A Thousand Reasons

by Mariah Dietz

  “You use algebra every time you step on the field,” I tell him.

  He stares at me with disbelief and doubt narrowing his eyes.

  I sit straighter, working to convince him. I know next to nothing about football, but the concept is fairly clear. “You have to see how the field is set up every time you run to receive the ball. You’re gauging how far they are, if you can get there faster, how fast the ball is traveling, the angle it’s traveling, the speed you have to be running to get to it in time—all of that is algebra.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s just being good at football.”

  “Don’t get cocky on me.”

  He raises his eyebrows and his hand moves to his crotch. “I can show you—”

  “Don’t make me stab you with a pencil. Sit down and learn some better pickup lines.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to teach me about dating, too, huh?” he teases.

  “Intelligence is far more attractive than you grabbing yourself.”

  He raises his eyebrows with disbelief. “You wanna know how many girls would be willing to sleep with me for less?”

  I shake my head. “I like to believe we’re still evolving and getting smarter. I don’t want evidence proving the contrary.”

  He narrows his brown eyes on me, and I smile. “Are you ready to start?”

  He sighs deeply. “Okay, what’s this shit all about?” Jamal looks down at the opened page of the textbook and actually begins reading the passage.

  We go nearly an hour past his time, but since I don’t have any more tutoring sessions and nowhere else to be, I stay and don’t mention it as I pack my things up.

  “I’m gonna call you Lala,” he says, throwing his bag over one shoulder.

  “I prefer Leela.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m preparing you for your fame. Lala will look better in lights.”

  “You do realize I want to be an ER doctor, right? Not a celebrity.”

  “An ER doctor?” He scrunches his nose and frowns. “Why? You like blood and guts and shit?”

  “I like the challenge of it. Plus, it’s a way for me to give back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was a kid and we got really sick, if the free clinic couldn’t get us in, we had to go to the ER. It was the only way for us to see a doctor. And half the time when we’d go, they’d tell us we weren’t terminal and needed to see our primary doctor. What they didn’t understand was no one wanted to see us. My parents couldn’t afford a hundred dollars to see a doctor if we got sick.”

  “You guys should have left California,” Jamal says. “This place is expensive as fuck.”

  “My dad works random construction jobs, and I think he’s always been afraid to move in case he wouldn’t be able to find work elsewhere. Plus, my entire family lives here.”

  “Well, Lala, one day, we’re gonna be sittin’ behind the wheel of fancy Escalades and drivin’ up to our mansions in some impressive gated community, and this will all be a forgotten memory.”

  “I’d be happy just to have a lawn,” I say with a laugh. “I’m never going to have lava rock in my yard again.”

  “We’ll find you a place with a big ass yard, and one of those pools that looks like it was cut out of the ground. You know those pools I’m talking about?”

  I shake my head because I’ve only ever used the one in our neighborhood and the one from gym class.

  “Man, we get to stay at some fancy ass places when we travel for games, and some of them have these pools … infinity pools!” he cries. “That’s what we’re gonna get you, an infinity pool.” He spreads his hands to emphasize the vastness of the pool.

  “I don’t think I’d ever use it.”

  “You think that matters? Go ask the dean how often he uses half the shit in his fancy house. Rich people have stuff because it’s a status symbol. You’re going to have a kick ass pool to show you made it to the big leagues.”

  “I just want to have enough money so I never have to think about it.”

  “You know what they say, more money, more problems.”

  I push open the door of the library, laughing. “Only rich people would say something that stupid. I’d like to see them cook dinner on a hot plate because they can’t afford to fix their stove and tell me I’d have more problems if I could pay for a new one.”

  Jamal puts his hand on my shoulder. “You and me, we’ve known that side for too long,” he says. “We’re going to see the other side soon.”

  “And you’re going to be the smartest NFL player in history.”

  “And you’re going to be one of many doctors with season passes, but the only one who’s going to be getting them from Jamal Smith.”

  We laugh and it’s strangely companionable, something that seems like it would be shared between old friends rather than someone I barely know.

  Walking to my Jeep I feel better, my steps lighter. It’s nice to know others don’t know what it’s been like to always have been rich.

  My ride home is comprised of creating a mental checklist of what I need to accomplish today with going to the grocery store as the top priority, because this morning when I left all I could find to eat was some stale Cheetos. And I still need to call the electric company and see if I can get them to stop issuing late fees. You’d think they’d realize that if I can’t afford the actual bill, I certainly can’t afford an additional fee.

  Pulling up to our house, my hunger pangs along with the rehearsal of my conversation with the electric company subside, replaced with annoyance. With my windows open, I can hear yelling inside our trailer, and I can already bet Luna’s made another mess for us to pick up.

  I’m careful to close my Jeep’s door quietly, and walk toward the house at a leisurely pace, not wanting to be involved more than required.

  “…you got kicked out of school!” I hear my dad roar.

  “I’m not kicked out! I’m suspended!” Luna argues.

  “That’s the same thing!” He continues, but I can’t hear him over the blaring music from our neighbor and the dog kitty corner from us who’s been going crazy since I parked.

