“Yeah, that town is full of those awful things.”
“They still haven’t caught him,” she mumbled. She didn’t like thinking about it. And she didn’t want others to know she thought about it, but Mrs. Thomas felt safe enough.
The principal placed a warm, comforting hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “They’ll catch him. They always do. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Sure, but in the meantime, am I endangering everyone around me when I’m on the field? And what about other people who want to snipe me and have terrible aim? I mean, sure, I can always bring people back to life, but I don’t want to have to resurrect my friends whenever a sniper misses.”
Mrs. Thomas appeared concerned now. “Yes, if I’m being perfectly candid, I do worry about your safety when you’re exposed like that.”
Jessica decided to give a voice to the concern that’d been circling in her mind for long weeks since the assassination. “Do you think I should quit football?”
She’d come up with no definitive decision herself, and each time the thought cycled back through to the front of her mind, she’d begun to experience a stark pain behind her eyes and a kick of nausea. She didn’t want to have to think about it anymore. She was willing to do whatever Mrs. Thomas suggested, and while part of her hoped the woman said it wasn’t necessary, most of her was looking for the validation she needed to do what she already knew was right.
“I know you love football, Jessica. But if you feel like your life is in danger when you play it, then I think you already know what you should do. There’s more to life than football, anyway.” Then she quickly added, “Don’t tell anyone I said that. The athletic booster club would have my ass. They’ve been after me all year, saying I hate sports and don’t understand their value.”
“Do they know about how you ordered special football pads for me? That’s not something someone who hates sports does.”
“Uh … no. They don’t know about that. I had to fudge some numbers for it, so it’s best if they don’t find out.”
Jess sighed and wondered if there’d ever come a day when Mrs. Thomas got sick of taking a bullet for her.
Maybe not the best metaphor.
“Anything else weighing heavy on your mind?” asked her principal.
“No,” said Jess. “Just the usual.”
Mrs. Thomas smiled. “Well, no one said being a teenager was easy. Good luck today. Not that you need luck.” Then she turned and headed down the hallway, leaving Jessica alone with her mind finally made up on at least one thing.
It was time to officially retire from football.
* * *
For as much as football took over Jessica’s life in the late summer to late fall, it wasn’t until Coach Rex started spending most of his free time at the McCloud doublewide before televised football was integrated into the weekend soundtrack of Jessica’s home life.
After Chris dropped her off following the SATs, refusing her offer to come inside because, “My brain is melting, and I don’t want to say something stupid in front of your mom,” Jess wandered inside, her brain feeling not unlike Chris had described his, and was greeted by the sound of college football and the sight of her mother and Coach Rex making out on the couch.
THIS GUY.
Stop being jealous.
NOT JEALOUS. DISDAINFUL. THE MAN TEACHES HIGH SCHOOL GEOGRAPHY AND HE THINKS NIGER IS PRONOUNCED—
Is Coach Rex the Devil?
And God’s voice was gone.
“I’m home,” she said, standing five feet from where they were tangled together. Coach Rex jerked away from Destinee and cleared his throat.
“Oh, how’d it go, baby?” Destinee asked, not bothering to fix her mussed hair.
“Fine.”
It was now or never.
“Hey, Coach, can I talk to you?” In the minutes between when she’d triple checked her answers for each section of the test and when the time had actually run out, Jessica had firmly made up her mind about quitting the football team.
And had long conversations with her Father about how she absolutely did not want him to double-check her answers. Not even the obligatory ones she omitted to avoid looking like a cheater (though God insisted that giving her the answers was not actually cheating since He was part of her in a way they both agreed was a little creepy).
Coach Rex looked at her like he was a guilty child who’d been expecting this lecture for quite some time.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not about”—she motioned at him and her mother—“that. It’s about football.”
“Ah,” he said, looking relieved for only a moment before appearing even more concerned than before. “What about football?”
She knew he wouldn’t take it well, but she’d prepped herself for that. And so had God, who hadn’t approved of the idea of her hanging up one of her miracles, but whose monotone voice took on a novel hint of enthusiasm when it came time to mull over how she would break the news to her coach.
“I quit.”
“Quit what?” asked Rex, his face showing no signs of understanding.
“Football. I’m quitting the team.”
The words still didn’t seem to make sense to him. “You need a break from it? That’s fine. Take a week off. You’ve been working hard.”
“No, I quit. Like, I’m done. Mulroney is a great backup kicker. I’m sure he’ll be able to—”
“Mulroney is one poorly timed sneeze away from failing all his classes at any given point.” Rex’s face had turned the dark shade of red that she’d only ever seen on him during summer afternoon conditioning. “What in Sam Hill are you talking about, McCloud?”
She wasn’t sure how to put it any plainer. “I don’t want to play football anymore.”
“Now, that just can’t be right,” said Rex. “Didn’t you say not a week ago that football was the only thing getting you out of bed this school year?”
