“It isn’t anything you’ve done, Jimbo. Really, it isn’t.”
“Is it the money? I can pay you more, if that’s what you want.”
Why did he have to make it so hard? “No, it isn’t that, either.”
“What, then?”
Because if I keep seeing you like this, I’m going to fall hopelessly in love with you. No, that would never do. “I just—don’t have the time anymore,” I hedged. “I wouldn’t leave you without a tutor, though. I was thinking you might want to ask Chris Morgan. He’s really nice, and smart too, and I think you would enjoy working with him.”
“I enjoy workin’ with you,” Jimbo said simply.
I couldn’t think of a darned thing to say, which was probably just as well, since I was too choked up to answer anyway.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Jimbo said, raking his hand through his light brown hair. “I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you. Can we work out a compromise? I’ll talk to Chris about it if you’ll stick with me ‘til the end of football season. How about it?”
The end of football season. That was six more weeks. Twelve precious hours of Jimbo’s company, and possibly more if Elmore made it to the playoffs. Go for it, my heart sang, even though warning bells clanged inside my head. I knew I should refuse, but I was powerless to resist.
“Well—okay,” I said. “But only until the end of football season.”
“Great! And one other thing—”
“What’s that?”
“Do you think you could find time in your busy schedule to save a dance for me at Tiffany’s party Friday night?”
“I think that could be arranged,” I said with a smile.
Of course, dancing with Jimbo could be a lot more dangerous than tutoring him, but I didn’t think of that until much later.
Chapter Twelve
Dumb, dumb, dumb, I told myself as I got ready for bed that night. For someone determined to keep Jimbo at arm’s length, I certainly had strange ways of going about it. I had quit tutoring him only to turn around and promise to dance with him instead. I was ashamed of my lack of willpower, but at least now I knew what I had to do. I would give myself one last weekend of freedom, and when Anthony returned to town next week, I would wear his ring.
There! It hadn’t been easy, but I’d finally made my decision. It was a relief to have it over with. In fact, it felt so good that I threw myself onto the bed and cried myself to sleep.
The next few days were difficult. When Anthony entered the physics classroom the day after I reached my fateful decision, I had to fight the urge to throw myself into Jimbo’s arms and beg him not to let me go through with it. To give credit where it was due, Anthony never once pressed me for an answer, and I didn’t volunteer one; I wanted to postpone the happy occasion for as long as possible.
I didn’t tell Maggie what I had decided, but I think she guessed the truth. We rode to the football game together, and stopped at the concession stand to buy popcorn and soft drinks before finding seats in the rapidly filling stadium. I sat down and looked around at the cheering crowds. Excitement was in the air, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the spirit of the game. I began to look at the night as a sort of celebration, one last night of reckless abandon before Anthony returned to town.
And what a way to celebrate! Jimbo played the kind of game Elmore fans had come to expect, and the Eagles quickly posted a 14-0 lead. Hillcrest struggled back to make it 14-10, and kicked a field goal early in the third quarter to pull within one point. Jimbo responded with a beautifully thrown pass to Brian, who paid dearly for the catch; he was hit immediately and had to be carried off the field on a stretcher.
“Omigosh! They’ve killed Brian!” Maggie shrieked.
She hurried down to the sidelines, and soon came back with a report.
“It’s his ankle,” she said, plopping down beside me on the bleacher. “They’re not sure if it’s broken or just a bad sprain, so they’re taking him to the hospital for x-rays. He says he’ll call me at Tiffany’s house once he gets back home.”
By the time I finished consoling Maggie and remembered to check the scoreboard, the score was 17-13. The fourth quarter was scoreless and, with less than a minute to play, some of the fans were already leaving, assuming the victory was ours.
Then, with only fourteen seconds left on the clock, Jimbo dropped back and threw the ball to Greg Saunders. Suddenly a Hillcrest defender appeared from out of nowhere and snatched the ball up just before it reached Greg’s outstretched hands. In that fraction of a second, the whole game turned around. The Hillcrest player charged up the field, slipping through the fingers of first one defender, then another. Jimbo had been hit as soon as he released the ball, and by the time he scrambled up to a sitting position, there was nothing he could do but watch as Elmore’s playoff hopes evaporated into the crisp October night.
I had never seen Jimbo look so dejected. Still sitting on the ground, he tore off his helmet and dropped his head into his hands. The sight nearly broke my heart.
“You can talk to him at Tiffany’s,” Maggie said. “Maybe you can cheer him up.”
“I doubt if he’ll be there,” I said. “He doesn’t look as if he feels much like partying.”
At first I thought the party might be just what Jimbo needed to make him feel better, but as Maggie and I made our way out of the stadium, I began to think it would be best if he went straight home. I didn’t want him to hear the terrible things people were saying about him. Judging from the bits and pieces of conversation I overheard, it seemed that everyone held Jimbo to blame for the loss, and everyone had their own ideas about what he should have done and why.
“Talk about fickle!” I muttered to Maggie. “After four straight wins, he loses one game and they’re ready to lynch him!”
