His coaching style was militant but effective. He never called the game soccer—only fútbol—and we gave him a hard time for referring to cleats as “boots.”
I paired with Mika, and the rest of the pairs lined themselves down the field. She threw the ball to me from about ten feet away, and I stopped the ball with the inside of my foot and passed it back to her.
“So is Parker dating anyone?” She picked up the ball and lobbed it again.
I passed the ball to her. “Not that I know of.”
She trapped the ball with her foot and threw to me again. “Do you think he’d say yes if I asked him to the Halloween dance?”
I trapped the ball and passed it again. “I’m sure he’d be ecstatic.”
She looked up and fanned her face with her hand, still holding the ball with her foot after my last throw. “I get so flustered when I think about him.”
“Parker?”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s so cute and funny.”
“Are you sure you’re not confusing my brother with someone else?” I looked around, then leaned in. “Parker’s pretty short for a guy, and he thinks he’s really funny but he’s not, and he collects junk—”
“Takata! Miyashima!” Coach yelled. “Run five laps.”
“Sorry,” I said to Mika.
She shrugged. “I’d rather run than do those stupid drills. Let’s take our time.”
We started to run along the perimeter of the field.
“Who are you going with?” she asked.
“No one,” I said.
“Have you been asked?”
“Yeah.” Talking and running at the same time wasn’t a good mix. I huffed between words.
We jogged the length of the field, turned the corner and ran past the goal at the north end.
“You don’t want to go?” she asked.
“Nope.”
She waited. I think she wanted me to explain why, but I didn’t want to tell her the whole pathetic story. For the past two years, I’d spent homecoming, Halloween, winter formal, Valentine’s, and spring formal dances with dates who barely danced with me and then shook my hand when the evening was over. I even got asked to the Sadie Hawkins dance!
I used to think it was rude to say no because asking someone out takes a lot of guts, which I knew because I never had the courage to do it. This was the year I was determined to change that. But it probably wouldn’t be the Halloween dance. I’d have to work up to it.
We ran the rest of the laps in silence. At the end of practice, I gathered my stuff together and dribbled my soccer ball toward the parking lot, where I’d meet the rest of the guys. Our sports practices were all at the same time right after school, soccer and football, so we carpooled home too.
I stopped dribbling when the grass turned to sidewalk, where I looked up and my breath hitched. At the far end of the field was a black SUV.
No one ever parked there unless there was a game.
Dear Otochan,
I really wish you were here right now. Everyone is being so dumb. A few days ago Alex Adams from my English class asked if I wanted to go to a movie with him. Mom said it was fine. So Alex came to pick me up today, and Dad went psycho because he said no one had told him about it. He was arguing with Mom in the kitchen, but we could still hear them in the living room.
And even worse, Forrest was here and sided with Dad because “Alex didn’t have a great reputation.” Whatever that means. I know him from school and he’s nice. I’m so annoyed. Anyway, since Alex was already here, Dad took him to his office and closed the door. They talked for about fifteen minutes. Next thing I know, Parker, Nicholas, and Forrest have been invited to come with us.
I’m so sick of being the only girl. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I had at least one sister.
It’s not that I even like Alex that way. I was actually very nervous and didn’t know if I even wanted to go. But I’m mad because I feel like everyone thinks I can’t take care of myself. I’m tired of not fitting in because I’m a girl. And I’m tired of not fitting in with girls because I’m always with boys.
I really hate when my brothers tell me to stop acting like a girl. But what I hate even more is that sometimes I find myself trying not to do the thing that’s making them say I’m acting like a girl. Screw them. Why is acting like a girl a bad thing?
I’m moving back to Hawaii to live with Grandpa. He doesn’t care that I’m a girl.
Love,
Claire, age 15
I DIDN’T SEE the SUV again the rest of the week, and the number of theories I had about its presence before soccer practice last Wednesday had dwindled. By the time Monday arrived, the car barely registered on my conspiracy meter. The walk to history class that afternoon was long. All weekend I had obsessed over what had happened with Mumps and shoved the thoughts that included Forrest aside. As much as I wanted to blame Nicholas or Parker, I was the one who had been rude. If someone had rejected me that way, I probably would have wilted.
I could tell Mumps I had changed my mind, but I would lose any ground I’d gained in my quest to find a date with a guy who hadn’t been preselected. Was it more important to be decent to someone, or declare my independence?
Forrest caught up with me right before I opened the door. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” I went inside. Mumps was already seated. When I passed him, I shifted my eyes away.
“Hey, Claire,” he said, acting like nothing had happened.
“Oh.” I stopped. “Hi.” I forced a smile. I should apologize. What would I say?
“You’re holding up traffic,” Forrest said.
My mind churned, but I couldn’t think of anything. Mumps gave me an expectant look. I darted to my desk and sat down.
Mr. Tama entered the classroom and closed the door behind him. He clapped his hands together. “Take your seats,” he said to a few stragglers. “Let’s get started.”
We had moved on to the Boston Tea Party. “Who can tell me about the Sons of Liberty?”
