a poet.