We arrived at Tiffany’s house to find our hostess recruiting the early arrivals to help move furniture to make room for the dancing that would come later. The food looked delicious, and the room was decorated with crepe paper and balloons of red and white, Elmore’s school colors. As more and more guests arrived, I began to breathe easier. After all, these were Jimbo’s friends. Surely they would be supportive of him.
Unfortunately, it soon became obvious that Jimbo-bashing was the party game of choice.
“Hey, Tiffany, this is a victory party, isn’t it?” one boy asked. “So where’s the Hillcrest football team?”
“They’re going to be a little late,” another said. “They’re busy electing Jimbo as Most Valuable Player.”
“Maggie, can we get out of here?” I murmured. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Sorry, Tracy.” She held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve got to stay here until I hear from Brian. We’ll leave as soon as he calls, okay?”
“Hey, Maggie, what happened to Brian?” called a boy from my English class. “Did he break his ankle?”
We don’t know yet, Terry. He’s at the hospital now, but I should be hearing from him soon.”
She crossed the crowded room to give Terry all the details, and I squeezed my way through to the refreshment table to get a cup of punch. Suddenly all the laughter and talking stopped, and I turned to see what was going on.
There by the front door stood Jimbo.
Chapter Thirteen
It came as quite a shock to me that my gangly Alabama farm boy was, if not classically handsome, certainly striking. I had never seen him in anything but blue jeans (or, of course, a football uniform) but tonight he wore gray slacks and a navy blue sport coat. His hair was still damp from showering, and little curls stuck out here and there. I couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that I had seen him every day for over a month and never really noticed how good-looking he was.
Even more striking than his appearance, though, was the effect he had on everyone else in the room. As soon as he entered, everyone stopped what they were doing and stood staring at him like so many zombies, and I knew they weren’t admiring his
athletic good looks. I glanced at Tiffany. As hostess, it was her responsibility to welcome him, and at the same time ease the tension in the room. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned to the refreshment table and made a big show of rearranging hors d’oeuvres on a platter. One by one, the other party guests returned to what they were doing, leaving Jimbo alone and ignored.
I couldn’t stand it. I crossed the room to his side and tucked my hand into the crook of his arm.
“You owe me a dance,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Are you sure you still want it? I’m a social outcast, you know,” he answered with a rueful smile.
“Social outcasts make wonderful dance partners. No one tries to cut in on them. Now, do I get my dance, or not?”
He shrugged. “Okay, it’s your funeral.”
He led me into the living room, where a slow dance was just beginning. We took our places among the dancers, and Jimbo drew me close.
“Tracy,” he murmured just above my ear, “do you remember the night we took Richie snipe hunt’n’, when you fell and I rescued you?”
Did I remember? I only thought about it every waking moment!
“I remember,” I said softly.
“I told you then that I might need you to do the same for me someday. I think this makes us even.”
“Jimbo, you shouldn’t have come,” I said, looking up into his blue eyes.
Jimbo grinned down at me. “Well, I reckon everybody’s thinkin’ that, but so far you’re the only one who’s come right out and said it.”
“You know what I mean! You don’t have to subject yourself to this kind of treatment. Why don’t you go on home? Maybe by Monday things will have cooled off some.”
He gave a snort of humorless laughter. “If they got any cooler, I’d freeze to death! Tracy, you don’t understand. I had to come to this party, or it would’ve looked like I was ashamed to show my face. I’m not particularly proud of throwin’ away a game in the final seconds, but the only thing I really regret is that the rest of the team has to suffer because I made a bad decision. They’re the ones I feel bad for. As for everybody else, if they think they can do any better, they’re welcome to try.”
“Bravo! But I don’t see how you can laugh about it.”
“Self-defense. I gotta laugh so I don’t cry.”
I heaved a little sigh of pure contentment. “Jimbo Maxwell, you’re a class act.”
I was vaguely aware of the sound of a telephone ringing in another room, but didn’t pay much attention until Maggie came up to us.
“Brian just called,” she told me. “His ankle isn’t broken, but he’s at home with an ice pack on it. I told him I’d be right over. Are you ready to go?”
I was extremely reluctant to leave Jimbo alone, but I had made a promise. “I’ll get my purse.”
I started to step away from him, but Jimbo held my arm.
“You go ahead, Maggie,” he said. “I’ll take Tracy home.”
Maggie positively beamed at us. “Jimbo, you’re an angel! You two have a good time. Bye!”
Maggie made her escape before I could protest, but she needn’t have worried; I wasn’t about to leave. Instead, I nestled my head into the curve of Jimbo’s neck. He hummed softly into my ear as we danced, and it all felt so warm and so right that I began to wonder exactly what was in that punch I’d been drinking.
By the time we left the party, it was almost midnight. We climbed into Jimbo’s truck, and he switched on the radio.
“Do you mind?” he asked. “I’d like to hear a final score on the Lee-Mitchell game.”
We talked about the party until the sports announcer’s voice came over the radio. We both fell silent while he recited the final scores of all the area football games, including an account of Hillcrest’s thrilling last-second victory over the previously undefeated Elmore Eagles.
“I could have gone all night without hearin’ that,” Jimbo said, turning off the radio.
“But still no score on Lee-Mitchell,” I remarked.
