Sophomore Slump (Mackenzie August Book 1)

by Alan Lee

  “Money can’t buy happiness, it turns out?”

  “At least not yet. I’m all kinds of distressed.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Of course. I get nightmares in the form of dead bodies.”

  “Doesn’t seem like you can be distressed. You’re like, maybe, a mountain. Come what may, you won’t be moved. No, wait! I can do better. This house is the mountain, and everyone in here is safe. And you take the safety with you when you leave.”

  “Wow, and all you had is one beer.”

  “It’s not the beer. I’m trying to explain the mysterious. You know what it is? About you? It’s that you know who you are. And so does this house. It’s grounded. And I feel better here.”

  “You’re a mess.”

  “But a cute one?” she asked.

  “Like the sunshine. Why were you at the Rescue Mission?”

  “I volunteer a couple evenings a week. My father says it’s white guilt,” Ronnie said.

  “You’re a lawyer. A bartender. And you volunteer at homeless shelters. I’m starstruck.”

  “I’m flexible, too,” she said.

  “Prove it.”

  She grinned.

  “The last time we were together?” she said. “I thought about you for a week. Did you think about me?”

  “I did.”

  “This can’t get serious, Mackenzie. We’re two lonely people. Okay? That’s all.”

  “Ronnie, I’ll be honest. I’m not lonely. Not really. I like you. It’s that simple. Anything else would be sweeping emotions under the rug, or pretending I’m happy to see you just because I’m lonely. But fact is, I’m not. If it was loneliness, any girl would do.”

  “You like me just because you like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh gosh.” She lowered her head to the table. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you trying to get my clothes off? Just ask. It’s easy.”

  I squeezed her hand. “That’s not why I said it.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Mackenzie. I don’t understand.”

  “You never had a boy like you just because?”

  She picked her head off the table and shot me a wry glance. “Sure. All the time. In middle school.”

  “Well. I like you. In my thirties,” I said.

  “Say it again. I want to watch your lips when you say it. Say it slow and sexy.”

  “Slow and sexy,” I said.

  “I’m serious. Tell me you like me.”

  “And I like you. Just because I do.”

  “Mackenzie, I’m so aroused. Oh wow, okay, my turn, watch my lips. Watch my mouth. I like you, too,” she said. She had those lips that don’t form a straight line, but rather bend and curve. The tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth when she pronounced “Like.” “Mackenzie,” she said, forming elongated syllables. “You can have me. For the night.”

  “You do this often with your dates?” I asked. “Because I dig it. I read it in a DeLillo book once.”

  “No, never tried it before. No one I respect has ever told me he likes me. Plus you’ve got the great jaw and full lips. Watch me again. I want you. Upstairs.”

  “Upstairs,” I repeated.

  “Now.” Her mouth formed the word slowly and fully. “Take my clothes off. This instant.”

  I stood. Ronnie came into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. She wasn’t heavy and I carried her upstairs. She kissed my cheek, my ear, my neck.

  I fell backwards into bed. She sat astride my hips with the light on, and glanced at my belongings.

  “As I predicted. Simple. Orderly. Masculine. You don’t even have spare change on your nightstand. And books everywhere, I love books. And your bed is made. Who makes the bed? Nobody, that’s who. Your drawers are closed and there’s a basket of folded laundry waiting to be put away, and an ironing board, and I love everything about this room. I want to live here forever.”

  “Ronnie.”

  “Yes Mackenzie.”

  “Stop talking,” I said.

  “Yes Mackenzie. Turn off the reading lamp.”

  I did.

  She tugged her shirt over her head, nothing underneath. Her skin had pale tan lines from a bikini, dainty triangles. She lowered her mouth to mine and we kissed for a long time.

  We kissed until the wooden stairs squeaked. Someone in the hallway. I recognized the tread. Uh oh.

  My bedroom door opened and light spilled over us. Her breath caught and she turned.

  Manny tiptoed in and shut the door behind him. He couldn’t see in the dark yet, blinded by hallway light. He stumbled on something, cursed, and lay down on my floor. He’d been drinking.

  Ronnie turned back to me, eyes enormous.

  She mouthed the words, What the hell!

  I grinned. Sounds came from the floor, as he laid the gun under his pillow and pulled up the blanket.

  She put her lips next to my ear. She didn’t produce noise but I understood the words anyway.

  Is that your gorgeous friend?

  I nodded.

  He sleeps in here?

  I nodded again.

  Kinky, she mouthed, and she wriggled suggestively.

  I started to push myself up on my elbows. We had a spare bedroom, after all, and the need was great. She shoved me back and held a finger to her lips.

  “It’s okay. We can wait a few minutes,” she said.

  I nodded.

  She pushed my shirt up to expose my chest. She lay down flat against me, her face on my skin, and let out a happy sigh.

  I pulled the corner of the blanket up and covered her as best I could and her chest trembled with silent laughter. We lay, quietly, until Manny began a soft snore. Almost a feminine sound.

  But it wasn’t Manny.

  It was my date. She was asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ronnie woke up at five. Her shoes were still on. I watched as she quietly hunted for her diaphanous spaghetti-strap shirt.

