“Damn girl’s drunk as a sailor,” the old man rasps.
“Is that Sam Styles I hear?” the woman demands.
“She was with some people I pulled out of a ditch,” Sam says. “Guys weren’t fit to drive. I thought I’d better bring the girls with them home.”
“Boy’s driving a wrecker,” the old man says. “Couple other girls out there.”
“All right,” the woman says. “Thank you, Sam Styles. Dad, you put a quilt over Shasta, will you? I’ve had about enough of this crap from her. She comes to tomorrow, she’s gonna hear some home truths. Goddamn it, I got the early shift.”
In Greenspark, Lexie slides out down the block from the Michauds’ ranch house and Sam watches her trip down the sidewalk. Before she can get her key in the front door, her old man jerks the door open from inside and grabs her by the back of the neck. She yelps and disappears behind the slamming door.
The Mutant relaxes on the seat.
“I don’t want to go home,” she tells him. “Let’s go someplace. The Mill. Or maybe you know someplace. I don’t care, just so long as it’s warm. We can make out and I’ll put you in a better mood.”
“I don’t want to go someplace and make out with you. You think I want those guys’ seconds?”
“Oh fuck you!” she exclaims. “I told you I didn’t do anything with them.”
“That must be a new experience. Jesus, Deanie. You hang out with wastes like Chapin, you pull crap like this. And those guys, they’re no better. So maybe they didn’t do anything so terrible, getting loaded, making a couple of willing girls. You can argue that if you want. Somewhere along the way I got the idea fucking a wasted kid who’s probably jailbait is dirty pool. Sleazy. A shitty thing to do. Am I getting this into language you understand? And weed’s illegal, and so is booze for anybody our age. What if you’d gotten busted?”
“Nobody got busted,” she reassures him. “Chill out. Nobody gives a shit.”
“Bottom line, huh? Is that good enough for you? It’s not good enough for me.”
“So far as I can see,” she snaps, “almost nothing is fucking good enough for you.” Curiosity darkens her eyes. “You’re not serious about quitting?”
“Never more.”
With a sigh, she slips across the seat to pillow her head on him again. He wants to push her away but he can’t. Reluctantly he cups one big hand over the side of her face, fingers the skeleton dangling from her ear. He can feel the chains that cross her left cheek and the rings in her ear where they terminate against his thigh. When he glances at her, her eyes are closed. The starving diamond that stars her right eye is an explosion of darkness like a terrible wound.
He feels it in his stomach, a black rip of pain and confusion. She says all she wanted was not to go home, just someplace warm. If she’d gone to the Mill, she’d have found the space heater he left in the cubby and she could have stayed there. How long were they all at Fosses’ camp? Time enough. What’s he going to have to listen to in the locker room?
From the corner, though the snow in the yard is much trafficked and littered with empties, the house on Depot Street is quiet. Party over or moved somewhere else.
Clutching her basketball, she slips from the wrecker before he can go around to open the door for her. He watches her go, does not call you’re welcome after her, and she throws him no mocking birds, just disappears into the huddle of that grim little house.
Fuck her. He should go to the Mill and tear that fucking hoop down. Fuck them all. He throws the truck into reverse. They don’t want it bad enough. Fuck them all.
In deference to the holiday, practice on New Year’s is at midmorning. The Mutant is at the Corner when Sam wheels through downtown, and she bears a peace offering of sorts—cocoa. Pulling over, he accepts the cups she hands him and she slings her duffel in and climbs up after it. The cab fills with the sweet comforting scent of cocoa.
“Thanks,” he says shortly.
She shrugs. “Still pissed?”
Not deigning to answer, he turns up the radio. Just the sight of her is enough to make him sick to his stomach again.
Coach’s wagon is in the lot. Pete’s Blazer too.
Rick hauls in behind them and Sam warms his hands in his pockets and waits for him at the edge of the parking lot while the Mutant hastens in out of the cold.
“How was last night?”
Rick grins. “Started the night at Kendalls’ with Sarah trying to soften up a wheel of Brie in the microwave. Frigging thing blew all over the inside like a big cheese bomb.”
Sam laughs.
“Thought I was gonna herniate myself trying not to laugh too hard.” Rick glances at Sam curiously. “Went fine after that. How ‘bout you? You look like you were up all night.”
“Yeah.”
Punching the door bar, Sam opens it for Rick and they step out of the cold into the cleaning-fluid smell of the school on break.
“You do some smoke last night, Rick?”
The quiet casual question brings Rick to a halt.
“Don’t ask me that, Sambo.”
“Is that a yes?”
Rick’s gaze is steady. “Fuck you, Sambo. I told you not to ask.”
“You signed a contract—”
“Which you know I’ve violated before, so what’s the big deal? It’s a stupid piece of paper they make us sign so we can play. Means shit. You think a little smoke’s gonna affect my game? That’s bullshit. Bullshit. So mind your own fucking business.”
Sam nods as if Rick has just given him good advice on a play.
It only makes Rick angrier and he stalks away.
The janitor has opened the gym and most of the players are already there, exchanging tales of New Year’s Eve. Todd and Pete