  “Leela!” my dad bellows, opening the door and sticking his head out. “Come talk some sense into your sister.”

  Troy is sitting on the couch, flapping an arm up and down in the direction of our little sister who’s screeching about injustice while my dad continues reprimanding her. Neither of them are listening to the other, their conversations aren’t paced for a conversation or even to be heard. Mom claims Dad’s passionate, but I’m pretty sure my uncle’s right, and he’s full of piss and vinegar. My uncle would know, since he’s definitely made of both.

  I clap my hands three times in an attempt to stop the yelling. “What’s going on?”

  Luna and Dad both take steps closer to me and their tirades become louder, faster, more aggressive as they stare between me and each other.

  I clap again and hold my hands out. “One. At. A. Time,” I say. “Luna, why aren’t you in school?” I cut my eyes to my little sister.

  Luna purses her lips and sticks her chin out when Dad starts to talk, and I have to look at him with a matching pointed expression to get him to stop.

  “A teacher claims I wrote something on the bathroom wall.”

  Dad’s arm flies up, pointing at her. “You didn’t write it! You carved it!”

  “They don’t have any proof it was me!”

  “Are you saying you didn’t do it?” I ask, hope and doubt swirl together as I stare at my sister, a spitting image of our father with her wide brown eyes, light brown hair, small nose, and full lips.

  “I’m not answering that, because right now it’s all assumptions and hearsay, and I could sue those bastards.”

  “Not if you did it.” I try to mute the exasperation in my tone because it does nothing but rile my sister up, but it’s so hard when she sees so little reason.

  Dad clasps his head with both hands and begins praying to his
mother, breaking the final straw. Luna strides to the back hallway and slams our bedroom door, knocking a picture off the wall in the outside hall which in turn breaks Dad’s final strand of patience. He chases after her, yelling threats of being grounded.

  With them being in the back, the TV sounds even louder with no competing noises. I walk over to where my brother’s seated and grab the remote, lowering it several decibels before placing it across the room on a small table that holds a cactus in a clay pot my mother painted when she was young.

  Troy stares at me. “I can’t hear it.”

  “The neighbors can still hear it.”

  “Well, they must have better hearing than me.”

  It’s a commercial which is why he’s taking the time to argue with me.

  “What did she write … or carve … into the wall?” I ask.

  Troy’s forehead creases with confusion and he looks to the now vacant kitchen. “Where’d she carve something? On the trailer?”

  I roll my eyes and head back to the bedroom that I share with my sister.

  Dad’s digging through our shared dresser and throwing clothes as he yells about Luna being a disgrace to the family.

  “Dad,” I say gently. “Why don’t you get back to work.” They’re the only words that have any promise of stopping him at this point because he’s proud, always working tirelessly for our family in an attempt to give us a good life.

  “I had to drive all the way down from Escondido.” His shoulders droop, revealing his exhaustion. Then he sucks in a deep breath. “I’ll call Roy and see if I can pick something up.” Mom works mornings as a housekeeper at two hotels in town in addition to her waitressing job, making it nearly impossible to reach her. I’m surprised I hadn’t been called to go pick Luna up, rather than my dad who is nearly as impossible to reach.

  As he disappears, I look to Luna. I know she’s hurting. While she tries to pretend that Dad’s words have no impact on her, they cut her as deeply as the rumors she’s been dealing with since last year when a nude photo of her was posted in the boys’ locker room. It was a picture she’d taken and sent to her then boyfriend, who in turn shared it with the rest of Eastmont High.

  “What happened?” I ask, leaning against our now mostly empty dresser.

  Her eyes are like daggers when she lands them on me. “I’m not perfect like you. That’s what happened.”

  “Why would you carve something into a bathroom wall?”

  “Who said I did it?”

  “I don’t know. Who is saying you did it?” I ask.

  “Some dumb bitch,” she says, lifting a shirt that landed across her legs.

  “The same one you carved something about or a different one?”

  “It was her friend. Not even her best friend!” Luna yells, sitting up. “This girl is pathetic because she wants to be this other girl’s best friend and so she basically trolls people and tattles if she catches anything.”

  “How long are you suspended for?”

  “A week.”

  “What did you carve into the wall?” I ask again.

  “I called her a cunt.”

  Disbelief has me closing my eyes. “Does Dad know?”

  “Am I still alive?”

  “Luna…” I drag her name out. “Why?”

  “Because she is one.”

  “Even if she is, you know that word is offensive and derogatory toward all women, right? It’s like someone calling you trailer trash.”

  “Which happens daily,” Luna says.

  “Luna.” Again, I sound exhausted and impatient.

  “You know it happens.”

  I do. But my annoyance with her attitude makes it impossible to admit. “They’re not making your life miserable because you live in a trailer, but because you took nudies of yourself and were dumb enough to share them!”

  “So, I’m a stupid disgrace, hated by my entire family, and everyone—including my teachers and parents—have seen me naked. Do I get a car along with this prize?” Luna’s voice is filled with sarcasm and anger.