  “Want breakfast?” I whispered.

  She smiled and lowered to my ear again. “Another time. I know I owe you, and I’ll make it up. ‘Kay? I promise. You’ll need breakfast then to get your strength back.”

  “The Rescue Mission is going to fire you, talking like that.”

  “Falling asleep was the happiest I’ve been in months. Great night. Can I wake up Kix? Just for snuggles?”

  “No.”

  “I know.” She kissed my forehead. “Bye.”

  She pulled on her shirt, gingerly stepped over Manny, waved, and fled.

  * * *

  At the breakfast table, Kix sat unusually still and scowled. Accusation was heavy in the air. His bananas and dry cereal were untouched.

  “What?” I asked.

  You know. He told me with his eyes. You know.

  “Nothing happened,” I said.

  Kix grunted. And kept staring.

  She’s trouble. You know this.

  “I know this. But I like her, Kix.”

  So? She’s hiding secrets. She’s a mess.

  “She loves you,” I said. “Thinks you’re beautiful.”

  Obviously.

  He picked up a piece of cereal and threw it at me. He missed. Hah. Small victories.

  “No sir,” I said. He did it again. “Kix. No.”

  You can’t solve her problems, Father. You’re on thin ice. Very thin ice.

  “She likes me.”

  Gross.

  “I know. Can’t help it.”

  What do you think her secrets are? They won’t be fun.

  “I have guesses. An ex-husband, perhaps. Maybe she’s broke. Maybe she’s in counseling.”

  And you want to yolk yourself to that disaster? Come on, Dad. Beauty is vain.

  “She’s more than pretty. She’s smart. And funny. And kind.”

  Gross again. Get a grip.

  “You’re right.” I sat
down and rested my chin on my hand, elbow propped on the table. “You’re right. I know. It’d be the blind leading the blind. Can’t I have some fun, though?”

  He arched an eyebrow and picked up a piece of cereal.

  You want another one of these? Think about what you’re saying. I’ll throw this, don’t think I won’t. What kind of girl comes to your house and starts crying? The wrong kind, that’s who. How did your fun work out in Los Angeles? Did that fun end well?

  “No. No, it didn’t.”

  He ate the cereal.

  I’m glad we had this chat.

  “I’m not.”

  * * *

  Kevin was back at school, finally. The tall kid, sunken eyes, the one who’d attacked me. His suspension was over. He brought no books with him to class. No pencil, no pen. Never made eye contact and didn’t respond. Glared at his desk for an hour. Great guy, bright future.

  Jeriah sat behind Kevin and eyed him. He was worried. After class, Jeriah let all the other kids file out first. He stayed back. He was a good-sized kid, getting bigger through the shoulders.

  “Mr. August, man, look. There’s about to be problems,” he said.

  “Do tell.”

  “Kevin and some others think you’re a cop.”

  I nodded. “I heard that rumor. I used to be, in California. No longer.”

  “Yeah. Well. Kevin and his buddies, they plan on jumping you.”

  “Jumping me,” I said.

  “Yeah, you know? Knock the shit out you.”

  “Is Kevin in a gang?”

  “Think so,” Jeriah said. “We aren’t friends like we used to be. He quit talking.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Jeriah.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Right now? Teach second period.”

  “No, Mr. August, I mean, about Kevin and his buddies? They’re going to fight you,” he said.

  “I’ll encourage them to stop.”

  “I know you’re a big dude, but.” He shook his head and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Could end up hurt.”

  “Oh no. And I bruise like a peach, too.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Jeriah. I’ll be careful.”

  He walked out, and only then did I notice Megan. The girl who sat in the front row and made all As. She clutched books to her chest and waited.

  “Can I help you, Megan?”

  “Please don’t get hurt,” she said. “You’re my favorite teacher.”

  “Extra credit for you, my dear, because of your superb judge in character.”

  In the hallway, Reginald Willis was hollering, “Run along, now, little ones, run along! You men with your young healthy prostates need no bathroom break! Move it! Leave the virtuous ladies alone. We have work we must be around, and it doesn’t involve chasing skirts! These girls are too much trouble, anyway. Focus on your studies! On your books! Run along!”

  * * *

  “Bryce Harper is not worth four hundred million,” I said. Manny and I sat on the front porch, drinking Coronas. Nine o’clock and all was well. The beetles and cicadas had been dimmed with the coming of milder temperatures.

  “Yes he is! El burro sabe mas que tu, estúpido. He plays a hundred sixty games a year.”

  “In his first five season in the bigs, he’s had one good year. One.”

  “He got the MVP that year,” Manny said.

  “And I love him for it. I’d like to see him string together two or three excellent seasons before shelling out four hundred million. Dollars, not pesos.”

  “People pay to watch him play, Mack.”

  “Don’t use my first name. Ever. And baseball players aren’t like football or basketball. They don’t have the same star power. Was Alex Rodriguez worth those contracts? No way.”

  “Sorry, Mack. You’re wrong, Mack.”

  “I’m reporting you to immigration.”

  “I’m a marshal. And I’m thinking ‘bout arresting you. You resist and I’ll shoot your pinky.”