“I mean, yeah, but you know, things chan—”
Coach Rex held up a hand, stopping her before she could finish. “Listen. I don’t pretend to understand women. So I won’t try to make sense of this. You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, and of course I think this is a mistake. You’re the top kicker in the state, and probably in the country, if any of those no-gooders in them basketball states bothered to keep stats like they knew how to count past ten, but if you think you need to quit for whatever reason, I’m gonna support you on that.”
“O-okay. Um. Thanks. Yeah, I’m still quitting.”
He nodded, and Jess assumed it was okay for her to leave. So she did, heading toward her bedroom, but not before she heard her mother, who’d stayed unbelievably quiet throughout the conversation, say, “You handled that so well, Rex. God, you’re a stud.” Jess scurried into her room and shut the door just as the moaning and scuffling began again in the living room.
* * *
Jessica had a difficult time remembering what she used to do after school before football practice was a staple in her life.
She’d finished all her homework before Jeopardy had even started, watched two back-to-back episodes, rewatched a documentary on dolphin pod behavior, microwaved herself a meal—Destinee was still at the pharmacy—and now she was left scratching her head. Maybe she could draw something?
Man, I really am bored.
Drawing had been a much avoided pastime since she’d accidentally seen into God’s mind and drawn Ms. Rickles being sexed up (“porn-style” as Jess considered it) by Chief Wurst. The image still hung around Jessica’s brain like a memory of a scene she’d actually stumbled into at age five. She wondered if counseling might help. She’d consider it, if she weren’t convinced she’d run any counselor out of the room screaming—or worse, praying—within a half hour.
So she parked it on the couch and began surfing the channels. Surely not everything on TV at this time of evening consisted of people making poor decisions.
Nope. Everything did.
The front door bu
rst open to her right, and she had only a split second to chide herself for not locking it while she was home alone before her mind was distracted by the sight of Christopher Riley stepping inside, face still red from … exertion? Or was he really that pissed?
“What the shit is this I hear about you quitting the team?”
Okay, so not exertion.
Jess tensed. She’d expected him to be disappointed, sure, but not livid. “Yeah. I, uh, I quit.”
“What the hell?”
“What?”
He shut the door behind him, not slamming it, but definitely not gentle about it either. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I didn’t know I needed to tell you directly.”
His jaw fell open. “Are you— Are you fucking serious with that? You didn’t think you needed to tell the quarterback of the team that you were quitting?”
“Ohhh,” Jess said, something about his last words hitting a nerve and igniting her own temper. “Here I was thinking you were upset because you were my boyfriend, but really you don’t care about me, you just care about whether the team wins state again. Fine. I’ll tell you directly, teammate to teammate.” She puffed up her shoulders, and lowered her voice. “Hey, dude, just wanted to let you know that I’m quitting the team, bro.” She relaxed her posture and flashed a saccharine smile. “That better?”
Chris blinked, confused. “What the fuck was that?”
“That,” she said emphatically, “was your kicker letting you know she’s quitting the team in a language you understand.”
Still, he seemed confused. He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t say bro,” he said reflectively. He shook off the thought. “Why are you quitting anyway?”
“Oh geez, Chris. Maybe because I don’t want to have to resurrect everyone on the goddamn field when another sniper shows up. And maybe I don’t want to push my luck that every sniper who comes after me will have the aim of a drunk with vertigo.”
“You really think God’s going to let you get sniped?”
Jess let Chris’s words hang in the air, hoping he’d realize what he’d just said.
“I absolutely think God would let me get sniped, if the timing was right to prove one of His Big Points. Ever heard of a guy named Jesus, Chris?”
Chris cocked his head to the side. “Wait, did he get sniped? I thought … I’m pretty sure they didn’t have guns back then. Could a slingshot—”
“No, he didn’t get sniped by a slingshot, but God didn’t exactly protect him from getting his ass handed to him. Sniping him would’ve been a mercy, compared to letting him get crucified.”
“Well then maybe that’s it!” said Chris, like he’d just made a breakthrough. “Maybe you don’t have to worry about being sniped at a football game because it would be too swift and merciful of a death for God to allow it.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“Jess.” He crossed the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, turning toward her where she sat. “I just don’t understand this. You love football. You love the team. Kicking is your miracle. What made you want to turn your back on it all, really?”
“It’s just that there’s more to life than football.”
Chris moaned and wiped his hand over his face. “Mrs. Thomas. That’s what you were talking to her about before the SATs.”
“What?” How’d he know?
“She says those exact words at every athletic booster club meeting.”
Oh right. Mrs. Riley was the president of the athletic booster club.
Then Chris added, “She just hates sports.”
“She does not!”
“Clearly she does. No one that large can love sports.”
“Chris!”
“What? It’s true.”
“What about Damien? He’s humongous and that’s why he makes a fantastic linebacker.”
Chris waved that away. “Please, Damien looks like he wants to slit his wrists after every practice. Dude hates sports more than anyone I know. You can see it in the dark pits of his eyes.”