  “Why would you ever call someone a cunt after the year you’ve experienced? Don’t you understand? You’re doing exactly what they’ve done to you.”

  “An eye for an eye,” she sings. “Remember, we’re Catholic.” Luna raises her eyebrows and her purple-painted eyelids look even brighter.

  “An eye for an eye makes a wise man blind.”

  “Oh, don’t give me your private school bullshit,” she says.

  “You want me to go biblical instead?” I ask. “Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

  “I want to ruin her!” Luna screams. “I don’t care! I want her gone!”

  “What did she do that was so bad?”

  “Exist!”

  My sister’s passion often overshadows Dad’s, but I’m not thinking about that. For some reason, I’m thinking of Ace.

  8

  Leela

  “Night shifts are the worst,” Jasmine whines.

  “I like them. We get all the customers in a two-hour window, and then we get free dinner and can hang out.”

  She frowns. “When did hanging out become wearing these ridiculous shirts and disinfecting food counters?”

  “I can bake some extra cookies?” I offer.

  She sighs. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being a bitch. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re stressed out. I totally get it.”

  Jasmine hugs me. “I don’t deserve you as a best friend.”

  I chuckle. “Now you’re going to be a martyr as well? It’s my lucky night.”

  She pulls back and swats me in the arm. “Watch it, Walsh.”

  I grab a cookie sheet and pre-cut sheet of parchment paper, and add a half-dozen balls of cookie dough before popping the tray into a pre-heated oven.

  “Do you think your mom would be interested in working some retail? I’ve been seeing signs going up for lots of seasonal positions. If she works hard, I’m sure they’d give her a permanent job.”

  Jasmine leans against the counter, pursing her red-painted lips. “She’s been drinking a lot this week. She claims it’s to relax and celebrate not having to return to her job, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s developing a problem.”

  “Have you mentioned anything to her?”

  “God, no. Could you imagine her reaction if I did?”

  I can’t. While I know Jasmine better than my own sister, and Jordan, nearly as well, their mom is practically a stranger to me.

  “I’m sure she’ll get over it. If she doesn’t, I’ll start hiding her bottles.” Jasmine cleans the prep counter. “What was the drama going on in your house yesterday? I heard your dad yelling, but I had to get to school.”

  It’s my turn to sigh with embarrassment. “Luna got suspended for carving something into the wall of a bathroom stall the other day, and so she’s supposed to be grounded, but she left.”

  Jas shakes her head. “Why would she carve something onto a bathroom stall? Does anyone read that crap? If you want to get back at someone, there are so many more effective ways.”

  I stare at her, and she winks playfully. I shake my head. “You better not tell her that, wink or no wink, it will only give her ideas.”

  “How long’s she suspended for?”

  “One more day.”

  “Are your parents pissed?”

  “Livid. Though it’s not really fair. Troy was suspended for half of his junior year.”

  Jasmine laughs. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t come back for his senior year.” I was the first Walsh in my family to graduate, a fact that embarrasses me to admit. My brother never had any dedication or commitment to school, but at one time I’d believed Troy would be the first to break the cycle and graduate. But jealousy and greed destroyed his future. As a kid, he was c
ontent—happy even. We spent our days playing kick the can, soccer, tag, and swimming in the pool. We had been mostly oblivious to being poor because everyone we knew in our neighborhood was poor as well. Eating off-brand food and wearing shoes that were too big were norms for us. However, once Troy made it to middle school, he began to notice all the differences between those who had and those of us who didn’t. Vacations, fancy parties, gifts, and expensive cars driven by his classmate’s parents were just a few of the things he focused on us not having. My parents tried to tell him how fortunate we were to own our house. They were right. I was friends with numerous kids when I was little who moved three or four times per year because they were evicted after their parents couldn’t pay rent. We never experienced that. But, Troy didn’t care or didn’t see the value in that and his desire to complete school vanished.

  “I forgot to ask,” Jasmine says, interrupting my thoughts. “How was that party you went to on Friday? I need some details because it’s not often you pull out some heels and a skirt. Is there a guy you haven’t told me about yet?”

  My cheeks heat. My fair skin and red hair make it impossible for me to hide my embarrassment.

  “Who is he? I want to know everything!” Jasmine cries, dropping the cloth she’d been using to wipe the counter.

  “It’s nothing,” I assure her.

  “Oh, it’s something. You wore lipstick and everything. Fess up.”

  “It’s never going to happen.”

  “Why? Is he an ax-murderer? A kingpin boss? Does he murder puppies?”

  “If those are the only standards for a bad potential boyfriend, I need a better best friend.”

  Jasmine laughs. “Tell me about him!” she demands.

  “He’s rich,” I tell her.

  “You have to get over that.” Jasmine shakes her head. “I know money freaks you out, but you can’t let that be your deterrent.”

  “And he’s really good friends with his best friend’s girlfriend, which just seems odd to me.”

  “All I’m hearing are excuses.”

  “I barely know him. That was our first time hanging out and I doubt it will happen again.”