  “Real men don’t have pinkies.”

  He shook his head.

  “That makes no sense, amigo. Where’s Ronnie? I want to look at that mamita. Just look, you know? Brings me life.”

  “I know. But I’m not sure about her, Manuel. She’s got baggage.”

  “Qué? What kind?”

  “She won’t tell me.”

  “You like her?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “I’ll tail her.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s bananas.”

  “She got baggage? I’ll find out. I’m sneaky.”

  “No.”

  “Want me to bug her apartment?” he asked.

  “Noooooooooo, Manny. Listen to my words.”

  “I’ll put cameras. In her shower.”

  “You have deep issues.”

  My phone rang. Didn’t recognize the number, but I answered.

  “This is Mackenzie.”

  “Mr. August, this is Marcus Morgan, Jeriah’s father. Listen quick. Jeriah has informed me that his friend Kevin is on his way to your house, with malicious intent.”

  “Uh oh,” I said.

  “Do me a favor. Lock your doors and don’t call 911. I’m on the way. I know Kevin and his friends and I’ll talk sense.”

  “I can talk sense, too, Marcus. No need for you to rush over.”

  “I’m on the way.” He hung up.

  I looked at Manny, who drained his beer. “About to have company.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Local high schoolers. They have a grudge.”

  His face split into a smile. “Your class is coming to beat up their teacher?”

  “Manny. Don’t take this as a referendum on my teaching ability.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You must really suck.”

  “That is not the appropriate lens through which to view this situation. Instead, consider them challengers to my King of the Hill status.”

  He stood and stretched, stepped off the porch, and wandered into the privacy pines along the side of our property. The pistol grip pressed against his shirt above the belt.

  I stayed in my rocking chair.

  A minute later an old Chevy Malibu pulled into view and parked a block away. Four doors open, four doors closed. Four figures walked under the streetlight and approached my yard. It was like they wore a uniform - white Nikes, baggy jeans slung low, and T-shirts decorated with red.

  I heard a voice say, “I dunno, man, let’s just go,” and I recognized that it belonged to Kevin.

  “We here. We doing this. C’mon.”

  I spoke up.

  “Evening, gents.”

  The four figures froze on the walk leading to my steps.

  “Shit. He’s on the porch.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Yes he is. How’s it going?”

  Kevin hung in the back, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets. I didn’t know the other three, who were older than Kevin. Wonder how they knew where I lived?

  “You a cop.”

  “You is wrong. I teach. I used to be a detective, in Los Angeles,” I said. “No longer. Want to come inside? For a lemonade?”

  “C’mon,” Kevin said in a low grunt. “This is stupid. Let’s leave.”

  “Shut up. Knew you’d pussy out.”

  “He ain’t worth it.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “Kevin’s right. I’m not worth it. You should go home.”

  The leader of the gang of four, the shortest and stockiest, approached my porch. He bent down to retrieve one of my heavy decorative Mexican beach pebbles which I kept around the peonies. He played catch with it.

  “Come here, old man,” he said.

  “Put down my rock, please.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll take it.”

  He played catch with one hand, and with the other he retrieved a pistol from his front pocket. Front pocket? Those were big je
ans. The pistol didn’t gleam, making me think it was a small caliber Glock.

  “Bitch, I’mma take turns throwing rocks at’cha ass and shooting, till you come down here.”

  I stood. I came down the front stairs.

  “Now what?” I said.

  I was bigger than he expected. A foot taller almost, and twice as wide, and he lost a bit of bravado. He was never going to shoot me. Bullying and fighting are a lot different than murder, but the gun made me nervous.

  “Big white man,” he said.

  “Put my rock down now. And how about that lemonade?”

  “So you a cop?”

  “No sir, I’m not.”

  “I been hearing stories,” he said. “Stories don’t make me happy.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m here to make you stop. Understand?”

  “No name? I’ll call you Shorty.”

  His friends snickered. Kevin looked unhappy.

  “Make me stop? Stop what?” I asked.

  “You call me Shorty again, I’ll kill you. You get it?”

  “I need to know what I’m supposed to stop,” I said.

  “You doing more than teach.”

  “Like what?”

  “Know what’s good for you, you’ll back off,” he said.

  “Back off what?”

  Shorty was stuck. He’d been sent by someone, but he didn’t know why. He hadn’t been told because the sender didn’t want me to know. These cop rumors were originating somewhere. I wanted to know where.

  Kevin said, “Okay, time to go. We told him. C’mon guys.”

  “You know nothing, Shorty. Just an errand boy,” I said.

  He took a swing at me with the rock. Such a pathetic move. He telegraphed the motion, like a quarterback with a slow windup and release. It has to be fast, one motion, pow, to have any effect.

  I knocked his rock hand down, like I might do with Kix, and he staggered off balance. I got his gun hand in my fist and bent it backwards.

  Shorty cried out in pain. I had my thumb over the hammer, which meant it wasn’t a Glock.

  “Kevin, go to the sidewalk,” I said. “I know for a fact you have homework.”

  The other two guys suddenly had guns also.