Chase raised his hand and answered. Then Mr. Tama took off from Chase’s answer with a story about the conspirators of the Boston Tea Party, with tension and action and mystery. I almost forgot to take notes because I was so wrapped up in what he was saying.
When the bell rang, I couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone by.
“Miss Takata?” Mr. Tama called, glancing at a tablet. His eyes drifted among the exiting students.
“What’s up?” Forrest whispered.
I shrugged and raised my hand. “I’m Claire.”
Mr. Tama motioned for me to come to his desk. Forrest hung back a few rows, and I weaved between some classmates to get there.
My teacher bent his head and spoke in a hushed voice. “Claire, you’ve been accused of cheating on the last test Mrs. Davenport gave you before she left, a couple of weeks ago.”
“What?” I waited for him to tell me he was joking, but his expression remained the same, eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinched in.
“I don’t cheat. Someone said I cheated? Was it another student?” I asked, each word increasing in volume.
“It was,” he said.
“Chase Phillips?”
“The policy is to protect the student’s identity, but you’ll be able to argue your case in a discussion involving the principal, your parents, and the two of us this Friday.” He went behind his desk, unlocked the drawer, and retrieved his bag. “Out of fifty questions, you just happened to miss the same two answers as your accuser. In addition, both of you selected the same incorrect answers for the ones you got wrong. And the answers to your essay questions are almost identical.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible someone else cheated off my test instead?” I asked. “I’ve always had perfect grades in history. Look at their grades. Whose are better? Ask Mrs. Davenport!”
“It’s possible.” He reached into his bag and removed the multiple-choice test we had taken last week. The copy he held had m
y name written at the top, but it wasn’t mine.
“That’s not even my handwriting.” My voice started to shake. “Someone’s switched the tests.”
Forrest took quick steps forward. “That’s not her handwriting.”
Mr. Tama turned his focus to Forrest. “I appreciate your opinion . . . what’s your name again?”
“Forrest.”
“Forrest. That’s right. Look kids,” Mr. Tama said to the both of us. “I am brand-new to this school. Claire, you seem like a nice young lady, and I wish I had been here long enough to recognize your handwriting, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”
I yanked my backpack from my shoulder, unzipped it, and snatched my notebook. I dropped the bag to the floor, opened my notebook to a random page, and shoved my notes in front of him. “This is my handwriting.” Heat flushed up my neck.
Mr. Tama drew in a deep breath. “Claire, I understand what you’re saying, and I have faith you will be able to use this to prove that you didn’t cheat, but I am not in a position to do anything else. This test was given before I got here.”
He clasped his hands together and hesitated. “I also need to inform you that you will not be able to participate in any extracurricular activities until you are cleared. Your coach has been notified.”
Forrest sucked in a quick breath. He placed a hand on my shoulder. I swallowed hard. “I can’t go to soccer practice?”
Mr. Tama shook his head. “I’m sorry. Not until you’re cleared.”
“Games?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “You can’t even step on the practice field.”
“Do you realize I could lose my spot as a starter?” I struggled to keep my voice from trembling. I understood why he felt like he couldn’t do anything, but I couldn’t believe how unfair this was.
“I do,” he said. “I played football in high school. I have a lot of sympathy for your situation, and I’m sorry I can’t do much to help you right now.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. My knuckles had gone white from my tight grip on my notebook. I lifted my backpack from the floor and put my notebook back inside.
Rather than arguing more, I slung my bag on my shoulder and marched to the door. “I am going to strangle him and feed him to the sharks.”
“Claire?” Mr. Tama called out. “I also received extensive training on the antibullying policy at this school, so given that you are under duress right now, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. And even if you had, hopefully you meant that metaphorically.”
Forrest stopped and turned his head. “Of course she did. Utah isn’t really known for sharks.”
“I can’t believe you said that,” I mumbled.
A few students milled outside the classroom. Seventh period had already started, which meant there would be fewer casualties as I stormed down the hall in search of Chase.
Since I was only missing study hall, I didn’t feel guilty over the fact that I wasn’t there. The school was large, and finding Chase was going to be hard, especially without a hall pass. There were three main halls. I’d have to go systematically through each, starting with east wing because that was closest. Mrs. Spencer approached, so I ducked into the bathroom. I waited a minute before I exited. At the beginning of the east wing, I went from classroom to classroom, peeking in quickly, attempting to avoid being seen by the teacher.
I checked all the classrooms but still hadn’t found Chase. On my way to the south wing, I glanced out the windows and saw him on the football field for P.E. I sprinted down the hall and out the doors. As I neared the field, I could hear Coach Cesar yelling at them.
“Five laps! All of you!” he shouted. “Next time listen.”
An oval running track encircled the perimeter of the field. About twenty students started to grumble and jog. When Chase passed, I grabbed him by the hem of his T-shirt and tugged him my way. His eyes went wide, but he didn’t resist like I thought he might. He was a lot bigger than me. The students who saw me snickered, and Chase’s face grew redder.
I pulled him behind the bleachers to get out of Coach’s view. He put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, leering. “If you wanted to meet me behind the bleachers, all you had to do was ask.”