“Doesn’t matter. Mrs. Thomas doesn’t hate sports, she just sees the perspective of it. You even said yourself once that my life is bigger than football. So why don’t I get to quit?”
“First of all, your life is bigger than football. I stand by that, but that doesn’t mean football isn’t an important part of it. Mrs. Thomas has never supported you in—”
Jess jumped up from the couch, causing Chris to follow suit. “Mrs. Thomas is the only person who’s ever supported me.”
“That’s a load of steaming horseshit, and you know it, Jess.”
She knew she’d crossed a line, but she was too angry to care. “It’s not. Everyone supports the daughter of God, but when the daughter of God actually makes a decision for herself, ohhh nooo, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Mrs. Thomas is the only one who has ever gotten that … And Greg.”
Chris’s eyebrows shot up and he laughed dryly. “Greg? Really? You think he gave two shits about you? Is that why he let Sandra blow him the same night you broke up with him?”
“Wait, what?”
“Please, Jess. That’s a shit argument. Greg and Mrs. Thomas? You really want to side with them over me and your mom and Coach Rex and a whole team of people who care about you?”
She threw her hands on her hips. “What’s your problem with Mrs. Thomas anyway? Is it because you were never her favorite?”
Chris opened his mouth to say something but then shut it again and chuckled, puffing from his nose as he shook his head. “You know, fine. Quit the team. It’s a huge mistake. You know it. I know it. But fuck it, right? Fuck all of it. Fuck the support the team’s given you, fuck that you love it, fuck that Jesus told you it’s what you’re supposed to be doing, fuck that God is a fan. Fuck it all.” He turned and walked toward the front door, opening it before pausing in the doorway.
He turned and threw one last look at Jessica, scowling slightly. “You remember the day you smote the bird in kindergarten?”
Jess said nothing.
“I never told you what Mrs. Thomas said to me and Trent.” His eyes traveled up to the far ceiling as he recalled the words. “She said that we’d been marked. Marked by God. That He would remember this forever, and it was only a matter of time before we met the same fate as the grackle, that we couldn’t avoid it. That it was how we’d die some day, and all we could do was push back the inevitable by being nice to you. And if we pushed it, if we were too mean … poof.” His expression grew more disgusted. “Who says that to a five year old?”
He turned and shut the door, and Jess was left alone, feeling a heat grow behind her eyes, wondering what in her Father’s name had just happened.
She didn’t get long to think about it, though. She could still hear the faintest sound of the F-350’s engine lugging down the street when her phone started ringing from the kitchen where she’d left it.
She missed the call by two steps, and when she looked down at her cell, she knew immediately something was wrong. A total of nine missed calls from Miranda, Wendy, Maria, and a number with a Midland area code that Jessica didn’t recognize. On top of that were twelve texts waiting to be read.
She scrolled through them.
From Miranda:
WTF!?
Did you see the news?
Call me.
Jess, are you okay?
Please just call or text to let me know you’re okay.
From Wendy:
Just heard. Don’t answer any calls from people you don’t know.
Actually, don’t answer any calls.
Except from me. Answer my calls.
Call me when you get this. Don’t talk to anyone before you talk to me.
From Maria:
Eugene Thornton’s source checks out. Call me if you need anything.
From Destinee:
Do we have tampons?
I feel like we’re out of tampons.
I bought tampon
s. Home soon.
So there was no way this was anything but terrible news. Except the tampon part. They could always use more tampons.
Jessica tried to piece together the clues. Eugene Thornton had exposed something. Apparently it was a crisis that might result in Jessica not being okay. There was still so much information missing.
I suppose this is what the internet’s good for.
She pulled up the browser on her phone and searched for Eugene Thornton, news, Jessica McCloud, and then clicked on the most recent headline.
It appeared that Channel 6 had seen fit to give Eugene his own blog where he could fling slime whenever he wanted without the limitations of television programming and scheduling.
The blog’s banner was a picture of his stupid face with his stupid mustache and stupid eyebrows and that stupid hat he always wore.
God, he’s so stupid.
AMEN.
Hey! You’re here! Should I read this article?
THOU SHALT.
You don’t have to be so pushy.
The headline at the top was about all she needed to read, though:
Staged Assassination Casts Doubt on Midland Mayor, Second Coming of Christ
“Shitballs.” She started to read and got so far as to make it through the horrific opening line (What would Jesus do? He wouldn’t have helped assassinate one of the country’s most beloved celebrities to use his resurrection powers for political gain.) before the phone vibrated in her hand and began ringing. Wendy was giving it another shot, it seemed.
Jessica answered. “Hello?”
“Oh thank God. Have you spoken to anyone?”
“About Eugene?”
“So you’ve heard. Okay. But have you spoken to anyone?”
“No. I was just reading the story when you—”
“Good. Don’t talk to anyone. I should be there in an hour.”
“Can I talk to my mom about it?”
There was silence on the other end. “Probably better if you don’t. Let me tell her when I get there. That way she won’t go do something rash.”
It's a Miracle! Page 14
