Between first and second period, he stops the Jandreau twins.
“No way,” they chorus and burst into derisive sniggers. “You’re shitting me,” Melissa gasps. “Excuse me while I puke,” Melanie adds.
Deb Michaud’s right behind them.
“Ask Deb,” Melissa says, “she lives near the Mutant.”
With the malevolent twins watching, poking each other in the ribs and covering each other’s mouths, Sam makes an approach to Deb Michaud.
She gives him an incredulous look. “Give that c-u-n-t a ride? I see her on the road, I’ll step on the gas and run her over.”
Rick pushes through the mob of students changing classes as the trio of girls moves away with their heads together. They glance back at Sam with expressions of mingled amusement and disdain.
“What’d you do, Sambo?” he asks. “Invite Deb and the M & M’s to perform a black Mass with you?”
Sam ignores him. There must be somebody on the girls’ team who doesn’t absolutely hate the Mutant’s guts but he’s making a fool of himself finding her a ride. Discouraged, he submerges himself in his workout, hoping some answer will come to him from the blessed nowhere.
The Mutant goes along to Helsinki, suits up and sits on the bench, though in isolation from her teammates. The girls do more than play well without her—they crush the Raiders. For each other they have hugs and squeals when they win but not for the Mutant. They show the same enthusiasm for the guys when they win, which confirms for Sam again that the best thing coming out of the morning practice sessions together is mutual support. Which makes it that much more important not to leave the Mutant standing alone. When he approaches her with an encouraging smile, bringing his hands up to offer high fives, she whirls around and strides away.
They emerge into the first blowing snow. By the time the buses reach Greenspark Academy, the going is sluggish. The lot has not yet been plowed and the tracks of buses and other vehicles cut a good three inches of heavy wet stuff into deep relief. It seeps through the fabric of his new high-tops—his boots are in the cab of the truck where they’ll do the least good. But he sticks his tongue out contentedly to taste the snow. What a stroke of luck it is, this minor storm. His bank account is a hurting unit. With school out, he can work all night if need be.
On the roadside, the Mutant slogs against the rough slop underfoot and a headwind. Visibility is compromised by the snow blowing into her face as well as the shit blown up at her by passing traffic.
With a sigh, Sam pulls over for her.
He has to wait for a UPS van and Rick in his Skylark to pass him before he can swing back onto the road. Rick waves at him and gives him a shiteating grin.
“How you feeling?” he asks her as she tucks herself up on the seat, waiting for some heat from the vents.
“Like shit.” She shrugs it off. “You sound snotty yourself.”
“Caught your cold,” he admits.
“But you played.”
He gropes among his tapes and shoves in the first thing that comes to hand—The Dharma Bums. “Pumpkinhead.”
“The day I fell on you in the bleachers I felt like this one,” he confesses.
She cocks her head the better to listen.
In the rearview, he gets a glimpse of Nat’s Honda. Shit. He might as well paint Mutantmobile on the side of the truck. He is doing exactly what he doesn’t want to do but he can’t leave her on the road again, still half-sick. Why didn’t she just stay the hell at home?
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to make practice during the break,” he says.
“I’ll be there.”
Right. With him to haul her druggie ass back and forth.
“I tried to find a ride for you today so you wouldn’t be walking in the cold. You know not one of your teammates was willing to do it?” He doesn’t want to sound angry but it comes out that way and he realizes he is furious. It makes him even angrier not to be able to control his emotions. “You’re their star, for Christ’s sake. And you can’t count on one of ‘em for a lift in the frigging cold. Can’t get one from your burn buddies, either, can you?”
The Mutant’s mouth tightens. “I got friends! J.C.’s my friend, Grey’s my friend—they’re just not numb jocks like you. You think you’re better than they are, you fucking bonehead hard-on!”
“Some friends. I hardly ever see Grey at your games. Chapin gets you wasted. He doesn’t even care if you get busted off the team for it, that’s how good a friend he is.”
She grabs the basketball off the floor of the cab and thumps it against the dash. “You’re jealous of him.”
“Jealous!” Sam points at himself. “Jealous! Of what? Of you?”
Kneeling on the bench, she turns toward him and opens her coat, clawing the skirts behind her.
“Yeah, me. Why else are you doing me a bunch of favors I don’t want?” she taunts.
He shakes his head in disbelief.
Slowly she opens her thighs to the circumference of the ball until her crotch rests against it. She begins to rock on it.
With one hand, Sam yanks the ball from underneath her and bats it to the floor. “Cut it out, Deanie.”
She knee-walks across the bench until she’s right next to him, her chained crotch up against his forearm.
Jerking his arm away, he locks his eyes on the road. “You can’t shake your tits at a guy and not get a reaction. It’s not fair. I don’t want to have that kind of thing with you. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know how to be friends with a guy without screwing him?”
She grins. “Guys don’t know how to be friends to girls without screwing them, you dope. Prime example’s sitting behind the wheel of this truck right now. Get real, dub.”
Her hand drops to