I wanted to slap the arrogant smirk off his face. But instead I folded my arms. “Are you the one who accused me of cheating?”
He tilted his head and his nose and forehead scrunched up. “Huh?”
“Our last history test. Did you accuse me of cheating?” I said, louder this time.
“No. Why would I do that?” His expression remained the same, and I had to admit it seemed genuine. “Do you really think I’m that petty?”
I stared into his brown eyes, searching for the lie. “I don’t know. Are you?”
He bent his face closer to mine. “You’re not worth my time.”
My jaw clenched, and I remembered why I had punched him before. Chase pulled back and said, “Look, this has been fun and all, but I’d rather run laps than stay here and chat with you. I didn’t rat on you for cheating.”
I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t cheat!”
His lips formed a crooked smile. “Fine, but do you really think I’m the only person at this school who doesn’t like you?”
I flinched. Even though I knew Chase was trying to get a rise out of me, that remark stabbed me in the gut. Who else thought of me as an enemy? How would I even know?
He turned and ran back to the track. I began a slow trek back inside.
I could tell my parents had already received a phone call from school by the time we got home. My brothers and I walked through the back door and found Dad reading a newspaper at the kitchen island. Most of the time he read in his office, but reading in the kitchen meant he wanted to make sure he caught us as soon as we came home.
“Claire, could you join me and your mom in the living room?” Dad said.
“Oooh, you in truh-bull,” Parker sang. He kicked off his shoes. “What’d you do?”
“Robbed a bank.” I slipped off my shoes and set them against the wall. “Took hostages and stole a car to get away.”
“You’re so stupid.” Avery shook his head. “Everyone knows hostages only slow you down.”
My brothers went upstairs, and I followed Dad into the living room.
Mom waited for us on the couch. Dad motioned for me to sit in a chair on the other side of the coffee table, and he sat next to Mom.
Mom tilted her head. “The school called today and—”
“I didn’t cheat,” I said.
“I know you haven’t been sleeping well,” Mom said, wringing her hands together, “and I know taking all of those hard classes can be stressful, and if there’s anything you need to tell us, we want you to feel like you can talk to us, and we’ll try not to make any rash judgments.”
Mom thought I’d cheated. This couldn’t be happening.
Dad shook his head the whole time Mom spoke. “We know you didn’t cheat,” he said.
“But we would still love you if you did,” Mom said, bobbing her head. “Is there anything you would like to tell us?”
“I’d like to tell you I didn’t cheat.” I tried not to sound too angry. “Someone switched the test. It wasn’t even my handwriting.”
Dad turned to Mom and put his hand on her arm. “She didn’t cheat.” He turned back to me. “Is there any reason why someone would make this kind of accusation?”
“Because it’s probably Chase,” I said, even though I had started to second-guess myself. “And he’s an assho—” I saw mom’s eyes go wide. “He’s a dummy.”
“Yes, he is.” Dad rose to his feet and clasped his hands. “I’m sure everything will be resolved this Friday when we meet with the principal.”
“Can’t you talk to the school tomorrow morning?” I stood and spoke to Dad. “If you know I didn’t cheat, why can’t you talk to my teacher and straighten everything out?”
“I’ll call tomorr
ow, but I don’t know if it will do any good.” He lifted his shoulders and then let them relax. “There’s a reason schools have procedures for these things, and mostly likely I’ll come across as the belligerent parent who thinks his kid can do no wrong. Friday is only a couple of days away.”
I folded my arms and dropped my head. “But I’m going to miss our game against Haven.”
“I’ll call the school tomorrow,” Dad said again. “All we can do is try.”
“Thanks. Can I go now?” I asked.
Dad nodded.
I jumped up and went to my room to get my math homework done. On my way to my bedroom, I checked my phone and saw I already had a few text messages from girls on the soccer team.
Katie: Coach told us the news. I know you would never cheat.
Lanie: So did you do it? I mean, I don’t think you did, but I wouldn’t tell anyone if you did.
Mika: Sorry. That really sucks.
I sent the same text to all of them—I didn’t cheat—and threw my backpack on my desk. When I glanced through my window, I saw Forrest at his. I slid mine open.
From Forrest’s irritated expression, he’d been trying to get my attention for quite a while. He’d texted me, but his texts had been pushed down by the girls’. He stood at his open bedroom window, arms folded against his bare chest. He shook his wet hair like a dog and adjusted the towel around his waist.
“So . . . I was thinking we should go to the dance,” he said with a voice calmer than his twisted eyebrows suggested. “Like, for real.”
“First of all, no. Second, you and me”—I pointed to him and then to myself—“are not speaking until you put some freaking clothes on.” I turned away from the window.
Although I had to admit he was nice to look at, I tried not to think of his toned abs while I waited.
Forrest grunted. I heard him scrounging around his room. A few minutes later, he returned to the window. “Dressed. Happy now?”
I swiveled my chair to face him and found him in a wrinkled black Arcade Fire concert shirt and his favorite nasty gray sweatpants.
Ink and Ashes Page 7