“Well, they were playin’ at Mitchell, and that’s a pretty far piece,” Jimbo pointed out. “They’re probably just now gett’n’ back home, so I’ll bet the final score hasn’t been called in yet.”
We spent the next few minutes exploring various hypothetical situations that might return Elmore to the state playoff picture. Things didn’t look very hopeful, but there was still a chance, however remote. If Lee had somehow managed to pull out a win over Mitchell, then Elmore’s playoff hopes were still alive. It was the simplest scenario, but it would take nothing short of a miracle. As Jimbo explained, Mitchell was the two-time area champion, and Lee had only won two games all season. Deep in conjecture, Jimbo hardly noticed the school bus making a left-hand turn onto the highway in front of us.
“Jimbo!” I grabbed his sleeve. “Did you see that bus?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It was full of football players,” I said, my excitement growing. “And the only area high school in that direction is—”
“—Lee High School!” we said together.
“Hang on, Tracy,” said Jimbo, flooring the accelerator. “We’re gonna catch us a bus!”
Jimbo’s truck wasn’t exactly built for speed, but then, neither was Lee’s bus. We pulled up beside it at the next traffic light, and Jimbo rolled down the window and stuck his head out.
“Hey, Lee!” he yelled. “Who won?”
As if on cue, every window on the bus came down, and football players’ heads, arms, and even someone’s foot hung out the window. With everyone yelling at once, it was hard to understand what anyone was saying, but I couldn’t imagine any team being so excited over a loss.
“We did!” one voice finally rose over the rest. “We whipped Mitchell seventeen to fourteen!”
Jimbo ducked back inside the truck and caught me up in a rib-cracking hug. “Did you hear that, Tracy? We’ve still got a chance!”
We were absolutely giddy with joy for the rest of the drive. We laughed and sang along with the radio at the top of our lungs, and when we reached my front door, Jimbo put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me close.
“Tracy, I thought you were terrific tonight.”
His voice held no trace of our earlier silliness, and when I looked up into his eyes, I felt as if I were drowning in their blue depths.
“I thought you were pretty terrific yourself.”
Jimbo grinned. “Yeah, so did Hillcrest High School! I mean it, Tracy. This night started out as a total disaster, and you managed to turn it into somethin’ special.”
“I think the Lee High School football team had a lot more to do with it than I did.”
“You know, for a smart girl, you’re not very bright,” Jimbo said tenderly, and as he took me in his arms, we both knew how this evening was going to end.
One last remaining shred of common sense warned me that I shouldn’t let Jimbo kiss me when I was practically going steady with Anthony, but I didn’t want to listen. In less than four days, Anthony would be back in town and Jimbo would be lost to me forever. Why shouldn’t I have my one night of happiness? I lifted my face to his, and he bent his head and—
At that moment the porch light came on. We jumped apart as the front door opened, revealing Dad in his bathrobe and slippers.
“Tracy Annette Brock, do you know what time it is?” he demanded sleepily.
I turned back to Jimbo. “I’ve got to go.”
“Goodnight, Tracy Annette Brock,” he said gently.
“Goodnight, James Robert Maxwell.”
“Junior.”
“Junior,” I echoed, then turned and followed Dad into the house, shutting the door softly behind me.
Chapter Fourteen
My sanity returned with the harsh light of day, and I knew Dad had probably done me a favor by interrupting before I could do anything I might regret later. As for my one magical night with Jimbo, it was best not to think about that. Maybe in time I would forge
t.
But when Jimbo came strolling into physics class Monday morning wearing dark glasses and a trench coat with the collar turned up to hide his face, I knew I could never forget him. I might recover eventually, if I was lucky, but I would never forget.
“Jimbo, what are you doing in that get-up?” I asked, as he took his usual place at the desk behind me.
“Shhh!” Jimbo leaned forward conspiratorially and pushed his sunglasses down to the end of his nose, looking at me over the rim. “I’m incognito. Do you think anybody’ll recognize me?”
“The minute you open your mouth,” I told him. “Have they been too hard on you?”
“Nah, most people have been pretty nice. I think the party Friday night helped a lot, too.”
“I’m glad. I’d hate to think you endured that torture for nothing.”
Jimbo grinned, and his dimples would have been recognizable through any disguise. “Oh, I dunno about that. It had its bright spots. Why don’t we try it again this weekend? Only this time, we won’t invite the Lee High School football team.”
Oh, how I wanted to accept! But Anthony’s empty desk sat there in front of me, a silent reminder of my impending doom.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” I managed to choke out.
“Next weekend, maybe?”
“Never. I’m sorry, Jimbo.”
Poor Jimbo looked totally confused. “Well, maybe I’m crazy, but I could’ve sworn—”
“It’s Anthony. He and I have—well, sort of an understanding.”
“Oh. I see.” Jimbo gave a little laugh, but there was no humor in the sound. “I lose a game and a girl in just three days. I must be on a roll.”
“I’m sorry I misled you, Jimbo. It’s just that everyone was treating you so badly, and I felt sorry for you. You’re a nice guy and a good friend.”
“But that’s all?”
Bama Boy Page 6
